“Why to an ould woman, wid a great deal of the hard goold!”
Phelim put his hand instinctively to his waistcoat pocket, in which he carried the housekeeper's money.
“Would you oblage one wid her name?”
“You know ould Molly Kavanagh well enough, Phelim.”
Phelim put up an inward ejaculation of thanks.
“To the sarra wid her, an' all sasoned women. God be praised that the night's line, anyhow! Hand me the shell, an' we'll take a gauliogue aich, an' afther that we'll begin an' talk over how lovin' an' fond o' one another we'll be.”
“You're takin' too much o' the whiskey, Phelim. Oh, for Goodness' sake!—oh—b—b—n—now be asy. Faix, I'll go to the fire, an' lave you altogether, so I will, if you don't give over slustherin' me, that way, an' stoppin' my breath.”
“Here's all happiness to our two selves, acushla machree! Now thry another gauliogue, an' you'll see how deludin' it'll make you.”
“Not a sup, Phelim.”
“Arrah, nonsense! Be the vestment, it's as harmless as new milk from the cow. It'll only do you good, alanna. Come now, Peggy, don't be ondacent, an' it our first night's coortin'! Blood alive! don't make little o' my father's son on sich a night, an' us at business like this, anyhow!”
“Phelim, by the crass, I won't take it; so that ends it. Do you want to make little o' me? It's not much you'd think o' me in your mind, if I'd dhrink it.”
“The shell's not half full.”
“I wouldn't brake my oath for all the whiskey in the kingdom; so don't ax me. It's neither right nor proper of you to force it an me.”
“Well, all I say is, that it's makin' little of one Phelim O'Toole, that hasn't a thought in his body but what's over head an' ears in love wid you. I must only dhrink it for you myself, thin. Here's all kinds o' good fortune to us! Now, Peggy—sit closer to me acushla!—Now, Peggy, are you fond o' me at all? Tell thruth, now.”
“Fond o' you! Sure you know all the girls is fond of you. Aren't you the boy for deludin' them?—ha, ha, ha?”
“Come, come, you shaver; that won't do. Be sarious. If you knew how my heart's warmin' to you this minute, you'd fall in love wid my shadow. Come, now, out wid it. Are you fond of a sartin boy not far from you, called Bouncin' Phelim?”
“To be sure I am. Are you satisfied now? Phelim! I say,”—
“Faith, it won't pass, avourneen. That's not the voice for it. Don't you hear me, how tendher I spake wid my mouth brathin' into your ear, acushla machree? Now turn about, like a purty entisin' girl, as you are, an' put your sweet bill to my ear the same way, an' whisper what you know into it? That's a darlin'! Will you, achora?”
“An' maybe all this time you're promised to another?”
“Be the vestments, I'm not promised to one. Now! Saize the one!”
“You'll say that, anyhow!”
“Do you see my hands acrass? Be thim five crasses, I'm not promised to a girl livin', so I'm not, nor wouldn't, bekase I had you in my eye. Now will you tell me what I'm wantin' you? The grace o' Heaven light down an you, an' be a good, coaxin darlin' for wanst. Be this an' be that, if ever you heerd or seen sich doin's an' times as we'll have when we're marrid. Now the weeny whisper, a colleen dhas.”
“It's time enough yet to let you know my mind, Phelim. If you behave yourself an' be——Why thin is it at the bottle agin you are? Now don't dhrink so much, Phelim, or it'll get into your head. I was sayin' that if you behave yourself, an' be a good boy, I may tell you somethin' soon.”
“Somethin' soon! Live horse, an' you'll get grass! Peggy, if that's the way wid you, the love's all on my side, I see clearly. Are you willin' to marry me, anyhow?”
“I'm willin' to do whatsomever my father an' mother wishes.”
“I'm for havin' the weddin' off-hand; an' of coorse, if we agree to-night, I think our best plan is to have ourselves called on Sunday. An' I'll tell you what, avourneen—be the holy vestments, if I was to be 'called' to fifty on the same Sunday, you're the darlin' I'd marry.”
“Phelim, it's time for us to go up to the fire; we're long enough here. I thought you had only three words to say to me.”
“Why, if you're tired o' me, Peggy, I don't want you to stop. I wouldn't force myself on the best girl that ever stepped.”
“Sure you have tould me all you want to say, an' there's no use in us stayin' here. You know, Phelim, there's not a girl in the Parish 'ud believe a word that 'ud come but o' your lips. Sure there's none o' them but you coorted one time or other. If you could get betther, Phelim, I dunna whether you'd be here to-night at all or not.”
“Answer me this, Peggy. What do you! think your father 'ud be willin' to give you? Not that I care a cron abaun about it, for I'd marry you wid an inch of candle.”
“You know my father's but a poor man, Phelim, an' can give little or nothing. Them that won't marry me as I am, needn't come here to look for a fortune.”
“I know that, Peggy, an' be the same token, I want no fortune at all wid you but yourself, darlin'. In the mane time, to show you that I could get a fortune—Dhera Lorha Heena, I could have a wife wid a hundre an' twenty guineas!”
Peggy received this intelligence much in the same manner as Larry and Sheelah had received it. Her mirth was absolutely boisterous for at least ten minutes. Indeed, so loud had it been, that Larry and her father could not help asking:—
“Arrah, what's the fun, Peggy, achora?”
“Oh, nothin',” she replied, “but one o' Phelim's bounces.”
“Now,” said Phelim, “you won't believe me? Be all the books—”
Peggy's mirth prevented his oaths from being heard. In vain he declared, protested, and swore. On this occasion, he was compelled to experience the fate peculiar to all liars. Even truth, from his lips, was looked upon as falsehood.
Phelim, on finding that he could neither extort from Peggy an acknowledgment of love, nor make himself credible upon the subject of the large fortune, saw that he had nothing for it now, in order to produce an impression, but the pathetic.
“Well,” said he, “you may lave me, Peggy achora, if you like; but out o' this I'll not budge, wid a blessing, till I cry my skinful, so I won't. Saize the toe I'll move, now, till I'm sick wid cryin'! Oh, murdher alive, this night! Isn't it a poor case entirely, that the girl I'd suffer myself to be turned inside out for, won't say that she cares about a hair o' my head! Oh, thin, but I'm the misfortunate blackguard all out! Och, oh! Peggy, achora, you'll break my heart! Hand me that shell, acushla—for I'm in the height of affliction!”
Peggy could neither withhold it, nor reply to him. Her mirth was even more intense now than before; nor, if all were known, was Phelim less affected with secret laughter than Peggy.
“It is makin' fun o' me you are, you thief, eh?—Is it laughin' at my grief you are?” exclaimed Phelim. “Be the tarn' o' wor, I'll punish you for that.”
Peggy attempted to escape, but Phelim succeeded, ere she went, in taking a salutation or two, after which both joined those who sat at the fire, and in a few minutes Sam Appleton entered.
Much serious conversation had already passed in reference to the courtship, which was finally entered into and debated, pro and con.
“Now, Paddy Donovan, that we're altogether, let me tell you one thing: there's not a betther natur'd boy, nor a stouther, claner young fellow in the parish, than my Phelim. He'll make your daughther as good, a husband as ever broke bread!”
“I'm