10
Hommy [starts with surprise and then looks over spectacles quite scandalized]: Well, if ever–
Child: Drop it now. [Jumps out of cradle scattering shawls and wraps, Hommy gazing open-mouthed.] Smart now, Hommy–clear this place quick. [Picks up besom and pokes Hommy, finally chasing him into corner, and picking up fiddle in its green bag thrusts it at him.] Now then, tune up! Quick now–give us a quickstep.
“Bollan bane,” or “Tune of wheeyl vooar.” Child dances, throwing things at Hommy, and hitting him with besom; till at last Hommy gets up on table again, playing faster and faster.
Hommy [stopping suddenly]: Whisht! Whisht! Here’s Herself comin’! thank my stars! What in ever will she say!
Child creeps into cradle, drawing shawls and rugs over himself, and begins whining and moaning. Hommy tries clumsily to get down from table.
Mrs. Gale [standing at door with hands uplifted]: What in all the world is the meaning of this?
Hommy [shamefacedly]: Aw, tryin’ to amuse the poor lil falla I was. Makin’ him laugh too, the clavver I was doin’ it. An’ jus’ hear how he’s frettin’ again now I’ve stopped. [Stands looking at Mrs. Gale, rubbing his chin.] I’m thinkin’–
Mrs. Fale [interrupting]: Well, don’t be thinkin’ then, but for goodness sake put a stitch on them duds.
Hommy: Well, but I’m sayin’–
Mrs. Gale: Will you take an’ be doin’ your work, an’ lave thinkin’ an’ sayin’ to the, as is eddicated according.
Takes basin from chiollagh, to feed child.
Hommy [despairingly]: Houl on, woman! Houl on there for a minute now!
Mrs. Gale: An’ what for am I to houl on, an’ the chile needin’ his mate?
Hommy [impressively]: Mrs. Gale, yondher falla is not no right wan at all.
Mrs. Gale: Aw, the dear me, Hommy! What do you mean?
