An' didn't the crayture
proffer to help me a week ago come Toosday, an' me foldin' down me
clane clothes for the ironin', an' fill his haythen mouth wid water,
an' afore I could hinder, squirrit it through his teeth stret over
the best linen table-cloth, and fold it up tight, as innercent now as
a baby, the dirrity baste! But the worrest of all was the copyin'
he'd been doin' till ye'd be dishtracted. It's yerself knows the
tinder feet that's on me since ever I been in this counthry. Well,
owin' to that, I fell into a way o' slippin' me shoes off when I'd be
sittin' down to pale the praties, or the likes o' that; an' do ye
mind, that haythen would do the same thing after me whiniver the
missus set him to parin' apples or tomaterses.
Did I lave for that? Faix, an' I didn't. Didn't he get me into
trouble wid my missus, the haythen! Ye're aware yerself how the
boondles comin' in from the grocery often contains more'n'll go into
anything dacently. So, for that matter, I'd now and then take out a
sup o' sugar, or flour, or tay, an' wrap it in paper, and put it in
me bit of a box tucked under the ironin'-blanket, the how it cuddent
be bodderin' any one. Well, what shud it be, but this blessed
Sathurday morn, the missus was a-spakin' pleasant an' respec'ful wid
me in me kitchen, when the grocer boy comes in, and stands fornenst
her wid his boondles; and she motions like to Fing Wing (which I
never would call him by that name or any other but just haythen)--she
motions to him, she does, for to take the boondles, an' emty out the
sugar and what not where they belongs.
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