No, avourneen. Glory be to God! he's
gettin' betther wid me!" and the poor creature's eyes glistened with
delight through her tears and the darkness of her affliction.
Without saying a word, Owen, when she finished the eulogium on her
son, rose, and taking her forcibly by the shoulder, set her down at the
table, on which a large potful of potatoes had been spread out, with
a circle in the middle for a dish of rashers and eggs, into which dish
every right hand of those about it was thrust, with a quickness that
clearly illustrated the principle of competition as a stimulus to
action.
"Spare your breath," said Owen, placing her rather roughly upon the
seat, "an' take share of what's goin': when all's cleared off we'll hear
you, but the sorra word till then."
"Musha, Owen," said the poor woman, "you're the same man still; sure
we all know your ways; I'll strive, avourneen, to ate--I'll strive,
asthore--to plase you, an' the Lord bless you an' yours, an' may you
never be as I an' my fatherless childhre are this sorrowful day!" and
she accompanied her words by a flood of tears.
* Meldhre--whatever quantity of grain is brought to the
mill to be ground on one occasion.
Owen, without evincing the slightest sympathy, withdrew himself from the
table. Not a muscle of his face was moved; but as the cat came about his
feet at the time, he put his foot under her, and flung her as easily as
possible to the lower end of the kitchen.
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