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Updated: June 18, 2025
It was Withero. He shook Anna and Jamie in their bed and asked in a loud voice: "What's all this palaver about an' oul throllop what niver earned salt t' 'is pirtas?" "Go on t' yer stone pile, Willie," Anna said, as she sat up in bed; "what ye don't know will save docther's bills."
I "dunched" my brother, who lay beside me, with my elbow. "Go an' see if oul Hughie's livin' or dead," I said. "Ye cudn't kill 'im," he said. "How d'ye know?" "I heerd a quare story about 'im last night!" "Where?" "In th' barber's shop." "Is he a feerie?" "No." "What is he?" "Close yer thrap an' lie still!" Somebody opened the door and walked in. I slid into my clothes and climbed down.
That man's near demented mad at the thought of you marryin'. 'Be the hokey O! he says whenever I go a-near him, an' then he starts laughin' an' tellin' me it's the great news altogether. 'I wish, says he, 'the oul' lad was alive. He'd be makin' hell's blazes for joy! Och, he's cracked, that fella.
MacDermott, who had been silent now for some time, made a noise with a dish on the table. "Och, sure, what does he know about love?" she exclaimed angrily. "A child that's not long left his mother's arms would know as much. Mebbe, now you've read your oul' story, John, the whole of yous will sit up to the table and take your tea!"
"That summer whin she was hungry she hung an oul rag on th' thorn hedge down be the wee plantain where she camped, and I answered be a rag on a stick that she cud share mine and take hers first. One day I towld 'er yer mother's story about th' Son ov Maan. It was th' only time I ever talked wi' 'er. That winther she died in th' poorhouse and before she died she sint me this."
He burst out laughing when he had finished. "Ah," he said, half to himself, as he stroked his fine beard, "I'm the quare oul' cod, so I am!" "All the same," he went on, speaking soberly, "I'm not coddin' entirely. The Irish have plenty of brains, but they haven't any discipline, an' brains are no good unless you can control them.
The group got their heads together and looked with serious faces at the cup. "There's a ship comin' across th' sea an' I see a letther!" "It's for me, I'll bate," Jamie said. "No, dear, it's fur me." "Take it," Jamie said, "it's maybe a dispossess from oul Savage th' landlord!" She took Jamie's cup. "There's a wee bit of a garden wi' a fence aroun' it."
"Well, dear knows if there's aanything this oul world needs more than another it's an undisputed text. Couldn't ye find us wan, Misther Johnson?" "All texts are disputed," he said, "but there are texts not in dispute." "I think I could name wan at laste, Mister Johnson." "Maybe." "'Deed no, not maybe at all, but sure-be. Jamie dear, get m' th' Bible if ye plaze."
"Oul' Father Finnegan, at Derryadd, useteh argie that the Garden iv Aden hed been furnent the Lake o' Killarney; an' no one dar' conthradict him," he remarked, with a smile. "But people larns till think fur theirselves when they're out theyre lone.
"Indeed, then," she said briskly, "you gimme enough to do to keep your heart up. You're worse nor a cradleful of childher!... Here, let me wrap this shawl about your shoulders! Aren't you the oul' footer to be lettin' it slip down like that?... There now!" He lay back in his chair while she folded the shawl about him, and smiled at her. "God content you, daughter!" he murmured.
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