“O, Brian,” said she, “that’s a terrible man, that man at the fire. He has cut up and spylte your eligant cake, tellin’ me a story;” and here she told her husband how it happened.
“Well, Molly, accidents can’t be helped; but, indeed, faith, I’m very hungry. What else is there in the house?”
“Nothing, agrah, nothing. Them lads eat every bit that we had at dinner—howld on, there’s the cabbage that was boilt with the bacon, and maybe some av the bacon itself.”
“O, that’s right. Is that man in bed?”
“O, I’m sure he is.”
“Well, where’s the bacon and cabbage?”
“In the skillet, near the settle-bed.”
It was rather dark in the room; however, he found the right skillet, which Mehicle watched him putting down, determined, however, to cheat him of it if he could. As soon as Mr. Mungavan had put down the cabbage, he retired to bed, and Mehicle hopped up.
Seeing another skillet near him, he examined it, and, O, joy! it was half full of tar.
In one minute the bacon and cabbage had vanished down his own throat, and in another the tar was beginning to hiss slightly in the skillet on the fire. Just then, said Brian to Molly, “Don’t you think, Molly, agrah, but the cabbage is near bein’ warm enough?”