“I’m not deceiving you; there’s the boy coming along as fast as he can.”
“Ay, but the letter?”
“He flourished it a minute ago, this way, for he saw me at the window.”
“Open the window and maybe, he’d show it again,” said the old man, trembling with eagerness.
“Faix! I’ll not let the rain in! It’s a nice day to have the windows open. You’re eaten up with your selfishness, Peter Malone!”
“Maybe I am, maybe I am,” muttered the old peasant, as he sat down, and hid his face between his hands.
“And who knows where the letter will be from? Maybe its Vyner is going to turn you out of your holding.”
“So he may,” sighed the other, meekly.
“Maybe it’s the agents callin’ on you to pay up for the time you were in it. Do you think that would be convanient, eh?”
“I don’t care, if they did.”