...leaving Kathleen, his young wife, near mad with grief. After the burial, Kathleen's mother drew her aside, and took her in her arms, and rocked her as she wept, and tried to comfort her:
"But think on what a grand man he was, Kathleen! Weren't they all saying at the wake as that Pat was a miner without equal, quick with a pick and tireless at the coal face?"
"Oh, aye!" wailed Kathleen. "That he was, that he was!"
"And a loving patriarch to his eight children? And the possessor of the third sweetest baritone in the state?"
"Aye, oh aye," the widow sobbed. "That he was! That he was!"
"But tell me true now, Kathleen," whispered her mother, in a suddenly conspiratorial tone. "Was there any substance in what I heard a few boys at the funeral whisper? That Pat was...*Ku Klux Klan?*"
Kathleen, poor girl, looked up at her mother in innocent confusion. "Ku-? Mother, what does Ku Cluck Klan mean?"
"Ku *Klux* Klan, daughter! It means the devil himself beneath the sheets!"
Kathleen blushed violently.
"Oh aye," she murmured, smiling slow. "That he was...that he was."
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