"It's jist a hoax, Anna, some oul bitch said it an' th' others cackle it from doore to doore. I've naither wife nor wain, chick nor chile, I ate th' bread ov loneliness an' keep m' own company an' jist bekase I don't blether wi' th' gossoons th' think I'm uncanny. Isn't that it, Jamie, eh!"
"Aye, ye're right, Willie, it's quare what bletherin' fools there are in this town!"
Willie held his full spoon in front of his mouth while he replied:
"It's you that's the dacent maan, Jamie, 'deed it is."
"The crocks are empty, dear," Anna said to me. After "tay," to the town well I went for the night's supply of water. When I returned the dishes were washed and on the dresser. The floor was swept and the family were swappin' stories with Withero. Sunday was ever the day of Broth and Romance. Anna made the best broth and told the best stories. No Sunday was complete without a good story. On the doorstep that night she told one of her best. As she finished the church bell tolled the curfew. Then the days of the month were tolled off.
"Sammy's arm is gey shtrong th' night," Willie said.
"Aye," Jamie said, "an' th' oul bell's got a fine ring."