What do you think he seen fornenst him, sitting at the other side of the fire, but Father Dwyer himself.

There he was, divil a lie in it, wrapped up in one of the mourning cloaks, trying to warm his hands at the fire.

"'_Salve hoc nomine patri!_' said my father, crossing himself, 'av it's your ghost, God presarve me!' "'Good-evening t'ye, Mr.Free,' said the ghost; 'and av I might be bould, what's in the jug ?'--for ye see, my father had it under his arm fast, and never let it go when he was asleep.
"'_Pater noster qui es in_,--poteen, sir,' said my father; for the ghost didn't look pleased at his talking Latin.
"'Ye might have the politeness to ax if one had a mouth on him, then,' says the ghost.
"'Sure, I didn't think the likes of you would taste sperits.' "'Try me,' said the ghost; and with that he filled out a glass, and tossed it off like a Christian.
"'Beamish!' says the ghost, smacking his lips.
"'The same,' says my father; 'and sure what's happened you has not spoiled your taste.' "'If you'd mix a little hot,' says the ghost, 'I'm thinking it would be better,--the night is mighty sevare.' "'Anything that your reverance pleases,' says my father, as he began to blow up a good fire to boil the water.
"'And what news is stirring ?' says the ghost.
"'Devil a word, your reverance,--your own funeral was the only thing doing last week.

Times is bad; except the measles, there's nothing in our parts.' "'And we're quite dead hereabouts, too,' says the ghost.
"'There's some of us so, anyhow, says my father, with a sly look.

'Taste that, your reverance.' "'Pleasant and refreshing,' says the ghost; 'and now, Mr.Free, what do you say to a little "spoilt five," or "beggar my neighbor" ?' "'What will we play for?
'says my father, for a thought just struck him,--'may be it's some trick of the Devil to catch my soul.' "'A pint of Beamish,' says the ghost.
"'Done!' says my father; 'cut for deal.