"There's nothing strong about the place but the
impidence of the people in it! If you had told Peter to get a
carpenter or a locksmith, as I've been asking you these two weeks,
it would have been all right; but you never do anything till a month
after it's too late. I've no patience with such a set of doshies,
dawdling around and leaving everything to go to rack and ruin!"
"Sure it was yourself that ruinated the thing," responded Molly,
with spirit, for the unaccustomed word 'doshy' had kindled her quick
Irish temper. "It's aisy handlin' the knob is used to, and faith it
would 'a' stuck there for you a twelvemonth!"
"They will be quarrelling soon," said Salemina nervously. "Do not
wait another instant; you are late enough now, and I insist on your
going. Make any excuse you see fit: say I am ill, say I am dead,
if you like, but don't tell the real excuse--it is too shiftless and
wretched and embarrassing. Don't cry, Benella. Molly, Oonah, go
downstairs to your work. Mrs. Waterford, I think perhaps you have
forgotten that we have already purchased raffle tickets, and we'll
not take any more for fear that we may draw the necklace. Good-bye,
dears; tell Lady Killbally I shall see her to-morrow."
Chapter XV. Penelope weaves a web.
'Why the shovel and tongs
To each other belongs,
And the kettle sings songs
Full of family glee,
While alone with your cup,
Like a hermit you sup,
Och hone, Widow Machree.
Pages:
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127