'Oh,' says she, 'isn't it only three days
since I burried the poor man,' says she, 'an'
isn't it rather soon to be talkin iv marryin'
agin?'

'Divil a taste,' says he, 'three days is jist
the time to a minute for cryin' afther a husband,
an' there's no occasion in life to be
keepin' it up,' says he; 'an' besides all that,'
says he, 'Shrovetide is almost over, an' if
you don't be sturrin' yourself an' lookin'
about you, you'll be late,' says he, 'for this
year at any rate, an' that's twelve months
lost; an' who's to look afther the farm all
that time,' says he, 'an' to keep the men to
their work?' says he.

'It's thrue for you, Jim Mallowney,' says
she, 'but I'm afeard the neighbours will be
all talkin' about it,' says she.

'Divil's cure to the word,' says he.

'An' who would you advise?' says she.

'Young Andy Curtis is the boy,' says
he.

'He's a likely boy in himself,' says she.