An Irish Christmas Feast Read Online Free

these tackle him,’ Agnes called back as she withdrew to allow them access to the kitchen where the parish priest joined them.
    â€˜No,’ he spoke half to himself as he took stock of the dripping brothers, ‘make them a pot of tea. I’ll see to the cob. Light a lantern while you’re at it Agnes.’
    Obedient to a fault the cob, stout, firm and round, submitted itself to harness and backed itself docilely between the long slender shafts. Father Canty draped a partially filled oats’ bag around the powerful crest and returned to the kitchen.
    The brothers sat amazed as the housekeeper prepared the parish priest for his journey. They were even more amazed when, childlike, he submitted himself to her fussy ministrations which began with the removal of his slippers and their replacement with stout, strong boots and gaiters. She then removed the short coat which he had worn to the stable and placed a heavy woollen scarf around his neck and shoulders. This was followed by a heavy woollen cardigan and a heavier short coat and finally on top of all came a long leather coat which reached all the way down to his ankles. With mouths open the brothers watched in wonder as she placed a wide-rimmed black hat on his balding pate and, finally, handed him the small suitcase which contained the oils, missal and stole. All that remained to be done was the collecting of the sacred host from the tabernacle and here, they were surprised to note, the housekeeper had no role.
    â€˜You’ll find dry sacks in there,’ Father Canty indicated an outhouse. ‘They’ll cover your heads and shoulders.’
    They were surprised when he opened the trap door for them. They would not have been dismayed if they had been called upon to walk behind. After three miles of moderately undulating ground they entered the side road which would take them to the Maldooney abode, three-quarters of the way up the mountain. It was a steep climb but not for a single moment did it tax the short-gaited cob. After the first mile when they left the presbytery there was no attempt at conversation. Despite repeated attempts to involve them Father Canty gave up. He found it difficult to stay awake without the stimulus of verbal conversation. He attempted a rosary but there were no responses forthcoming. Thereafter, he prayed silently to himself. He was not unduly worried. The cob had conveyed him safely in the past while he slept and could be depended upon to do so again. When eventually they reached the Maldooney abode some waiting neighbours came forward and took charge of the cob.
    The old man lay propped on an ancient iron bed. His breathing was erratic but his eyes opened when he beheld the priest in the faint light of the three spluttering candles, precariously placed especially for the occasion on the mantelpiece, bedpost and windowsill.
    â€˜You’ll hear my last confession Father?’
    Father Canty was surprised. The voice was weak and spluttering like the candles but there seemed to be no doubt that he was strong enough to make himself understood.
    Two elderly women, shawled and praying, vacated the room the moment the priest bent his head to hear the sins of the dying penitent. The old man went on and on sometimes incoherently but mostly articulate as he recited the sins of a lifetime. He was well prepared for the ultimate shriving. He did not spare himself as the nauseating recall of human folly poured forth. Then suddenly he stopped, gasped and fell into a deep sleep from which, all present were agreed, he would never wake.
    The ritual over, Father Canty left the house and entered his transport but not before he turned the bottom and dry side of the trap cushion upward. There was no sign of the brothers. The neighbours could not explain it. One minute they were in the kitchen standing with their backs to the dying fire and the next they were nowhere to be seen.
    Agnes was on her feet the moment she heard the hoof-beats