"Oh, jist ordinary vigitables, only grown under war conditions," says she at length. "At anny rate I'll have no flowers, so desthroy thim entirely, an' grow vigitables in their place—d'you understand?" says she.
"I do, your ladyship," says I.
I wint within to tell Anne Toher, the cook. "Herself is for desthroyin' the flowers entirely, an' plantin' war vigitables," says I.
"An' phwat may they be?" says the woman.
"The same as ordinary vigitables, only growed under war conditions," says I. "Ivvry spud doin' its duty, ivvry parsnip strugglin' to be two. We will have carrots an' onions in iwry bed up to the front door, Frinch beans trained all over the porch. Ye'll jist lane out of the kitchen winda an' gather in the dinner yourself; 'twill be a great savin' o' labour," says I.
"An' phwat'll ye do for the table decorations whin the gintry comes callin'?" says Anne Toher.
"Faith," says I, "'tis aisy done; I will jist set a bookay o' hothouse cabbages in the vases, an' if, mebbe, the Colonel would be comin' home on lave an' should ax a nosegay to stick in his coat, begob I'll have a fine sprig of parsley for him," says I.
"Ye poor man," says she, "'twill sour the heart within ye." Ah! That was the true word, 'twas like pullin' me heart's blood out be the roots to desthroy thim flowers; but it had to be done. War is war.
By June the garden was nothin' but a say of vigitables, an' divil a touch of colour to take your eye was there in it, no matter how long you'd look.
Wan day I am up at the yard, seein' if, mebbe, Anne Toher would have the taste o' tay in the pot, meself havin' a thirst on me that would face the Shannon by dint of the hoein' I was afther doin' in the spud plantations, whin the woman puts her head out of the kitchen winda. "Whist, Delaney," says she, "there's gintry to lunch," says she.