True Tales of the Old West: XI, Uncle Roche's Will [pp. 369-374]

"WHO ARE YOU?"
aye, wid God's blessin' she'll be none
the loser by it. Shure, I knew her family back in Ireland. She's a Murphy,
kin to the Murphys of County Wexford,
where I have an estate, the ould homestead. No finer schtock of people in the
wurruld."
And so it came about that Uncle Roche
located at the Union Hotel, and despite
the frantic efforts of rival claimants for
the honors of hospitality, the kind-hearted
hostess of the house,-" kin to the Murphys of County Wexford," —carried off
the prize. It may be mentioned here
that the old man had confided to two or
three of his lady friends, under a solemn
pledge of secrecy, something regarding
his worldly possessions, and as a. natural
consequence, the whole town in a quiet
way, was discussing Uncle Roche's great
371
wealth. I was boarding at the hotel and
it was one of our evening's entertainments to sit out on the porch and chat
with Uncle Roche.
Sometime in the midwinter months he
took to his bed. The kind-hearted landlady was unremitting in her attentions.
Spring chickens were ruthlessly slaughtered and served up in artistic style. She
fed him nourishing soups and quail on
toast. Milk punches, egg nogs, fine old
port wine, and all the little delicacies procurable, were subject to his order. But
all too late. He kept sinking. The
machinery was worn out. Then the good
woman tried the efficacy of prayer.
Many a time and often did she kneel by
his bed-side and fervently address the
Throne of Grace in behalf of the body
and soul of Uncle Roche, who counted