I percaved it, ye see, all at once, and no mistake, and that's
God's truth. First of all it was up wid the windy in a jiffy, and thin
she threw open her two peepers to the itmost, and thin it was a little
gould spy-glass that she clapped tight to one o' them and divil may
burn me if it didn't spake to me as plain as a peeper cud spake, and
says it, through the spy-glass: "Och! the tip o' the mornin' to ye,
Sir Pathrick O'Grandison, Barronitt, mavourneen; and it's a nate
gintleman that ye are, sure enough, and it's mesilf and me forten jist
that'll be at yur sarvice, dear, inny time o' day at all at all for
the asking." And it's not mesilf ye wud have to be bate in the
purliteness; so I made her a bow that wud ha' broken yur heart
altegither to behould, and thin I pulled aff me hat with a flourish,
and thin I winked at her hard wid both eyes, as much as to say,
"True for you, yer a swate little crature, Mrs. Tracle, me darlint,
and I wish I may be drownthed dead in a bog, if it's not mesilf, Sir
Pathrick O'Grandison, Barronitt, that'll make a houl bushel o' love to
yur leddyship, in the twinkling o' the eye of a Londonderry purraty.
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