{BIDDY runs and pulls the poker hastily from under the sash, which suddenly falls, and every pane of glass falls out and breaks.
Christy. Murder! and no glazier!
Miss G. Then Biddy, of all girls, alive or dead, you’re the awk’ardest, vulgarest, unluckiest to touch any thing at all!
Biddy. (picking up the glass) I can’t think what’s come to the glass, that makes it break so asy the day! Sure I done it a hundred times the same, and it never broke wid me afore.
Christy. Well! stick up a petticoat, or something of the kind, and any way lend me hould of the poker; for, in lieu of a kay, that’s the only frind in need.
{Exit CHRISTY with the poker.
Miss G. There, Biddy, that will do—any how.—Just shut down the lid, can’t ye? and find me my other shoe. Biddy—then, lave that,—come out o’ that, do girl, and see the bed!—run there, turn it up just any way;—and Biddy, run here,—stick me this tortise comb in the back of my head—oh! (screams and starts away from BIDDY.) You ran it fairly into my brain, you did! you’re the grossest! heavy handiest!—fit only to wait on Sheelah na Ghirah, or the like.—(Turns away from BIDDY with an air of utter contempt.) But I’ll go and resave the major properly.—(Turns back as she is going, and says to BIDDY) Biddy, settle all here, can’t ye?—Turn up the bed, and sweep the glass and dust in the dust corner, for it’s here I’m bringing him to dinner,—so settle up all in a minute, do you mind me, Biddy! for your life!
{Exit Miss GALLAGHER.
BIDDY, alone—(speaking while she puts the things in the room in order.)
Settle up all in a minute!—asy said!—and for my life too!—Why, then, there’s not a greater slave than myself in all Connaught, or the three kingdoms—from the time I get up in the morning, and that’s afore the flight of night, till I get to my bed again at night, and that’s never afore one in the morning! But I wouldn’t value all one pin’s pint, if it was kind and civil she was to me. But after I strive, and strive to the utmost, and beyand—(sighs deeply) and when I found the innions, and took the apple-pie off her hands, and settled her behind, and all to the best of my poor ability for her, after, to go and call me Sheelah na Ghirah! though I don’t rightly know who that Sheelah na Ghirah was from Adam—but still it’s the bad language I get, goes to my heart. Oh, if it had but plased Heaven to have cast me my lot in the sarvice of a raal jantleman or lady instead of the likes of these! Now, I’d rather be a dog in his honour’s or her honour’s house than lie under the tongue, of Miss Gallagher, as I do—to say nothing of ould Christy.