“Can’t you hold your tongues and speak quietly now—one at a time like gentlemen and ladies?” she said. “Come in to your father and tell him all about it.”
The Twins each took one of her hands,
and they all three hurried into the house. They went into the kitchen. Their Father was sitting by the chimney, with his feet up, smoking his pipe when they came in. He brought his feet to the floor with a thump, and sat up straight in his chair.
“Where have you been, you Spalpeens?” he said. “It’s nine o’clock this instant minute.”
The Twins both began again to talk. Their Mother flew about the kitchen to get them a bite of supper.
“Come now,” said the Father, “I can’t hear myself at all with the noise of you. Do you tell the tale, Larry.”
Then Larry told them about the cakeen, and the silk hat, and Michael Malone, and the Tinkers, while his Mother said, “The Saints preserve us!” every few words, and Eileen interrupted to tell how brave Larry had been—“just like the good son in Grannie Malone’s tale, for all the world.”
But when they came to the geese part of the story, the Father said, “Blathers,” and got up and hurried out to the place where the fowls were kept, in the yard behind the house.
In a few minutes he came in again. “The geese are gone,” he said, “and that’s the truth or I can’t speak it!”