An' sure your name's far and near for that, any
how."
Connor's face would have done the heart of Brooke or Cruikshank good,
had either of them seen it charged with humor so rich as that which
beamed upon it, when the Major left them to enjoy their own comments
upon what had happened.
"Oh, be the livin' farmer," said Connor, "are we all alive at all afther
doin' the Major! Pp., thin, the curse o' the crows upon you, pijor,
darlin', but you are a Manus!* The damn' rip o' the world, that wouldn't
give the breath he breathes to the poor for God's sake, and he'll threwn
a man half-a-crown that 'll blarney him for farmin', and him doesn't
know the differ atween a Cork-red a Yellow-leg."**
* A soft booby easily hoaxed.
**Different kinds of potatoes.
"Faith, he's the boy that knows how to make a Judy of himself any way,
Pether," exclaimed another. "The divil a hapurt'h asier nor to
give these Quality the bag to hould, so there isn't. An' they think
themselves so cute, too!"
"Augh!" said a third, "couldn't a man find the soft side o' them as asy
as make out the way to' his own nose, widout being led to it. Divil a
sin it is to do them, any way. Sure, he thinks we wor tooth an' nail at
the meadow all day; an' me thought I'd never recover it, to see Pether
here--the rise he tuck out of him! Ha, ha, ha--och, och, murdher, oh!"
"Faith," exclaimed Connor, "'twas good, you see, to help the poor
scholar; only for it we couldn't get shkamin' the half-crown out of him.
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