This grocery was the property of an old lady of seventy, and perched on the ladder was a girl of about seven teen—her grandchild. She was using a paint brush as vigorously, if not as skillfully, as any male painter that ever lived.
We halted a minute and greeted her. Unclosing a pair of very rosy lips and showing a magnificent row of teeth (it might have been a pride in the teeth that made her open her mouth so wide, but, if so, it was pardonable!), she exclaimed:
THE “FIRSHT FAYMALE PAINTHER IN OIRLAND!”
“I am the firsht faymale painther in Oirland! Have ye a job ye can give me?”
And she laughed a very cheery laugh at the little pleasantry.