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Updated: May 8, 2025
"That's nothing," retorted May Girmory, "for where I was on the Beltane eve, there in that very place ye were yourself you and my brither Jo. It is like that ye would keep that secret? But this is different." "I will keep it, 'by the hand and fut of Mary," said Lizzie McCreath, quite forgetting that she was the daughter of the Grand Master of an Orange Lodge.
But Miss Liz McCreath, while noting these, let the blanks pass, comfortably sure in her mind that so soon as she got Jo Girmory by himself, she knew a way of making him tell her all about it the same, indeed, as that by which May Girmory had brought Sandy O'Neil to full auricular confession. "But what like is your Princess? Does she wear a goold crown now?" said the Irish girl.
"Not her," said May Girmory, "she has a riding skirt, the way folk has them made in London, and gangs by at a hand-gallop, a different powny every time, and Lord, she doesna spare them!" "That," said Liz McCreath with cold contempt, "is no Princess at all. 'Tis only little Patsy Ferris from Cairn Ferris, and I saw her faither yesterday at the Apothecaries' Hall at the Vennel Head!"
"Her uncle! her uncle!" cried Liz McCreath; "the back o' me hand to all your uncles. How much would you be doing now for all the half-score of uncles that ye have in this parish? Not as much as would fatten a fly. No, nor Elizabeth McCreath either. 'Tis her lad she is fightin' for and well do you know it, May Girmory.
"Three months he and the ither twa held the sodjers at bay, till they had them clean wearied oot!" May Girmory explained to her bosom friend, Lizzie McCreath, as they promenaded together; "but to my thinkin' there is little that either of the ither two could do. It would be himsel', Lizzie, that did the thinkin' and the fechtin'. He's the head o' a' the Free Bands, ye ken, Lizzie!"
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