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Updated: June 8, 2025
"Blood alive, masther, but that's great spakin' begar, a judge couldn't come up to you; but in throth, sir, I'd be long sarry to throuble you; only he's away fifteen year, and I wouldn't thrust it to another; and the corplar that commands the ridgment would regard your handwrite and your inditin'." "Don't, ma'am, plade the smallest taste of apology." "Eagh?"
"Why, thin, I'd be sarry to prove your Reverence to be wrong, so I would; but, for all that, I believe I must give it aginst you." "How much have you got, Pether?" "Ethen, but 'tis your Reverence that's comin' close upon me; two or three small note an' some silver." "How much silver, Pether?"
"I would do what I have done for Connor, although I have never yet exchanged a syllable with him. Yet, I do assure you, Fardorougha, that I have other motives which you shall never know far stronger than any connected with the fate of your son. Now, don't misunderstand me." "No," replied the helpless old man, who was ignorant of the condition of his sister, "I will not, indeed I'd be long sarry."
When breakfast was over, they prepared to attend mass, and, what was unusual, young Frank was the first to set out for the chapel. "Maybe," said the father, after he was gone "maybe that fool of a boy is sarry for his behavior. It's many a day since I knew him to go to mass of his own accord. It's a good sign, any way."
"Thin, upon my solevation, I'm sarry to hear it, and so will all at home, for there's not in the parish we're sittin' in a couple that our family has a greater regard an' friendship for, than him and yourself. Faix, my modher, no longer ago than Friday night last, argued down Bartle Meegan's throath, that you and Biddy Martin wor the two portliest weemen that comes into the chapel.
Why, you know I'd be sarry to conthradict either o' yez; but I was jist goin' to obsarve, wid simmission, that my own lips ought to know best; an' don't you hear them tellin' you that they did kiss it?" and he grinned with confidence in their faces. "You double-dealing reprobate!" said the parish priest, "I'll lay my whip across your jaws. I saw you, too, an' you did not kiss the book."
"I'm sarry for it, Darby," replied he who held the now empty bottle; "for the whiskey's out." "Throth, an' I'm sarry myself, for nothin' else does me good; an' Father Hoolaghan says nothin' can keep it down, barrin' the sup o' whiskey. It's best burnt, wid a little bit o' butther an it; but I can't get that always, it overtakes me so suddenly, glory be to God!"
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