slowly over until the bottoms were uppermost—not one dhrop of the liquor spillin’ to the ground. They saw no more, for they aich gave a different kind of roar whin Darby turned to bring back the empty vessels. The next second Tom Grogan was flying like a hunted rabbit over the muddy petatie-field behind his own stable, whilst Wullum Broderick an’ Garge McGibney were dashin’ furious afther him like Skibberberg hounds. But Mrs. Grogan didn’t run away, bekase she was on her own thrashol’, lying on the flat of her back, and for the first time in her life spacheless.
Howandever, with a rumble an’ a roar, the coach with its thravellers wint on its way.
The good liquor supplied all which that last sight lacked that was needful to put our three hayroes in good humour with thimselves an’ with aich other, so that it wasn’t long before their throubles, bein’ forgot, they were convarsing sociable an’ fumiliar, one with the other.
Darby, to improve his informaytion, was sthriving to make the best of the sitiwation be axin’ knowledgeable questions. “What kind of disposition has the banshee, I dunno?” he says, afther a time.
