'They turned and grabbed the two three-legged stools they was settin' on, an' me an' Mary Anne cleared the flure wid wan lep, an' was out an' away down the back lane as hard as we cud tear, an' them two weemin gallopin' afther us an' screaming like hell's delight. But me an' Mary Anne was young an' soople, an' we ran like hares till we came to the edge of the bog. And thin I says,—
'"Houl' an," I says, "let me go first," an' I tuk the path across the bog that lay betwixt two big bog-holes.
'Well, me sisther, bein' the younger, comes first to the edge of the bog, an' she was that blind wid fury she cudn't see where she was goin', an' whin she come to the first bog-hole souse she goes intil the middle of it neck over crop, an' I caught a sight of her legs goin' up in the air wid the tail ov me eye, an' down I sits, an' thought I'd ha shplit.
'Well, whin we was sore wid laffin, we wint on back to the town, an' the last we saw of the pair of thim Casey was lyin' wid her arms on the bank of the bog-hole an' me mother haulin' at her ahl she was fit to dhrag her out.
'But whin we came to the town it was dhrawin' near han' night, an' there was the greatest goin's on iver ye seen. We was met at the head of the town by a crowd of the boys that was out lukin' for us; for the praste had tould on us, and they'd been sarchin' iverywhere for the bride an' bridegroom, they said.
'So they took an' cheered us, an' carried us roun' the town. An' they had the town band behind us, wid wan big dhrum an' six little wans, an' fourteen flutes, an' they banged and tootled till they cudn't bang nor tootle no more, an' the street boys yelled, and the dogs yelped, an' there was a noise thro' the town ye cudn't hear yersilf spake for the best part of an hour. Glory be! it was a weddin' fit for a king,' and the old man spat reflectively into the fire, as he looked back upon that crowning moment of his life.
'An' whin it was ahl over, "Mary Anne, honey," says I, "I'm hung-ry; I haven't had nahthin' to eat the day since me brackfast, an' that graspin' oul' praste has copped ahl me money, have ye iver a pinny?"
'"Divil a thraneen," says she, "but just wan ha'penny."
'"A power o' use that is to stay two hung-ry stummicks upon," says I, "but I tell ye what. We'll do things in style the night if we niver did before nor since. We'll have an illumination to light the way to our bridal couch."
'So we bought two farthin' candles, and wint to slape in the hay in Mrs. Flanigan's byre.'