"Here's t' ye, Jamie, an' ye, Anna, an' th' scoundthrel O'Hare, an' here's t' th' three that niver bred, th' priest, th' pope, an' th' mule!"
Then at a draft he emptied the bottle and threw it behind the fire, grunting his satisfaction.
"Wudn't that make a corpse turn 'round in his coffin?" Billy said.
"Keep yer eye on that loaf, Billy, or he'll be dhrinkin' our health in it!" Jamie remarked humorously.
Boyle stretched himself on the floor and yawned. The little table was brought near the fire, the loaf was cut in slices and divided. It was a scene that brought us to the edge of tears—tears of joy. Anna's face particularly beamed. She talked as she prepared, and her talk was of God's appearance at the end of every tether, and of the silver lining on the edge of every cloud. She had a penchant for mottoes, but she never used them in a siege. It was when the siege was broken she poured them in and they found a welcome. As she spoke of God bringing relief, Boyle got up on his haunches.
"Anna," he said, "if aanybody brot me here th' night it was th' oul divil in hell."
"'Deed yer mistaken, Felix," she answered sweetly. "When God sends a maan aanywhere he always gets there, even if he has to be taken there by th' divil."
When all was ready we gathered around the table. "How I wish we could sing!" she said as she looked at us. The answer was on every face. Hunger would not wait on ceremony. We were awed into stillness and silence, however, when she raised her hand in benediction. We bowed our heads. Boyle crossed himself.
"Father," she said, "we thank Thee for sendin' our friend Felix here th' night. Bless his wife an' wains, bless them in basket an' store an' take good care of his oul mare. Amen!"