For half of one minute Darby, every eye in his head as big as a tay-cup, stood hesitaytin’. Thin he said, “Why should it flutther me? Arrah, ain’t it all mine? Aren’t all these people in me pay? I’ll engage it’s a pritty penny all this grandeur is costing me to keep up this minute.” He trew out his chist. “Come on, Bridget!” he says; “let’s go into the home of my ansisthers.”
Howandever, scarcely had he stepped into the beautiful place whin two pipers with their pipes, two fiddlers with their fiddles, two flute-players with their flutes, an’ they dhressed in scarlet an’ goold, stepped out in front of him, and thus to maylodius music the family proudly marched down the hall, climbed up the goolden stairway at its ind, an’ thin turned to enter the biggest room Darby had ever seen.
Something in his sowl whuspered that this was the picture-gallery.
“Be the powers of Pewther!” says the knowledgeable man to himself, “I wouldn’t be in Bridget’s place this minute for a hatful of money! Wait, oh just wait, till she has to compare her own relations with my own foine people! I know how she’ll feel, but I wondher what she’ll say,” he says.
