“I am, sir, from Connaught, yer haner, an' ill sell the crathur dag cheap, all out. Asy, you thief!”
“I don't want the pig, my good fellow,” replied the Englishman, without evincing curiosity enough to inquire how he came to have such a commodity for sale.
“She'd be the darlint in no time wid you, sir; the run o' your kitchen 'ud make her up a beauty, your haner, along wit no trouble to the sarvints about sweepin' it, or any thing. You'd only have to lay down the potato-basket on the flure, or the misthress, Gad bless her, could do it, an' not lave a crumblin' behind her, besides sleepin, your haner, in the carner beyant, if she'd take the throuble.”
The sluggish phlegm of the Englisman was stirred up a little by the twisted, and somewhat incomprehensible nature of these instructions.
“How far do you intend to proceed tonight, Paddy?” said he.
“The sarra one o' myself knows, plaze yer haner: sure we've an ould sayin' of our own in Ireland beyant—that he's a wise man can I tell how far he'll go, sir, till he comes to his journey's ind. I'll give this crathur to you at more nor her value, yer haner.”
“More!—why the man knows not what he's saying,” observed the gentleman; “less you mean, I suppose, Paddy?”
“More or less, sir: you'll get her a bargain; an' Gad bless you, sir!”
“But it is a commodity which I don't want at present. I am very well stocked with pigs, as it is. Try elsewhere.”
“She'd flog the counthry side, sir; an' if the misthress herself, sir, 'ud shake the wishp o' sthraw fwor her in the kitchen, sir, near the whoire. Yer haner could spake to her about it; an' in no time put a knife into her whin you plazed. In regard o' the other thing, sir—she's like a Christyeen, yer haner, an' no throuble, sir, if you'd be seein' company or any thing.”