"Arrah, what harm did the crathur do," asked his wife, "that you'd kick
her for, that way? an' why but you ate out your dinner?"
"I'm done," he replied, "but that's no rason that Rosha, an' you, an'
thim boys that has the work afore them, shouldn't finish your male's
mate."
Poor Rosha thought that by his withdrawing he had already suspected
the object of her visit, and of course concluded that her chance of
succeeding was very slender.
The wife, who guessed what she wanted, as well as the nature of her
suspicion, being herself as affectionate and obliging as Owen, reverted
to the subject, in order to give her an opportunity of proceeding.
"Somethin' bitther an' out o' the common coorse, is a throuble to you,
Rosha," said she, "or you wouldn't be in the state you're in. The Lord
look down on you this day, you poor crathur--widout the father of your
childhre to stand up for you, an' your only other depindance laid on the
broad of his back, all as one as a cripple; but no matther, Rosha; trust
to Him that can be a husband to you an' a father to your orphans--trust
to Him, an' his blessed mother in heaven, this day, an' never fear but
they'll rise up a frind for you. Musha, Owen, ate your dinner as you
ought to do, wid your capers! How can you take a spade in your hand upon
that morsel?"
"Finish your own," said her husband, "an' never heed me; jist let me
alone.
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