The Weans at Rowallan

One soaking wet day in September Patsy was sitting by the kitchen fire eating bread and sugar for want of better amusement when he was cheered by the sight of a tall figure in a green plaid shawl hurrying past the window in the driving rain. He got up from his creepie stool to go for the other children, who were playing in the schoolroom, when Lull, sprinkling clothes at the table, exclaimed:
Bad luck to it, here's that ould runner again.
Patsy quietly moved his stool back into the shadow of the chimney corner. In that mood Lull, if she saw him, would chase him from the kitchen when the news began; and clearly Teressa was bringing news worth hearing. As far back as Patsy or any of the children could remember, Teressa had brought the village gossip to Rowallan. Neither rain nor storm could keep the old woman back when there was news to tell. One thing only—a dog in her path—had power to turn her aside. The quietest dog sent her running like a hare, and the most obviously imitated bark made her cry.
She came in, shaking the rain from her shawl.
Woman, dear, but that's the saft day. I'm dreepin' to the marrow bone.
What an' iver brought ye out? said Lull shortly.
Teressa sank into a chair, and wiped her wet face with the corner of her apron. 'Deed, ye may weel ast me. My grandson was for stoppin' me, but says I to myself, says I, the mistress be to hear this before night.
She'll hear no word of it, then, said Lull. She's sleepin' sound, an' I'd cut aff my han' afore I'd wake her for any ould clash.
Teressa paid no heed. Such carryin's-on, Lull, I niver seen. Mrs M'Rea, the woman, she bates Banagher. She's drunk as much whiskey these two days as would destroy a rigiment, an' now she has the whole village up with her talk.
Andy was tellin' me she was at it again, said Lull.