"What I done is not chatin'," said Andy. "I had a blessed example for it."
"Oh! do you hear this!" shouted Owny, nearly provoked to take the worth of his money out of Andy's ribs.
"Yes, I say a blessed example," said Andy. "Sure, didn't the blessed Saint Peter build his church upon a rock, and why shouldn't I build my cock o' hay on a rock?"
Owny, with all his rage, could not help laughing at the ridiculous conceit. "By this and that, Andy," said he, "you're always sayin' or doin' the quarest things in the counthry, bad cess to you!" So he laid his whip upon his little hack instead of Andy, and galloped off.
Andy went over the next day to the neighbouring town, where Owny Doyle kept a little inn and a couple of post-chaises (such as they were), and expressed much sorrow that Owny had been deceived by the appearance of the hay; "but I'll pay you the differ out o' my wages, Misther Doyle—in throth I will—that is, whenever I have any wages to get: for the Squire turned me off, you see, and I'm out of place at this present."
"Oh, never mind it," said Owny. "Sure, it was the widow woman got the money, and I don't begrudge it; and now that it's all past and gone, I forgive you. But tell me, Andy, what put such a quare thing into your head?"
"Why, you see," said Andy, "I didn't like the poor mother's pride should be let down in the eyes o' the neighbours; and so I made the weeshy bit o' hay look as dacent as I could—but, at the same time, I wouldn't chate any one for the world, Misther Doyle."
"Throth, I b'lieve you wouldn't, Andy; but, 'pon my sowl, the next time I go buy hay, I'll take care that Saint Pether hasn't any hand in it."
Owny turned on his heel, and was walking away with that air of satisfaction which men so commonly assume after fancying they have said a good thing, when Andy interrupted his retreat by an interjectional "Misther Doyle?"
"Well," said Owny, looking over his shoulder.