"Beyant at Tony Kilroy's."
"Ay, ay; Tony always had a pet acre on the side of the hill toward the sun. He has the best bit of land in the parish."
"You may say that, Micky, with your own purty mouth. I led his mehil, come this hollintide will be three years; an' there wasn't a man of forty of us but turned out eight stone of cup off every ten yards a a' four-split ridge. Devil a the like of them I ever seen afore or since."
"Lumpers you mane, Andy; wasn't I there?"
"Is it you, Darby? no, nor the sorra take the foot; we all know where you were that same year."
"Down in the lower part of Cavan, Phil. In throth, it wasn't cup potatoes was throublin' him that time; but cups and saucers. He dhrank a power of tay that harvest, boys."
Here there was another loud laugh, and the women with the handkerchiefs upon their heads looked up again.
"Well, I brought her home dacent, boys; an' what can ye say to her?"
"Be gor, nothing, Darby avic, but that she's an iligant purty crathur, and a credit to them that owns her, an' them that reared her."
"The sorra word of lie in that," echoed every man in the mehil.