“Gev him half his property, I tell you, and he'll have all when the owld man's dead.”
“Oh, more power to you, Andy!” cried his mother in delight: “it's you that is the boy, and the best child that ever was! Half his property, you tell me, Misther Lavery?” added she, getting distant and polite the moment she found herself mother to a rich man, and curtailing her familiarity with a poor one like Lavery.
“Yes, ma'am,” said Lavery, touching his hat, “and the whole of it when the owld man dies.”
“Then indeed I wish him a happy relase!” [Footnote: A “happy release” is the Irish phrase for departing this life] said Mrs. Rooney, piously—“not that I owe the man any spite—but sure he'd be no loss—and it's a good wish to any one, sure, to wish them in heaven. Good mornin', Misther Lavery,” said Mrs. Rooney, with a patronising smile, and “going the road with a dignified air.”
Mick Lavery looked after her with mingled wonder and indignation. “Bad luck to you, you owld sthrap!” he muttered between his teeth. “How consaited you are, all of a sudden—by Jakers, I'm sorry I towld you—cock you up, indeed—put a beggar on horseback to be sure—humph!—the devil cut the tongue out o' me if ever I give any one good news again. I've a mind to turn back and tell Tim Dooling his horse is in the pound.”
Mrs. Rooney continued her dignified pace as long as she was in sight of Lavery, but the moment an angle of the road screened her from his observation, off she set, running as hard as she could, to embrace her darling Andy, and realise with her own eyes and ears all the good news she had heard. She puffed out by the way many set phrases about the goodness of Providence, and arranged at the same time sundry fine speeches to make to the bride; so that the old lady's piety and flattery ran a strange couple together along with herself; while mixed up with her prayers and her blarney, were certain speculations about Jack Dwyer—as to how long he could live—and how much he might leave.
It was in this frame of mind she reached the hill which commanded a view of the three-cornered field and the snug cottage, and down she rushed to embrace her darling Andy and his gentle bride. Puffing and blowing like a porpoise, bang she went into the cottage, and Matty being the first person she met, she flung herself upon her, and covered her with embraces and blessings.
Matty, being taken by surprise, was some time before she could shake off the old beldame's hateful caresses; but at last getting free and tucking up her hair, which her imaginary mother-in-law had clawed about her ears, she exclaimed in no very gentle tones—
“Arrah, good woman, who axed for your company—who are you at all?”
“Your mother-in-law, jewel!” cried the Widow Rooney, making another open-armed rush at her beloved daughter-in-law; but Matty received the widow's protruding mouth on her clenched fist instead of her lips, and the old woman's nose coming in for a share of Matty's knuckles, a ruby stream spurted forth, while all the colours of the rainbow danced before Mrs. Rooney's eyes as she reeled backward on the floor.