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She was i' hell on sayin' words purcisely, but me an' Jamie wor too thick, an' begorra she got used t' pirta sack words herself, but she was i' fine linen jist th' same. "Wan day she says t' me, 'Willie, says she, 'ye see people through dirty specs. 'How's that? says I. 'I don't know, says she, 'fur I don't wear yer specs, but I think it's jist a poor habit ov yer mind.
"Me an' Jamie wor pirta sack people, purty damned rough, too, but yer Ma was a piece ov fine linen frum th' day she walked down this road wi' yer Dah till this minit whin she's waitin' fur ye in the corner. Ivery Sunday I've gone in jist t' hai a crack wi' 'er an' d' ye know, bhoy, I got out o' that crack somethin' good fur th' week.
"Soda," common flour bread, never in the shape of a loaf, but bread that lay flat on the griddle; "pirta oaten" made of flour and oatmeal; and "fadge" potato bread. She always sung while baking and she sang the most melancholy and plaintive airs.
I slept at Jamie Wallace's that night, and next morning took the "dandther" with Withero up the Dublin road, past "The Mount of Temptation" to the old stone-pile that was no longer a pile, but a hole in the side of the road. It was a sentimental journey that gave Willie a chance to say some things I knew he wanted to say. "D'ye mind the pirta sack throusers Anna made ye onct?"
Fate's cut yer heart in two an' oul Docther Time an' the care of God are about the only shure cures goin'." "Cudn't the ministher help a little if he was here, Anna?" "If ye think so I'll get him, 'Liza!" "He might put th' love of God in me!" "Puttin' th' love of God in ye isn't like stuffin' yer mouth with a pirta, 'Liza!" "That's so, it is, but he might thry, Anna!" "Well, ye'll haave 'im." Mr.
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