But he looked as if he would sink all the time he was a sayin' it. They all looked dretful curious at him, and he looked as meachin' as if he had stole a sheep, and he never took a minute's comfort, nor I nuther. He was sick all the way back to the shore, and so was I. And jest as we got into our wagons and started for home, the rain begun to pour down. The wind turned our old umberell inside out in no time. My lawn dress was most spilte before, and now I give up my bunnet. And I says to Josiah:
"This bunnet and dress are spilte, Josiah Allen, and I shall have to buy some new ones."
"Wal! wal! who said you wouldn't?" he snapped out.
But it wore on him. Oh, how the rain poured down. Josiah havin' nothin' but his handkerchief on his head felt it more than I did. I had took a apron to put on a gettin' dinner, and I tried to make him let me pin it on to his head. But says he, firmly:
"I hain't proud and haughty, Samantha, but I do feel above ridin' out with a pink apron on for a hat."
"Wal, then," says I, "get as wet as sop if you had ruther."
I didn't say no more, but there we jest sot and suffered. The rain poured down, the wind howled at us, the old horse went slow, the rheumatiz laid holt of both of us, and the thought of the new bunnet and dress was a wearin' on Josiah, I knew.
After I had beset him about the apron, we didn't say hardly a word for as much as 13 miles or so; but I did speak once, as he leaned forward with the rain a drippin' offen his bandanna handkerchief onto his white pantaloons. I says to him in stern tones:
He gave the old mare a awful cut, and says he: "I'd like to know what you want to be so agrevatin' for?"
I didn't multiply any more words with him, only as we drove up to our door-step, and he helped me out into a mud puddle, I says to him:
"Mebby you'll hear to me another time, Josiah Allen?"
And I'll bet he will. I hain't afraid to bet a ten-cent bill that that man won't never open his mouth to me again about a PLEASURE EXERTION.
SHAMUS O'BRIEN, THE BOLD BOY OF GLINGALL--A TALE OF '98
Jist afther the war, in the year '98, As soon as the boys wor all scattered and bate, 'Twas the custom, whenever a pisant was got, To hang him by thrial--barrin' sich as was shot. There was trial by jury goin' on by daylight, There was martial-law hangin' the lavins by night. It's them was hard times for an honest gossoon: If he missed in the judges--he'd meet a dragoon; An' whether the sodgers or judges gev sentence, The divil a much time they allowed for repentance, An' it's many's the fine boy was then on his keepin' Wid small share iv restin', or atin', or sleepin', An' because they loved Erin, an' scorned to sell it, A prey for the bloodhound, a mark for the bullet-- Unsheltered by night, and unrested by day, With the heath for their barrack, revenge for their pay; An' the bravest an' hardiest boy iv them all Was SHAMUS O'BRIEN, from the town iv Glingall. His limbs were well set, an' his body was light, An' the keen-fanged hound had not teeth half so white; But his face was as pale as the face of the dead, And his cheek never warmed with the blush of the red; An' for all that he wasn't an ugly young bye, For the divil himself couldn't blaze with his eye, So droll an' so wicked, so dark and so bright, Like a fire-flash that crosses the depth of the night! An' he was the best mower that ever has been, An' the illigantest hurler that ever was seen, An' his dancin' was sich that the men used to stare, An' the women turn crazy, he done it so quare; An' by gorra, the whole world gev it into him there. An' it's he was the boy that was hard to be caught, An' it's often he run, an' it's often he fought, An' it's many the one can remember right well The quare things he done: an' it's often I heerd tell How he lathered the yeomen, himself agin four, An' stretched the two strongest on old Galtimore. But the fox must sleep sometimes, the wild deer must rest, An' treachery prey on the blood iv the best; Afther many a brave action of power and pride, An' many a hard night on the mountain's bleak side, An' a thousand great dangers and toils over past, In the darkness of night he was taken at last.