“Bad luck to him then!”
His mother, who had been walking a little before him, turned, and, rushing towards him, put her hand hastily towards his mouth, with the obvious intention of suppressing the imprecation; but too late; it had escaped, and be the consequence what it might, Val had got the exciting cause of it.
“My poor unfortunate boy,” said she, “you oughtn't to curse anybody; stop this minute, and say God bless him.”
“God bless who?”
“Mr. McClutchy.”
“The devil bless him! ha, ha, ha! Doesn't he harry the poor, an' drive away their cows from them—doesn't he rack them an' rob them—harry them, rack them, rob them—
“Harry them, rack them, rob them,
Rob them, rack them, harry them—
Harry them, rack them, rob them,
Rob them, rack them, harry them.”
This he sung in an air somewhat like “Judy Callahan.”
“Ha, ha, ha! Oh the devil bless him! and they say a blessin' from the devil is very like a curse from God.”
The mother once more put up her hands to his face, but only with the intention of fondling and caressing him. She tenderly stroked down his head, and patted his cheek, and attempted to win him out of the evil humor into which the sight of Darby had thrown him. Darby could observe, however, that she appeared to be deeply troubled by the idiot's conduct, as was evident by the trembling of her hands, and a perturbation of manner which she could not conceal.