"Look!" she resumed, while she bestowed the sovereign in an incredibly old bag-purse with a brass rim; "tell him there's always one foolish in a family, and what it is with Masther Larry, he's too give-ish! That's what he is!"
"You can tell him so yourself," replied Christian. "He'll be home in a week."
"Very good, faith! There's a welcome before him whatever time he'll come! Sure I thought he'd be kept back in England till the Christmas?"
"He's finished with school now," said Christian. "He's going abroad for a bit after Christmas, and then he's going to Oxford!"
The glory in Christian's voice conveyed more to Mrs. Twomey than any statement of fact could achieve.
"Well, well! I'm proud out of him, the poor child! But I wisht it was home in his own house he was to be," she replied, raising her skirt, and stuffing the purse into a large pocket that hung round her waist over a red flannel petticoat; "han't he lessons enought learnt?"
"Oh, but he loves going to Oxford, Mrs. Twomey," said Christian; "he's looking forward to it awfully; and I'm going to France to do lessons, too! I'll be talking French to you, Mrs. Twomey, when I come back!"
Mrs. Twomey uttered a screech of well-simulated horror.
"For God's sake, child, do not!" she exclaimed; "didn't I know one o' thim in Boyshton, a docther he was, and a German. He had as many slishes and sloshes as'd fill a book! Sure I thought I'd lose me life thrying could I make off at all what he said to me!"
"Well, I shall be slishing and sloshing to you when I come home, Mrs. Twomey!" said Christian, who was skilled in converse with such as Mrs. Twomey; "but it will be in French. I suppose you talked German to your Boston doctor?"