“Whist, woman, d’ye think I’m a fool? ’Tis lilies th’ are annyways, an’ time’ll tell if they’re orange or not, but faith, if th’are, I won’t shtand it.’ I’ll complain to the Boord.”
“Sure the Boord’ll be on her side, man. Don’t yeh know the backin’ she has? They’ll say ‘Why shouldn’t she have orange lilies if she likes?’”
“Ah, Mary, ’tis too sinsible y’are inthirely. Have ye no sperrit, woman alive, to let her ride rough-shod over uz this way? ‘Make a mouse o’ yerself an’ the cat’ll ate ye,’ ‘s a thrue saying. Sure, Saint Pether himself cuddn’t shtand it, an’ be the piper that played before Moses, I won’t!”
“Ye misfortunit man, don’t be dhrawin’ down ructions on yer head. Haven’t yeh childer to think about? An’ don’t be throublin’ yerself over what she does. ’Tis plazin’ her y’are whin she sees y’re mad. Take no notice, man, an’ p’raps she’ll shtop.”
“The divil fly away wid her for a bitther ould sarpint. The vinom’s in her, sure enough. Why should I put up wid her, I’d like to know?”
“Ah, keep yer tongue between yer teeth, Jim. ’Tis too onprudent y’are. Not a worrd ye dhrop but is brought back to her be some wan. Have sinse, man. You’ll go sayin’ that to Joe Kelly, an’ he’ll have it over the town in no time, an’ some wan’ll carry it to her.”
“An’ do ye think I care a thrawneen[1] for the likes ov her? Faith, not a pin. If you got yer way, Mary, ye’d have me like the man that was hanged for sayin’ nothin’. Sure, I never did a hand’s turn agin her, an’ ’tis a low, mane thrick ov her to go settin’ orange lilies over foreninst me, an’ she knowin’ me opinions.”
“Faith, I’ll not say it wasn’t, Jim, if they are orange lilies; but sure, ye don’t know rightly yet what th’are, an’ in God’s name keep quite till you do.”
The days went by. The lilies grew taller and taller. They budded, they bloomed, and, sure enough, Jim had been in the right—orange lilies they proved to be.