“Casey, sorr, full or sober!”
“Arrah, me darlint,” cried Jamie O’Flanigan to his loquacious sweetheart, who had given him no opportunity of even answering her remarks during a two hours ride behind his little bay nags in his oyster wagon—“are yes afther knowing why yer cheeks are like my ponies there?”
“Shure, and it’s because they’re red, is it?” quoth the blushing Bridget.
“Faith and a better reason than that, mavourneen. Because there is one of them each side of a waggin’ tongue!”
Pat and Mike were passing the butcher’s stall, where there was a pair of chickens for sale.
“We’ll buy them,” said Mike, “and who ever has the best dream to-night can cook them for himself to-morrow.”
When they awoke that morning Pat related his dream.