"Well, well, mother! I'll be sure to say so next time."
So he set off again, and this time he met a funeral; and when he had come well up to the coffin, he greeted it and said, "To the de'il with you!" and then he ran home to his mother, and told her he had said what she bade him.
"And what was that?" she asked.
"Oh, I said, 'To the de'il with you.'"
"And what was it you met?"
"I met a funeral," said Matt; "but I got more kicks than halfpence."
"You didn't get half enough," said the goody. "Why, of course, you ought to have said, 'May your poor soul have mercy.' That's what you ought to have said."
"Ay, ay, mother! so I will next time, only be still," said Matt, and off he went again.
So when he had gone a bit of the way he fell on two ugly gipsies who were skinning a dog. So when he came up to them he greeted them and said, "May your poor soul have mercy;" and when he had said so he went home and told his mother he had said what she bade him, but all he got was such a drubbing he could scarce drag one leg after the other.
"But what was it you said?" asked the goody.
"'May your poor soul have mercy;' that was what I said."
"And whom did you meet?"
"A pair of gipsies skinning a dog," he said.
"Well, well!" said the goody, "there's no hope of your changing; you'll always be a shame and sorrow
