“Och, mam, this poor dog has had nothin’ to eat. Ye’re pinchin’ him, whatever.”
“Pinchin’ him!” exclaimed Nance. “Tut, he’ll not be gettin’ in an’ out’n the door much longer, an’ I see the neighbours a-laughin’ now when they look at him. He’ll die with over-feedin’, he will.”
“He will,” mocked Silvan, “die of over-feedin’, he will!”
“Lad, Mrs. Griffiths’s been here.”
“Well, dearie, do ye think I didn’t know Megan Griffiths was here? She’d crack the gates of heaven with that voice. Was she tellin’ ye everythin’ that didn’t happen, now was she?”
“Dad, what will ye say such things about Megan for? She was tellin’ of Harry James’s funeral.”
“Nance, she’s a bell for every tooth, an’ they jingle, jingle, jingle, jingle.”
Nance’s eyes filled.
“Och, mam, I’m just teasin’ ye; an’ ye were thinkin’ of me the while, now weren’t ye?”