"That's the way."
He waved his hand against the horizon.
"There's weather for you," and he spoke with the proud humility of one who had made that weather, but would not boast. His eye was steady on Mac Cann.
"I've got a hunger on me that's worth feeding, mister."
"We've all got that," replied Patsy, "and there's nothing in the cart barring its timbers. I'm keeping an eye out, tho', and maybe we'll trip over a side of bacon in the middle of the road or a neat little patch of potatoes in the next field and it full of the flowery boyoes."
"There's a field a mile up this road," said the man, "and everything you could talk about is in that field."
"Do you tell me!" said Patsy briskly.
"I do: every kind of thing is in that field, and there's rabbits at the foot of the hill beyond it."
"I used to have a good shot with a stone," said Patsy.
"Mary," he continued, "when we come to the field let yourself and Art gather up the potatoes while Caeltia and myself take stones in our hands to kill the rabbits."