“My name's Rooney, sir?”
“There's plenty bad o' the name,” was the civil rejoinder.
“And my son's in Squire O'Grady's sarvice, sir.”
“Oh—you're the mother of the beauty we call Handy, eh?”
“Yis, sir.”
“Well, he left the sarvice yistherday.”
“Is it lost the place?”
“Yis.”
“Oh dear! Ah, sir, let me up to the house and spake to his honour, and maybe he'll take back the boy.”
“He doesn't want any more servants at all—for he's dead.”