“Come, neighbours,” said Corny, “we must dhrink the good woman’s health before we ate, especially as it’s the first time, any how.”
“To be sure they will, achora, an’ why not? An’ if it’s the first time, Corny, it won’t be the—— Musha! you’re welcome, Mrs ——! an’ jist in time too”—this she said, addressing his mother-in-law, who then entered. “Look at this swaddy, Mrs ——; my soul to happiness, but he’s fit to be the son of a lord. Eh, a pet? Where was my darlin’? Corny, let me dip my finger in the whisky till I rub his gums wid it. That’s my bully! Oh, the heavens love it, see how it puts the little mouth about lookin’ for it agin. Throth you’ll have the spunk in you yet, acushla, an’ it’s a credit to the Kehos you’ll be, if you’re spared, as you will, plaise the heavens!”
“Well, Corny,” said one of the gossips, “here’s a speedy uprise an’ a sudden recovery to the good woman, an’ the little sthranger’s health, an’ God bless the baker that gives thirteen to the dozen, any how!”
“Ay, ay, Paddy Rafferty, you’ll have your joke any way; an’, throth, you’re welcome to it, Paddy; if you weren’t, it isn’t standin’ for young Corny you’d be to-day.”
“Thrue enough,” said Rose, “an’, by the dickens, Paddy isn’t the boy to be long under an obligation to any one. Eh, Paddy, did I help you there, avick? Aisy, childre; you’ll smother my son if you crush about him that way.” This was addressed to some of the youngsters, who were pressing round to look at and touch the infant.
“It won’t be my fault if I do, Rose,” said Paddy, slyly eyeing Peggy Betagh, then betrothed to him, who sat opposite, her dark eyes flashing with repressed humour and affection. Deafness, however, is sometimes a very convenient malady to young ladies, for Peggy immediately commenced a series of playful attentions to the unconscious infant, which were just sufficient to excuse her from noticing this allusion to their marriage. Rose looked at her, then nodded comically to Paddy, shutting both her eyes by way of a wink, adding aloud, “Throth you’ll be the happy boy, Paddy; an’ woe betide you if you aren’t the sweetest end of a honeycomb to her. Take care an’ don’t bring me upon you. Well, Peggy, never mind, alanna; who has a betther right to his joke than the dacent boy that’s—aisy, childre: saints above! but ye’ll smother the child, so you will.—Where did I get him, Dinney? sure I brought him as a present to Mrs Keho; I never come but I bring a purty little babby along wid me—than the dacent boy, dear, that’s soon to be your lovin’ husband? Arrah, take your glass, acushla; the sorrabarm it’ll do you.”
“Bedad, I’m afeard, Mrs Moan. What if it ’ud get into my head, an’ me’s to stand for my little godson? No, bad scran to me if I could—faix, a glass ’ud be too many for me.”
“It’s not more than half tilled, dear; but there’s sense in what the girl says, Dandy, so don’t press it an her.”
In the brief space allotted to us we could not possibly give any thing like a full and correct picture of the happiness and hilarity which prevailed at the breakfast in question. When it was over, they all prepared to go to the parish chapel, which was distant at least a couple of miles, the midwife staying at home to see that all the necessary preparations were made for dinner. As they were departing, Rose took the Dandy aside, and addressed him thus:
“Now, Dandy, when you see the priest, tell him that it is your wish, above all things, ‘that he should christen it against the fairies.’ If you say that, it’s enough. And, Peggy, achora, come here. You’re not carryin’ that child right, alanna; but you’ll know betther yet, plaise goodness. No, avillish, don’t keep its little head so closely covered wid your cloak; the day’s a burnin’ day, glory be to God, an’ the Lord guard my child; sure the least thing in the world, where there’s too much hait, ’ud smother my darlin’. Keep its head out farther, and just shade its little face that way from the sun. Och, will I ever forget the Sunday whin poor Molly M’Guigan wint to take Pat Feasthalagh’s child from under her cloak to be christened, the poor infant was a corpse; an’ only that the Lord put it into my head to have it privately christened, the father an’ mother’s hearts would break. Glory be to God! Mrs Duggan, if the child gets cross, dear, or misses any thing, act the mother by him, the little man. Eh, alanna! where was it? Where was my duck o’ diamonds—my little Con Roe? My own sweety little ace o’ hearts—eh, alanna! Well, God keep it, till I see it again, the jewel!”