still. The entire counthry-side were dhry for a fortnit afther.
Their talk in that way dhrifted from one pleasant subject to another, till Father Cassidy, the sly man, says aisy an’ careless, “I’ve been tould,” says he, “that before the Good People were banished from heaven yez were all angels,” he says.
The King blew a long thin cloud from betwixt his lips, felt his whuskers thoughtful for a minute, and then said:
“No,” he says, “we were not exactly what you might call angels. A rale angel is taller nor your chapel.”
“Will you tell me what they’re like?” axed Father Cassidy, very curious.
“I’ll give you an idee be comparison what they’re like,” the King says. “They’re not like a chapel, and they’re not like a three, an’ they’re not like the ocean,” says he. “They’re different from a goint—a great dale different—and they’re dissembler to an aygle; in fact, you’d not mistake one of them for anything you’d ever seen before in your whole life. Now you have a purty good ideeah what they’re like,” says he.
