Mind that ye keep it, this holy even.
Open your door and greet ye the stranger,
For ye mind that the wee Lord had naught but a manger.
Mhuire as truagh!
“Feed ye the hungry and rest ye the weary,
This ye must do for the sake of Our Mary.
’Tis well that ye mind—ye who sit by the fire—
That the Lord He was born in a dark and cold byre.
Mhuire as truagh!”
Teig put his fingers deep in his ears. “A million murdthering curses on them that won’t let me be! Can’t a man try to keep what is his without bein’ pesthered by them that has only idled and wasted their days?”