Bear it mild an' asy, Vara, acushla, for
I know it will take a start out of you. Sure we're to go back to our own
ould farm! Ay, an' what'a more--oh, God of heaven, bless him!--what's
more, the Colonel is to stock it for us, an' to help us; an' what is
more, Yallow Sam is out! out!!"
"Out!" they exclaimed: "Jemmy well, an' Yallow Sam out! Oh, father,
surely"--
"Now behave, I say. Ay, and never to come in again! But who do you think
got him out?"
"Who?--why God he knows. Who could get him out?"
"Our son, Vara--our son, childhre: Jemmy got him out, an' got ourselves
back to our farm! I had it partly from the noble Colonel's own lips,
an' the remainder from Mr. Moutray, that I met on my way home. But
there's more to come:--sure Jemmy has friends aquil to the Colonel
himself: an' sure he's at a Catholic boordin'-school, among gintlemen's
childhre, an' in a short time he'll be a priest in full ordhers."
We here draw a veil over the delight of the family. Questions upon
questions, replies upon replies, sifting and cross-examinations,
followed in rapid succession, until all was known that the worthy man
had to communicate.
Another simple scene followed, which, as an Irishman, I write with
sorrow. When the joy of the family had somewhat subsided, the father,
putting his hand in his coat-pocket, pulled out several large slices of
mutton.
"Along wid all, childhre," said he, "the Colonel ordhered me my dinner.
I ate plinty myself, an' slipped these slices in my pocket for you: but
the devil a one o' me knows what kind o' mate it is.
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