“An' am I not to wait, Nanse?”
“Why, she says she—will come, for all that, if she can; but she bid me take your stick from you, for a rason she has, that she'll tell yourself when she sees you.”
“Take my stick! Why Nanse, ma colleen baun, what can she want with my stick? Is the darlin' girl goin' to bate any body?”
“Bad cess to the know I know, Lamh Laudher, barrin' it be to lay on yourself for stalin' her heart from her. Why thin, the month's mether o' honey to you, soon an' sudden, how did you come round her at all?”
“No matter about that, Nanse; but the family's bitther against me?—eh?”
“Oh, thin, in trogs, it's ill their common to hate you as they do; but thin, you see, this faction-work will keep yees asundher for ever. Now gi' me your stick, an' wait, any way, till you see whether she comes or not.”
“Is it by Ellen's ordhers you take it, Nanse?”
“To be sure—who else's? but the divil a one o' me knows what she means by it, any how—only that I daren't go back widout it.”
“Take it, Nanse; she knows I wouldn't refuse her my heart's blood, let alone a bit of a kippeen.”
“A bit of a kippeen! Faix, this is a quare kippeen! Why, it would fell a bullock.”