When they had been about two or three years thus employed, Peter, at the
solicitation of the wife, took a small farm.

"You're stout an' able," said she; "an' as I can manage the house widout
you, wouldn't it be a good plan to take a bit o' ground--nine or
ten acres, suppose--an' thry your hand at it? Sure you wor wanst the
greatest man in the parish about a farm. Surely that 'ud be dacenter nor
to be slungein' about, invintin' truth and lies for other people, whin
they're at their work, to make thim laugh, an you doin' nothin' but
standin' over thim, wid your hands down to the bottom o' your pockets?
Do, Pether, thry it, avick, an' you'll see it 'ill prosper wid us, plase
God?'

"Faix I'm ladin' an asier life, Ellish."

"But are you ladin' a dacenter or a more becominer life?"

"Why, I think, widout doubt, that it's more becominer to walk about like
a gintleman, nor to be workin' like a slave."

"Gintleman! Musha, is it to the fair you're bringin' yourself? Why, you
great big bosthoon, isn't it both a sin an' a shame to see you sailin'
about among the neighbors, like a sthray turkey, widout a hand's turn to
do? But, any way, take my advice, avillish,--will you, aroon?--an' faix
you'll see how rich we'll get, wid a blessin'?"

"Ellish, you're a deludher!"

"Well, an' what suppose? To be sure I am. Usen't you be followin' me