“‘Good evenin’, ladies all,” says Hannah, marchin’ in wi’ some kind of a calico affair, made like a shroud wi’ frills on it, hangin’ on her, ‘Good evenin’, ladies,’ says she, an’ wi’ her elbow cocked up in the air as if she was strivin’ to scrape it against the ceilin’, goes from one to another an’ shakes hands. ‘It’s a very pleasant afternoon’ (them was the words), says she, makin’ for a chair beside the wee table; ‘an’ I’m very pleased to see ye all,’ says she.
“‘Aw, an’ the same here,’ says Mary Dolan, in her free way, ‘the same here; an’ ojus nice ye look in that sack of a calico dress, so ye do,’ says Mary, wi’ a wink at Jane Flaherty. ‘But it’s meself’d feel obliged to ye if so be ye’d open the windy an’ give us a mouthful o’ fresh air,’ says Mary.
“An’ Hannah sits down in her shroud wi’ the frills on it, an’ smiles, an’ says she, ‘I’m rather delicate’ (them were the words) ‘this afternoon, Mrs. Dolan, an’ afeered o’ catchin’ cold; an’, forby that,’ says she, ‘the dust is so injurious for the parlour.’
“‘Aw, just so,’ answers Mary, ‘just so. Sure, I wouldn’t for worlds have ye spoil your parlour for the likes of us. But I’ll ax your leave, Mrs. Breen, seein’ ye don’t ax me yourself, to give me own health a chance,’ says she, ‘be throwin’ this big shawl off me shoulders.’
“‘But it’s afternoon tay, Mrs. Dolan,’ answers Hannah, in her cool way; ‘an’ it’s not fashionable at afternoon tay for ladies to remove—’
“‘Then afternoon tay be danged,’ says Mary, an’ throws the shawl off her across the back of her chair; ‘an’ it’s meself’ll not swelter for all the fashions in the world,’ says she, an’ pushes her bonnet back an’ lets it hang be the strings down her back. ‘Aw, that’s great,’ says she, wi’ a big sigh; an’ at that off goes Jane’s shawl an’ bonnet, an’ off goes Sally’s; an’ there the three o’ them sits, wi’ Hannah lookin’ at them disgusted as an ass at a field of thistles over a gate.... Aw, glory be,” cried Anne.
“Aw, me bould Anne,” cried Judy; “me brave girl.”
“Well, dears, Hannah sits her down, puts her elbow on a corner o’ the ace o’ diamonds, rests her cheek on her hand, an’ goes on talking about this and that. She hoped Mrs. Flaherty, an’ Mrs. Dolan, an’ Mrs. Hogan were well an’ prosperous; she hoped the crops were turnin’ out well; she hoped all the childer were in the best o’ good health. Aw, like the Queen o’ Connaught Hannah talked, an’ smiled, an’ aired herself an’ her beautiful English, but sorrow a move did she make to shift her elbow off the wee table-cloth, an’ divil a sign or smell o’ tay was there to be seen. Aw, not a one. Ten minutes went, an’ twenty, an’ half an hour; an’ at that, up Mary Dolan stretched her arms, gives a powerful big yawn, an’, says she, ‘Och, dear Lord,’ says she, ‘dear Lord, but the throat’s dry in me! Och, och,’ says she—an’ with the hint up gets Hannah in her frilled shroud, crosses the calf-skin, opens the door, an’ calls for Kitty. ‘Yis, Mrs. Breen,’ answers Kitty from the Kitchen. ‘Serve tay,’ calls Hannah; then closes the door an’ steps back to her chair by the wee table.
“In about ten minutes, here comes me darlint Kitty, boots an’ stockin’s an’ all; carries the taypot on a plate over to the table, an’ plants it down slap in the middle o’ the ace o’ diamonds. Up jumps Hannah wi’ a bounce.
“‘What are you doin’ Kitty?’ says she, with a snap of her jaw, an’ lifts the taypot, an’ glares at the black ring it had made on her brand new cloth. ‘D’ye see what you’ve done?’ says she, pointin’ her finger, ‘stand back and mend your manners, ye ignorant little baggage, ye!’—