“Faix, it’s little ould Joyce wud think av me feet; it’s me back he’d be lukkin for, an’ a slip av a stick. Sorra a step I’ll go.”
“Miss Mary must get her parcel anyhow.”
“Let her sind for it, thin, av she’s in sich a hurry.”
“An’ so she did. Get a lind av a horse, Lanty.”
“Sorra a horse there’s in the place, barrin’ an ass.”
“Wirra! wirra! She’ll take the tatch off the roof; the blood of the Joyces is cruel hot.”
“Hot or cowld, I’m not goin’ three mile acrass the bogs—-”
“You could coax it into two be manes av a sup, Lanty.”
“Sorra a coax, thin. Coax it yerself, sence yer so onaisy.”
“What’s the row?” asked Percy Bingham from the window.