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'Fore he come, doctors en folks was trying ter fin' out 'bout me, en this Ma'tine 'lows he knows all 'bout me. Ef he wuzn't so orful glum, he'd be a good chap anuff, ef he is cur'ous. Hit's all a-changin' somehow, en yet' tisn't. Awhile ago nobody knowd 'bout me, en they wuz allus a- pesterin' of me with questions. En now Ma'tine en you 'low you know 'bout me, yet you ast questions jes' the same.
Tombs, you don't know who you're talking about!" "Yes, I do, brotheh. I was jess so! An' s' I, he'll pull through! His motheh's prayers 'll prevail, evm if mine don't! An' now, when ev'ybody sees you a-changin' faw the better " "Better! Great Sc " "Yes, an' yet 'ithout the least sign o' conversion I say, s' I, it's restrainin' grace! Ah! don't I know?
What for might the angels o' Heaven be doin' going up and down betwane the blue sky and the green earth? Faith, lad, 'tis daft ye are, a-changin' of me clothes! Lave the black gown, lad! 'Tis the badge of poverty and He was poor and knew not where to lay His head of a weary night! Lave the black gown, I say! What for wu'd a powr Irish priest be doin' a-wearin' of radiant white?
He threw his curly head back and laughed till his sides shook. "Lor', I didn't think I wor going to know quite so soon! An' sich queer 'arf-crowns, they ses, as she keeps a-changin'. Jarge somethin' an old cove in a wig. An' 'ere they is, I'll be blowed some on 'em. Well, yer a nice 'un, yer are!" He stared her up and down with a kind of admiration.
"It's your show, Sandy Kilday!" he said, half aloud, with a bit of a brogue that flavored his speech as the salt flavors the sea air. "You don't want to be a bloomin' old weather-vane, a-changin' your mind every time the wind blows. Is it go, or stay?"
He threw his curly head back and laughed till his sides shook. 'Lor, I didn't think I wor goin to know quite so soon! An sich queer 'arf-crowns, they ses, as she keeps a-changin. Jarge somethin an old cove in a wig. An 'ere they is, I'll be blowed some on 'em. Well, yer a nice un, yer are! He stared her up and down with a kind of admiration. Bessie began to cry feebly the crying of a lost soul.
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