“Faix, your reverance, miss, 'tis ashamed she is by ray-son of her clothes. She says Luke Cassidy's daughters have check aprons.”
“No more of this, Catty. Tell Eliza to come on Monday, and if I 'm satisfied with her she shall have one too.”
“Two ounces of tea for the Widow Jones.”
“Ayeh,” muttered an old hag. “But it's weak it makes it without a little green in it!”
“How are the pains, Sarah?” asked Mary, turning to a very feeble-looking old creature with crutches.
“Worse and worse, my Lady. With every change of the weather they come on afresh.”
“The doctor will attend you, Sally, and if he thinks wine good for you, you shall have it.”
“'T is that same would be the savin' of me, Miss Mary,” said a cunning-eyed little woman, with a tattered straw bonnet on her head, and a ragged shawl over her.
“I don't think so, Nancy. Come up to the house on Monday morning and help Mrs. Taafe with the bleaching.”
“So this is the duplicate, Polly?” said she, taking a scrap of paper from an old woman whose countenance indicated a blending of dissipation with actual want.