CHAPTER VIII.
THE GHOST.
"Well, I believe your honor heard me tell long ago how my father left the army, and the way that he took to another line of life that was more to his liking.

And so it was, he was happy as the day was long; he drove a hearse for Mr.Callaghan of Cork for many years, and a pleasant place it was; for ye see, my father was a 'cute man, and knew something of the world; and though he was a droll devil, and could sing a funny song when he was among the boys, no sooner had he the big black cloak on him and the weepers, and he seated on the high box with the six long-tailed blacks before him, you'd really think it was his own mother was inside, he looked so melancholy and miserable.

The sexton and gravedigger was nothing to my father; and he had a look about his eye--to be sure there was a reason for it--that you'd think he was up all night crying; though it's little indulgence he took that way.
"Well, of all Mr.Callaghan's men, there was none so great a favorite as my father.

The neighbors were all fond of him.
"'A kind crayture, every inch of him!' the women would say.

'Did ye see his face at Mrs.Delany's funeral ?' "'True for you,' another would remark; 'he mistook the road with grief, and stopped at a shebeen house instead of Kilmurry church.' "I need say no more, only one thing,--that it was principally among the farmers and the country people my father was liked so much.