Now, mind this and you’ll see how strangely things come about. If it had not been for this what Tim said, I should not have had to tell you the story of my watch, or it would not have ended as it now must. If Tim had told me about winding her up the night before I should not have disturbed him in the morning, and he would not have been so angry, and would not have told me not to see him again for a week. He has since said that he did not mean a word of that; and, had I but known it, that tarnation Pat could not have cheated me; however I will tell you how it happened.
The Death of the Watch.
Directly after I left Tim, whom should I meet but Pat, who spoke quite civil, saying, “Well, Paul, and how’s the watch? I’ve been thinking since I heard her ‘glucking’ last night that it’s to lay she wants, and that if she had a nest you’d have some young watches in a day or two.”
“Do you think so?” said I.
“I’m sure of it,” said he; so we went along to the barn together and made her a nice comfortable nest of hay.
“Now,” he said, as he laid her in it, and covered her up quite warm and snug, “you must not go near or disturb her for five days, or it’s desert her nest she will, and you’ll have no younguns.”
Well, to finish with my story, after five days I went to the nest, and what do you think I found? No younguns, nor the old watch neither, but a big turnip. I ran to Pat’s, but he had gone off to America. I never saw my watch again; but up to this day the boys call out, when they are out of my reach—
“Paul, tell us what o’clock it is.”