Now, Biddy Dillon had too much of the national character to sit down quietly and receive their abuse, and soon a regular quarrel ensued, which would have speedily become a fight, but for the descent of Father M‘Clane into their midst, and his imperative command that each one should sit down quietly and “hould his tongue.”
“Whisht! whisht! Of what are ye thinking, ye silly gossoons? Will ye bring down the peace officers upon ye, and take out the bit o’ the night in the prison, instead o’ drinking me health, as ye may, and me helping to do that same? Arrah! Why should ye glower and snarl at each other, like a kennel o’ mad puppies, when it’s the brave frolic ye may have together? It’s the soft looks and the fine words ye must use, an’ ye would win the young heretic back; ye may fight over her till the great day o’ all, and it will be but a sorrowful waste o’ the powther, barrin’ the swate chance ye are losing now o’ a comfortable frolic. Arrah, now, Dennis darlin’, a sup o’ the whisky for me, a thrifle sthrong, an’ ye plaze. It’s a could night to be out wi’ an empty stoomach.”
“Stay till the morning, father,” said Biddy, coming up to him with an anxious face; “we cannot kape peace an’ ye do not bide wi’ us; the frolic will be all the better an’ ye stay to the orderin’ o’ it,—and the best bed is waitin’ yer riverence’s convanience. There’s Sandy and Mike will fight an’ ye lave, and Katy there is ready to tear out the eyes o’ big Nelly Murphy. It’s quarrelling they’ve been the whole blessed day. Bide with us, lest the dear childer who is the cause o’ it all should be kilt and murdered intirely, an’ she sthrays home to-night.”
She spoke in a low voice, and he replied in the same tone, drawing her back from the crowd, who were all talking together.
“Look here, Biddy Dillon,” he said; “the girl must lave that grand house and come home to live here with you.”
“Lave Miss Annie, do ye mane, sir?”
“Small hope for her sowl an’ she do not.”
“And few are the pennies I can bring to yer riverence when the child has no wages to bring home o’ a Saturday. Sorra a hap’orth to spare will I find; it’s no me two hands alone can find bread for the mouths o’ all, and—”
“Stuff and nonsense!” interrupted the priest; “there’s many another place can be had for a sthrong, likely lass like her. Good servants are not over plenty, and she can be better placed.”
“But where, I would like ye to tell? It’s in a Protestant family she must be, an’ she goes out to service at all.”