The song was received enthusiastically. "Your health and song, lad," said Robert Selkirk, the principal builder, who came down the ladder and joined them at that moment.
"Thank you, now it's my call," said Ruby. "I call upon Ned O'Connor for a song."
"Or a speech," cried Forsyth.
"A spaitch is it?" said O'Connor, with a look of deep modesty. "Sure, I never made a spaitch in me life, except when I axed Mrs. O'Connor to marry me, an' I never finished that spaitch, for I only got the length of 'Och! darlint', when she cut me short in the middle with 'Sure, you may have me, Ned, and welcome!'"
"Shame, shame!" said Dove, "to say that of your wife."
"Shame to yersilf," cried O'Connor indignantly. "Ain't I payin' the good woman a compliment, when I say that she had pity on me bashfulness, and came to me help when I was in difficulty?"
"Quite right, O'Connor; but let's have a song if you won't speak."
"Would ye thank a cracked tay-kittle for a song?" said Ned.
"Certainly not," replied Peter Logan, who was apt to take things too literally.
"Then don't ax me for wan," said the Irishman, "but I'll do this for ye, messmates: I'll read ye the last letter I got from the mistress, just to show ye that her price is beyond all calkerlation."