"Och, murdher, yer honor, and I didn't mane to do it;
will ye plaze to pardon an awkward Irishman? I whas a
pullen up a big shtone out of the ground, whin I slipt, and
fallen, struck yer honor," said Pat.
"I will pardon you for what you could not help doing," replied the deacon.
"Tanks, meny tanks; but, yer honor, how have ye found Miss Armington?" said Pat.
"Very much better, Pat," responded the deacon.
"Yer honor, plaze, if ye should not consider me imper tinent, I could tell ye somethin' ye ought fur to know," said Pat.
"Certainly, I would not consider it impertinent for you to tell me what I ought to know; but, I would be very grateful to you for telling me, and if it is of any value to me, I would cheerfully compensate you for it," replied the deacon.
"Yer honor, plaze do not mention compensation, fur I would sarve ye charefully, if I tought ye would kape it a sacret," said Pat, humiliatingly.
"Most certainly I shall keep anything secret that you propose to tell me as confidential; but what is it you have to tell me, I am anxious to know it?" ejaculated the deacon.
"I will tell yer honor, if ye tink it not too bould an' foolish; and if yer honor do hould it as silly, what I shall tell ye, an' ye will still kape it sacret will ye?" said Pat, looking sheepish.
The deacon responded impatiently: "Pat, I have told you before, that I would not divulge your secret, so speak it out like a good man, without hesitation."
"Well, yer honor, I have lamed lately that the Miss Lucinda Armington bees desparately in luv wid ye, an' she bees; yer honor will kape me sacret, will ye?" stammered Pat.
"Yes, yes, most profoundly secret; go on, and finish what you have to say," almost furiously ejaculated Deacon Stew.
