“Well, what do you want?” said I, after we had stared at each other about half a minute.
“Sure, I’m just come on the part of the boys and myself to beg a bit of a favour of your reverence.”
“Reverence,” said I, “what do you mean by styling me reverence?”
“Och sure, because to be styled your reverence is the right of your reverence.”
“Pray, what do you take me for?”
“Och sure, we knows your reverence very well.”
“Well, who am I?”
“Och, why Father Toban, to be sure.”
“And who knows me to be Father Toban?”
“Och, a boy here knows your reverence to be Father Toban.”