ent asking money of him, or making talk of getting
a wife would drive him from his farm?

CHRISTY. I did not, then; but there I was, digging and digging, and "You
squinting idiot," says he, "let you walk down now and tell the priest
you'll wed the Widow Casey in a score of days."

WIDOW QUIN. And what kind was she?

CHRISTY -- [with horror.] -- A walking terror from beyond the hills, and
she two score and five years, and two hundredweights and five pounds in
the weighing scales, with a limping leg on her, and a blinded eye, and
she a woman of noted misbehaviour with the old and young.

GIRLS -- [clustering round him, serving him.] -- Glory be.

WIDOW QUIN. And what did he want driving you to wed with her? [She takes
a bit of the chicken.]

CHRISTY -- [eating with growing satisfaction.] He was letting on I was
wanting a protector from the harshness of the world, and he without a
thought the whole while but how he'd have her hut to live in and her
gold to drink.

WIDOW QUIN. There's maybe worse than a dry hearth and a widow woman and
your glass at night. So you hit him then?

CHRISTY -- [getting almost excited.] -- I did not. "I won't wed her,"
says I, "when all know she did suckle me for six weeks when I came into
the world, and she a hag this day with a tongue on her has the crows and
seabirds scattered, the way they wouldn't cast a shadow on her garden
with the dread of her curse."

WIDOW QUIN -- [teasingly.] That one should be right company.

SARA -- [eagerly.] Don't mind her. Did you kill him then?

CHRISTY. "She's too good for the like of you," says he, "and go on now
or I'll flatten you out like a crawling beast has passed under a dray."
"You will not if I can help it," says I. "Go on," says he, "or I'll have
the divil making garters of your limbs tonight." "You will not if I can
help it," says I. [He sits up, brandishing his mug.]

SARA. You were right surely.

CHRISTY -- [impressively.] With that the sun came out between the cloud
and the hill, and it shining green in my face. "God have mercy on your
soul," says he, lifting a scythe; "or on your own," says I, raising the
loy. SUSAN. That's a grand story.

HONOR. He tells it lovely.

CHRISTY -- [flattered and confident, waving bone.] -- He gave a drive
with the scythe, and I gave a lep to the east. Then I turned around with
my back to the north, and I hit a blow on the ridge of his skull, laid
him stretched out, and he split to the knob of his gu