an’ with consolin’ winks an’ nods from him, the childher followed their mother to the bedroom.
Thin, whilst Bridget was tucking the covers about them, an’ hushing their complainings, Darby sat with his elbows on his knees, doing in his head a sum in figures; an’ that sum was this:
"How much would it be worth this All Sowls’ night for a man to go out that door and walk past the churchyard up to Cormac McCarthy, the stone-cutter’s house?” One time he made the answer as low as tin pounds two shillings and thruppence, but as he did so a purticular loud blast went shrieking past outside, an’ he raised the answer to one thousand five hundred an’ tunty pounds sterling. "And cheap at that,” he said aloud.
While he was studyin’ thim saygacious questions, Bridget stole quietly behind and put a light hand on his chowlder. For a minute, thin, nayther of thim said a worrud.
Surprised at the silence, an’ puzzled that little Mickey had escaped a larruping, Malachi crept from the far room an’ stood still in the doorway judging his misthress. An’ expression was on her face the cat couldn’t quite make out. ’Twas an elevayted,
