"I thought," observed Mr. Eccles, "that she sometimes drew the long bow,
Peter."

"Oh, murdher alive, sir, it was only in regard of her crassin' in an'
whippin' the word out o' my mouth, that I wanted to take a rise out
of her. Oh, bedad, sir, no; the crathur's thruth to the backbone, an'
farther if I'd say it."

"So, your honor, considherin' everything, we're willin' to offer thirty
shillin's an acre for the farm. That rint, sir, we'll be able to pay,
wid the help o' God, for sure we can do nothin' widout his assistance,
glory be to his name! You'll get many that'll offer you more, your
honor; but if it 'ud be plasin' to you to considher what manes they have
to pay it, I think, sir, you'd see, out o' your own sinse, that it's not
likely people who is gone to the bad, an' has nothin' could stand it out
long."

"I wish to heaven," replied Mr. Eccles, "that every tenant in Ireland
possessed your prudence and good sense. Will you permit me to ask, Mrs.
Connell, what capital you and your husband can command provided I should
let you have it."

"Wid every pleasure in life, sir, for it's but a fair question to put.
An' sure, it is to God we owe it, whatever it is, plase your honor. But,
sir, if we get the land, we're able to stock it, an' to crop it well an'
dacently; an' if your honor would allow us for sartin improvements, sir,
we'd run it into snug fields, by plantin' good hedges, an' gettin' up
shelther for the outlyin' cattle in the hard seasons, plase your honor,
and you know the farm is very naked and bare of shelter at present."