“Bartle,” said Connor, “what's the news?”
“Divil a word worth telling; at laste that I can hear.”
“I mane from Bodagh Buie's.”
Bartle stared at him; “Bodagh Buie's!—what do I know about Bodagh Buie? are you ravin'?”
“Bartle,” said Connor, smiling, “my father and mother knows all about it—an' about your going to Una with the letter. I have no secrets from them.”
“Hoot toot! That's a horse of another color; but you wouldn't have me, widout knowin' as much, to go to betray trust. In the mane time, I may as well finish my supper before I begin to tell you what-som-ever I happen to know about it.”
Another deep groan from Fardorougha followed the last observation.
At length the work of demolition ceased, and after Honor had put past the empty dish, Bartle, having wiped his mouth, and uttered a hiccup or two, thus commenced to dole out his intelligence:—
“Whin I wint to the Bodagh's,” said Bartle, “it was wid great schamin' an' throuble I got a sight of Miss Una at all, in regard of —(hiccup)—in regard of her not knowin' that there was any sich message for her—(hiccup). But happenin' to know Sally Laffan, I made bould to go into the kitchen to ax, you know, how was her aunt's family up in Skelgy, when who should I find before me in it but Sally an' Miss Una—(hiccup). (Saver of earth this night! from Fardorougha.) Of coorse I shook hands wid her—wid Sally, I mane; an', 'Sally,' says I, 'I was sent in wid a message from the masther to you; he's in the haggard an' wants you.' So, begad, on—-(hiccup) out she goes, an' the coast bein' clear, 'Miss Una,' says I, 'here's a scrap of a letther from Misther Connor O'Donovan; read it, and if you can write him an answer, do; if you haven't time say whatever you have to say by me.' She go—(hiccup) she got all colors when I handed it to her; an' run away, say—in' to me, 'wait for a while, an' don't go till I see you.' In a minute or two Sally comes in agin as mad as the dickens wid me, 'The curse o' the crows an' you!' says she, 'why did you make me run a fool's erran' for no rason? The masther wasn't in the haggard, an' didn't want me good or bad.'”
“Bartle,” said the impatient lover, “pass all that over for the present, an' let us know the answer, if she sent any.”