You cou'd see the 'stonishment _clinch_ 'n, an' the look o' righteousness melted off hes face like snow in an oven.

For that bird had _gifts_, sir; an' wan o' these was a power o' fashul expresshun.

Well, back he starts, an', with the same, cotches sight o' the eye lyin' 'pon the ground an' starin' up all heav'nly-blue an' smilin'.
"There was a pause arter this, jes' about so long as you cou'd count twenty; an' the rest o' the congregashun began to fidget an' whisper round that suthin' was up, when all 'pon a sudden my ould rook straightens hissel' up an' begins to cuss and to swear.

What's that you say, sir?
Rooks don't swear?
Don't tell me.

Blasphemin'?
Why, in two minnits the air was stiff wi' blasphemy--you might ha' cut et wi' a knife.