“Then why not load the garron partly o' both sides?”
“May be, I couldn't,” says Pat again.
“And why couldn't you?”
“Mistress Doolan, would you like to be struck in a heap?”
“Is it by you, Pat?—what news, then?—any how why not spake it out?”
“Don't bother me now; isn't it to The Beg I'm going?”
“Wid a load you picked up on the road, Pat, is it?”
“Aha!” says he, “can't I keep a thing from you?”
“What is it, Pat?” said she; and he'd now just met the wife; for, finding the conversation grow interesting, she had left the door, and walked away up the hill to meet him, quickening her pace at each question. “What is it, Pat?” says she, trying to peep into the pannier; but Pat wouldn't let her.
“Sally,” says he,—for that's her name;—“would you think it, that there's mighty bad people about?”