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"Even the avil is worth doin', if so be 'twas not mint, an' the good is in yer heart in the ind, an' ye do be turnip' to the Almoighty, repentin' an' glad to be aloive: provin' to Him 'twas worth while makin' the world an' you, to want, an' worry, an' work, an' play, an' pick the flowers, an' bleed o' the thorns, an' dhrink the sun, an' ate the dust, an' be lovin' all the way!
Twice, twice in y'r life, Shon McGann, has the cup of God's joy been at y'r lips, and is it both times that it's to spill? Pretty Pierre shoots straight and sudden, and maybe it's aisy to see the end of it; but as the just God is above us, I'll give him the lie in his throat betimes for the word he said agin me darlin'. What's the avil thing that he has to say?
My boat was found upset. They believed I was drowned. 'Bien, she waited until yesterday, and then she took you but she was my wife; she is my wife and so you see!" The Irishman was deadly pale. "It's an avil heart y' had in y' then, Pretty Pierre, and it's an avil day that brought this thing to pass, and there's only wan way to the end of it." "So, that is true.
And proud I am not of you, nor you of me; but we've tasted the bitter of avil days together, and divils surround me, if I don't go down with you or come up with you, whichever it be! For there's dirt, as I say on their tongues, and over their shoulder they look at you, and not with an eye full front." Pierre was cool, even pensive.
O'Brien," said Peter, again, "I dunno what it is at all. It may be the avil spirits themselves, for what I know, and whatever it is. I'ld go away and leave it and leave the country, if I had the money to get to the States. I heard once of a man that was druv out of the counthry by a monsther that I suppose was maybe something like the fairies like them in making trouble for the man, anyway.
'It hain't new, this takin' and payin' of blows, and don't you never think but that this will be squared. 'An' niver in me life did I take the lie from mortal man, was the retort courteous. 'An' it's an avil day I'll not be to hand, waitin' an' willin' to help ye lift yer debts, barrin' no manner of way. 'Still got that 38-55? Lon nodded. 'But you'd better git a more likely caliber.
Twice, twice in y'r life, Shon McGann, has the cup of God's joy been at y'r lips, and is it both times that it's to spill? Pretty Pierre shoots straight and sudden, and maybe it's aisy to see the end of it; but as the just God is above us, I'll give him the lie in his throat betimes for the word he said agin me darlin'. What's the avil thing that he has to say?
Here's the stripes aff me arm, and to gaol I'll go; but for what wint before I clapt the iron on his wrists, good or avil, divil a word will I say. An' here's me left hand, and there's me right fut, and an eye of me too, that I'd part with, for the cause of him that's done a trick that your honour wouldn't do an' no shame to y' aither an' y'd been where Little Hammer was with me."
"Your face is turned towards her." "Where is the sun?" "The sun stands still above her head." "With the bitter over, and the avil past, come rest for her and all that lie there." "Eh, 'bien, the game is done!" "If we stay here we shall die also." "If we go we die, perhaps." . . . "Don't spake it. We will go, and we will return when the breath of summer comes from the South." "It shall be so."
"Don't we, Cath'lics an' Protistints aloike, for there's little to choose atwane us on the p'int, contint oursilves wid as little as we can hilp, goin' once to chapel or church, mebbe, av a Sunday an' thinkin' we've wiped out all the avil we may a-done in the wake, an' have a clane sheet for the nixt one jist as this poor ig'rant haythin booms his goold paper afore his joss an' thinks that clears off all his ould scores.
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