“Well,” said Conal, “if I were lying in the middle of the road, and there was a regiment of troopers come galloping down it, I’d sooner let them ride over me than take the bother of getting up and going to the one side.”
“Well, well,” says the Judge, says he, “you are a lazy man surely, and I doubt if Donal or Taig can be as lazy as that.”
“Oh, faith,” says Donal, “I’m just every bit as lazy.”
“Are you ?” says the Judge. “How lazy are you?”
“Well,” said Donal, “if I was sitting right close to a big fire, and you piled on it all the turf in a townland and all the wood in a barony, sooner than have to move I’d sit there till the boiling marrow would run out of my bones.”
“Well,” says the Judge, “you’re a pretty lazy man, Donal, and I doubt if Taig is as lazy as either of you.”
“Indeed, then,” says Taig, “I’m every bit as lazy.”
“How can that be ?” says the Judge.
“Well,” says Taig, “if I was lying on the broad of my back in the middle of the floor and looking up at the rafters, and if soot drops were falling as thick as hailstones from the rafters into my open eyes, I would let them drop there for the length of the lee-long day sooner than take the bother of closing the eyes.”