"
"An' do you think that I'm sufferin' nothin' on that account?" asked
his companion; "only you haven't three big stacks of hay waitin' for a
failure, as I have."
"That's bekase I have no meadow on my farm," replied Cooney; "otherwise
I would be in the hay trade as well as yourself."
"Well, God help us, Cooney! every one has their misfortunes as well as
you and I; sure enough, it's a bitther business to see how every thing's
thrivin'--hay, oats, and whate! why they'll be for a song: may I never
get a bad shillin', but the poor 'ill be paid for takin' them! that's
the bitther pass things will come to; maurone ok! but it's a black
lookout!"
"An' this rain, too," said Cooney, "so soft, and even, and small, and
warm, that it's playin' the very devil. Nothin' could stand it. Why it
ud make a rotten twig grow if it was put into the ground."
"Divil a one o' me would like to make the third," said Murray, "for
'fraid I might have the misfortune to succeed. Death alive! Only think
of my four arks, of meal, an' my three stacks of hay, an' divil a pile
to come out of them for another twelve months!"
"It's bad, too bad, I allow," said the other; "still let us not despair,
man alive; who knows but the saison may change for the worse yet.
Whish!" he exclaimed, slapping the side of his thigh, "hould up your
head, Jemmy, I have thought of it; I have thought of it.
Pages:
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381