"Ellish," said he, in a tone of voice that strongly expressed what
he felt, "you wor one o' the best wives that ever the Almighty gev to
mortual man. You wor, avourneen---you wor, you wor!"
"I intind, too, to begin an' make my sowl, a little," she continued; "we
had so much to do, Pether, aroon, that, indeed, we hadn't time to think
of it all along; but now, that everything else is settled, we ought to
think about that, an' make the most of our time--while we can."
"Upon my conscience, I've strong notions myself o' the same thing,"
replied Peter. "An' I'll back you in that, as well as in every thing
else. Never fear, if we pull together, but we'll bring up the lost time.
Faith, we will! Sowl, if you set about it, let me see them that 'ud
prevint you goin' to heaven!"
"Did Paddy Donovan get the bay filly's foot aised, Pether?"
"He's gone down wid her to the forge: the poor crathur was very lame
to-day."
"That's right; an' let Andy Murtagh bring down the sacks from Drumdough
early to-morrow. That what ought to go to the market on Thursday, an'
the other stacks ought to be thrashed out of hand."
"Well, well; so it will be all done. Tare alive! if myself knows how
you're able to keep an eye on everything. Come in, an' let us have our
tay."
For a few months after this, Ellish was perfectly in her element.
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