"
"Margaret," said the father, in a calm, collected voice, "put both
consent and blessin' out of the question; you will never have either
from me."
"Ho _dher a Ihora heena_," exclaimed the mother, "I'm the boy for one
that will see the buckle crossed against them, or I'd die every day
this twelve months upon the top and tail o' Knockmany, through wind an'
weather. You darlin' scoundrel," she proceeded, addressing Art, in what
she intended to be violent abuse--"God condemn your sowl to happiness,
is I or am my husband to be whillebelewin' on your loaf? Eh, answer us
that, if you're not able, like a man, as you is?"
Margaret, whose humor and sense of the ludicrous were exceedingly
strong, having seldom heard her mother so excited before, gave one arch
look at Art, who, on the contrary, felt perfectly confounded at the
woman's language, and in that look there was a kind of humorous entreaty
that he would depart. She nodded towards the door, and Art, having shook
hands with her, said--
"Good-by, Jemmy Murray, I hope you'll change your mind still; your
daughter never could got any one that loves her as I do, or that could
treat her with more tendherness and affection."
"Be off, you darlin' vagabone," said Mrs. Murray, "the heavens be your
bed, you villain, why don't you stay where you is, an' not be malivogin
an undacent family this way.
Pages:
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395