688
PARTISAN REVIEW
"Are you a son of Dick the River or a son of Dick the White
Stile?"
"Dick the River, Father."
"What have you in the sack?"
"A turkey hen, Father."
"Where are you taking her?"
A pause. A glint. A sudden spurt of brave speech. "To the cock,
Father."
The priest eyed the young man narrowly. The young man held
his face to a sterling gravity as the priest walked all around him.
The turkey hen and the priest looked at one another. The bird closed
her eyes so that they were two white discs. She seemed grotesquely
to be mimicking a sleeping doll.
The priest returned to the boy's face. "H'm!" he said again.
Then, "Are you married?"
"No, Father."
"I wouldn't doubt you! How many in family are ye?"
"Six, Father."
"What way are ye divided?"
"Four girls and two boys, Father."
"Are the girls older or younger than you?"
"The three eldest are girls, Father. The last girl is younger
than me."
"Any of them married?"
"No, Father."
"Tck! Tck! Tck! That's right! Mate yeer turkeys and yawn
yeerselves. Keep on that way let ye until ye're tall gray cunnudgeoDS
fit for nothing else but to stone a braddy cow out of a garden. Tck!
Is it blind ye are? Will ye look at the brambles drooping with heavy
blackberries?"
The young man eyed the blackberries.
"Did you ever hear what the Almighty
God
said to Adam and
Eve?"
"I forget, Father."
"I'd engage but you would! You wouldn't forget the ballad of
"Big Mick's Cow"! What kind of people are ye at all?
Do
ye want
to have me, or the man that comes after me here, parsing the par–
ables to the red varnish of the pews and talking to himself about the
