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'How's all th' folks? says I. 'All well, thank ye kindly, he says. 'save an' except th' wife an' little Eleen, he says. 'They're not so well, he says. 'But what can ye expect? They've had th' best iv health all th' year. 'It must be har-rd wurrukin' at th' mills this weather, I says. ''Tis war-rum, he says; 'but ye can't look f'r snow-storms this time iv th' year, he says.

An', Jawn, by dad, barrin' where th' brewery horse spilt oats on th' durestep an' th' patches iv grass on th' dump, sare a growin' thing but childher has that little man seen in twinty years. "'Twas hotter whin I seen him nex', an' I said so. ''Tis war-rum, he says, laughin'. 'By dad, I think th' ice 'll break up in th' river befure mornin', he says.

He dhraws wan twinty-five a day whin he wurruks. "He come in here th' other night to talk over matthers; an' I was stewin' in me shirt, an' sayin' cross things to all th' wurruld fr'm th' tail iv me eye. ''Tis hot, says I. ''Tis war-rum, he says. ''Tis dam hot, says I. 'Well, he says, ''tis good weather f'r th' crops, he says. 'Things grows in this weather.

'Tis cowld outside th' dure, ye say, but 'tis war-rum in here; an' I'm gettin' in me ol' age to think that the diff'rence between hivin an' hell is no broader" Mr. Dooley's remarks were cut short by a cry from the back room. It was unmistakably a baby's cry. Mr. McKenna turned suddenly in amazement as Mr. Dooley bolted.

"We kivered them, fait', will inough!" shouted the other grave-diggers. "Do ye belave, Colonel," said the dry person, again, "that thim ribals'll lave us a chance to catch them. Be me sowl! I'm jist wishin to war-rum me hands wid rifle practice." The others echoed loudly, that they were anxious to be ordered up, and some said that "Little Mac'll give 'em his big whack now."

'D'ye know, he says, 'I haven't slept much these nights, f'r wan reason 'r another. But, he says, 'I'm afraid this here change won't be good f'r th' crops, he says. 'If we'd had wan or two more war-rum days an' thin a sprinkle iv rain, he says, 'how they would grow, how they would grow!" Mr. Dooley sat up in his chair, and looked over at Mr. McKenna.

Sell thim gin, says I. ''Tis shameful they shud go out with nawthin' to hide their nakedness, he says. 'I'll fetch thim clothes; but, he says, cas th' weather's too war-rum f'r clothes, I'll not sell thim annything that'll last long, he says. 'If it wasn't f'r relligion, he says, 'I don't know what th' 'ell th' wurruld wud come to, he says. 'Who's relligion? says th' Fr-rinchman.