“And what have you been doing?”
“Selling my needles, yere hanner.”
“Oh! you sell needles. Well, I am glad to have met you. Let me see. There’s a nice little inn on the right: won’t you come in and have some refreshment?”
“Thank yere hanner; I have no objection to take a glass wid an old friend.”
“Well, then, come in; you must be tired, and I shall be glad to have some conversation with you.”
We went into the inn—a little tidy place. On my calling a respectable-looking old man made his appearance behind a bar. After serving my companion with a glass of peppermint, which she said she preferred to anything else, and me with a glass of ale, both of which I paid for, he retired, and we sat down on two old chairs beneath a window in front of the bar.
“Well,” said I, “I suppose you have Irish: here’s slainte—”
“Slainte yuit a shaoi,” said the girl, tasting her peppermint.
“Well, how do you like it?”
“It’s very nice indeed.”