On those occasions she usually shook her head,
and exclaimed, either in soliloquy, or by way of dialogue, to some
person near her:--
"Well, avourneen, all's very right, an' goin' an bravely; but I only
hope that when I'm gone I won't be missed!"
"Missed," Peter would reply, if he happened to hear her; "oh, upon my
credit"--he was a man of too much consequence to swear "by this and
by that" now--"upon my credit, Ellish, if you die soon, you'll see the
genteel wife I'll have in your place."
"Whisht, avourneen! Although you're but jokin', I don't like to hear it,
avillish! No, indeed; we wor too long together, Pether, and lived too
happily wid one another, for you to have the heart to think of sich a
thing!"
"No, in troth, Ellish, I would be long sarry to do it. It's displasin'
to you, achree, an' I won't say it. God spare you to us! It was you put
the bone in us, an' that's what all the country says, big an' little,
young and ould; an' God He knows it's truth, and nothin' else."
"Indeed, no, thin, Pether, it's not altogether thruth, you desarve your
full share of it. You backed me well, acushla, in everything, an' if you
had been a dhrinkin', idle, rollikin' vagabone, what 'ud signify all,
that me or the likes o' me could do."
"Faith, an' it was you made me what I am, Ellish; you tuck the soft
side o' me, you beauty; an' it's well you did, for by this--hem, upon
my reputation, if you had gone to cross purposes with me you'd find
yourself in the wrong box.
Pages:
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144