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"Mishtress Lee," began he, in wheedling, dulcet tones, "fwhat mornin' was that?" That lady, her capacious, matronly bosom heaving with emotion, eyed him suspiciously a moment. "Eh?" she snapped. "Why th' mornin' after th' night of racket between them two men at th' hotel. Th' feller come bummin' roun' th' back-door fur a hand-out all starved t' death just before I took th' train t' Calgary."
"Ask Enoch Harries will I to make her his servant." "Be modest in your manner," Martha warned her husband. "Man grand is Enoch." "Needing servants hap he does." "Perhaps, iss; perhaps, no." "Cute is Winnie," said Tim; "and quick. Sense she has." Tim addressed Enoch, and Enoch answered: "Blabber you do to me, why for? Send your old female to Mishtress Harries.
Running at the top of their speed the railers came to Ben, telling how the Parson had put them to shame. "Iobs you are," Ben answered. "The boy bach who loses the key of his house breaks into his house. Does an old wench bar the dairy to her mishtress?"
"It is in their behalf I am here to-night, Madam what shall I have the honour to name you?" "Me name, is it?" cried Mrs. Fitzpatrick. "Mishtress Timothy Fitzpatrick, Monaghan that was, the Monaghans o' Ballinghalereen, an owld family, poor as Job's turkey, but proud as the divil, an' wance the glory o' Mayo.
She dabbed at the false-front of red hair, which had become somewhat disarranged. "La, la!" she murmured, "I'm all of a twitter!" "Some hand-out tu," remarked Slavin politely, "from th' face av um. . . . Fwhat was ut ye handed him, Mishtress Lee, might I ask? th' flat-iron or th' rollin' pin?" "I did not!" the dame retorted indignantly.
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