"Well, Mr. Thady, you'll live to be even with him yet—the born ruffian! faix and a good sight more nor even; else it'll be no one's fault but yer own."
"Even with who?"
"With who now? why didn't I see it with my own eyes?—the born thief of the world! Didn't he knock flashes out of yer shoulther with the shilaleh he had—Mr. Keegan, I main? And if it worn't that you hadn't—bad cess to the luck of it!—your own bit of a stick in your hand, wouldn't you have knocked the life out of him for the name he put on your sisther, Miss Feemy?—the blackguard!"
"And did you hear him, Pat?"
"Shure I did, yer honer."
"And did you see him?"
"See him, yes, shure; I seed him riz his big stick, and I thought it was nigh kilt you were."
"And you heard him call your misthress the name he called; and you saw him sthrike at me the way he did, and I having nothing but my fist to help me; and were you so afraid of a man like Keegan, you wouldn't step forward to strike a blow for me?"
"Afraid of Keegan! No, Masther Thady, I arn't afraid of him; but you wouldn't have had me come up, jist to witness that you war the first to strike at him."
"Nonsense! wasn't he the first to call my sisther the name he did?"