bar maybe an odd wan or two he would mak' up to.
Jane.
I think you do wrong to keep that fiddle hanging up before his eyes, when he has promised never to play again.
Mrs. Granahan.
Och blatherations. I nivir heerd the like o' the sort o' talk people goes on wi' nowadays. Do ye think my son bes only an ould ba cryin' for a toy? Deed now I don't think he worries his-self much about it.
Jane.
Aside.
Poor Robbie.
To Mrs. Granahan.
Robbie's a poor hand at the farming, Mrs. Granahan.