“‘Oh, Shawn,’ siz Nancy, ‘you’re afther ketchin’ a fine thrish.’ Nancy tuck the bird in her hand an’ began rubbin’ the feathers on her breast. ‘A fine thrish,’ siz Nancy.
“‘’Tisn’t a thrish, but a blackbird,’ siz Shawn.
“‘Wisha, in throth, Shawn,’ siz Nancy, ‘’tis a thrish; do you want to take the sight o’ my eyes from me?’
“‘I tell you ’tis a blackbird,’ siz he.
“‘Indeed, then, it isn’t, but a thrish,’ siz she.
“Anyway one word borrowed another, an’ the end av it was, Shawn flailed at her an’ gev her the father av a batin’.
“The Christmas Day afther, Nancy opened the door an’ looked out.
“‘God be wud this day twelve months,’ siz she, ‘do you remimber the fine thrish you caught in the crib?’
“’Twas a blackbird,’ siz Shawn.
“‘Whisht, now, Shawn, ’twas a thrish,’ siz Nancy.