As the clay rumbled in, an old man said, “Tch, tch,” a mild little protest against death. Then Father Cullen’s voice rose sonorously to begin a decade of the rosary, and the crowd joined in. Father Conroy stood, hands clasped before him, head lowered. “And Lancelot at the ring rides well” – the phrase came to him from some long-forgotten schoolbook. It seemed like an unsolicited epitaph to Maurice.

But why be sorry for Maurice? He had knocked out a good old time, fame on the race courses in his youth, drinking, women, no ties, no responsibilities after the few years of marriage. As easy be sorry for an old dried-up harness hanging on a stable wall. No, Maurice never had feelings to spend on anyone, not even on his own son.

Father Conroy scanned the faces of the crowd as it drifted away. Tomás was only fifteen when he had last seen him. Would he recognize him now? Surely he had come back for the funeral?

Bat Cullen, the parish priest of Slievenalua, was looking after all the arrangements – he should know whether Tomás was there or not. Father Conroy moved toward him, taking off his surplice and rolling it up. But it was a bad time to ask. Bat was fussily urging the other priests, who were chatting in various parts of the churchyard, toward the vestry, where their breakfast was being prepared. As if to tempt them, the aroma of frying rashers and eggs floated out on the sunny air.

On his way in, he was accosted by Uncle James, holding his Anthony Eden on his chest.

“Ah, Father Thomas!” James shook hands formally – he had a great respect for “order and precedence” on public occasions.

“How are ye?” muttered Father Conroy, and made an attempt to move on.

“Very sad, yes indeed, yes, yes. He brought a fair-sized crowd, poor Maurice, but of course it’s a good day, a lovely, sharp, spring day, thanks be to God. I always think that a fine day for a funeral gives you a great chance to get out and meet the people.” He felt Father Conroy’s impatient tug to get free and went on with a laugh, “I hope, Father, that ye’ll have a sunny day for mine, and a good turnout, and that ye’ll all enjoy yerselves.”

“Please God.”

“Oh, indeed, yes, I want ye all to be there. I want ye all to remember that day.” He pulled Father Conroy closer. “Did you think over since, Father, that little matter?”

Father Conroy pointed toward the vestry. “I’m wanted in there, James. I’ll see you again.”

“Of course, Father.” James released him at once. “You’ll see me again. Faith, you will.”

And Father Conroy hurried to catch up with the other priests heading for the vestry door.