In these heart-burnings
about the good things of this world, he was treated with uncommon
forbearance: in his owner he always had a friend, from whom, when he
grunted out his appeal to him, he was certain of receiving redress:
"Barney, behave, avick: lay down the potstick, an' don't be batin' the
pig, the crathur."
In fact, the pig was never mentioned but with this endearing epithet of
"crathur" annexed. "Barney, go an' call home the pig, the crathur, to
his dinner, before it gets cowld an him." "Barney, go an' see if you can
see the pig, the crathur, his buckwhist will soon be ready." "Barney,
run an' dhrive the pig, the crathur, out of Larry Neil's phatie-field:
an', Barney, whisper, a bouchal bawn, don't run _too_ hard, Barney, for
fraid you'd lose your breath. What if the crathur does get a taste o'
the new phaties--small blame to him for the same!"
In short, whatever might have been the habits of the family, such were
those of the pig. The latter was usually out early in the morning to
take exercise, and the unerring regularity with which he returned at
mealtime gave sufficient proof that procuring an appetite was a work of
supererogation on his part. If he came before the meal was prepared, his
station was at the door, which they usually shut to keep him out of
the way until it should be ready.
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