CHAPTER XXX
The news of Andy's wedding, so strange in itself, and being celebrated before so many, spread over the country like wildfire, and made the talk of half the barony for the next day, and the question, “Arrah, did you hear of the wondherful wedding?” was asked in high-road and by-road,—and scarcely a boreen whose hedges had not borne witness to this startling matrimonial intelligence. The story, like all other stories, of course got twisted into various strange shapes, and fanciful exaggerations became grafted on the original stem, sufficiently grotesque in itself; and one of the versions set forth how old Jack Dwyer, the more to vex Casey, had given his daughter the greatest fortune that ever had been heard of in the country.
Now one of the open-eared people who had caught hold of the story by this end happened to meet Andy's mother, and, with a congratulatory grin, began with “The top o' the mornin' to you, Mrs. Rooney, and sure I wish you joy.”
“Och hone, and for why, dear?” answered Mrs. Rooney, “sure, it's nothin' but trouble and care I have, poor and in want, like me.”
“But sure you'll never be in want any more.”
“Arrah, who towld you so, agra?”
“Sure the boy will take care of you now, won't he?”
“What boy?”