Shure it's in
purgatory I am all the while."
"Nonsense, Monaghan! you are not a Catholic, and need not fear
purgatory. The next time the old woman commences her reprobate
conduct, tell her to hold her tongue, and mind her own business,
for curses, like chickens come home to roost."
The boy laughed heartily at the old Turkish proverb, but did not
reckon much on its efficacy to still the clamorous tongue of the
ill-natured old jade. The next day he had to pass her door with the
horses. No sooner did she hear the sound of the wheels, than out she
hobbled, and commenced her usual anathemas.
"Bad luck to yer croaking, yer ill-conditioned owld raven. It is not
me you are desthroying shure, but yer own poor miserable sinful
sowl. The owld one has the grief of ye already, for 'curses, like
chickens, come home to roost'; so get in wid ye, and hatch them to
yerself in the chimley corner. They'll all be roosting wid ye
by-and-by; and a nice warm nest they'll make for you, considering
the brave brood that belongs to you."
Whether the old woman was as superstitious as John, I know not; or
whether she was impressed with the moral truth of the proverb - for,
as I have before stated, she was no fool - is difficult to tell; but
she shrunk back into her den, and never attacked the lad again.
