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“And I get so hungry,” she went on. “You see I have to wait until two o’clock sometimes before I can get my lunch, because from twelve to two are my busy hours. Those days it seems as if the school bell would never ring.” “Sure, tis a foine little pig OI’m growing now,” Granny said. “And as for sleeping—” Maida stopped as if there were no words anywhere to describe her condition.
Dore on one side and Dicky on the other. “And sure, me own hearrt was telling me the trut’ all the toime did Oi but listhen to ut—for ’twas loving this foine little lad ivry minut av the day.” She patted Dicky’s head. “And me niver seeing the baby that had me own name!” She cuddled Delia close. “OI’m the happiest woman in the whole woide wurrld this day.”
Finally, Costigan broke the silence with: "Begorra, ’tis some av thim ’ud be doin’ well to be lukin’ to their music-lessons about here, Oi’m thinkin’, afther th’ day’s wurruk." The Irishman, with his instinctive loquacity, had expressed what none of the rest would have considered politic to hint. It was like the giving way of the pebble that starts the avalanche.
There was a conscious funeral pageantry in the ring of its measured phrases that recalled to many burials of the dead that had taken place in their widely scattered homes. Mrs. Barbauld’s hymn, "Flee as a Bird to the Mountain," are the words usually sung to the air. Costigan presently cut across the dirgelike refrain with: "Phwat th’ divil is ut about that chune that Oi’m thinkin’ of?"
Every one?” “Iv’ry wan as sure as OI’m a living sinner,” said Granny. “Faith and ’twas the bad little gyurl that you was often—now that I sthop to t’ink av ut.” Maida bounded back to the shop in high spirits. Granny heard her say “Every bottle!” again and again in a whispering little voice.
“To-morrow, I’m going to fill that bowl with asters,” Maida explained. “OI’m sure the choild has done foine,” Granny Flynn said, “Oi cudn’t have done betther mesilf.” “Now come and look at your rooms, Petronilla,” Billy begged, his eyes dancing. Maida opened the door leading into the living-room. Then she squealed her delight, not once, but continuously, like a very happy little pig.
"Did you know that old Ma’am Yellett had a school-marm up to her place?" asked one of the men, apropos of Eastern prettiness. "Well, well," Costigan reminisced, "’tis some av thim Yillitt lambs thot’s six fut in their shtockings, if Oi be rimimbering right. Sure, the tacher ought to be something av a pugilist, Oi’m thinkin’."
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