“Two!” exclaimed Mrs. Cavanagh—“an' at this saison of the! year, too. Well, that same's a loss.”
“Honest woman,” said M'Mahon, addressing Kate Hogan, “maybe you'd give me a draw o' the pipe?”
“Maybe so,” she replied; “an' why wouldn't I? Shough! that is here!”
“Long life to you, Katy. Well,” proceeded the worthy man, “if it was a poor person that wanted them an' that took them from hardship, why God forgive them as heartily as I do: but if they wor stole by a thief, for thievin's sake, I hope I'll always be able to afford the loss of a pair betther than the thief will to do without them; although God mend his or her heart, whichever it was, in the mane time.”
During this chat Bryan and Hanna Cavanagh were engaged in that good-humored badinage that is common to persons of their age and position.
“I didn't see you at Mass last Sunday, Bryan?” said she, laughing; “an' that's the way you attend to your devotions. Upon my word you promise well!”
“I seen you, then,” replied Bryan, “so it seems if I haven't betther eyes I have betther eyesight.”
“Indeed I suppose,” she replied, “you see everything but what you go to see.”
“Don't be too sure of that,” he replied, with an involuntary glance at Kathleen, who seemed to enjoy her sister's liveliness, as was evident from the sweet and complacent smile which beamed upon her features.
“Indeed I suppose you're right,” she replied; “I suppose you go to say everything but your prayers.”