rather interesting, talking of faints and worms; but I soon grew
tired of him and his endless stories about the distillery.

"I have my own theory about it," he said. "I think it was one of
those ... peculiar cases .... But it's hard to say...."

He began to puff again at his pipe without giving us his theory. My
uncle saw me staring and said to me:

"Well, so your old friend is gone, you'll be sorry to hear."

"Who?" said I.

"Father Flynn."

"Is he dead?"

"Mr. Cotter here has just told us. He was passing by the house."

I knew that I was under observation so I continued eating as if the
news had not interested me. My uncle explained to old Cotter.

"The youngster and he were great friends. The old chap taught him
a great deal, mind you; and they say he had a great wish for him."

"God have mercy on his soul," said my aunt piously.

Old Cotter looked at me for a while. I felt that his little beady
black eyes were examining me but I would not satisfy him by
looking up from my plate. He returned to his pipe and finally spat