"You're very kind, Tim. Why, this tea is real good, as good as what the gentry drinks. I feel quite a different creature after it, I declare;" and Mrs. Jarvis presently set down her empty cup with a surprised air.
"I can't think how you manage, Mrs. Maloney. Here's your husband earning the same wages as mine, yet you can afford to live a sight better than us; you're better dressed too, and what a fine place you've got; and isn't that pig in the garden yours?"
Mrs. Jarvis's eyes had roamed from the bright, clean kitchen, through the open window to the well-stocked garden, where, in a corner, stood a sty, the occupant of which was rooting and grunting in the manner peculiar to his kind.
"Indade, an' ye're rayte; a fine porker he is too. I'll sind ye up a bit whin we kill, an' ye shall tasthe for yerself."
"Thank you kindly, Tim. It's not often we can afford to indulge in a bit of bacon now. Times are so hard, you see," returned Mrs. Jarvis, with a look of still deeper perplexity upon her face as she rose to go.
Tim whispered to his wife who nodded, and then turned to Mrs. Jarvis, saying:
"Now, don't ye be thrudgin' up wid yer husban's bit uv dinner. My Tim'll bring him home, an' he's kindly wilcome to the bist of our purvidin'."
Mrs. Jarvis was certainly weak and unnerved, for she fell back into her seat and began to sob.
"Whist, now, did ye think we mane to pisin yer good man?" said Tim, cheerily.
"No, no, indeed; but I don't know what to make of such kindness. It's nothing but cross words and scowling looks I ever get."