Shawn Gow swung the bottle round his head and flung it with all his strength against the hob. The whole fireplace was for a moment one blaze of light.
“The Divil was in id,” says the smith, smiling grimly; “an’ there he’s off in a flash of fire. I’m done wid him, any way.”
“Well, I wish you a happy Christmas, Nancy,” said Sally.
“I wish you the same, Sally, an’ a great many av ’em. I suppose you’re goin’ to first Mass? Shawn and me’ll wait for second.”
Sally took her leave of this remarkable couple, and proceeded on her way to the village. She met Tim Croak and his wife, Betty, who were also going to Mass. After the usual interchange of greetings, Betty surveyed Sally from head to foot with a look of delighted wonder.
“Look at her, Tim,” she exclaimed, “an’ isn’t she as young an’ as hearty as ever? Bad ’cess to me but you’re the same Sally that danced wid the master at my weddin’, next Thursday fortnight ’ll be eleven years.”
“Begob, you’re a great woman,” says Tim.
Sally Cavanagh changed the subject by describing the scene she had witnessed at the blacksmith’s.
“But, Tim,” said she, after finishing the story, “how did the dispute about the blackbird come first? I heard something about it, but I forget it.”
“I’ll tell you that, then,” said Tim. “Begob, ay,” he exclaimed abruptly, after thinking for a moment; “twas this day seven years, for all the world—the year o’ the hard frost. Shawn Gow set a crib in his haggart the evenin’ afore, and when he went out in the mornin’ he had a hen blackbird. He put the goulogue[22] on her nick, and tuck her in his hand; an’ wud one smulluck av his finger knocked the life out av her; he walked in an’ threw the blackbird on the table.