“We must live, Barney; 'tis a poor shift we'd make 'idout the praties and the broghan,” (meal porridge).
“What news from the big house?”
“News, is it? Come, Corney, come, girls, bounce; news is it? O, faitha', thin it's I that has the news that will make you all shake your feet to-night.”
“Blessed saints, Barney what is it?”
“Bounce, I say, and off wid ye to gather brusna (dried and rotten brambles) for a bonfire in the great town of Rathfillan.”
“A bonfire, Barney! Arra, why, man alive?”
“Why? Why, bekaise the masther's stepson and the misthress's own pet has come home to us to set the counthry into a state o' conflagration wid his beauty. There won't be a whole cap in the barony before this day week. They're to have fiddlers, and pipers, and dancin', and drinkin' to no end; and the glory of it is that the masther, God bless him, is to pay for all. Now!”
The younger of the two girls sprang to her feet with the elasticity and agility of a deer.
“O, beetha, Barney,” she exclaimed, “but that will be the fun! And the misthress's son is home? Arra, what is he like, Barney? Is he as handsome as Masther Charles?”
“I hope he's as good,” said her mother.