“Blessed Virgin! Darby, sure it would be nothin' bad that's to happen? Would it, Darby?”
“Keep yourself aisy on that head. I have widin my own mind the power of makin' it come out for good—I know the prayer for it. Oxis Doxis!” + +
“God be praised for that, Darby; sure it would be a terrible business, all out, if any thing was to happen. Here's Mike that was born on Whissle * Monday, of all days in the year, an' you know, they say that any child born on that day is to die an unnatural death. We named Mike after St. Michael that he might purtect him.”
* The people believe the superstition to be as is
stated above. Any child born on Whitsunday, or the day
after, is supposed to be doomed to die an unnatural
death. The consequence is, that the child is named
after and dedicated to some particular saint, in the
hope that his influence may obviate his evil doom.
“Make yourself aisy, I say; don't I tell you I have the prayer to keep it back—hach! hach!—why, there's a bit stuck in my throath, some way! Wurrah dheelish, what's this! Maybe, you could give me a sup o' dhrink—wather, or anything to moisten the morsel I'm atin? Wurrah, ma'am dear, make haste, it's goin' agin' the breath wid me!”
“Oh, the sorra taste o' wather, Darby,” said Owen; “sure this is Christmas-eve, you know: so you see, Darby, for ould acquaintance sake, an' that you may put up an odd prayer now an' thin for us, jist be thryin' this.”
Darby honored the gift by immediate acceptance.
“Well, Owen Reillaghan,” said he, “you make me take more o' this stuff nor any man I know; and particularly by rason that bein' given, wid a blessin', to the ranns, an' prayers, an' holy charms, I don't think it so good; barrin', indeed, as Father Donnellan towld me, when the wind, by long fastin', gets into my stomach, as was the case today, I'm often throubled, God help me, wid a configuration in the—hugh! ugh—an' thin it's good for me—a little of it.”
“This would make a brave powdher-horn, Darby Moore,” observed one of Reilla-ghan's sons, “if it wasn't so big. What do you keep in it, Darby?”
“Why, avillish, (* my sweet) nothin' indeed but a sup o' Father Donnellan's holy water, that they say by all accounts it costs him great trouble to make, by rason that he must fast a long time, and pray by the day, afore he gets himself holy enough to consecrate it.”