“Ellish, I’ll fight for you ankle deep,” said Katty—­“depind your life an me.”

“In the name o’ goodness, thin, it’s a bargain,” said Ellish; “an’ at the end o’ the year, if we’re spared, we’ll see what we’ll see.  We’ll have among ourselves a little sup o’ tay, plase goodness, an’ we’ll be comfortable.  Now, Barny, go an’ draw home thim phaties from the pits while the day’s fine; and Katty, a colleen, bring in some wather, till we get the pig killed and scalded—­it’ll hardly have time to be good bacon for the big markets at Christmas.  I don’t wish,” she continued, “to keep it back from them that we have a thrifle o’ money.  One always does betther when it’s known that they’re not strugglin’.  There’s Nelly Cummins, an’ her customers is lavin’ her, an’ dalin’ wid me, bekase she’s goin’ down in business.  Ay an’, Pether, ahagur, it’s the way o’ the world.”

“Well but, Ellish, don’t you be givin’ Nelly Cummins the harsh word, or lanin’ too heavily upon her, the crathur, merely in regard that she is goin’ down.  Do you hear, acolleen?”

“Indeed I don’t do it, Pether; but you know she has a tongue like a razor at times, and whin it gets loose she’d provoke St. Pether himself.  Thin she’s takin’ to the dhrink, too, the poor misfortunate vagabone!”

“Well, well, that’s no affair o’ yours, or mine aither—­only don’t be risin’ ructions and norrations wid her.  You threwn a jug at her the last day you war out, an’ hot the poor ould Potticary as he was passin’.  You see I hard that, though you kept it close from me!—­ha, ha, ha!”

“Ha, ha, ha!—­why you’d split if you had seen the crathur whin he fell into Pether White’s brogue-creels, wid his heels up.  But what right had she to be sthrivin’ to bring away my customers afore my face?  Ailey Dogherty was buying a crock wid me, and Nelly shouts over to her from where she sot like a queen on her stool, ‘Ailey,’ says she, ’here’s a betther one for three fardens less, an’ another farden ’ill get you a pennorth o’ salt.’  An’, indeed, Ailey walks over, manely enough, an’ tuck her at her word.  Why, flesh an’ blood couldn’t bear it.”

“Indeed, an’ you’re raal flesh and blood, Ellish, if that’s thrue.”

“Well, but consarnin’ what I mintioned awhile agone—­hut! the poor mad crathur, let us have no more discoorse about her—­I say, that no one ever thrives so well as when the world sees that they are gettin’ an, an’ prosperin’; but if there’s not an appearance, how will any one know whether we are prosperin’ or not, barrin’ they see some sign of it about us; I mane, in a quiet rasonable way, widout show or extravagance.  In the name o’ goodness, thin, let us get the house brushed up, an’ the outhouses dashed.  A bushel or two of lime ’ill make this as white as an egg widin, an’ a very small expinse will get it plastered, and whitewashed widowt.  Wouldn’t you like it, avourneen?  Eh, Pether?”

“To be sure I’d like it.  It’ll give a respectful look to the house and place.”