‘Ye would quote me the Scriptures, would ye?’ Father McFane would call to Mr. Barry as the latter drove by the chapel in his Norwegian on his way to the church beyond. ‘An’ what did St. Paul say? “Like a house founded upon a rock.” Why, here’s the rock, man. Come in! come in! where are ye going?’
It occurred every Sunday, and Mr. Barry would smile back at Father McFane, and nod his head, for the two, indeed, were great friends, as the Protestants and Roman Catholics often are in small places, until someone comes in to them with wild news and absurd tidings from incendiaries outside to upset the loving work of years.
‘I don’t see how Mrs. Denis’s niece or cousin, or whatever she is, should have a better gown than mine,’ says she.
‘But she isn’t Mrs. Denis’s cousin, she’s too young,’ says Jacky. ‘She’s a girl, and she was pulling the flowers like anything, and if she belonged to Mrs. Denis she wouldn’t be let do that.’
Jacky’s English is always horrible.
‘Oh, you’ve dreamt the whole thing!’ says Susan contemptuously. ‘Run away and play.’ She has forgotten about the lessons.
‘Oh, you are a marplot! I am going to believe in Jacky for once in my life. Don’t go, Jacky! Jacky, come back! If you don’t, Aunt Jemima will make you do your lessons.’
This has a magical effect. Jacky swerves round.
‘She is there,’ says he indignantly. ‘I did see her.’ He seems to dwell on this fact with gusto. ‘An’ she’s not Mrs. Denis’s niece. An’ old Meany down by the mill says she’s been there for four weeks.’
‘The plot is thickening,’ says Betty lazily. ‘’Tis a clever villain, whoever she is; fancy her being here for four weeks without the very size of her shoes being known throughout the length and breadth of Curraghcloyne! Four days ought to have done it. Go on, Jacky! Had she a cloven foot by any chance?’