Here and there, dotted about the hillsides, the
tiny white-washed cabins were full of life; the cocks crowed proudly as
they strutted in and out among their plump, sleek wives; the useful ass
brayed loudly, roaming about field and lane in enjoyment of a leisure
hour; the men were in the fields, cutting the sweet-scented grass, and
the women busied themselves about the midday meal, while babies, with
dirty faces and naked feet, tumbled about among the wandering pigs and
quacking ducks in blissful content.
Along the white road that bordered the lake a cart was jolting slowly
along; it was painted in a startling shade of blue, with shafts of
brightest red that projected both back and front; upon it was arranged,
with neatness and precision, a load of turf just cut from the bog; on
one side, painted black, that all who run might read, was the name of
"Patrick O'Malley" in crude lettering, and Patrick himself, in working
dress of coarse cream homespun, walked beside his slow-going jennet,
idly smoking his tin-topped pipe. From time to time he drew from his
trouser pocket a letter, which he fingered with respect, gazing at it
with profoundest wonder.
"Shure, 'tis the grandest and the natest letther ever seen, and the
ilegant picthur on the back! Musha, musha, 'tis not the likes o' that
comes to Biddy Joyce ivery day, no, nor to no one else neither in these
parts! It minds me of a letther her ladyship at the castle aksed me to
take to the posht, and her in a hurry; begob, but the paper's thick and
good entoirely!" and he rubbed it softly between his finger and thumb.
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