"Don't call me 'Misther,'" Willie said; "only quality calls me 'Misther' an' I don't like it—it doesn't fit an honest stone breaker." The question was repeated and he said: "I wear a green ribbon on Pathrick's Day an' an orange cockade on th' Twelfth ov July, an' if th' ax m' why, I tell thim t' go t' h—l! That's Withero fur ye an' wan ov 'im is enough fur Anthrim, that's why I niver married, an' that'll save ye the throuble ov axin' me whither I've got a wife or no!"
"What church d'ye attend, Willie?" Jamie asked.
"Church is it, ye're axin' about? Luk here, me bhoy, step over th' stile." Willie led the way over into the field.
"Step over here, me girl." Anna followed. A few yards from the hedge there was an ant-hill.
"See thim ants?"
"Aye."
"Now if Withero thought thim ants hated aych other like th' men ov Anthrim d'ye know what I'd do?"
"What?"
"I'd pour a kittle ov boilin' wather on thim an' roast th' hides off ivery mother's son ov thim. Aye, that's what I'd do, shure as gun's iron!"
"That would be a sure and speedy cure," Anna said, smiling.