One morning, as he sat by himself on a bench, engaged in this manner, I went up to him, and said, “Good day, Murtagh; you do not seem to have much to do?”
“Faith, you may say that, Shorsha dear!—it is seldom much to do that I have.”
“And what are you doing with your hands?”
“Faith, then, if I must tell you, I was e’en dealing with the cards.”
“Do you play much at cards?”
“Sorra a game, Shorsha, have I played with the
cards since my uncle Phelim, the thief! stole away the ould pack, when he went to settle in the county Waterford!”
“But you have other things to do?”
“Sorra anything else has Murtagh to do that he cares about; and that makes me dread so going home at nights.”
“I should like to know all about you; where do you live, joy?”