"Sit down here awhile an' I'll tell ye."
We sat down on the bank of the roadside. He took out his pipe, steel and flint, filled his pipe and talked as he filled.
"Me an' Jamie wor pirta sack people, purty damned rough, too, but yer Ma was a piece ov fine linen frum th' day she walked down this road wi' yer Dah till this minit whin she's waitin' fur ye in the corner. Ivery Sunday I've gone in jist t' hai a crack wi' 'er an' d'ye know, bhoy, I got out o' that crack somethin' good fur th' week. She was i' hell on sayin' words purcisely, but me an' Jamie wor too thick, an' begorra she got used t' pirta sack words herself, but she was i' fine linen jist th' same.
"Wan day she says t' me, 'Willie,' says she, 'ye see people through dirty specs.' 'How's that?' says I. 'I don't know,' says she, 'fur I don't wear yer specs, but I think it's jist a poor habit ov yer mind. Aych poor craither is made up ov some good an' much that isn't s' good, an' ye see only what isn't s' good!'
"Thin she towld m' somethin' which she niver towld aanyone else, 'cept yer Dah, ov coorse. 'Willie,' says she, 'fur twenty years I've seen th' Son ov Maan ivery day ov m' life!'
"'How's that?' says I.
"'I've more'n seen 'm. I've made tay fur 'im, an' broth on Sunday. I've mended 'is oul duds, washed 'is dhirty clothes, shuk 'is han', stroked 'is hair an' said kind words to 'im!'
"'God Almighty!' says I, 'yer goin' mad, Anna!' She tuk her oul Bible an' read t' me these words; I mind thim well:
"'Whin ye do it t' wan o' these craithers ye do it t' me!'
"Well, me bhoy, I thunk an' I thunk over thim words an' wud ye believe it—I begun t' clane m' specs. Wan day th' 'Dummy' came along t' m' stone-pile. Ye mind 'er, don't ye?" (The Dummy was a harlot, who lived in the woods up the Dublin road in summer, and Heaven only knows where in winter.)