Sure, I know well you wouldn't throw yourself away upon a poor girl like
me, that has nothin' but a good pair of hands to live by."
"Be me sowl, an' you live by them. Well, but set in
case--supposin'--that same Bouncin' Phelim was willing to make you
mistress of the Half Acre, what 'ud you be sayin'?"
"Phelim, if a body thought you worn't jokin' them--ah, the dickens go
wid you, Phelim--this is more o' your thricks--but if it was thruth you
wor spakin', Phelim?"
"It is thruth," said Phelim; "be the vestment, it's nothin' else. Now,
say yes or no; for if it's a thing that it's to be a match, you must go
an' tell him that I'll marry you, an' he must be as firm as a rock. But
see, Sally, by thim five crasses it's not bekase your father's in I'm
marryin' you at all. Sure I'm in love wid you, acushla! Divil a lie in
it. Now, yes or no?"
"Well--throth--to be sure--the sorra one, Phelim, but you have quare
ways wid you. Now are you downright in airnest?"
"Be the stool I'm sittin' on!"
"Well, in the name o' Goodness, I'll go to my father, an' let him know
it. Poor man, it'll take the fear out of his heart. Now can he depind on
you, Phelim?"
"Why, all I can say is, that we'll get ourselves called on Sunday next.
Let himself, sure, send some one to autorise the priest to call us.
An' now that's all settled, don't I desarve somethin'? Oh, be gorra,
surely.
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