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When we got to the railway bridge he laid his hammers on the wall while he relit his pipe. I saw my last opportunity and seized it. "Say, Willie, did ye iver haave a feelin' that made ye feel fine all over and and made ye pray?" "I niver pray," he said. They're naggin at God from Aysther t' Christmas t' fill their pockets! A good day's stone breakin's my prayer.
Ann O'Hare, the chimneysweep's wife, was usually first on hand. She had the unenviable reputation of being the "dhirtiest craither" in the community. Jamie called her "Sooty Ann." "There's a gey good smell from yer pot, Anna," she said; "what haave ye in it th' day?" "Oh, jist a few sheep's throtters and a wheen of nettles." "Who gethered th' nettles?" Anna pointed to me.
"Aye, so haave I, but thin again I've thought t' myself, suppose th' wee fella did get t' be kind-a quality like, wudn't he be ashamed ov me an' you maybe, an' shure an ingrate that's somethin' is worse than nothin'!" "A child born in pure love couldn't be an ingrate, Jamie; that isn't possible, dear." "Ah, who knows what a chile will be, Anna?" The child awoke and began to cry.
"Plenty ov childther on th' road t' clane teeth, an' dogs an' cats on th' road t' good livin'." "What haave ye fur me, Mary?" Jamie Irvine, Anna's friend, asked. She took his cup, gave it a shake, looked wise and said: "Begorra, I see a big cup, me bhoy it's a cup o' grief I'm thinkin' it is." "Oul Mary was jist bletherin'," he said, as they walked down the road in the gloaming, hand in hand.
"Well, if ye iver do, shure ye'll be lucky to haave skin, let alone shirt!" "You consider yourself lucky, then?" "Aye, middlin'." He galloped away and I lay down flat on my back, wiped the sweat from my brow with the sleeve of my jacket, turned the hair loose and eased up the string.
"Oh, yes," I coaxed; "just this once with me." "What th' divil's the use whin I haave a praycher t' m'silf." "I am to be the preacher at the church." "Och, but that's a horse ov another colour, bedad. Shure thin I'll go." When my father saw me in a Geneva gown, his eyes were filled with tears. The old white-haired lady who found the place in the book for him was the young lady's mother.
A little pile of salt was placed beside each person and each had a big bowl full of broth. The different kinds had lost their identity in the common pot. In the midst of the meal came visitors. "Much good may it do ye!" said Billy Baxter as he walked in with his hands in his pockets. "Thank ye, Billy, haave a good bowl of broth?" "Thank ye, thank ye," he said.
He took his short black pipe out of his mouth, spat into the burning sods and added: "I wondther if it's as quare t' everybody, Anna?" "Ochane," she replied, "it's quare t' poor craithers who haave naither mate, money nor marbles, nor chalk t' make th' ring." There had been but one job that day a pair of McGuckin's boots.
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