"Thin he’d tell thim a lot o’ lies that they purtinded to belave an’ didn’t, bekase they’re such desavers thimselves that it isn’t aisey fur to do thim, but Dooley begun to think if it got anny hotter fur him he’d lave the pitaties to the widdys to divide bechune thim as a raytribution fur the loss av himself, an’ go to Clare widout delay. "While he’d this bother on him he got to know owld Miss Rooney, that lived wid her mother an’ father on the farm next but wan to his own, but on the other side o’ the way, an’ the manes be which he got to know her was this. Wan mornin’, whin Dooley’s man, Paddy, wint to milk the cow, bad scran to the dhrop she’d to shpare, an’ he pullin’ an’ pullin’, like it was ringin’ the chapel bell he was, an’ she kickin’, an’ no milk comin’, faix not as much as ’ud blind the eye av a midge. So he wint an’ towld Misther Dooley. "’I can get no milk,’ says he. ’Begorra the cow’s as dhry as a fiddler’s troat,’ says he. "’Musha, thin,’ says Misther Dooley, ’it’s the lazy omadhawn ye are. I don’t belave it. Can ye milk at all?’ says he. "’I can,’ says Paddy, ’as well as a calf,’ says he. ’But phat’s the use ov pullin’? Ye’d get the same quantity from a rope,’ says he. "So Dooley wint out an’ thried himself an’ didn’t get as much as a shmell of milk. "’Phat’s the matther wid the baste?’ says he, ’an’ her on the grass from sun to sun.’ "’Be jakers,’ says Paddy, ’it’s my consate that she’s bewitched.’ "’It’s thrue fur ye,’ says Dooley, as the like was aften knewn. ’Go you to Misther Rooney’s wid the pail an’ get milk fur the calf, an’ ax if there’s a Pishogue hereabouts.’ "So Paddy wint an’ come back sayin’ that the young lady towld him there was. "’So there’s a young lady in it,’ thinks Dooley. Faix, the love av coortin’ was shtrong on him. ’Did ye ax her how to raich the woman?’ "’Bedad, I didn’t. I forgot,’ says Paddy. "’That’s yerself entirely,’ says Dooley to him agin. ’I’d betther thrust me arriants to a four-legged jackass as to wan wid two. He’d go twict as fast an’ remimber as much. I’ll go meself,’ says he, only wantin’ an axcuse, an’ so he did. He found Miss Rooney thried to be plazin’, an’ it bein’ convainient, he wint agin, an’ so it was ivery day whin he’d go fur the calf’s milk he’d have a chat wid her, an’ sometimes come over in the avenin’, bekase it wasn’t healthy fur him in town just thin. "But he wint to Owld Moll about the cow, an’ the charm she gev him soon made the baste all right agin, but, be that time, he’d got used to goin’ to Rooney’s an’ liked it betther than the town, bekase whinever he wint to town he had to make so many axcuses he was afeared the widdys ’ud ketch him in a lie.