Now as for the foxy mare I had that time, I declare to ye if ye had her within in the stable, and to be keeping oats to her for two days, she'd have as much thricks and tashpy in her, and she'd be as anxious for the road as a lad that'd be goin' to a fair.
If she was to be kept within always and getting what she'd ax of hay and oats, it's all would be about it she'd break the sidecar! (and faith, she was nigh handy to doin' that same one time!) But what can a crayture do that's working always, and getting black potatoes for her diet?
I went to her St. Pathrick's morning early, and the full up of a tin basin of oats in my hand. The very minute I opened the door:
"Ah—hem!" says she to me, this way.
"The Divil go from you!" says I, "wasn't the year long enough for you to get a cough, and not to be sick on Pathrick's Day? And if ye were coughing the full o' the house ye'll not stop within to-day!" says I, "ye can have your choice thing of coughing to-morrow!" says I.
And b'lieve me, 'tis she that had that same.
I rode her out quite and aisy, it's no more than five mile to Kyleranny, and the two lads of sons I have was legging it out before me.
"What have ye in the bottles?" says I to the eldest little fella when I passed them out.
"Milk, Sir!" says he.
"And what have ye in the bag?" says I to the other lad.