Far from every eye being centred on her, as she had tremblingly feared, no one noticed her by word or glance; and her courage, which had ebbed as she entered the shop, now came back in full tide.
The Clancys were driving a roaring trade, if one might judge by appearances. Their establishment was thronged by men in corduroy and frieze, and women in long blue cloaks, or plaid shawls, all bargaining, buying, or gossiping. She was wedged in between the counter and two stalwart matrons, who were holding forth to one another with great animation. And oh, how their garments did smell of turf!
"And what way is Mary the day, Mrs. Daly?" inquired one.
"'Deed, an' I'm thinking, she is just dying on her feet; first she had a slight sketch of a cold, now 'tis a melancholy that ails her. John took her up to Rafferty's funeral, thinking to cheer her out of it, but she got a wakness standin' in the berryin'-ground, an 'tis worse she is, instead of better."
"That's bad! An' how is Dan?"
"Oh, finely. Shure he has the pledge! Glory be to God!"
"Musha, an' I wish Pat had! When he comes into the town here, he gits into that much company there's no daling with him at all. Ye can't be up to them men! I thought this morning he was getting very good entirely, when I was in Fagan's store, and saw him and a couple of chaps drinking coffee. Shure, wasent it that Moody and Sanky they were at—an' wasent it half whiskey?"
"Ah! now ye don't tell me that?"
"An' 'deed, an' I do! I don't say as a needleful of sperrits ever did any wan any harm—but there does be some would drink the Shannon!"
"Purviding it was potheen," supplemented her listener, dryly.