an' ate, an' from that day he was a well Cat; an' that's how Oi larned Catnip, an' it set me moind aisy, too, fur no Cat that's possesst 'll iver ate inunder the shaddy av the crass."
Yan was scribbling away, but had given up any attempt to make sketches or even notes beyond the [206] names of the plants.
"Shure, choild, put them papers wid the names on the hairbs an' save them; that wuz fwhat Docther Carmartin done whin Oi was larnin' him. Thayer, now, that's it," she added, as Yan took the hint and began slipping on each stalk a paper label with its name.
"That's a curious broom," said Yan, as his eye fell on the symbol of order and cleanliness, making strange reflections on itself.
"Yes; sure, that's a Baitche broom. Larry makes 'em."
"Larry?"
"Yes, me bhoy." [Larry was nearly sixty.] "He makes thim of Blue Baitche."
"How?" asked Yan, picking it up and examining it with intense interest.
"Whoi, shure, by whittlin'. Larry's a howly terror to whittle, an' he gets a Blue Baitche sapling 'bout three inches thick an' starts a-whittlin" long slivers, but laves them on the sthick at wan end till thayer all round loike that."
