"Judge (perspiringly).—Mrs. O'Flaherty—
"Witness.—Flaherty, widout the O, yer honor.
"Judge.—Well, whatever your name is, you must not say anything to the prisoner in this court. Go on now, and if you will tell what he has done I'll not interrupt you.
"Witness.—Now remember yer promise, ye honor. It was on Friday mornin'—
"Judge (despairingly).—You're at it again. I—
"Witness.—Howly mother of Moses! I told yer honor how it would be wid ye; here I haven't said more nor five words before yer at yer owld thricks again.
"Judge (much vexed).—What did Timothy do with your fish?
"Witness.—He didn't do annything wid them that time, barrin' that he saw Michael bring them in the house, and I heard him tell Biddy Mulrooney, his mother, who lives in the next room to me, that he would rather live on praties and bread, as they was a doin', than to ate stinkin' porgies that nobody else would buy; I know the Mulrooneys was jealous.
"Judge.—Did Timothy create any disturbance then?
"Witness.—No, yer honor, he didn't.