Don't you see that if I wanted it, I'd ate it, an' what more
would you have about!"
"Well, acushla, it's your own loss, sure, of a sartinty. An' Rosha,
whisper, ahagur, what can Owen or I do for you? Throth, it would be a
bad day we'd see you at a _deshort_ * for a friend, for you never wor
nothin' else nor a civil, oblagin' neighbor yourself; an' him that's
gone before--the Lord make his bed in heaven this day--was as good a
warrant as ever broke bread, to sarve a friend, if it was at the hour of
midnight."
* That is at a loss; or more properly speaking, taken
short, which it means.
"Ah! when I had him!" exclaimed the distracted widow, "I never had
occasion to trouble aither friend or neighbor; but he s gone an' now
it's otherwise wid me--glory be to God for all his mercies--a wurrah
dheelish! Why, thin, since I must spake, an' has no other frind to go
to--but somehow I doubt Owen looks dark upon me--sure I'd put my hand to
a stamp, if my word wouldn't do for it, an' sign the blessed crass that
saved us, for the payment of it; or I'd give it to him in oats, for I
hear you want some, Owen--Phatie oates it is, an' a betther shouldhered
or fuller-lookin' grain never went undher a harrow--indeed it's it
that's the beauty, all out, if it's good seed you want."
"What is it for, woman alive?" inquired Owen, as he kicked a
three-legged stool out of his way.
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