“There was no time for axin', mother—'t was done in a hurry, and I can't help it, so give us your blessing at once.”
“Tell me who is she, before I give you my blessin'?”
“Shan More's sister, ma'am.”
“What!” exclaimed the widow, staggering back some paces—“Shan More's sisther, did you say—Bridget rhua [Footnote: Red-haired Bridget.] is it?”
“Yis, ma'am.”
“Oh, wirrasthru!—plillelew!—millia murther!” shouted the mother, tearing her cap off her head,—“Oh blessed Vargin, holy St. Dominick, Pether an' Paul the 'possel, what'll I do?—Oh, patther an' ave—you dirty bosthoon—blessed angels and holy marthyrs!—kneelin' there in the middle o' the flure as if nothing happened—look down on me this day, a poor vartuous dissolute woman!—Oh, you disgrace to me and all belonging to you,—and is it the impidence to ask my blessin' you have, when it's a whippin' at the cart's tail you ought to get, you shameless scapegrace?”
She then went wringing her hands, and throwing them upwards in appeals to Heaven, while Andy still kept kneeling in the middle of the cabin, lost in wonder.
The widow ran to the door and called Oonah in.
“Who do you think that blackguard is marri'd to?” said the widow.
“Married!” exclaimed Oonah, growing pale.