When we were packing up to leave Edenburn, my wife was watching him fill two casks, one with home-made jam, the other with china.
Called away to luncheon, she found on her return both casks securely nailed down.
'Oh, you should not have done that, Bill,' she said, 'for now we shan't know which contains which.'
'I thought of that, ma'am,' replies Bill, 'so I have written S for chiney on the one, and G for jam on the other.'
Bill's orthography was obviously original.
So was the drive he took with a certain cheery guest of mine one Sabbath morning.
The said guest desired more refreshment than he was likely to get at that early hour at Edenburn, so he drove into Tralee, ostensibly to church, and told Bill to have the car round at the club at one.
'Well,' narrated Bill afterwards, 'out came the Captain from the club, having a few drinks taken, and up he got on the car with my help, but at the corner of Denny Street he pulled up at the whisky store, and said we must drink the luck of the road. Well we drank the luck at every house on the way out of the town, and presently in the road down came the mare, pitching the Captain over the hedge, and marking her own knees, as well as breaking the shaft. At last we all got home somehow, and there in the yard was the master, looking us all three up and down as though he were going to commit us all from the Bench. Then a twinkle came into his eye, and he said as mild as a dove to the Captain, "I see by the look of her knees you've been taking the mare to say her prayers."'