“The Lord grant them safe out of it, poor boys!”
“I brought them up here to treat them, poor fellows; an’ Ellish, avourneen, you must credit me for whatsomever we may have. The thruth is, you see, that when we left home none of us had any notion of dhrinkin’, or I’d a put a something in my pocket, so that I’m taken at an average.—Bud-an’-age—how is little Dan? Sowl, Ellish, that goor-soon, when he grows up, will be a credit to you. I don’t think there’s a finer child in Europe of his age, so there isn’t.”
“Indeed, he’s a good child, Condy. But, Condy, avick, about givin’ credit:—by thim five crasses, if I could give score to any boy in the parish, it ud be to yourself. It was only last night that I made a promise against doin’ sich a thing for man or mortual. We’re a’most broken an’ harrish’d out o’ house an’ home by it; an’ what’s more, Condy, we intend to give up the business. The landlord’s at us every day for his rint, an’ we owe for the two last kegs we got, but hasn’t a rap to meet aither o’ thim; an’ enough due to us if we could get it together: an’ whisper, Condy, atween ourselves, that’s what ails Pether, although he doesn’t wish to let an to any one about it.”
“Well, but you know I’m safe, Ellish?”
“I know you are, avourneen, as the bank itself; an’ should have what you want wid a heart an’ a half, only for the promise I made an my two knees last night aginst givin’ credit to man or woman. Why the dickens didn’t you come yistherday?”
“Didn’t I tell you, woman alive, that it was by accident, an’ that I wished to sarve the house, that we came at all. Come, come, Ellish; don’t disgrace me afore my sisther’s bachelor an’ the sthrange boys that’s to the fore. By this staff in my hand, I wouldn’t for the best cow in our byre be put to the blush afore thim; an’ besides, there’s a cleeveenship atween your family an’ ours.”
“Condy, avourneen, say no more: if you were fed from the same breast wid me, I couldn’t, nor wouldn’t break my promise. I wouldn’t have the sin of it an me for the wealth o’ the three kingdoms.”
“Bedad, you’re a quare woman; an’ only that my regard for you is great entirely, we would be two, Ellish; but I know you’re dacent still.”
He then left her, and joined his friends in the little room that was appropriated for drinking, where, with a great deal of mirth, he related the failure of the plan they had formed for outwitting Peter and Ellish.
“Boys,” said he, “she’s too many for us! St. Pether himself wouldn’t make a hand of her. Faix, she’s a cute one. I palavered her at the rate of a hunt, an’ she ped me back in my own coin, wid dacent intherest—but no whisky!—Now to take a rise out o’ Pether. Jist sit where yees are, till I come back.”