“And pray, what is that, O'Drive?”
“Why, thin, for fraid I may be doin' the crathurs injustice, sir, I won't say; only jist take my hint, any how. Good mornin' kindly, sir!”
As Darby passed the group we have alluded to, he winked at them very knowingly, “go up,” said he, “go up I say:—may be I didn't give yez a lift since, and mark me, huld to the five guineas a head, and to be provided for aftherwards. Paddy Cummins do you go up, I say—bannath lath!”
Paddy went up, and in a few minutes a ragged, famine-wasted creature entered with his old caubeen between his hands, and after having ducked down his head, and shrugged his shoulders alternately, stood with an abashed look before Mr. Lucre.
“Well, my good man, what is your business with me?”
To this the countryman prepared to reply,—first, by two or three additional shrugs; secondly, by raising his right elbow, and pulling up all that remained of the collar of his tattered cothamore, or great coat, after which he gave a hem.
“Have you no tongue, my good fellow?”
A shrug—“hem—why, sir, but that was a great sarmon you praiched on last Sunda', plaise you honor. Faitha, sir, there was mighty fine discoorsin' in it about rail-ligion?”
“O! the sermon—did you hear it, my good man?”
“Faitha, sir, I was there sure enough, in spite o' Father M'Cabe, an' all.”