“I have not, your hanner; only three pence have I taken this blessed day.”
“What do your books treat of?”
“Why that is more than I can tell your hanner; my trade is to sell the books not to read them. Would your hanner like to look at them?”
“O dear no,” said I; “I have long been tired of books; I have had enough of them.”
“I dare say, your hanner; from the state of your hanner’s eyes I should say as much; they look so weak—picking up learning has ruined your hanner’s sight.”
“May I ask,” said I, “from what country you are?”
“Sure your hanner may; and it is a civil answer you will get from Michael Sullivan. It is from ould Ireland I am, from Castlebar in the county Mayo.”
“And how came you into Wales?”
“From the hope of bettering my condition, your hanner, and a foolish hope it was.”