"Wake up," the bearded Irishman growled. "No lass 'ill be fallin' for a bag-o-hay. Up with ya," he said as he kicked dirt in the farm boy's face.
Caleb spit and raked his hands through his hair, then over his grimy face. Crystal blue eyes pierced through the soot, "Suppose they'd like me like this, then?"
"Sure!" the old man grinned. "It's what they call a facial."
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