‘I’ll warrant your name is Mollychreest?’ says she.
‘You are wrong, though,’ says he.
‘Are you going by the name of Mollyvoirrey?’ says she.
‘’Deed I am not,’ says he.
‘Maybe your name is Mollyvartin?’ says she.
‘And, maybe, it’s not at all,’ says he.
‘They’re saying,’ says she, ‘that there was only seven families living on the islan’ at one time, and their names all began with “Molly”; and so,’ says she, ‘if you are not a Mollycharaine, you are none of the rael, oul’ Manx ones, at all.’
‘I am not a Mollycharaine,’ says he. ‘Now, be careful, woman; next guess is your last.’
At that she pretended to be frightened, and says she, slowly, pointing her finger at him:
‘S’lesh hene yn ollan, as lesh my hene y snaie,