“They’ll be keenin’, jewel!” she cried to Mary.
“I wouldn’t have it!” declared Mrs. Clancy, the grocer’s wife. “What’ll people t’ink?”
The O’Hara sisters came bobbing into the room in queer-looking quilted bonnets that hid their faces, and triangularly folded shawls pulled tightly about their narrow shoulders. Espying Mary, they threw themselves upon her with lamentations.
“Mary, darlin’,” cried Bridget, “it’s a heart full av trouble yez have this noight!”
“God be good till yez, allanna!” exclaimed Ellen, “an’ kape death from uz all for many a day!”
Then they crouched down beside the ice box, betraying every symptom of great grief.
“Divil a tear did I see in her eyes,” muttered Ellen.
“She’s vexed at not gittin’ the bit av money,” said her sister in the same low tone.
Then they began muttering prayers in the Irish tongue; the others watched them, silently, from time to time exchanging intelligent nods. Then the sisters began swaying their bodies back and forth in unison, and the other old woman rose to her feet.
“It’s comin’,” said she, “divil choke thim!”