Wife—“By the crass, Brian, you'd vex a saint. What have you to say in it, you pittiogue?* Hould your whisht now, an' suck your dhudeen, I say; sure I allow you a quarther o' tobaccy a week, an' what right have you to be puttin' in your gosther when other people's spakin'?”
* Untranslatable—but means a womanly man a poor,
effeminate creature.
Farmer—“Go an.”
Wife—“So, you see, the long an' the short of it is that whenever you happen to be in this side of the counthry, always come to us. You know the ould sayin'—when the poor man comes he brings a blessin', an' when he goes he carries away a curse. You have as much, meal as will last yez a day or two; an' God he sees you're heartily welcome to all ye got?”
Farmer—“God he sees you're heartily welcome—”
Wife—“Chorp an diouol, Brian, hould your tongue, Or I'll turn you out o' the kitchen. One can't hear their own ears for you, you poor squakin' dhrone. By the crass, I'll—eh? Will you whisht, now?”
Farmer—“Go an. Amn't I dhrawin' my pipe?”
Wife—“Well dhraw it; but don't dhraw me down upon you, barrin—. Do you hear me? an' the sthrange people to the fore, too! Well, the Lord be wid yez, an' bless yez! But afore yez go, jist lave your blessin' wid us; for it's a good thing to have the blessin' of the poor?”
“The Lord bless you, an yours!” said Owen, fervently. “May you and them never—oh, may you never—never suffer what we've suffered; nor know what it is to want a male's mate, or a night's lodgin'!”
“Amin!” exclaimed Kathleen; “may the world flow upon you! for your good, kind heart desarves it.”