'All well, thank ye kindly,' he says. 'save an' except
th' wife an' little Eleen,' he says. 'They're not so well,' he says.
'But what can ye expect? They've had th' best iv health all th' year.'
'It must be har-rd wurrukin' at th' mills this weather,' I says. ''Tis
war-rum,' he says; 'but ye can't look f'r snow-storms this time iv th'
year,' he says. 'Thin,' says he, 'me mind's taken aff th' heat be me
wurruk,' he says. 'Dorsey that had th' big cinder-pile--the wan near
th' fence--was sun-struck Fridah, an' I've been promoted to his job.
'Tis a most res-sponsible place,' he says; 'an' a man, to fill it
rightly an' properly, has no time to think f'r th' crops,' he says.
An' I wint away, lavin' him singin' 'On th' Three-tops' to th' kids on
his knees.
"Well, he comes down th' road tonight afther th' wind had turned, with
his old hat on th' back iv his head, whistlin' 'Th' Rambler fr'm
Clare' and I stopped to talk with him. 'Glory be,' says I, ''tis
pleasant to breathe th' cool air,' says I. 'Ah,' he says, ''tis a rale
good avnin',' he says. 'D'ye know,' he says, 'I haven't slept much
these nights, f'r wan reason 'r another.
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