There's that
half acre--"
"To the diouol, I say, I pitch yourself an' your half acre! Why do you
be comin' acrass me wid your half acre? Eh?--why do you?"
"Come now; don't be puttin' your hands agin your sides, an waggin' your
impty head at me, like a rockin' stone."
"An' why do you be aggravatin' at me wid your half acre?"
"Bekase I have a good right to do it. What'll become of it when I d--"
"----That for you an' it, you poor excuse!"
"When I di--"
"----That for you an' it, I say! That for you an' it, you atomy!"
"What'll become of my half acre when I die? Did you hear that?"
"You ought to think of what'll become of yourself, when you die; that's
what you ought to think of; but little it throubles you, you sinful
reprobate! Sure the neighbors despises you."
"That's falsity; but they know the life I lade wid you. The edge of your
tongue's well known. They pity me, for bein' joined to the likes of you.
Your bad tongue's all you're good for."
"Aren't you afeard to be flyin' in the face o' Providence the way you
are? An' to be ladin' me sich a heart-scalded life for no rason?"
"It's your own story you're tellin'. Sure I haven't a day's pace wid
you, or ever had these three years. But wait till next harvest, an' if
I'm spared, I'll go to England. Whin I do, I've a consate in my head,
that you'll never see my face agin.
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