Will you hould your tongue.
To Mrs. Granahan.
When he might ha' been lookin after the cattle or the pigs or somethin else, where is he? Up in the loft playin that damnation fiddle o' his. Night an mornin' he's at it.
Mrs. Granahan.
Deed and he's doin badly by it and no mistake. He's not been worth a ha' penny till us, this last six months. I think you do right just to stop him.
Samuel James.
I heerd he won three poun' at the Feis last Monday at Newcastle.
William John Granahan.
There you are. And he never offered me one ha'penny o' it. Me that brought him up and raired and fed him. Them that plays the fiddle comes to no good end, I can tell ye.