"Oh, murdher alive, don't ax me," replied Barney, rubbing his bruises, "it's my belief that there never was sich a cantankerous ould chicken sence the world was hatched. It's a composin' draft that he's schreechin' for now, as av a gallion of punch, strong enough to slide on, wasn't composin'."
In due time, he had his "composin' draft," which, as it contained a pretty considerable dose of laudanum, sufficed, together with his other potations, to lull the pain somewhat, and give him comparative quiet; this was a famous opportunity for Mrs. Bulworthy, who immediately proceeded to "improve" it.
"Now, Pether, dear," said she, with an attempt to modulate her saw-cutting voice into something approaching to tenderness, which was a failure. "Oh! think upon the situation of your soul, and look over one of these comforting works."
Peter groaned inwardly, but said nothing.
"Grace," she went on, "is never denied, even to the most hardenedest sinner."
Peter threw his head back and closed his eyes, in the forlorn hope that she would respect his simulated slumber; but she was not a woman to respect anything, when her "vocation" was strong on her.
"It's criminal in you, Peter," she shouted, "to neglect your spiritual state; suppose you were to die, and it's my belief you will, for you're looking dreadful, what a misery it would be to me; I'd never forgive myself; oh! Pether, Pether, do read this true and beautiful description of the place of torment you're a blindly plunging your sowl into."
This was too much for the already tortured sinner. "Get out!" he roared. "Don't bother; there's a time for all things, you indiscreet and unnatural apostle of discomfortableness, what do you worry me for now, when you see me enjoyin' such a multiplication of bodily sufferings?"
"Because," said she, coolly; "it's the only time that I can hope to make an impression upon your hardened heart; it's my duty, not only as your wife, but as a member of the society for the evangelizing the home heathen; of which heathen, my dear, I have the word of my pious associates, you are an outrageous example; therefore, it is my mission to do all I can to bring about your regeneration."
"Murdher, murdher! if I could only use my feet," groaned Bulworthy, with the suppressed anger boiling in his face.