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<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 74263 ***</div>

<div class="figcenter hide"><img src="images/coversmall.jpg" width="450" alt="cover"></div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/title.jpg" alt="title page"></div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
</div>

<div class="titlepage">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_i">[i]</span>

<h1>The<br>
Folk of Furry Farm</h1>

<p><span class="large">The Romance of an Irish Village</span></p>

<p>By<br>
<span class="xlarge">K. F. Purdon</span></p>

<p>With an Introduction by<br>
<span class="large">George A. Birmingham</span></p>

<p><span class="large">G. P. Putnam’s Sons</span><br>
New York and London<br>
<span class="antiqua">The Knickerbocker Press</span><br>
1914</p>
</div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">


<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_ii">[ii]</span>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1914<br>
<span class="allsmcap">BY</span><br>
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS<br>
<br>
<br>
<span class="antiqua">The Knickerbocker Press, New York</span></p>
</div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_iii">[iii]</span>

<h2 class="nobreak">CONTENTS</h2>
</div>

<table>

<tr><td class="tdr" colspan="3"><span class="allsmcap">PAGE</span></td></tr>

<tr><td>&#160;</td><td><span class="smcap">Introduction</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_v">      v</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr"><span class="allsmcap">CHAPTER</span></td><td colspan="2">&#160;</td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">I.—</td><td><span class="smcap">The Furry Farm</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_1">      1</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">II.—</td><td><span class="smcap">The Game Leg</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_37">      37</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">III.—</td><td><span class="smcap">The “Rest of Him”</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_57">      57</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">IV.—</td><td><span class="smcap">A Daylight Ghost</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_105">      105</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">V.—</td><td><span class="smcap">Matchmaking in Ardenoo</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_146">      146</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">VI.—</td><td><span class="smcap">A Settled Girl</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_182">      182</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">VII.—</td><td><span class="smcap">An American Visitor</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_226">      226</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">VIII.—</td><td><span class="smcap">Rosy at Furry Farm</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_278">      278</a></td></tr>

<tr><td class="tdr">IX.—</td><td><span class="smcap">Comrade Children at the Furry Farm &#160; &#160; </span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_314">      314</a></td></tr>
</table>
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_iv">[iv]</span>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_v">[v]</span>

<h2 class="nobreak">INTRODUCTION<br>

<small>WITH A NOTE ON THE PEOPLE OF THE PLAIN</small><br>

<small><span class="smcap">By George A. Birmingham</span></small></h2>
</div>

<p><span class="smcap">It</span> is the duty of the writer of an introduction,
as I understand his position, to provide what Mr.
Bernard Shaw calls “First Aid to Critics.” That
is to say, it is my business to explain the position
which Miss Purdon holds in modern Irish literature
and to say why her work is interesting and in what
respects it is good. I do not feel in the least inclined
to point out the weaknesses of her writing.
For one thing, there are plenty of reviewers in the
world who will do that, and apparently take pleasure
in doing it. For another, although like all
human works this book is imperfect, I have enjoyed
reading it and have been too much interested in
what I read to be impressed by the faults which
must, no doubt, exist. I shall, therefore, provide
aid only to the kinder sort of critic, to him who is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_vi">[vi]</span>
sufficiently wise to appreciate Miss Purdon’s work.
I shall save him a lot of trouble, for, if he reads this
introduction, he will be able to allow himself to
enjoy Miss Purdon’s writing without bothering
himself about what he is to say in his review. I
shall tell him that.</p>

<p>The first point about <i>The Folk of Furry Farm</i>
to which I wish to draw attention is that it is
written in prose. This may seem to be a commonplace
and obvious kind of fact, but in reality it has
a certain importance which might very well be
overlooked. Miss Purdon belongs to the Irish
Literary Movement, and it has, as yet, produced
very little prose and less prose fiction. At the
beginning the movement was inspired by the
hero tales of ancient Ireland and the mysticism
in which they are enveloped. These tales came
down from the days of paganism, and paganism,
as everybody who appreciates the Irish Literary
Movement knows, was a wonderful and romantic
thing, far superior to the dowdy materialism of
Christianity. Also, our literary movement fed
a good deal upon fairies. Who could write in
ordinary prose about subjects so fascinating as
folk-lore and fairies? Mr. Yeats and his followers
could not. They wrote mystic and, as time went<span class="pagenum" id="Page_vii">[vii]</span>
on, rather incomprehensible verse. With them
were a number of what we may call politically
patriotic poets like “Ethna Carbery” and Miss
Milligan. They were easier to understand, but
were still a long way from the commonplace things
of ordinary life. Then came another band of
writers, headed by Mr. Padraic Colm, who gave us
splendid poems about ploughers and drovers, but
still felt it necessary to drag in Dana and Wotan
occasionally. Mr. James Stephens, in his verse,
went a step beyond them, for his is the genius
which can make the back street beautiful. Poetry
can get no nearer to realism than James Stephens
and Joseph Campbell.</p>

<p>Meanwhile the Abbey Theatre had been founded
and the energies of many young Irish writers were
absorbed in composing plays for it. It developed
in much the same way as the poetry did. At first
the drama was almost as mystic and far-away as
the early lyrics. Then came Synge, the greatest of
all the Abbey Theatre writers, who put a gorgeous
language into the mouths of rather squalid but intensely
human peasants. The tendency of his followers
had been to emphasise the squalidness but to
leave out the poetry and a good deal of the human
nature. The lines written by Max Beerbohm about<span class="pagenum" id="Page_viii">[viii]</span>
Mr. Masefield might very well be applied to some
of them:</p>

<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse">A swear word in a village slum</div>
<div class="verse">A simple swear word is to some;</div>
<div class="verse">To ... something more.</div>
</div></div>

<p>In verse and drama alike the mystic has given
way to the materialist, high poetry to realism.
But as yet the Irish Literary Revival has produced
very little ordinary prose literature and hardly
any fiction. Apart from Lady Gregory’s poetic
“Kiltartan” prose, the best that has been produced
has generally been of a journalistic kind. I do
not mean that it has been journalese, but that it
has appeared in newspapers and periodicals, and
has been concerned primarily with questions of
the day. To mention only two examples, no
modern work of its kind has been more brilliant
than the articles in <i>The Homestead</i> written by
“AE.,” while Mr. Arthur Griffith’s editorials for
<i>The United Irishman</i> and <i>Sinn Féin</i> are often
worthy of comparison with the best that came
from the pen of Mitchel. Of a more permanent
kind were the critical articles of “John Eglinton,”
many of them published originally in the now
defunct <i>Dana</i>.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_ix">[ix]</span>There have been, of course, a number of Irish
novelists and essayists who have made great
names for themselves, but they have not drawn
their inspiration from the movement which produced
the poets. Mr. George Moore has viewed
the Irish Literary Revival as a spectator. His
original inspiration was not from Ireland. Miss
Somerville and Miss Ross are the successors of
Lever. No corner of the mantle of Mr. Standish
O’Grady has fallen upon them. They would have
written just the same if there had been no Gaelic
League, no fairies, and no ancient Irish heroes.
For Oscar Wilde and Bernard Shaw Ireland can
claim just the same sort of credit, and no more, as
she can claim for Sheridan and Goldsmith. Standish
O’Grady, the father of the whole movement,
wove historical romances out of incidents in Irish
history. He has had few or no followers.</p>

<p>There are signs now that the literary movement,
having worked from the highest to the most
materialistic in prose and drama, is going to follow
the natural course of development and express
itself in prose fiction. Mr. James Stephens, one
of the most brilliant of our poets, has deserted
verse and taken, quite suddenly, to novel-writing.
Already he has earned fame and an assured position.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_x">[x]</span>
I am inclined to think that he is typical of a wide
change of which Miss Purdon is another example.
If she had published a book ten or fifteen years
ago it would probably have been verse. Happily
this is to-day, and she has found a scope for her
abilities more suitable to them than poetry.</p>

<p>I hope that Miss Purdon will not resent being
called part of a movement. When she has written
a few more books and read reviews of them she will
become quite accustomed to this particular kind
of insult. In reality she holds a position a little
apart from other Irish authors. Her distinction
is that she has chosen a new part of the country to
write about. I do not know exactly where the
Furry Farm is, but I am inclined to place it somewhere
in the western part of Leinster, in Meath or
Kildare, on the great plain which fattens cattle
for the market. Other Irish writers, whether they
wanted humour, romance, or mysticism, have gone
to the maritime counties for their material. Galway,
Cork, and Wicklow provide scenes for most
of the plays which are acted in the Abbey Theatre.
Some poets write about Donegal, others prefer
North-East Ulster, and a few brave spirits have
ventured into the streets and suburbs of Dublin.
But I cannot remember that any plays or poems of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xi">[xi]</span>
importance have been written about the people of
the central plain. They are regarded, for some
reason obscure to me, as unworthy of a place in
literature. They have, so one would gather, lost
the virtues of Gaeldom without acquiring the
sentimental regard for them which rescues Dublin
from the reproach of “seoninism.” The accepted
view of literary Ireland is that the people of Meath
are as uninteresting as the bullocks which they
herd.</p>

<p>Miss Purdon comes to us to prove the contrary.
A great merit of her work is the fidelity with which
she reproduces the dialect of the peasants about
whom she writes. I do not know the western
Leinster speech myself, but I am certain that Miss
Purdon deals with it faithfully. She could not—no
single person could—have invented <i>all</i> the
phrases and expressions which she has put into
the mouths of the characters of her stories. We
have in her book the living tongue spoken by a
neglected class of Irishmen. I do not say that the
people of Meath and Kildare have the magic
glamour of Celtic mysticism. I am no judge of
such things. I have seldom succeeded in recognising
it even in places where I know that it must
be. But Miss Purdon’s people have imagination.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xii">[xii]</span>
How else would they say of a lonely place, “There
wasn’t a neighbour within the bawl of an ass of it”?
If they had not humour, they would not think of
saying, “His pockets would be like sideboards,
the way he’d have them stuck out with meat and
eggs and so on.” The men who use expressions
like these cannot possibly be stupid, and Miss
Purdon makes them very real. They are, as their
speech shows, of a type different from that of the
peasantry of the Atlantic coast. Perhaps they
have no appeal to make to poets; but they
must certainly be capable of providing material
for many plays and novels. Miss Purdon has
discovered a new country, found a fresh subject
for the pens of Irish writers.</p>

<p class="right">G. A. B.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">


<div class="chapter">
<p class="ph2">The<br>
Folk of Furry Farm</p>
</div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[1]</span>

<p class="ph2">The Folk of Furry Farm</p>

<hr class="tiny">

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER I<br>

<small>THE FURRY FARM</small></h2>
</div>

<p><span class="smcap">There</span> isn’t one now at Ardenoo that could tell you
rightly about the Heffernans, or when the first of
the name had come in upon the Furry Farm.
People would remark that they were “the oldest
standards about the place, and had been there
during <i>secula</i>.” And some said that in the real
old ancient times, it was Heffernans that had
owned the whole countryside, and had been great
high Quality then, until they were turned out of
their home, through their being Catholics. Of
course such things did occur, but not often. There
would not be many willing to be mixed up in such
dirty work. And, moreover, those that came in on
land in that way, mostly always did it to keep their
place warm for whoever had had to quit out.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[2]</span>
There’s a lot of nature in people, more than they
get credit for. That’s how things don’t turn out
as bad as you might expect very often. And of
course along with all, there’s a great satisfaction
in getting the better of the law.</p>

<p>It’s likely some friend of the Heffernans had
stood to them in this way, when they had had to
leave, and had just held the land for them, till they
could slip back upon it again. But they had never
said how it was. A queer, silent sort they were
ever and always, that would never have much talk
out of them about anything that would be going
on, let alone about themselves.</p>

<p>But however it came to pass, at the time I am
going to tell you about, there was nothing left
of what had been once a very great fine kind of a
place, only a bit of a ruined house, like, with the
remains of a roof made of slabs of bog-oak over
part of it, and it all reducing away under the
weather.</p>

<p>Whatever it used to be, the Heffernans I knew
would just fasten a calf in it, maybe, or put a goose
to hatch there the way her mind wouldn’t be riz,
it being a very quiet corner. And it was necessary
to have every such little business as that going on
at the Furry Farm, if you wanted to be able even<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[3]</span>
to pay the rent, let alone live yourself out of the
land. For the Heffernans had to pay rent now,
as well as another; and for land that was no great
shakes, being very poor and thin. The best of it
they never got back at all.</p>

<p>Betimes you’d hear it remarked in Ardenoo, how
that they and their land were well matched. For
if some of their bottom-land was sour, so was the
Heffernan temper; and they could be as crabbed
and contrary in their ways as the furze that was
bristling over their own hills. And in another
thing they were like their farm. Whatever treatment
they got, that’s what they’d give. If you
acted well by a Heffernan, they’d do the same by
you; but they’d never pass over a bad turn; and,
troth! there’s more than the Heffernans of the
opinion that it’s only a fool that forgets! And so
by their land. Hungry as it was, it would always
return some sort of a crop, in proportion to the way
it was tilled and manured. But it and its owners
weren’t much to look at; you had to know them
well, before you could find out the good there was
in them.</p>

<p>In the course of time, there was a Heffernan in
the Furry Farm, Michael by name, that was what
you might call a chip of the old block. Quiet-going<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[4]</span>
in himself, he was; silent and fond of industering;
and a bit near about money, on the top of all.
You’ll often see people like that; as if them that
worked hard had no time for enjoying what they
make; whereas people that are poor and through-other
will spend their last penny twice as free as
what one like Heffernan would spend his first.
And what’s more, they’ll get far better value out
of it, too.</p>

<p>But that was just Michael’s way of going on;
he’d sooner be putting up money in the old stocking
than spending it on an odd spree. And he had
every right to please himself. For he had no one
else, barring a sister, older than himself, and twice
as curious in her ways, and she with a tongue in
her head as long as to-day and to-morrow. Many’s
the time she let Mickey feel the length and breadth
of it, but he had the fashion of never making her
an answer, no matter what. It was the best of
his play to say nothing. A man scarce ever can
get the better of a woman that starts to give him a
tongue-thrashing. Sure they do have great practice
at it; and small blame to them! isn’t it the
only thing they can do, to have their say out?
Heffernan held his whisht in particular, because
he knew well what would happen. The sister<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[5]</span>
would get that outrageous mad with him, when
she couldn’t make him as angry as herself, that
she’d have to quit out; go away for weeks at a
time she would, to friends in Dublin. Then poor
Mickey would have great ease.</p>

<p>As far as she was concerned, that is, for he’d
have the place to himself. But he never slackened
on the work, only would be at it, early and late;
so much so, that the people would be wondering
why he’d bother his head with it all.</p>

<p>“And he ’ithout one in it, only himself!” they’d
cry; “and no signs of he to be looking out for a
wife, either! A middling stale boy poor Mickey
should be, at this present!”</p>

<p>That was true enough, and along with that, he
was no great beauty, to look at. The sister was
worse again; as ugly as if she was bespoke. Still
in all, she never gave up all hopes of she getting
married. But that’s the way with a-many a one,
as well as Julia Heffernan.</p>

<p>Well, there came the day that she riz a shocking
row all out with Mickey; and for what, neither
man nor mortal could tell; no, nor Julia herself,
let alone Mickey. Off with her, to some third or
fourth cousin of theirs in England.</p>

<p>“Luck’s a king and Luck’s a beggar!” says she;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[6]</span>
“and a body never knows whose flure it’s waiting
on, for you!”</p>

<p>“Sure it’s leaving it behind you, maybe, you
are! going off that-a-away in such a hurry!” says
Mickey.</p>

<p>Not but what he was praying for she to be gone.
But he knew if he let on to her how anxious he was
to get shut of her, the sorra toe she’d stir. The
same as if you were driving a pig. You must pull
it back, if you want it to go on.</p>

<p>“Leaving it behind me, indeed!” says she;
“no, but it’s hardship and a dog’s life I’m leaving!
I’ve stopped here long enough, slaving the skin
off me bones for ye!” says she.</p>

<p>So Mickey said no more, only drove her off himself
on the side-car to the train, with her box; and
when she was gone, “A good riddance of bad rubbish!”
said Mickey to himself; and was getting up
on the car again, when he perceived on the platform,
as if he was after getting off the train, a
young boy, a sort of a cousin of his own, by the
name of Art Heffernan.</p>

<p>They passed the time of day, of course, and
then had some further discourse, and it appeared
that Art was out of a job. He had no means, no,
nor a home; not one belonging to him any nearer<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[7]</span>
nor Mickey. All his people were either gone to
America, or to the old churchyard of Clough-na-Rinka,
he said.</p>

<p>So Mickey then preffered him the chance of
coming back with him to the Furry Farm for a bit,
till he’d have time to look about him.</p>

<p>“I don’t mind if I do,” says Art; “but if I stop
awhile and work about the place, what will you do
for me in the way of payment?”</p>

<p>“Duck’s wages; the run of your bill,” says
Mickey.</p>

<p>“Throw in a shuit of clothes and a pair of
brogues, twice a year; and the grass of the little
heifer I have,” says Art, “and I don’t mind trying
how we’ll get on for a bit.”</p>

<p>Mickey agreed to that. He was at a short at
that time, with Julia gone off, and no one likely
at hand to do the work about the house, let alone
the farm. And Art was well worthy of what he got.
He was a smart, willing boy; able and ready to put
his hand to whatever was required to be done about
the whole place. And Mickey was contented with
him. By this plan, he hadn’t to pay out money in
wages; a thing he never had any wish for was, to
part money.</p>

<p>It all went on very well. Art worked early and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[8]</span>
late, and was always agreeable and civil-spoken;
so that the two of them, Heffernans both, appeared
always to be the best of friends. And the people
began saying among themselves, that Art was as
apt as not to be coming in on the Furry Farm, when
the present man would be done with it. That
would be natural enough. But the thing turned
out very different, in the heel of the hunt, from
what any one was laying out then about the
Heffernans.</p>

<p>There chanced to be a poor widow woman living
in a little bit of a house that was edged in upon the
Furry Farm. She paid some small trifle of rent
to Mickey for it and a garden there was to it. She
had no one in this living world in it only herself
and a young slip of a girl, a daughter of hers.</p>

<p>In a case of the kind, you’ll mostly always find
there will be some one or other ready to do the lone
woman a good turn, such as the lend of a hand in
the getting of the turf, and the planting of the
potatoes, and so and so on. And Heffernan that
was always counted to be a good enough neighbour,
in his own way, would say to Art of an evening,
“When you have this, that, and th’other done
... the pigs fed, and the horses made up for the
night, and water and turf left into the kitchen,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span>
you may’s well take and mosey off down to the
Widdah Rafferty’s, and see does she want a hand
with anything there.”</p>

<p>“All right!” Art would cry, he being, as I said,
a very willing, handy boy, ready for any job as
soon as he’d have the one in hand completed. So
off he’d go; and Mickey would sit down in the
chimney-corner, and light his pipe, and swell himself
out with the satisfaction of thinking how that
the poor widdah’s work was getting done, and still
he to be at no loss in life about it.</p>

<p>This went on for some time, till Heffernan
began to take notice how that Art appeared to
be getting more and more anxious for his evening
job.</p>

<p>He thought this over for a while, and then says
he to Art: “You’re in a tearing hurry to-night
to get all done,” he says; “and to be off from about
the place,” says he; “I doubt did you take time to
more than half milk them cows!” he says.</p>

<p>“The cows is right enough!” says Art, and he
scrubbing away at himself with a lump of yellow
soap, and pumping water over himself till you’d
think he wanted to flood the yard.</p>

<p>“And where’s the sense in going to all that
nicety?” says Mickey, “and you about planting<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span>
praties! washing your hands and face, no less, as
if it was a Sundah morning!”</p>

<p>Art got very red, but he made Mickey no answer,
nor never did. He just put the spade on his
shoulder, and h-away with him to the Widdah
Rafferty’s.</p>

<p>When he came back that night, “I dunno in
this earthly world what you do be at, at all at
all,” says Mickey to him, “but it appears as if
your whole illemint was for Rafferty’s and spending
your time doing the work there. A body would
think that the girl there should be middling sizeable
and strong by this, and able to do her share of
whatever small matter of business they’d have in
a place of the kind, and for they to not be looking
for so much assistance. It was another thing altogether,
while she was a child!”</p>

<p>Thinks Art to himself, “It was, so!” and out
loud says he, “I never do go in it, only when the
day’s work here is over.”</p>

<p>This vexed Mickey; for wasn’t it as much as to
say, up to his face, that he begrudged the widdah
woman what Art did for her; whereas he had no
objections in life to it, as long as his own business
wasn’t interfered with. There’s plenty of that
kind of good-nature in the world; the same as the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span>
way people have of giving away things they can’t
use themselves, and then they expect great praise
for doing what costs them nothing. But sure,
you mightn’t expect too much from the likes of
Heffernan.</p>

<p>He said no more then, only the very next evening
a while after Art had quit off to Rafferty’s didn’t
Mickey make up his mind to take a waddle off
there himself, and see what was going on.</p>

<p>“An’ a fine evening it is, too,” he says to himself,
quite cheerful-like; “and the ground in the finest
of order for getting in the spuds.”<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p>

<p>For it was one of those long, clear spring’s days,
when the birds are just beginning to tune up, and
you can imagine to see a growth in the grass, and
a change taking place upon the trees and hedges,
as if some one was hanging veils of purple and green
between you and them. But the sorra leaf is out
on them yet! There’s nothing to be seen only
bare branches, and the sting of winter is in the
wind still. The days does be long and bright,
so much so that a body is apt to imagine that the
hard weather is all gone away, and that there’s to
be nothing only what’s warm and pleasant from
that out. And still in all, it’s the lonesomest time,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span>
and the time you’ll fret the most, of the whole year.</p>

<p>Heffernan had none of these things in his mind,
and he making his way along to the Widdah
Rafferty’s; only planning he was how to get up
a-nigh it, without he to be seen himself.</p>

<p>It was along a bit of a <i>boreen</i><a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> the house was;
and as Mickey came within sight of it, “I see no
signs of work to be doing presently in this garden!”
says he, and he craning his neck, and making himself
as small as he could. And what he was after
saying was true enough. You could just take
notice of Art’s spade, stuck up straight in a half-dug
furrow. But sight nor light of man nor mortal
there wasn’t to be seen in the garden that Art
was supposed to be planting.</p>

<p>On steps Heffernan; and now he begins to hear
the pleasant little hum-hum of a spinning-wheel.
The sound of it inside must have deadened the
noise of his brogues and he going along the rough
boreen, so as that he was enabled to get up close
to the house annonst-like, and have a peep at what
was going on there, without any one knowing he
was in it at all.</p>

<p>Well, he looked in, and troth, there was no delay
on him to do so. He mightn’t have been so<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span>
cautious. For the people inside were too much
taken up with themselves and their own goings-on
to think of looking round for any one else.</p>

<p>There was the Widdah Rafferty, sitting in the
chimney-corner at her wheel; but the sorra much
spinning she was doing, with the way Art had her
laughing, going on with his antics, himself and the
daughter. In spite of all the hardship, Mrs.
Rafferty was a very contented sort of a person,
never going to meet trouble, as the saying is.
Laughing at Art she was, and her daughter, Rosy.
The two of them were sitting on a form, letting on
to be very hard at work, cutting the seed potatoes,
and they with a kish<a id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> upon the floor foreninst them,
to throw the seed into, according as they’d have
it ready.</p>

<p>“That’s never Rosy Rafferty!” thinks Heffernan
to himself. Mickey, as you know, was never one
to be having much discourse with the neighbours,
beyond that he’d just pass the time of day with
them. And that’s how he had never chanced to
see the girl, no more than that he might meet her
now and then, going along the road, with her shawl
over her head, and her eyes on the ground, and she
with the mother, on their way to Mass. Poor and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span>
all as the Widdah Rafferty was, she made a shift
someways or other to rear this one child of hers
very nice and tender. She’d never agree to let her
go off to dances at the cross-roads, or the like of
that, without she could be with her, herself. And
in troth, Rosy Rafferty was as beautiful a young
creature as ever the sun shone down upon; with
cheeks like hedge roses, and a pair of big, soft eyes
that you’d think ... well, in fact, it would be a
thing impossible to put down upon paper what
such a girl looks like. Every eye forms a beauty
for itself. What delights me, you wouldn’t maybe
give a <i>thraneen</i><a id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> for. But it was given up to Rosy
that there wasn’t the peel of her in all Ardenoo, in
the regard of looks, and along with that, she was as
shy as a filly, and as sweet as a little bird.</p>

<p>To Mickey Heffernan in especial, that had never
passed much remarks about any girl, it appeared
something altogether strange and new, to see the
bright little face of her, shining there in the dim,
smoky cabin, like a lovely poppy among the weeds
of a potato-patch.</p>

<p>“Mind yer eye!” she was saying to Art, “or
you’ll cut the hand off of yourself!”</p>

<p>“Which eye?” says Art, and he with his own<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span>
two eyes turned full upon Rosy; and, in troth,
what a fool he’d be to have them anywhere else;
“which eye do ye mane? Is it the eye in me head,
or the eye in me hand I’m to mind?” Meaning, of
course, the bud of the potato he was after cutting.
“Och, begorra! there’s the knife after slipping on
me....”</p>

<p>“There now!” says Rosy, “didn’t I tell you!”
and with that she turns gashly pale, at the sight
of the blood. So it was the mother that had to see
to Art’s wound. She stopped the wheel, and came
over to look at it.</p>

<p>“Phoo! what at all!” she says; “sure, that’s
a thing of nothing! It will be well afore you’re
twice marrit!”</p>

<p>“I dunno about that!” says Art, not wanting
to be done out of Rosy’s commiseration; “there’s
an imminse pain in it at this present.”</p>

<p>“Think as little of that as I do, and there won’t
be a bother on ye!” says the Widdah; “and what’s
this you’re after giving me to bandage it with,
Rosy? Sure it’s not your good silk hankercher
that I bought for you, off of Tommy the Crab,
only last Easter was a twelvemonth! Pshat! girl
dear, won’t any old polthogue do well enough for
that cut thumb of Art’s!”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span>At this word, Rosy whips the purty little scarf
into her pocket, and she with cheeks upon her as
red as scarlet. Well! to see the look Art gave her!
If Rosy was a Queen, and she after offering to
bestow her crown upon him, he couldn’t have appeared
more thankful and delighted. And sure,
may be after all, a Queen would have one crown
for using every day, and a good one laid by for
Sundays as well; whereas, all the neckerchers that
Rosy had in this wide world was just that pink
one the mother had bought her out of Tommy the
Crab’s basket.</p>

<p>Well, that all passed off, and when the mother
was back at her wheel, and Rosy beginning on the
praties again, says she to Art, Rosy I mean, “You’ll
cut no more seed here to-night,” she says, “and
you may’s well be making the road back to Heffernan’s
short now as you’re no more use here,” says
she.</p>

<p>“Is that all you want wid me?” says Art;
“if so, it’s as good for me to be off at wanst,
as to be staying here, and wearing out me
welcome!”</p>

<p>“What a hurry you’re in!” says Rosy then to
him, and she looking up at him with a laugh in her
eyes that would coax the birds off of the bushes;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span>
“but sure maybe it’s what you’d liefer, to be back
with Mr. Heffernan beyant....”</p>

<p>“Is it him?” says Art; “troth, it’s him that’s
the quare ould company to spend an evening wid!
and no more diversion in him, nor there’s fur on
a frog....”</p>

<p>Art was at this time picking the praties out of
the sack, and handing them to Rosy according as
she’d be ready to cut them. And this was to help
on with the work, by the way of; but every time
he done that, wouldn’t he double his big fist over
her little fingers and hold them tight, the way he’d
get her to look up at him; and then they’d both
take to go laugh.</p>

<p>“Look at that, for a Murphy!” says Art, holding
up a big potato; queer and lumpy and long-shaped
it was; “isn’t that the very livin’ image of ould
Mickey himself! See here; the big nose ...
and the weeny slit eyes, like pig’s eyes ... and
the mouth, like nothing so much as a burst slipper
...” and that was all true enough.</p>

<p>“You’ll see likenesses that-a-way often,” says
the Widdah Rafferty, checking the wheel to join
in the chat; “I remimber to see a head of cabbage
wanst, flat Dutch it was, and it as like ould Father
Mulhall as could be, the heavens be his bed, I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span>
pray! very round-about and fat in the body he was.
And that kittle there, hasn’t it the very appearance
upon it of ould Tommy the Crab? wid the quare
pintey little nose of him? And that puts me in
mind ... it’s time to be wettin’ the sup of tay.
Off to the well wid the two of yiz....”</p>

<p>Heffernan outside the door heard this, and
waited for no more, only slipped off, quiet and
easy, afore any of them had put a stir upon themselves.
And that gave him no trouble; for Art
and Rosy were that taken up with one another, that
the Widdah had to chastise them more than once,
afore she could get them to go. So Heffernan was
able to quit, without being seen by any of them.</p>

<p>He had heard all he wanted; ay, and more than
he liked! But divil’s cure to him! what call had he
to take and go listen to what wasn’t meant for
him! He was all in a flutter and he going off home
with himself. He didn’t like being made fun of;
and faith! there’s few of us does! But that was
the least part of what was working in his mind, like
the wind on a field of ripe oats, twisting and turning
it hither and over. And the storm that was stirring
Heffernan’s thoughts was, the look of Rosy
and she sitting there smiling up at Art. That
was what had him upset.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span>Young boys and girls are a bit too ready to forget
that a man’s courting days doesn’t be always
over, when the grey begins to show in his beard.
No, in troth! and so by Heffernan. There was a
warm stir about his heart and he stepping along
up the boreen, back to his own place, and a feel
like the spring sunshine came over him, and he
tried to sing a bit of “The Bunch of Green Rushes,”
but sure he hadn’t it right, nor couldn’t remember
it, he hadn’t heard it those years past.</p>

<p>When he got back to his own place, what should
he do, only root out a little cracked looking-glass
that had been thrown by since God knows when!
He took it down off of the top of the dresser, and
he rubbed the dust from it with the sleeve of his
old coat, and then he went over to the door with it
in his hand, to get the last of the daylight on it,
the way he’d see did he look as old all out as he
knew himself that he was.</p>

<p>Well, what he seen there was noways encouraging;
so he flings the glass back again, and goes
over to the chimney-corner, and sits down. It
was just the end of the day, as I said; the light
was beginning to fail, and still there was too much
of it for him to want to shut up the house or go
light a candle, or that. And it was too cold for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span>
a body to care for being outside, unless they had
some business to attend to.</p>

<p>So Mickey just sat there, with no one only
himself, in the dusky kitchen; and all the cheerfulness
he thought to see before was gone. The
place seemed to him to have a desolate appearance
upon it, that he had never noticed before. But the
sorra change was on it, no more than the night
will have got any darker really, when you go out
into it after you being for a while in a room that
was full up of light. It was himself that was
different, after seeing into Rafferty’s, where the
fire was small enough, God knows! but the hearth
was swep’ up tidy and nice. The table was old
and shaky there, but it was scoured as white as
the snow. And the wheel was singing its own little
song of cheerful work, and there was talk and
laughing going on; and, above all, the gay shining
little head of Rosy, that lit it up, like a bit of sunshine
come down out of the skies. Whereas
Heffernan’s kitchen was all through-other, just
as they had got up after their dinners ...
plates and pots and praty-skins all lying hither and
over. The fire was nigh-hand out, and it all as
silent as the grave.</p>

<p>“And not a sod of turf left in!” says Heffernan<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span>
to himself; “that’s a nice way for Art to be leaving
the place, and he ped to mind it!”</p>

<p>Out with him to the clamp, to get an armful of
turf; and didn’t the two pigs meet him full, and
they coming back from the garden, after they
rooting there to their heart’s content.</p>

<p>“There’s more of it, now!” he thinks to himself;
“and a nice job I’ll have of it, striving to get them
back to their sty! Bad scran to Art! I never seen
such work! Cock him up, indeed! going off to
his <i>randy-voos</i>, instead of minding his business!”</p>

<p>But it was really himself that Mickey ought to
have blamed in regard to the pigs, with his fidgeting
about and not fastening the door of the pigsty
right, that had a loose hinge and required humouring,
and had a right to be mended, along with all.
But to the day of his death, Heffernan blamed
them pigs on Art. And, still, he never let on a
word to him of what was after happening about
them. He was too angry, besides having a slow
tongue. It was only in to himself he’d talk and
argue.</p>

<p>“I wondher, now, what else Art neglected here,”
he thought, “to make off wid himself to Rafferty’s!
How anshis he is, about the Widdah’s work! In
troth, it’s kissin’ the child for the sake of the nurse<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span>
he is! Coortin’, are ye? Maybe there’ll be more
nor one word to be said about that! I might
manage to clip yer wings for ye, me boyo, as sure as
there’s a leg in a pot! And of all the chat he was
having out of him...! But sure Art could
talk down a hedgeful of sparrows, anny day of the
year!”</p>

<p>There’s the way he kept thinking over the thing,
and there’s how he began first having a bad suspicion
of Art, that the poor boy never earned. But
just because he never spoke of what was in his
mind, it kept rolling over and over there, till there
was nothing so bad but what he thought Art was
capable of it.</p>

<p>Art never minded. Heffernan was always a bit
dark in himself. So Art never got the chance of
saying a word for himself, nor knew he was being
watched and blamed and he going on the one way,
off wid himself every evening to Rafferty’s, and
would come back that happy and smiling that
Mickey would be madder nor a wet hen, looking at
him.</p>

<p>So there’s the way it went on with the two of
them; Heffernan sour and silent and miserable in
himself; and Art noways put about, only quite
gay and satisfied from morning till night.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span>At last Heffernan made up his mind what he’d
do. There came an evening ... a summer’s
evening it was, more betoken ... and when Art
walked into Rafferty’s as usual, he found Rosy
drowned in grief, and she crying down the tears
as if she was after losing all belonging to her.</p>

<p>“Ora, what’s a trouble to ye, Rosheen acushla!”
says Art; but it was a while afore he could get an
answer out of her she was that fretted and put
about. But at long last she told him. Mr.
Heffernan, she said, that was wanting to marry
her.</p>

<p>“What!” says Art, bursting out into a big laugh;
“ould Heffernan to think to marry <i>you</i>! he that
might be your father! ay, or your grandfather to
the back of that, ready!”</p>

<p>But Art was wrong about that. Heffernan
wasn’t that far on at all.</p>

<p>“That’s a nice joke to be putting out upon a
body!” he says, “for of coorse it’s only nonsense
...” and he looks hard at her; “say
it’s only joking y’are, Rosy!”</p>

<p>“The sorra joke!” says poor Rosy, and she
looking at him most pitiful, and her cheeks and
eyes wet with the tears; so much so that Art
thought well of doing his best to dry them for her;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span>
and Rosy went on, “He was down here this morning,
talking to me mother....”</p>

<p>“Well?”</p>

<p>“Well, sure, what was I to do, only say that I
wouldn’t agree to him; and then he got vexed,
and says he to me mother, ‘Go off,’ he says, ‘to
Father Connellan, and let him at her, to see to
bring her to raison!’ And och! Art, jewel, what
will I do, at all at all!”</p>

<p>“Sure, never heed them!” says Art, very stout.</p>

<p>“That’s all very fine! but they’ll all be agin
me! Too sure I am that Father Connellan will be
for Mickey, on account of the good wedding ...
all the money he has! And he has promised me
mother to bring her to the Furry Farm, as well as
me, and to give her every comfort. He says he’s
after getting word of some one that is going to
marry his sister beyant there in England. So
then, there wouldn’t be Julia on the flure, to contind
wid. And me mother is to have a side-car
to drive to Mass of a Sundah; and a slip of a
sarvint-girl to be ordhering about, and every
comfort, if only I’ll agree to take him. And of
coorse she’s getting middling ould and wakely in
herself ... so there it is now!”</p>

<p>“Well, don’t you cry any more, annyhow,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span>
Rosy!” says Art; “look-at-here, if he wants a
wife so terrible bad, and is so anshis to have your
mother at the Furry Farm, why wouldn’t he take
her there, and l’ave the two of us in p’ace and
qui’tness?”</p>

<p>“That’s only foolishness!” says Rosy.</p>

<p>Still, the notion started her off to laugh, and
that was what Art wanted. But sure, when people
is young, it’s easy diverting their minds from whatever
has them annoyed. So Rosy and Art began
talking and going on, and before very long they had
clean forgotten old Heffernan and everything else,
only theirselves.</p>

<p>That was all well enough, for that turn. But
soon it became well known to them both, that it
was apt to turn out no laughing matter for them.
For, as Rosy had said, they were all against Art
and for Heffernan. And the mother, in particular,
gave Rosy neither ease nor rest, morning, noon,
and night, only fighting the girl to take a man that,
as she said, had a good means, and could keep her
like a Princess.</p>

<p>A woman like the Widdah Rafferty is not to be
blamed for doing the like of that. She couldn’t
but be a bit cowardly in herself, and she left the
way she was, without one to come between her and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span>
the world. Gay and pleasant as she was mostly,
she knew enough of hardship to think a power of
the offer Heffernan was after making, saying he
would do for her as well as for Rosy. And the
thoughts of the Furry Farm! All the stock upon
it, and the kitchen with full and plenty in it;
sides of bacon, and lashins and lavins of milk and
turf and praties and meal ... well, sure she
couldn’t but be tempted with all that, for herself as
well as for Rosy. Indeed she was of the opinion
that she was doing the best she could for her child,
as often as she’d begin argufying with her; abusing
poor Art, and puffing up Heffernan.</p>

<p>But all she done by that was, to make poor Rosy
fret; and what else did she expect?</p>

<p>Through it, not a word ever passed between the
two men upon the business. Heffernan, as I said,
was always a good warrant to hold his tongue.
He thought now he had the thing so sure that he
need only wait a bit. He knew how poor the
Raffertys were. He didn’t want any upset or
unpleasantness with Art, that maybe the boy
would take and quit off, and leave him there wid
himself, and not as much as one about the place
to do a hand’s turn there.</p>

<p>Heffernan was a slow-going sort of a man. The<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span>
people all had it that he was a bit thick. But,
anyway, he knew well enough what he was able for,
and what he ought to let alone. He had no wish
in life for getting shut of Art, till he’d have some
one in his place, in on the ways of the Furry Farm.
And he wanted to make sure of Rosy and the
mother there, afore his own sister would be maybe
hearing about it, and he knew her to be that conthrary,
that he wouldn’t put it past her to come off
home at once, to spoil all his plans. He scarce
ever heard a word from her, only there was a sketch
going round Ardenoo of some talk of a match being
made for her, what Rosy had mentioned to Art.
Mickey was beginning to have good hopes out of
that, thinking she might get some man to marry
her there that wouldn’t know the differ. So he was
doing his endeavours to hurry the thing up with
Rosy, or at least with the mother; and sorra word
out of his head to Art; and Art the same with him.</p>

<p>But Art would be nigh-hand mad betimes, with
the way old Heffernan would look at him, as much
as to say, “I have ye now, me boyo!” But he
never axed to pass any remarks, good or bad.
Why would he? He was sure of Rosy, so there
would be neither use nor sense in having words with
Mickey, that could do you a bad turn, as soon as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span>
look at you. And Art then took the notion that
the Widdah Rafferty wasn’t all out as agreeable
and pleasant-spoken to him as she had a right to
be; not that she was to be blemt in that! So he
and Rosy took to meeting with one another outside
the house; at the well, maybe, or gathering sprigs
for the fire, or the like of that; and it wasn’t their
fault if they did it secretly.</p>

<p>It was in this way that Rosy was coming from
the Chapel one evening, when Art met up with her,
by the purest of accidents, of course. They had
plenty to talk about, as is always the way with the
likes of them. And if it was mostly about themselves,
sure, that’s what most of us finds very
interesting and agreeable.</p>

<p>“I’m in dread,” says Rosy, “this while back,
that it’s what Mr. Heffernan has some iday of
coming at me mother soon now for the rent....”</p>

<p>“Sure, what’s that, only a flea-bite!” says Art.</p>

<p>“Ah, but isn’t there four years owing? and how
is that going to be ped? unless we can get to pacify
him someways. And we behindhand at the Shop
... and do you mind how the young turkeys died
‘on’ us last year? and that has left us very short
ever since. And now the praties isn’t looking any
too well....”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span>“In spite of you telling me to mind me eye, and
we cutting the seed!” says Art; and then the
both of them had to laugh, thinking how simple he
near cut the thumb off of himself that evening.
It’s a small thing will amuse a boy and girl like
Rosy and Art. God knows they’ll have whips to
fret and worry over, before their day is done here!
So why wouldn’t they laugh as long as they can?</p>

<p>Well, and so Art would laugh right enough while
he’d be in company with Rosy. But all the whole
time he’d keep thinking and planning; and when
the next fair-day of Clough-na-Rinka came round,
and he had to be up and off before daylight with
stock of Heffernan’s to sell there, didn’t he bring
his own bullock amongst them! Grass for him
was in Art’s agreement with Mickey, and I needn’t
say that that animal hadn’t the worst spot of the
farm, neither was there any fear of he to be overlooked
at foddering-time, as long as there was a
wad of hay left. But sure that’s only human
nature, to look after your own. No matter how
kind you are to others, you’ll always have the most
heart for yourself.</p>

<p>Art’s bullock was that fine a beast, that he was
sold at top price, and the money was in Art’s
pocket, long before Mickey Heffernan came bowling<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span>
up to the fair-green, on the side-car, in time for
the regular business of the day. And how he got
on there, and what price he got for his stores,
is neither here nor there now. Art passed no
remarks to him in regard to his own sale; sure,
why would he? And as soon as he had done
with Heffernan’s cattle, he slipped off with himself,
and Mickey went home without seeing him
again.</p>

<p>The next morning, when Heffernan went to go
to get up, behould ye! sight nor light of Art there
wasn’t to be got about the whole town.</p>

<p>“And it’s too sure I am,” thinks Mickey to
himself, “that he wasn’t in till late, whatever
divilmint he was at! for I’d have heard him, up
to nine o’clock, annyway! Nice conduction it is
for he to be having, stopping out that-a-way, and
neglecting his business, that he’s ped to do here
for me! And now, where at all should he be, and
isn’t here seeing about things this morning, only
leaving all to me! But I’ll not fau’t him; sure it’s
not long he’ll be in it. I can bid him to go, in
another little while, anny day I like! Only, where
the mischief is he now! Maybe it’s what he’s
taking to go to Rafferty’s, airly as well as late.
Sure it’s only losing his time he is, and making a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span>
laugh of himself he is as well; but divil mend him!
standing up wid impidence he is, this minute!”</p>

<p>Off with Heffernan then to Rafferty’s, without
even waiting to break his fast. When he got there,
who should he see, only Tommy the Crab, airly
and all as it was; and he with his pack upon the
ground and talking away to the Widdah Rafferty.</p>

<p>She that gave the lepp when she seen Heffernan!
the same as if she was half afraid of he hearing
what Tommy had to say. But Mickey never said
a word, only made a kind of a bow of the head
when she passed him the time of day, and stood
there.</p>

<p>“Good mornin’, Mr. Heffernan,” says Tommy,
that had a tongue in his head like the clapper of a
bell; “I hope I see you as well as I’d wish you
and all belonging to ye! and that you may never be
sick till I’m doctor enough to cure ye! and that
won’t happen, till you’re that small, that you’ll
have to stand up upon a sod of turf, to look into a
naggin! Well, sure, you’re just in time here to get
the news that I’m about telling to Mrs. Rafferty.”</p>

<p>Heffernan never said one word, not even to ax,
“What is it?” and so Tommy goes on, “I slep’
out last night, under the big furzy bush there
below at the cross-roads, bekase I was a bit late<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span>
and I coming from the fair. And along wid all, I
had no great command of meself, after me day
there, you persave. So, as I was a-loath to disturb
any dacint house, knocking the people up to ax a
bed from them, I just laid meself down there,
where I had the best of shelter. Ay, and slep’ the
best, too, till this morning, bright and airly, when
I wakened hearing voices. And what should it
be, only young Art, from beyant at your place,
Mr. Heffernan, and little Rosy Rafferty, and they
coming along the road to’arst me!”</p>

<p>“The Lord save us!” says the Widdah; “sure
it’s not in airnest you are! and I having it laid
out that it was what she was just a piece off from
me in the fields, and she gethering a few sprigs
for kindling....”</p>

<p>“Well, sure, you should know! and maybe
that’s what she <i>was</i> at; and that Art was helping
her. I couldn’t rightly say. Only, if they were
at that, they must have changed their minds, and
have left the sprigs in the gaps they were stopping
...” and as he said the word, Heffernan gave a
kind of a snort, for there was nothing he had more
enmity to, than the fashion women does have, of
pulling the bushes out of holes in the fences that
he’d be after getting filled up. The weight of them<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span>
would liefer do that, nor to pick up what little
kindling-wood they’d want off the ground, and
mostly always there’s plenty lying loose to their
hand.</p>

<p>Tommy went on with his story, and a smirk on
his face when he saw the way he had Mickey
annoyed about the sprigs.</p>

<p>“Ay indeed! Nobody else in this earthly
world, only their two selves! There they were,
and they coming along, looking half proud of
themselves, and half afraid; and their eyes round
over their shoulders every minute, as if they were
afraid of some one coming after them. And the
big hurry there appeared to be on them!</p>

<p>“When they seen me, they stopped short.</p>

<p>“‘In the name of God,’ says I to them, ‘where
are yiz off to, at this hour,’ says I, ‘and the stars
not out of the sky yet?’</p>

<p>“Art laughed, but Rosy blushed up.</p>

<p>“‘Oho!’ says I, ‘what colour’s red? and is this
what yiz are up to?’</p>

<p>“But they said nothing, only Art whips a whole
big handful of money out of his pocket carelesslike,
as if it was just that much dirt.</p>

<p>“‘What have you there?’ says he; and begins
turning over every ha’porth in the pack on the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span>
ground beside me, the mouth of it being open; and
his hands shaking as if he was all of a thrimble;
and Rosy watching him with her eyes dancing,
and still not asking to touch annything herself.</p>

<p>“‘I have all soarts here,’ says I to him, making
answer, ‘but sure it’s what I’m thinking it should
some kind of a ring yous will be wanting....’</p>

<p>“‘You just got it!’ he says; ‘but I doubt have
you one good enough for us ... ah! there’s a
nice neckercher ... we’ll take that, at anny
rate ... do you remimber, Rosy? Is this as
good as the one you offered to tie up that cut of
mine...?’ and they both laughed out.</p>

<p>“‘I’d wish it a taste brighter,’ he says.</p>

<p>“‘Sure, isn’t it grand!’ says she ... ‘but
Art! look at them for pickthers!’ and couldn’t
stop herself, only taking up first one and then
another....</p>

<p>“‘Would you wish e’er a one of them?’ he
says.</p>

<p>“‘They’d be aisy carrit,’ says I; ‘and more
betoken, yous wouldn’t be getting them so raisonable
as I can sell them, from them that has shops
and rent to pay....’</p>

<p>“‘They’d look pleasant and homely, annywhere
we’d be!’ says Rosy.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span>“So they chose out a half-dozen or so; the
Death of Lord Edward; and Emmet in the Dock,
and so and so on; and they bid me to bring this
one to you, and I was to say how that they were
off to the Big Smoke<a id="FNanchor_5" href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> to have the wedding there,
at your sister’s....”</p>

<p>“Ay, she’s there in Dublin, this linth of time,”
says the Widdah, quite composed now, and she
smiling all over with joy.</p>

<p>For there’s the way it is wid women. When
they get a daughter marrit, no matter to who,
they’ll be that proud, the weight of them, that
they wouldn’t call the King their cousin. And
along with all, of course, Art Heffernan was known
to be a very choice boy, only for he being poor.
But, as it was often said at Ardenoo, why need
that stop him in the getting of a wife? Why
mightn’t he as well be a poor man as a poor boy?</p>

<p>“And to think of them sending me a keepsake!”
says the mother; “dear, but that pickther is
beautiful, the way it’s drew out!”</p>

<p>“There’s a crack across the face of it,” says
Mickey; and there’s the only word he had out of
them.</p>

<p>“So there is! and I never to observe it till you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span>
spoke!” says the Widdah, and she looking ready
to go cry.</p>

<p>“Sure it will never be noticed!” says Tommy,
“and moreover, I took a pinny off of the price, in
compliment to that little defect,” and I’m not
saying but he did. “Here!” says Tommy, “I’ll
give you a nail into the bargain to hang it up by;
and there’s a brave lump of a stone, to drive it in,
and make it all safe upon the wall. Where will
you wish to have it, mam?”</p>

<p>“Here, where I can be seeing it, and I sitting
at the wheel,” says she.</p>

<p>So Tommy hammered in the nail.</p>

<p>“What’s the name of the pickther?” says the
Widdah, and she standing back a piece off, the
way she could get a good look at it.</p>

<p>“It’s called ‘The Flight of the Wild Geese,’”
says Tommy, with a grin.</p>

<p>And Heffernan just gave one laugh out of him;
like the cough of a sick sheep it was, and turned
about and went home.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span>

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER II<br>

<small>THE GAME LEG</small></h2>
</div>

<p><span class="smcap">Heffernan’s</span> house at the Furry Farm stood very
backwards from the roadside, hiding itself, you’d
really think, from any one that might be happening
by. As if it need do that! Why, there was no
more snug, well-looked-after place in the whole of
Ardenoo than Heffernan’s always was, with full
and plenty in it for man and beast, though it
wasn’t to say too tasty-looking.</p>

<p>And it was terrible lonesome. There wasn’t a
neighbour within the bawl of an ass of it. Heffernan
of course had always been used to it, so that
he didn’t so much mind; still, he missed Art, after
he going off with little Rosy Rafferty. That was
nigh-hand as bad upon him as losing the girl herself.
He had got to depend on Art for every hand’s turn,
a thing that left him worse when he was without
him. And he was very slow-going. As long as
Julia was there, she did all, and Heffernan might
stand to one side and look at her. And so he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span>
missed her now, more than ever; and still he had
no wish to see her back, though even to milk the
cows came awkward to him.</p>

<p>He was contending with the work one evening,
and the calves in particular were leaving him distracted,
above all, a small little white one that he
designed for Rosy, when he’d have her Woman of
the House at the Furry Farm. That calf, I needn’t
say, was not the pick of the bunch, but as Mickey
thought to himself, a girl wouldn’t know any better
than choose a calf by the colour, and there
would be no good wasting anything of value on her.
At all events it would be “child’s pig and daddy’s
bacon,” most likely, with that calf. But, sure,
what matter! Rosy was never to have any call
to it, or anything else at the Furry Farm.</p>

<p>Those calves were a very sweet lot, so that
Mickey might have been feeling all the pleasure
in life, just watching them, with their soft little
muzzles down in the warm, sweet milk, snorting
with the pure enjoyment. But Mickey was only
grousing to get done, and vexed at the way the
big calves were shoving the little ones away, and
still he couldn’t hinder them. Art used to regulate
them very simple by means of a little ash quick
he kept, to slap the forward calves across the face<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span>
when they’d get too impudent. But as often as
Mickey had seen him do that, he couldn’t do the
same. The ash quick was so close to him that if
it had been any nearer it would have bitten him.
Stuck up in a corner of the bit of ruin that had
once been Castle Heffernan it was. But it might
as well have been in America for all the good it was
to Mickey.</p>

<p>“I wish to God I was rid of the whole of yous,
this minute!” says he to himself, and he with his
face all red and steamy, and the milk slobbering
out of the pail down upon the ground, the way the
calves were butting him about the legs.</p>

<p>That very minute, he heard a sound behind him.
He turned about, and my dear! the heart jumped
into his mouth, as he saw a great, immense red face,
just peeping over the wall that shut in his yard
from the boreen. That wall was no more than four
feet high. Wouldn’t any one think it strange to
see such a face, only that far from the ground! and
it with a bushy black beard around it, and big rolling
eyes, and a wide old hat cocked back upon it?
You’d have to think it was something “not right”;
an Appearance or Witchery work of some kind.</p>

<p>But, let alone that, isn’t there something very
terrifying and frightful in finding yourself being<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span>
watched, when you think you’re alone; and, of all
things, by a man? The worst of a wild beast
wouldn’t put the same bad fear in your heart.</p>

<p>“Good-evening, Mr. Heffernan,” says the newcomer,
with a grin upon him, free and pleasant;
“that’s a fine lot of calves you have there!”</p>

<p>Heffernan was so put about that he made no
answer, and the man went on to say, “Is it that
you don’t know me? Sure, you couldn’t forget
poor old Hopping Hughie as simple as that!”</p>

<p>And he gave himself a shove, so that he raised
his shoulders above the wall. A brave big pair
they were, too, but they were only just held up on
crutches. Hughie could balance himself upon
them, and get about, as handy as you please. But
he was dead of his two legs.</p>

<p>“Oh, Hughie...!” says Heffernan, pretty
stiff, “well, and what do you want here?”</p>

<p>“Och, nothing in life....”</p>

<p>“Take it then, and let you be off about your
business!” says Mickey as quick as a flash for once;
and he that was proud when he had it said!</p>

<p>Hughie had a most notorious tongue himself, but
he knew when to keep it quiet, and he thought it as
good to appear very mild and down in himself
now, so he said, “<i>My</i> business! sure, what word is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span>
that to say to a poor old fellah on crutches! Not
like you, Mr. Heffernan, that’ll be off to the
fair of Balloch to-morrow morning, bright and
early, with them grand fine calves of yours. The
price they’ll go! There isn’t the peel of them in
Ardenoo!”</p>

<p>“Do you tell me that?” says Heffernan, that a
child could cheat.</p>

<p>“That’s what they do be telling me,” says
Hughie. He could build a nest in your ear, he was
that cunning. He thought he saw a chance of
getting to the fair himself, and a night’s lodging as
well, if he managed right.</p>

<p>“I wish to goodness I could get them there, so,”
says Mickey, “and hasn’t one to drive them for
me!”</p>

<p>“Would I do?” says Hughie.</p>

<p>Heffernan looked at him up and down.</p>

<p>“Sure you’d not be able!”</p>

<p>“Whoo! Me not able? Maybe I’m like the
singed cat, better than I look! I’m slow, but fair
and easy goes far in a day! Never you fear but I’ll
get your calves to Balloch, the same way the boy
ate the cake, very handy....”</p>

<p>The simplest thing would have been for Heffernan
to take and drive the calves himself. But he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span>
never had the fashion of doing such things. Anyway
it wouldn’t answer for the people to see a man
with a good means of his own, like Mickey, turning
drover that way.</p>

<p>So he thought again, while Hughie watched him;
and then says he, “You’ll have to be off out of this
before the stars have left the sky!”</p>

<p>“And why wouldn’t I?” says Hughie; “only
give me a bit of supper and a shakedown for the
night, the way I’ll be fresh for the road to-morrow.”</p>

<p>Hughie was looking to be put sitting down in the
kitchen alongside Heffernan himself, and to have
the settle-bed foreninst the fire to sleep in. But
he had to content himself with the straw in the
barn and a plateful carried out to him. Queer and
slow-going Heffernan might be, but he wasn’t
thinking of having the likes of Hopping Hughie in
his chimney-corner, where he had often thought to
see little Rosy Rafferty and she smiling at him.</p>

<p>Hughie took it all very contented. Gay and
happy he was after his supper, and soon fell asleep
on the straw, with his ragged pockets that empty,
that the Divil could dance a hornpipe in them and
not strike a copper there; while Mickey above in
bed in his own house, with his fine farm and all his
stock about him, calves and cows and pigs, not to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span>
speak of the money in the old stocking under the
thatch ... Mickey couldn’t sleep, only worrying,
thinking was he right to go sell the calves at
all; and to be letting Hughie drive them!</p>

<p>“I had little to do,” he thought, “to be letting
him in about the place at all, and couldn’t tell
what divilment he might be up to, as soon as he
gets me asleep! Hughie’s terrible wicked, and as
strong as a ditch! I done well to speak him civil,
anyway. But I’ll not let them calves stir one
peg out of this with him! I’d sooner risk keeping
them longer....”</p>

<p>There’s the way he was going on, tossing and
tumbling and tormenting himself; as if bed wasn’t
a place to rest yourself in and not be raking up
annoyances.</p>

<p>So it wasn’t till near morning that Mickey dozed
off, and never wakened till it was more than time
to be off for the fair.</p>

<p>Up he jumped and out to stop Hughie. But
the yard was silent and empty. Hughie and the
calves were gone.</p>

<p>Mickey was more uneasy than ever.</p>

<p>“A nice <i>bosthoon</i><a id="FNanchor_6" href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> I must be,” he thought, “to
go trust my good-looking calves to a <i>k’nat</i><a id="FNanchor_7" href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> like<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span>
Hughie! And he to go off without any breakfast,
too...!”</p>

<p>Heffernan was a good warrant to feed man or
beast. But he mightn’t have minded about
Hughie, that had plenty of little ways of providing
for himself. His pockets would be like sideboards,
the way he would have them stuck out with meat
and eggs and so on, that he would be given along
the road. Hughie was better fed than plenty that
bestowed food upon him.</p>

<p>Balloch, where the fair is held, is the wildest and
most lonesome place in Ardenoo, with a steep rough
bit of road leading up to it, very awkward to drive
along. Up this comes Heffernan, on his side-car,
driving his best, and in a great hurry to know where
would he come on Hughie. He had it laid out in
his own mind that sight nor light of his calves he
never would get in this world again. So it was
a great surprise to him to find them there before
him, safe and sound. His heart lightened at that
as if a millstone was lifted off it.</p>

<p>And the fine appearance there was upon them!
Not a better spot in the fair-green, than where
Hughie had them, opposite a drink-tent where the
people would be thronging most. And it was a
choice spot for Hughie too. Happy and contented<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span>
he was, his back against a tree, leaning his weight
on one crutch and the other convenient to his hand.</p>

<p>“So there’s where you are!” says Mickey, when
he came up.</p>

<p>“Ah, where else!” says Hughie, a bit scornful.
Sure it was a foolish remark to pass, and the man
there before him, as plain as the nose on your face.
But Hughie was puzzled, too, by the look of relief
he saw on Mickey’s face. He understood nothing
of what Heffernan was after passing through. It’s
an old saying and a true one, “Them that has the
world has care!” but them that hasn’t it, what do
they know about it?</p>

<p>While Hughie was turning this over in his mind,
Mickey was throwing an eye upon the calves, and
then, seeing they were all right, he was bandying
off with himself, when Hughie said, “Terrible
dry work it is, driving stock along them dusty
roads since the early morning!” and he rubbed the
back of his hand across his mouth with a grin.</p>

<p>At that, Mickey put his hand into his pocket
and felt round about, and then pulled it out empty.</p>

<p>“I’ll see you later, Hughie,” says he, “I’ll not
forget you, never fear! Just let you wait here,
till I have the poor mare attended to that drew
me here....”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span>So he went off to do this, and then into the
drink-tent with him, the way he could be getting
a sup himself. But no sign of he to give anything
to Hughie. And there now is where Mickey made
a big mistake.</p>

<p>He met up with a couple or three that he was
acquainted with in the tent, and they began to
talk of this thing and that thing, so that it was a
gay little while before Mickey came out again.</p>

<p>When he did, “What sort is the drink in there,
Mr. Heffernan?” says Hughie.</p>

<p>Now what Mickey had taken at that time was
no more than would warm the cockles of his heart.
So he looked quite pleasant and said, “Go in
yourself, Hughie, and here’s what will enable you
to judge it!”</p>

<p>And he held out a shilling to Hughie.</p>

<p>“A bird never yet flew upon the one wing, Mr.
Heffernan!” said Hughie, that was looking to get
another shilling, and that would be only his due
for driving the calves.</p>

<p>Mickey said nothing one way or the other, only
went off, and left Hughie standing there, holding
out his hand in front of him with the shilling in
it, lonesome.</p>

<p>He that was vexed! He got redder in the face<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span>
than ever, and gave out a few curses, till he remembered
there wasn’t one to hear him. So he stopped
and went into the tent and I needn’t say he got the
best value he could there.</p>

<p>But all the time, he was thinking how badly
Heffernan was after treating him, putting him off
without enough to see him through the fair even,
let alone with a trifle in his pockets to help him on
his rounds. He began planning how he could pay
out Mickey.</p>

<p>He got himself back to the same spot, near the
calves, to see what would happen. After a time
he saw Heffernan coming back, and little Barney
Maguire was with him. A very decent boy Barney
was, quiet and agreeable; never too anxious for
work, but very knowledgeable about how things
should be done, from a wake to a sheep-shearing.
Heffernan always liked to have Barney with him
at a fair.</p>

<p>The two of them stood near the calves, carelesslike,
as if they took no interest in them at all.</p>

<p>A dealer came up.</p>

<p>“How much for them calves? Not that I’m in
need of the like,” says he.</p>

<p>“Nobody wants you to take them, so,” says
Barney, “but the price is three pounds ...<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span>
or was it guineas you’re after saying, Mr.
Heffernan?”</p>

<p>Heffernan said nothing, and the dealer spoke up
very fierce, “Three pounds! Put thirty shillings
on them, and I’ll be talking to ye!”</p>

<p>Mickey again only looked at his adviser, and
says Barney, “Thirty shillings! ’Tis you that’s
bidding wide, this day! May the Lord forgive
you! Is it wanting a present you are, of the finest
calves in all Ardenoo!”</p>

<p>Heffernan swelled out with delight at that; as
if Barney’s word could make his calves either better
or worse.</p>

<p>“Wasn’t it fifty-seven and sixpence you’re after
telling me you were offered only yesterday, Mr.
Heffernan,” says Barney, “just for the small ones
of the lot?”</p>

<p>“Och! I dare say! don’t you?” says the
dealer; “the woman that owns you it was that
made you that bid, to save your word!”</p>

<p>Poor Mickey! and he that hadn’t a woman at
all! The dealer of course being strange couldn’t
know that, nor why Hughie gave a laugh out of
him then.</p>

<p>But that didn’t matter. Mickey took no notice.
A man that’s a bit “thick” escapes many a prod<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span>
that another would feel sharp. So in all things you
can see how them that are afflicted are looked after
in some little way we don’t know.</p>

<p>The dealer looked at the calves again.</p>

<p>“Troth, I’m thinking it’s the wrong ones yous
have here! Yous must have forgotten them fine
three-pound calves at home!”</p>

<p>And Mickey began looking very anxiously at
them, as if he thought maybe he had made some
mistake.</p>

<p>“Them calves,” says the dealer slowly, “isn’t
like a pretty girl, that every one will be looking to
get! And, besides, they’re no size! A terrible
small calf they are!”</p>

<p>“Small!” said Barney, “it’s too big they are!
And if they’re little, itself, what harm! Isn’t
a mouse the prettiest animal you might ask
to see!”</p>

<p>“Ay is it!” says the dealer, “but it’ll take a
power of mice to stock a farm!” and off with him,
in a real passion, by the way of.</p>

<p>But Barney knew better than to mind. The
dealer came back, and at long last the calves were
sold and paid for. Then the luck-penny had to be
given. Hard-set Barney was to get Heffernan to
do that. In the end, Mickey was so bothered over<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span>
it, that he dropped a shilling just where Hughie
was standing leaning his weight on the one crutch
as usual.</p>

<p>As quick as a flash, he had the other up, and
made a kind of a lurch forward, as if to look for the
money. But he managed to get the second crutch
down upon the shilling, to hide it; and then he
looked round about upon the ground, as innocent
as a child, as if he was striving his best to find the
money for Mickey.</p>

<p>“Where should it be, at all at all?” says Hughie;
“bewitched it should be, to say it’s gone like
that!”</p>

<p>And Heffernan standing there with his mouth
open, looked as if he had lost all belonging to him.
Then he began searching about a good piece off
from where the shilling fell.</p>

<p>“It’s not there you’ll get it!” said Barney;
“sure you ought always look for a thing where you
lost it!”</p>

<p>He went over to Hughie.</p>

<p>“None of your tricks, now! It’s you has Mr.
Heffernan’s money, and let you give it up to him!”</p>

<p>“Is it me have it? Sure if I had, what would
I do, only hand it over to the man that owns it!”
says Hughie.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span>On the word, he let himself down upon the
ground, and slithered over on top of the shilling.</p>

<p>But quick and all as he was, Barney was
quicker.</p>

<p>“Sure you have it there, you vagabone you!
Give it up, and get off out of this with yourself!”</p>

<p>And he caught Hughie a clip on the side of the
head that sent him sprawling on the broad of his
back. And there, right enough, under him was
the shilling.</p>

<p>So Barney picked it up, and for fear of any other
mistake, he handed it to the dealer himself.</p>

<p>“It’s an ugly turn whatever, to be knocking a
poor cripple about that-a-way!” said the dealer,
dropping the luck-penny into his pocket.</p>

<p>“Ach, how poor he is, and let him be crippled,
itself!” says Barney; “it’s easy seeing you’re
strange to Ardenoo, or you’d not be compassionating
Hughie so tender!”</p>

<p>No more was said then, only into the tent with
them again to wet the bargain. Hughie gathered
himself up. He was in the divil’s own temper.
Small blame to him, too! Let alone the disappointment
about the shilling, and the knock
Barney gave him, the people all had a laugh at him.
And he liked that as little as the next one. You’d<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span>
think he’d curse down the stars out of the skies
this time, the way he went on.</p>

<p>And it wasn’t Barney’s clout he cared about,
half as much as Mickey’s meanness. It was that
had him so mad. He felt he must pay Heffernan
out.</p>

<p>He considered a bit; then he gave his leg a slap.</p>

<p>“I have it now!” he said to himself.</p>

<p>He beckoned two young boys up to him, that
were striving to sell a load of cabbage plants they
had there upon a donkey’s back, and getting bad
call for them.</p>

<p>“It’s a poor trade yous are doing to-day,” said
Hughie; “and I was thinking in meself yous
should be very dry. You wouldn’t care to earn the
price of a pint?”</p>

<p>“How could we?” says the boys.</p>

<p>“I’ll tell you! Do you see that car?” and Hughie
pointed to where Heffernan had left his yoke
drawn up, and the old mare cropping a bit as well
as she could, being tied by the head; “well,
any one that will pull the linch-pin out of the wheel,
on the far side of that car, needn’t be without
tuppence to wet his whistle ...” and Hughie
gave a rattle to a few coppers he had left in his
pocket.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span>“Yous’ll have to be smart about it too,” said
he, “or maybe whoever owns that car will have
gone off upon it, afore yous have time to do the
primest bit of fun that ever was seen upon this
fair-green!”</p>

<p>“Whose is the car?”</p>

<p>“Och, if I know!” says Hughie; “but what
matter for that? One man is as good as another at
the bottom of a ditch! ay and better. It will be
the hoith of divarsion to see the roll-off they’ll get
below there at the foot of the hill....”</p>

<p>“Maybe they’d get hurted!” said the boys.</p>

<p>“Hurted, how-are-ye!” says Hughie; “how
could any one get hurted so simple as that? I’d be
the last in the world to speak of such a thing in
that case! But if yous are afraid of doing it....”</p>

<p>“Afraid! that’s queer talk to be having!”
says one of them, very stiff, for like all boys he
thought nothing so bad as to have “afraid” said
to him; “no, but we’re ready to do as much as
the next one!”</p>

<p>“I wouldn’t doubt yiz!” said Hughie; “h-away
with the two of you now! Only mind! don’t let
on a word of this to any sons of man....”</p>

<p>Off they went, and Hughie turned his back on
them and the car, and stared at whatever was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span>
going on the other end of the fair. He hadn’t long
to wait, before Heffernan and Barney and the
dealer came out of the drink-tent. Hughie took
a look at them out of the corner of his eye.</p>

<p>“Ah!” he said to himself, “all ‘purty-well-I-thank-ye!’
after what they drank inside! But
wait a bit, Mickey Heffernan....”</p>

<p>The three men went over to where Heffernan’s
car was waiting. The boys were gone. The other
two men helped Mickey to get his yoke ready.
Then he got up, and they shook hands a good many
times. Heffernan chucked at the reins and started
off.</p>

<p>Hughie was watching, and when he saw how
steadily the old mare picked her way down the
steep boreen, he began to be afraid he hadn’t hit
on such a very fine plan at all. And if Mickey
had only had the wit to leave it all to the poor
dumb beast, she might have brought him home
safe enough.</p>

<p>But nothing would do him, only to give a shout
and a flourish of the whip, half-way down the hill.
The mare started and gave a jump. She was big
and awkward, much like Mickey himself. Still, it
was no fault of her, that, when she got to the turn,
the wheel came off and rolled away to one side.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span>
Down came the car, Mickey fell off, and there he
lay, till some people that saw what was going on
ran down the hill after him, and got the mare on
to her feet, and not a scratch on her.</p>

<p>But poor Mickey! It was easy to see with half
an eye that he was badly hurt.</p>

<p>“Some one will have to drive him home, whatever,”
said Barney, coming up the hill to look for
more help, after doing his best to get Mickey to
stand up; and, sure, how was he to do that, upon
a broken leg? “A poor thing it is, too, to see
how a thing of the kind could occur so simple!
and a decent man like Heffernan to be nigh-hand
killed....”</p>

<p>“’Deed and he <i>is</i> a decent man!” said Hughie;
“and why wouldn’t he? I’d be a decent man
meself if I had the Furry Farm and it stocked....”</p>

<p>“He’s in a poor way now, in any case,” said
Barney. “I doubt will he ever get over this
rightly! That’s apt to be a leg to him, all his life!”</p>

<p>“Well, and so, itself!” said Hughie; “haven’t
I two of them lame legs? and who thinks to pity
Hughie?”</p>

<p>“It’s another matter altogether, with a man like
Mr. Heffernan,” said Barney; “what does the
like of you miss, by not being able to get about,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span>
compared with a man that might spend his time
walking a-through his cattle, and looking at his
crops growing, every day in the week?”</p>

<p>“To be sure, he could be doing all that!” said
Hughie, “but when a thing of this kind happens
out so awkward, it’s the will of God, and the will of
man can’t abate that!”</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span>

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER III<br>

<small>THE “REST OF HIM”</small></h2>
</div>

<p><span class="smcap">This</span> is how it happened with poor Mickey Heffernan
that he was left with a “game” leg, soon after
he had had that falling-out with Art and the
Raffertys, on account of the little girl there. His
sister Julia came home, of course, as soon as she
got word about the accident. She looked after
him well, and not alone that, but she managed the
outside work about the place too, till Mickey was
so far recovered as to be able to get about himself;
at first on two crutches like Hughie himself, and
then by degrees he was well enough to do with
just a stick.</p>

<p>Well and good. As long as he was helpless, and
depending on Julia for everything, she and he hit
it off together, all right. A contrary woman is
often like that. She’ll let you do nothing, as long
as you are well, and would be able for a bit of
sport and amusement. But once you are laid up
so that you could enjoy nothing, she’ll encourage<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span>
you to do the very things that would enrage her
at other times.</p>

<p>This explains how it was that Julia flew into a
tearing rage one morning, when Mickey was on his
feet again, because he asked for a second egg for
his breakfast. While he was in bed, she would be
trying to force food on him, when he had no appetite
for anything; I’m not saying that this is <i>why</i>
she pressed the things on him; but anyway, now
that he was up again and had a wish for food, it
seemed as if she grudged it to him.</p>

<p>With Julia, one word borrowed another, although
Mickey never made her answer. It saves
quarrelling most times, but not with Julia. She
would work herself into a rage all the more when
he kept quiet and seemed to take no notice. Of
course, that is an annoying thing. The end of it
was, that Julia went off again, to stay with some
friends in Dublin it was, this time.</p>

<p>It was a foolish step for Julia to take, but to be
sure she did not know what was in Mickey’s mind,
nor how having lost little Rosy Rafferty had not
put him off the notion of getting a wife. It was
only more anxious than ever he was now to be
married. He was just as glad to be quit of Julia,
the way he could be looking about him, without<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span>
any interference from her. In fact, he knew very
well that his only chance would be to take the
ball at the hop, and look out for a woman that
would be suitable, when Julia would be out of the
way.</p>

<p>How he managed in the long run to rid himself
of Julia was a most curious affair. Of all the
people in Ardenoo, Peter Caffrey was the last
that he would have expected help from in the
business.</p>

<p>Peter, or Peetcheen as he was mostly always
called, was the only boy that was left of the Caffreys
at the cross-roads, before you come to the
turn leading on to Clough-na-Rinka. A very long,
weak family of them there used to be there. The
poor mother found it hard to keep going at all,
particularly after the father died. In fact, Dark
Molly Reilly would say, she really thought Almighty
God must have some little way of His
own of feeding people like the Caffreys, that no one
knew anything about.</p>

<p>They had the house for nothing, anyway. But a
bad house it was; the roof let in wet, every time
rain fell, the same as if it was coming through a
sieve. And the smoke from the hearth curled up
in clouds, and escaped by the door just as freely<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span>
as it did through the chimney. It was old Peter
Caffrey, Peetcheen’s grandfather, that he was
called after, that had built the house himself, and
had managed to edge it in on a piece of waste
ground that no one could claim; so that’s how there
was no rent to be paid. That is a great help to
any one, to be rent-free; let alone to the Caffreys,
that were always as poor as Job’s dog. There
never was one of them had two halfpence to
jingle on a tombstone. But still, poor and all as
they were, they managed to be cheerful and contented
and would suffer on, someway. It was the
mother that saw to that.</p>

<p>One of the longest things that Peetcheen could
look back on was the way Miss O’Farrell from the
Big House laughed one day that she happened to
be passing by and overheard Dark Moll passing
the time of day with his father.</p>

<p>“How are you, Jack?” said Moll, “and how’s
the rest of ye, man dear?”</p>

<p>By that word, “the rest,” she meant his wife,
the other part of him. But Miss O’Farrell took it
up wrong.</p>

<p>“The Rest?” she said; “why, that name fits
Mrs. Caffrey like her skin! And it’s you that
are the lucky man, Jack Caffrey, to have Rest!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span>
For there’s nothing like rest, in all this wide
world!”</p>

<p>With that, she gave a little sob or sigh; it may
have been because she was out of breath, for she
was walking very fast. What else could it be?
What trouble could be on the likes of Miss O’Farrell,
living in a fine house, with full and plenty of
everything she could want in it, and no one to
interfere with her, except the father, and he doted
down on her, his only child?</p>

<p>“Won’t you come in and take a heat of the fire,
miss?” said Mrs. Caffrey, coming to the door very
smiling. It would do you good to see her, she was
so nice and quiet and easy-going. Nothing ever
hurried her or put her about.</p>

<p>“I’m afraid I haven’t time to-day, thank you,
Mrs. Caffrey,” said the young lady, and off she
went, at a sweep’s trot, you might say; and left
them standing there, Mrs. Caffrey with her hands
under her apron, looking after her till she was out
of sight.</p>

<p>All that remained in Peetcheen’s mind. He was
just after coming from the well, he and the next
smallest child, with a can of water slung on a stick
between them. It was pretty heavy, and they got
it hard to carry it; although before they had it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span>
landed into the kitchen for their mother, more than
half of it had spilled out, because they could not
keep it steady. And when they were rid of their
burden, whatever the other child did, Peetcheen
just went off to rest himself; what he was just in
time to hear Miss O’Farrell say was such a good
thing!</p>

<p>But without any such word from her, rest was a
thing Peetcheen was always ready for. He took
after the mother in that. If there was no stool
ready for him ... and in houses like Caffrey’s
furniture is never too plentiful; nothing is, except
children; every seat there was, two would be
wanting it; and the same with the food ... well
Peetcheen would just step aside, and wait.</p>

<p>Truth to tell, he was one of the sort that really
is anxious for nothing so much as to keep out of the
way, and will let every one else get in ahead of
them. Above all, with work. Whenever there
was talk of a job to be done, Peetcheen was the
last to make any attempt at it; frightened, as it
were, at the thought of it. This is how it came
about that when all the others of the Caffrey
family went off, one here, another there, according
as a chance turned up, and as many as
could to America, Peetcheen was left on at home.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span>At Ardenoo, there was nothing scarcer than
work; unless, maybe, money. The labour went
out when the machines came in. The tillage was
all given up, in any case. Every side you could
see only grass farms, that there would be no
labour wanted for, only a herd with his collie-dog.
The farmers are blamed for this, but why would
they not do what would bring them in the best
return? It’s only human nature, that nothing
can alter, only God, for every one to do the best
he can for himself.</p>

<p>Besides, when there would be two or three looking
for every job, why wouldn’t a man take the
best he could get to do it for him? That is how
Peetcheen was always left out in the cold. He
never was the best at anything. Civil-spoken and
willing the creature was always. Somehow, whatever
he would attempt would go contrary on him
though.</p>

<p>“I don’t know at all what sort of a <i>gaum</i> you
must be, Peetcheen!” said Big Cusack to him, one
day that they were drawing home his turf from the
bog, and Peetcheen had come along with no more
than a half-load; “a body would think it was teacakes
for ladies you had laid out so careful, instead
of sods of turf!”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span>Peetcheen was standing, with his mouth open,
staring at the half-empty cart, and at last he said,
“Sure I’m stupid, and always was! I filled that
cart full, when I was leaving the bog.... It’s
what I have a right to be hommered!”</p>

<p>“What use would it be, to go thrash ye?” said
Cusack; “only a waste of time! Letting the fine
turf dribble out along the road, for the want of
fastening the creel in the back of the cart! You
give me a disgoost with yer foolishness! I have
no patience with the like!”</p>

<p>Peetcheen made him no answer, and Big Cusack
got madder than ever.</p>

<p>“It’s ashamed of yourself you ought to be,”
he began again, “a big <i>gobbeen</i> like you, sitting at
home, and taking the bit out of your poor old
mother’s mouth! Don’t let me see your big, useless
carcass here again! What ails you, that you can’t
be a man or a mouse? Why don’t ye strike off
somewhere for yourself, where the people don’t
know you, and you might have a chance?”</p>

<p>“Well, from this out!” said poor Peetcheen.</p>

<p>The very next day, it was all over Ardenoo that
Peetcheen was after quitting.</p>

<p>Dark Moll went to see his mother about it.</p>

<p>“It’s not true what they’re all saying below there<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span>
at the Shop, Mrs. Caffrey, mam,” said she,
“that Peetcheen has wint off from you?”</p>

<p>“Ay, is it true,” said the mother; “the poor
child, he went off, ere last night, and had nothing
only a clean shirt and a pair of stockings between
him and the world...” and she began to cry.</p>

<p>“Just so,” said Moll, “like the boy going away
to seek his fortune in the old story, wid the half-cake
and the blessing from his mammy....”</p>

<p>“He had that, whether or which,” said Mrs.
Caffrey; “for a quieter, better boy never broke
bread! And there he is now gone off from me;
whatever riz his mind, that he couldn’t content
himself at home here with me?”</p>

<p>“God send him safe, whatever way he struck
off!” said Moll; “and lonesome you’ll be here,
agrah! without your fine boy!”</p>

<p>“I miss him, the shockingest ever you knew!”
said the mother, and she wiped her eyes on the
corner of her little shawl; “if it was no more than
the look of his brogues of an evening, and they
steaming there by the fire....”</p>

<p>“Ay, do ye miss him, and will, too!” said Moll,
very compassionately; “and the empty settle-bed
and all! But if it would be consolations to ye, I
could stop here for a while, anyway, and keep an<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span>
eye on things, while you would have to be away;
getting the water, or kindling ... or below at
the Shop....”</p>

<p>Well, Mrs. Caffrey had no wish for Moll to be
there for a constancy for different reasons. Moll
was not very tasty in some of her ways, and she
had a very long tongue. But Mrs. Caffrey had
no excuse ready, and so it was easier to let the
dark woman stay than to turn her away; and
Mrs. Caffrey always did the easiest thing.</p>

<p>This is how Moll got a stopping-place there for
a time. It contented her well. She had been very
anxious to quit Molally’s, where she had been.
They were decent people enough, but the house
was narrow, and himself would be up striking
lights at all hours, going out to look after the ewes
and lambs that he had in his care. He was a herd.
Moll felt it hard being disturbed out of her sleep.
She thought she might do worse than stop at
Caffrey’s for a bit, anyway.</p>

<p>Peetcheen went off, and a wandering boy like
him will often go far enough, before he meets up
with a chance of work. He was in Dublin for a
while, but he thought bad of having to keep on at
it, ding-dong, the whole day. He wanted to be
somewhere that you need not be in a hurry, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span>
if you like, betimes you might turn up a bucket and
sit on it, and take a few blasts of a pipe; and not
one to find fault with you for it.</p>

<p>But even at Ardenoo, a pet job like that is not
very easy to find. Peetcheen thought he had his
fortune made, when he got work at fifteen shillings
a week, instead of the six he would get at Ardenoo.
But he had not reckoned on paying out for everything
he wanted, even to his washing, that the
poor mother always did for him at home. He
found the money little enough, and he had nothing
at all to send to her, as he thought of doing.
Maybe another boy would have managed better.
But Peetcheen was just himself, and not another!
He had no great sense about anything.</p>

<p>In Ardenoo, the neighbours would ask, “How
is Peetcheen? what news have you from him?”</p>

<p>“Ah, what but good news!” Mrs. Caffrey would
answer. Indeed, if no news is good news, she had
nothing to complain about. There had never been
but the one letter from Peetcheen, and the most of
it was taken up sending remembrances and good
wishes to this body and that, at home.</p>

<p>But the mother kept it safe, put up on top of
the dresser, with her Prayer Book, and her clean
cap for Sunday.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span>Peetcheen did not keep that job for very long.
He could not content himself, where the work was
so hard and constant. But what matter? he
would not be kept there in any case. He got the
sack; and then he felt he had had enough of town
ways, and he wandered off into the country again.</p>

<p>After some little time, he found himself back
again, not too far from home at all, only it chanced
that he was not very well acquainted with any part
of Ardenoo, except just about his own home. So
he did not know the farmer’s place that he found
himself near, one evening, that he went up to, and
asked shelter for the night.</p>

<p>It was the Furry Farm. But, as has been
explained, that house was very backwards, and
Heffernan seldom left it, especially now that he was
a bit helpless, with the game leg. So it was small
blame to Peetcheen not to know where he was, or
who it was he was speaking to. And Peetcheen
was very slow. Many a thing that every one else
would know, he would be as ignorant of as if he
was a black stranger.</p>

<p>This turned out to his advantage now. For
when he heard Mickey saying that he wanted a
handy boy about the place, Peetcheen made no
remark about Julia being gone off, though it had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span>
been common talk in Ardenoo, before even he had
left it. He just said, “If you’ll give me the chance,
sir, I’ll do me best to please ye!”</p>

<p>So Heffernan, after some further talk, agreed
to that. He hired Peetcheen. The place suited
the boy down to the ground. It was no town
style there. Everything slow and easy-going.
No one there, except Heffernan and himself;
and they were very much of the same gait of
going.</p>

<p>Farming is a grand business for them that are
fond of keeping a pipe in their mouths and their
hands in their pockets. It’s often remarked that
when you do that, not much else finds its way in!
But, then, not much finds its way out. You’ll
not get rich, maybe, but you can keep going.
Anyway, money isn’t everything.</p>

<p>Before Peetcheen had been very long at the
Furry Farm, he began to notice that Heffernan
would seem a bit uneasy at times. He was very
silent. Often of an evening, he would go off
somewhere with himself, either limping on his
stick, or maybe driving himself on the side-car.
While he would be away, Peetcheen would be left
inside at the fire, and nothing to keep him company
unless to watch a pot boiling over the hearth or<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span>
something of that kind. But Peetcheen never objected
to that, because he would as soon be in
one place as another, and maybe sooner.</p>

<p>But one evening, Mickey stayed out very late.
When he came in, he sat down opposite Peetcheen,
and pushed back his old hat, and says he, blowing
a big sigh out of him:</p>

<p>“It’s well for you, to be sitting there and nothing
to torment you! And you looking as if you had
the world in your pocket!”</p>

<p>Peetcheen took a while to think this over, and
then he said, “It appears middling snug here!
Plenty to eat and drink, and a good way of lying
down at night. And what more can a man want?”</p>

<p>“I want more, anyway!” answered Heffernan;
“there’s a woman wanting here, to have an eye
over the place, and not let it be getting all through-other
the way it is....”</p>

<p>“Won’t the sister you were telling me of be back
from Dublin...?”</p>

<p>Then Mickey looked at Peetcheen with a very
pitiful eye.</p>

<p>“She will, in troth!” he said.</p>

<p>He took a few draws of his pipe, and then, “I
may’s well tell you the whole business!” he went
on. At the same time, he did not; nor had the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span>
smallest intention of telling it. But who ever
does tell their whole mind?</p>

<p>“The way of it is this,” said Mickey; “I’m
wishing this length of time to get a wife in here, and
am looking about for some one that would be
suitable. But it’s tedious, and very severe work
on a man like me. There’s a power to be considered.
There’s Julia, now; she that’s my sister;
her and whatever girl I’d take might not get on
well together. In fact, she would be dead against
my bringing any one in on this floor, as long as
she’s on it herself. I was turning over in me own
mind, could I make up a match for herself ...
that would settle it ... but, sure, I tried that
over and over ... at least, she did....”</p>

<p>“Hard to be plased, maybe?” said Peetcheen,
lifting the pot off the hooks.</p>

<p>“Och, I don’t know about that!” said Heffernan.</p>

<p>At the time, he was looking at Peetcheen standing
with the big black pot in his grip. And whatever
his poor old mother might think of Peetcheen,
the boy was no beauty. But Mickey had a notion
in his head, and he thought he would see it out.</p>

<p>“A quiet, steady boy might do worse, you’d
think, than get a hard-working girl, settled and
sensible and not too young or skittish ... and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span>
she with two heifers of her own ... and maybe
a few odd pounds in an old stocking as well....”</p>

<p>“They might, so,” agreed Peetcheen. He
wondered what was making Mickey so chatty.</p>

<p>Then, “Why don’t you get marrit yourself?”
said Heffernan, with a grin. And slow and thick
as Peetcheen was, he began to guess what it was
all about.</p>

<p>“I might do so as well as another,” he made
answer; “do you think would the sisther try
me?”</p>

<p>And to think that marrying was the last thing
he had in his mind, when he began lifting the pig’s
pot, just a minute or so before! But Mickey had it
all laid out, and he did not care a straw who got
Julia so long as she would clear out of the house and
leave him free to bring in a wife.</p>

<p>“Ye have a house, ye tell me?” he said to
Peetcheen.</p>

<p>“I have, so! and not a soul in it, only me mother,
and she the quietest creature!”</p>

<p>“How much land?” asked Heffernan.</p>

<p>Why he said that, is hard to know! Of course
he must have had some notion of the way it was
with the Caffreys, he living so long in the place.
Still, it was always hard to tell what Mickey knew<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span>
or did not know! And he may have been trying
to make out to himself that he really thought he
was making a good match for Julia.</p>

<p>“I never got the land measured,” said Peetcheen.
You would think he was humouring the thing.
“I never got it measured; but there’s no rent to
be paid.”</p>

<p>Measured indeed! and rent to be paid, and for
what? A bare patch of weeds by the roadside
that would not be enough to sod a lark!</p>

<p>Heffernan smoked on, and then Peetcheen began
questioning in his turn, “How much are you offering,
with the two heifers?”</p>

<p>In fact, the boy did not know if he was standing
on his head or his heels! To hear himself being
bid up in marriage like that! And for a wife with
a fortune of her own!</p>

<p>“Thirty pound!” said Heffernan.</p>

<p>“Forty!” said Peetcheen, very determined.</p>

<p>“Thirty and no more!”</p>

<p>“Forty and no less!”</p>

<p>Well, in the long run, they split the difference
between them, and settled the business then and
there. Heffernan wrote off to the sister, telling her
that he was as good as married himself and that he
had a fine match made up for her, too; and she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span>
was to make no delay, for fear the boy might
change his mind, and go off without waiting to see
her.</p>

<p>Julia came on at once. And when she saw how
things were shaping, of course she had a good deal
to say at first. But then she bethought her that
she might do worse than settle herself. She was
getting on in years. And the cousins that she had
been with in Dublin used to be talking about old
maids, and that bachelors must be very scarce in
Ardenoo! It was more than ever Mickey expected
that she would give in so easily as she did, without
making any great objection to Peetcheen, who, of
course, was no great things for one of the Heffernans
to take up with. But she gave in to take him.
Heffernan and Peetcheen sprung the thing on her
suddenly, and she was taken unawares, as you’ll
see it done with a baulking horse. You can trick
him into taking a jump that he has refused many a
time before, if you bring him up to it without his
knowing what you want.</p>

<p>Mickey had the wit to make the best of Peetcheen,
by advancing him the price of a new suit of
clothes, and tan boots and even gloves, to be
married in. He wasn’t able to get them on, the
gloves, I mean. But they had a very neat appearance.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span>
Maybe they gave Julia more satisfaction
than anything else that her fortune was spent on.
For of course it was out of her money that Mickey
paid for the fine clothes for Peetcheen.</p>

<p>The wedding passed off all right, and Mickey
behaved very well, and threw in a jennet and cart,
along with the money and the two heifers. And
he allowed Julia to load up the cart with any
mortal thing she chose to lay claim to in the place;
even to the churn and the griddle. He did that,
the way she would have no excuse for coming back
and maybe making unpleasantness when he’d
have his own woman at the Furry Farm.</p>

<p>It was a satisfaction to him to know that there
would be a good few miles between him and the
sister, once she was Mrs. Peetcheen. And when he
saw them safely started, Peetcheen driving the
heifers, and Julia sitting upon a stool in the cart,
with all the things round her, “Glory be! I never
thought to get shut of her so simple!” said
Heffernan. “But God help poor Peetcheen, I
pray!”</p>

<p>Peetcheen would have been surprised, if he had
heard that word said. It was only too contented
he was, and he stepping out very proudly. The
new clothes would hardly hold him and his satisfaction,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span>
when he thought of how well he was doing
for himself.</p>

<p>“What will the neighbours say to me now?”
he was thinking, “going off the way I did, too
thankful to any one that would give me a day’s
work! And look at me now! with the two beasts,
and the wife and all! Sure, it’s little I ever
thought to see the day I’d have such things!”</p>

<p>And then he made up his mind that he would
try not to be too uppish with the old friends, when
they would be passing him the time of day. He
determined to answer them very nice and civil,
when they would ask him, “How’s yourself,
Peetcheen, and how’s the rest of you?”</p>

<p>Then he began to think of the old mother, and
that he would like to make her comfortable. A
new shawl, he thought; and how well she could sit
in the big arm-chair that was the full up of the cart
that Julia was driving, very nearly.</p>

<p>He turned to look at it, because he was in front
of the cart with the cattle, and the jennet was
slow, with all the big load that was on her. Still,
Peetcheen thought the whole thing was just behind
him. But behold ye! sight nor light of cart, or
jennet, or Julia even he couldn’t see! It was as if
the ground had opened and swallowed them down!</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span>He did not know what in the wide world to
think. There he stood, looking up the road and
down the road ... as if Julia could be coming
any way except after him! for how could she have
got on ahead without his knowing? But that was
Peetcheen all over.</p>

<p>He thought he never saw anything so lonesome
and silent as the same road, lying still before and
behind him, and white with dust. It was the
summer season of the year.</p>

<p>“If I go back,” thought he to himself, “I’m
very apt to be missing her at some cross-roads!
It’s what she has took the wrong turn at one
of them, and not too far back ... it can’t be!
for it’s not long since she got me to steady the
churn-dash in the back of the cart, the way it
wouldn’t be prodding into her back. The first
man she meets will set her right. In any case,
I’d have little to do, to go look for her ...”
(and indeed Peetcheen was right there!) “for I’d
have to take the two little heifers with me. And
that might be putting a couple of miles more travelling
on them. They’ll be slaved and tired enough,
against I have them home. And if I was to leave
them here by themselves, while I’d be going back
for her, mightn’t I be summonsed? That wouldn’t<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span>
answer! No! it’s better for me to wait here and
see won’t she come along all right. And there is
lots of good grass, that the cattle can be having a
little <i>fossick</i><a id="FNanchor_8" href="#Footnote_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> for themselves and a rest.”</p>

<p>Peetcheen was right in this. There was plenty
of feeding for the beasts there, going to loss, that
they might as well have. Besides, when two
people go astray from one another, the best chance
they have of coming together again is for one of
them to stop still. Peetcheen was thick in the
wits, but he thought of this. Besides, to do
nothing was the easiest for him. So he just sat
down on a fine dry heap of stones that was lying
there ready for the road-contractor, filled his
pipe, and began to smoke. He might as well.</p>

<p>He had not finished that pipe altogether, when
he heard the sound of wheels. Along came the
jennet, and Julia hard at work, prodding him with
the point of her umbrella, with her face very red,
and her hair all every way. It didn’t cool her a
bit, to see Peetcheen sitting at his ease, with his
pipe, in the shade of a fine ash-tree.</p>

<p>“Where were you at all,” he said, getting up
quite slowly off the stones; “and what ailed you,
to be so long after me upon the road?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span>“What ailed me, indeed!” said the wife;
“much you care! Stravaguing on there in front
of me, without a thought of what was becoming
of me and the jennet. And I bawlin’ me livin’
best when I got to the cross-roads, and couldn’t
get you to hear! How was I to know which way
you went? Faith, I was in two minds to go off
back home again! only for you having the two
little heifers! And you lettin’ on not to hear me!
Is it deaf you are, along with everything else?
And then the jennet, to take and go stop on me,
and I with the full up of me lap of me good cups
and saucers, so that I wasn’t able to stir, to get
any good of the beast! And then he gives a h’ise,
and me fine big crock, that I have this ten years
and was bringing it with me, got bruk in two
halves! And you, standin’ there, with yer mouth
open...!”</p>

<p>As if shutting his mouth would mend her
crockery! But it vexed Julia the more, that
Peetcheen said nothing.</p>

<p>“To the mischief with the whole of them! and
you, too!” she said, then; and began flinging the
rest of the crockery at Peetcheen, as hard as she
could; at least, that was what she thought of.
But of course she didn’t hit him; a woman never<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span>
does; the thing she aims for is the last thing she’ll
strike. But she fired one after the other, pell-mell,
till she had all the cups smashed. And what
else could she expect of cups flung about like that?
I don’t know; only when she saw them in bits, she
turned queer, and dropped down into the bottom
of the cart, and began to laugh and cry all together,
as if she was mad.</p>

<p>The sight of this cowed Peetcheen. He stooped
down, and began turning over the bits of crockery,
to see if e’er a one of them had escaped. But no!
Not a cup or plate of all Julia’s set but was broken
into smithereens.</p>

<p>Peetcheen still said nothing. He took the
jennet by the head, started the cattle on again,
and followed himself with the cart.</p>

<hr class="tb">

<p>Now, I must explain that this wedding took
place so suddenly, that no more than what we call
in Ardenoo a “sketch” of it had gone round among
the people. And even that had not reached old
Mrs. Caffrey at all. So that she had not had the
slightest warning of what to expect, at the very
time that Peetcheen and the wife were making
their way towards her.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span>It was late in the day. She and Dark Moll were
out—sitting by the roadside, watching a clutch of
young ducks just out of the shell, when they heard
a noise, and looked round, to see, first the two
heifers, and then the jennet and cart, with Peetcheen
leading them, and Julia seated up in state,
driving along. She had come to pretty well by
that time. People that have tempers are often
like that. They’ll be mad one minute, and abusing
you into the ground, and before you have had time
to take in all they were saying, they are ready to
forget it, and be quite agreeable again. Moreover,
they expect you to do the same, which is not so
simple a matter as they think.</p>

<p>However, Peetcheen was very peaceable. As
was usual with him, he had never made Julia an
answer. She had quieted down by degrees, so
that now he was enabled to explain the thing to his
mother with some appearance of comfort.</p>

<p>The poor mother! She couldn’t believe her eyes
nor her ears either almost, when she saw this procession
drawing up before her door, and Peetcheen
saying, “Well, mother! here I am! back to
you! and bringing in a new dauther, in the place
of all them that’s gone off ‘on’ you. Her and me
is after getting marrit!” he ended.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span>Mrs. Caffrey stared at him, and then at Julia
and all the belongings she had around her. But all
she could get out was, “She’s kindly welcome in
these parts!” before she fell into a kind of a weakness,
and staggered, so that Peetcheen had to go
forward to help her back into the house, while the
wife was busy seeing to the things she had in the
cart.</p>

<p>Dark Moll was looking on at all this, but no one
took much notice of her. So by that she guessed
that she was not wanted there, and made up her
mind to slip away. She gathered up her little
possessions, and went off at once to another stopping-place
she had, not far away. And that is how
it happened that no one knew much at first about
what had taken place, when the new Mrs. Caffrey
appeared upon the scene, or how the old woman
took to the notion of a daughter-in-law in her
home.</p>

<p>But Moll took the first opportunity of making
her way back to the Caffreys’; and blind and all
as she was, there was not a pin’s-worth about the
place that she could not tell about, and give as good
an account of it all as if she had the full use of her
eyes.</p>

<p>“The new woman that Peetcheen’s after bringing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span>
home, is it?” she said; “a very agreeable-spoken
person she is!”</p>

<p>Julia could be all that when she chose.</p>

<p>“Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, I believe,”
said Big Cusack, who was talking to her. He was
as proud as Punch to know that Julia was gone out
of the Furry Farm. For then he thought there
need not be much delay about Heffernan’s own
marriage; and Cusack had a niece of his own,
Kitty Dempsey by name, that he wanted to make
up a match for. Kitty was only a young slip of
a thing, but there was a bit of land she was to
come in for; and her Uncle Cusack, being an
experiented man, thought Heffernan would be
more suitable for her, nor any young boy, on that
account.</p>

<p>“She’s as sweet as you please, that wife of
Peetcheen’s, by all a body hears,” he went on;
and then he added, “but there’s such a thing as
being too sweet to be wholesome! She’s none too
young, either! A chicken her age won’t die with
the pip!”</p>

<p>“No,” said Moll, “nor tear in the plucking!
But sure, a boy like Peetcheen couldn’t be too
partickler!”</p>

<p>“You’re right there,” says Big Cusack; “and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span>
he wid a head upon him that you’d think should
fizz, if he put it into could water, it’s that red!
And the mouth of him! the same as if it was made
wid a blow of a shovel! Isn’t he great, that got a
wife at all! let alone the forchune. And has the
two heifers at grass on my farm; and persuades the
wife that the field they’re grazing on belongs to
himself! Peetcheen may be slow, but he’s no
such a fool as the people make him out!”</p>

<p>That was how Cusack spoke of him; and indeed,
it was wonderful, all the praise you’d hear of
Peetcheen now, very different from what it was
before he went away, when every one would be
making a hare of him. He himself would walk
about, very important, going over to “have a look
at the stock,” as if that would make them fatten
any faster. And the way he would give a cock to
his <i>caubeen</i> when he’d meet a neighbour, and pass
the time of the day with him! And on a Sunday,
to see him yoking up the jennet, to drive to Mass,
feeling as good as the best! In fact, after a bit,
the neighbours began to laugh at him again. It
might have been jealousy.</p>

<p>“Cock him up, indeed!” Big Cusack said, when
he had time to take this all in; “letting on he’s a
gintleman, all out, Peetcheen is! with nothing to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span>
do, only ait his food! And in troth, the sorra long
it will take them, to ait whatever forchune the
wife brought into the place! It wasn’t much, I’ll
go bail! There never was a Heffernan yet that
would part money without a wrangle for it; and
Mickey the same!”</p>

<p>All this was true; but nothing seemed to trouble
Peetcheen. He spent the time the way I tell you;
never appearing to imagine there was any necessity
for him to do anything more than that.</p>

<p>But he had the wife to reckon with. She was of
a very different way of thinking, and she very soon
let him know her mind.</p>

<p>“What way is this to be going on?” she would
say, “for a man to be at home here under a body’s
feet from morning to night, as if the place wasn’t
small enough, and in partickler since I brought
me own good furnicher into it! Hard-set I’ll be,
ever to get meself used to the likes of this house
you brought me to!”</p>

<p>Julia was right enough in saying this. The
Caffreys’ place was very small and poor, compared
to the Furry farmhouse, where she was reared.
And her things did crowd it up. The big chair
alone took up the whole side of the fire. But as
well as that, she was only saying what was true,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span>
when she spoke of Peetcheen sitting at home all
day, as he had the fashion of doing.</p>

<p>When she would attack him about this, and
ask him, if there was no job wanting to be done
about his own place, why wouldn’t he go look for
work with a neighbour, Peetcheen always had an
answer ready.</p>

<p>“Sure there’s no work going, these times! I
must wait till the haymaking comes on. Then
there will be good pay to be earned. The meadows
is nigh-hand ripe this minute!”</p>

<p>So they were; Julia could see that for herself.
But when Peetcheen went to Big Cusack to ask
for a job at the hay, he heard that all the work
had been laid out, and no more hands were needed.</p>

<p>“And didn’t I think,” said Cusack to him, “that
you were too big a man, all out, now, to take a fork
in your fist; and you with the rich wife and all!”</p>

<p>Peetcheen made no answer to this. He just
went over to a shady spot, and sat down there, to
watch the work going on; went home to his dinner,
and then back with him to the hayfield, till quitting-time
that night.</p>

<p>That contented Julia. And when she asked him
for his week’s pay from Big Cusack, to go to the
Shop, he saw no occasion to explain to her that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span>
it was out of her own money, that Heffernan had
handed to him in the old stocking, that she was
getting it. It satisfied her, and a man will do a
great deal for peace and quietness.</p>

<p>What you do once, comes very easy the next time.
By this kind of management, Peetcheen put the
next few months over him very nice and handy.
Haymaking, and harvest, and turf-cutting, all
happened along for his convenience. He could go
off, when any of them were on, and lob about
through the neighbourhood. I won’t say that he
never did a tap of work; he might, have, now and
then. But it was seldom the like happened to
him.</p>

<p>This was all well and good, as far as Peetcheen
himself was concerned. But Julia was the sort
of woman that never can be easy. No! and what’s
more never can let any one else be, either. So
when Peetcheen kept out of her way, and she hadn’t
the excuse of him and his ways, she began to turn
on the poor old mother. A stirring, active little
woman she was herself. Julia would have the
kettle boiling and the tea wet, while another would
be thinking of where to look for a bit of firing.
But if she was quick itself, that was no reason for
her to go on the way she did to old Mrs. Caffrey.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span>“Give me that besom, here!” she said to her
one morning, snatching the broom out of the old
woman’s hand, and giving her a shove towards
the door; “be off out, and gether some kindling for
the fire! that work is all you’re fit for! Sick and
tired I do be, looking at ye; and you not done
sweeping the flure yet!”</p>

<p>“God be wid the time I was young and strong;
and able to sweep a flure wid any one!” says
Peetcheen’s mother.</p>

<p>“It’s a long time ago, if ever you were!” said
Julia. “Be off wid yourself now, and see can ye
meet the higgler, and get him to come and buy
them ould hens of yours! Sorra bit can I give to
me own good Longshanks and Speckled Humbugs
but what them ould scarecrows of yours has it all
ett on them!”</p>

<p>“There’s no price goin’ now for ould hens,” said
old Mrs. Caffrey; “and besides, I’m thinking it’s
what they have a mind to go lay ... and eggs
dear....”</p>

<p>“They’ll lay none here, whether or which!”
Julia said; “lay, indeed! They wouldn’t know
an egg, if they saw one!”</p>

<p>“There’s one tidy little hayro of a hen, her with
the top-knot, that I’d have a great wish for....”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span>“Don’t mind your wishing! they’ll all go; so
now, mind what I’m telling ye!” said Julia. And
so they did.</p>

<p>“Bitther and wicked wid her tongue she is!”
old Mrs. Caffrey would say; but only to herself.
She wouldn’t fret Peetcheen for the world, the
poor boy!</p>

<p>To give Julia her due, she was, as Dark Moll said,
“a most notorious rairer of fowl of every description.”
She had money from the higgler laid by
already. But because she was lucky herself was
no reason for her to jeer at the old woman, when a
while afterwards, the little ducks that were out
just the day Julia came there all died, one after
another.</p>

<p>“What else could you expect, and they June
birds?” she said. “No one only a born fool would
try to have them hatched then!”</p>

<p>Julia was right there, and in many another
notion that she brought with her from the Furry
Farm. But people don’t always care so very much
for new ways being forced on them. Peetcheen
and his mother above all were not fond of changes.
Julia would have a dinner of a Sunday that, as she
said, “a lord might be proud to sit down before!”
a pig’s face on a bolster of greens, it might be, or<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span>
something like that. But no one would have much
wish for it, because there would always be so much
argument and scolding over it all.</p>

<p>They would have had far more comfort in the old
times, with nothing better than potatoes and salt,
and maybe a bit of bacon or a salt herring, by way
of “kitchen.” Old Mrs. Caffrey would give you a
pleasant word with whatever she was sharing round
and that helps out a short dinner; what mostly was
what she had, God help her!</p>

<p>However, it was Julia that ruled the roast at
Caffreys’ the time I speak of, and the rest of them
had just to make the best of it. And it’s a true
saying, “Money makes the mare to go!” Of
course every one had to give in to Julia on account
of the fortune she had.</p>

<p>Peetcheen stood it out pretty well, as long as
there was a penny at all left in the old stocking.
But when the baby came, the money had to be
handed out very free. Before he knew where he
was, the stocking was empty; and Peetcheen, as
usual, without a job. Not that that was any great
heart-break to him.</p>

<p>He was stravaguing along the road one evening
by himself, with the pipe in his mouth. It was
lovely weather; the birds all singing, and the grass<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span>
getting long and green on every side. He was
turning over in his mind about the potato-patch
he had; how would he get to pay for the seed?
and weren’t the weeds very high in it? and would
he have to go work in it himself? when he saw
Dark Moll, sitting by the side of the road, very
comfortably. Of course he stopped and began to
pass the time of day with her.</p>

<p>“How’s all wid ye, Peetcheen?” asks Moll;
“and above all, the woman that owns ye? And
the young son? and a darling fine boy he must be,
by all I can hear!”</p>

<p>“They’re well, I thank you and God,” answered
Peetcheen; “and me mother, <i>that</i> proud out of the
child! You’d think no one ever had a child before,
and she after rairing ten of her own! And this
minute, she’s leppin’ mad to begin again!”</p>

<p>“Ay! there’s the way!” said Moll.</p>

<p>Peetcheen smoked on a bit; and then says he,
“A terrible expense this is, on a man!”</p>

<p>“You may say that, agra!” said Moll; though
well she knew in her heart that there had been no
christening worth mentioning at Caffreys’. The
old woman was all for a bit of a spree, but Julia
would not hear of it; “spending the money on
foolishness that could be put to better use!” was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span>
what she said. The neighbours knew well how
it was. But Moll didn’t want to pass any remarks
about the thing, seeing she might be looking for
help to the Caffreys, any day; and it wouldn’t
answer to be offensive. So she only went on to
say, “Sure the likes of you needn’t mind a few
shillings, here nor there, when it’s the first, and a
son! And you with them fine bastes at grass....
I hear they’re the talk of the town, and a fine price
they’d go at the fair to-morrow, if it was a thing
you’d have a mind to go sell them there.”</p>

<p>Moll said all this, because she felt vexed with
Julia, not being asked to the christening, such as it
was. Besides, from the start, Julia let her see very
plain that she didn’t want her coming about the
house whenever she fancied, and taking up a seat
in the chimney-corner, as she had the fashion of
doing. And Moll did not like getting the cold
shoulder that way, no more than any of us would;
and she missed Caffreys’, having been so used to it.
Still, she had no meaning in what she had said
about the fair and the stock, and all that. But
see what came of that word!</p>

<p>Peetcheen bid Moll the time of day, and went on.
It was to Big Cusack’s he was making his way,
thinking he might happen on a job there, or settle<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span>
something about help to do his own work. But
the Big Man was from home. Peetcheen could
have found that out, without going there, only
he never thought of inquiring. So then he wavered
off to Melia’s, thinking that he might meet some
one there that would give him an advice about the
thing.</p>

<p>He found a few comrade-boys of his in the shebeen,
playing Twenty-five. He joined in, with
whatever few coppers he had left. It took a long
time, before they finished their game, so that it was
pretty late when he got home. But that was all
the wrong he did. He had no drink taken. There
wasn’t a hair turned on him, when he walked into
the house, so why Julia should be so raging mad
with him, no one could tell. But she was and
abused him up and down the banks; called him all
the fools she could lay her tongue to; and still in all
Peetcheen never said a word back to her.</p>

<p>But at last he got worn out, and left the house,
thinking she might have a better chance to quiet
down if he wasn’t there. So he turned back to
Cusack’s, and spent the night in the Big Man’s
barn.</p>

<p>Before he settled off to sleep, he had time to
think over all that was after occurring; the wife<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span>
to be so contrary with him, and all for nonsense, as
a body might say. And then he considered over
how short the money was with him; and where
would he turn for the next few shillings Julia would
be wanting from him. And then he got on to
remembering what Dark Moll was after saying.</p>

<p>He fell asleep, however, before very long; and
wakened up bright and early, with a great plan in
his head.</p>

<p>This was, that he would drive off one of the
two heifers that he had got in Julia’s fortune, to
the fair that Dark Moll was after reminding him
of; and a big price she brought. But Peetcheen
and the likes of him often have great luck.</p>

<p>After that had come to pass, a strange thing
happened. For what Peetcheen did with himself,
or with the money that the people standing by saw
him getting paid into his hand, was more than
any one at Ardenoo knew, for many a long day, if
ever they did. He just disappeared, so he did, as
if the Good People took him out of it.</p>

<p>“Isn’t it a fright, all out,” the neighbours would
say, “to see how a decent quiet man like Peetcheen
could go out of that, and not one be able to give
any account of him to the wife or the poor ould
mother!”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span>Julia was most outrageous; at first very angry,
and then took to fretting. But the old woman was
twice as bad. God help her! she grew to be like
nothing so much as a ha’porth of soap after the
week’s washing.</p>

<p>She was out along the road one day, with the
baby in her arms, when Dark Moll happened along,
and of course began to chat; why not?</p>

<p>“And so that’s Peetcheen’s first, is it?” she says;
“let me feel him in me arrums! och, the weight
of him! the darlint fine lump of a gossoon that he
is! Well, and how’s all goin’ on wid yiz these
times!”</p>

<p>“Not goin’ on at all!” says Mrs. Caffrey;
“heart-scalded I do be, wid the frettin’ and annoyance
and thinkin’ that it’s murthered me poor boy
must be, and he wid the price of the heifer in his
pocket!”</p>

<p>“Och! murthered-how-are-ye!” says Moll, very
confident in herself; “no! no such a thing! It’s
what he has went off to America! He’ll be
sendin’ yous back plenty of money out of it, I’ll
go bail!”</p>

<p>“Do ye tell me that?” said the mother, brightening
up as Moll talked on about it all. The old
woman was getting a bit hard of hearing at that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span>
time; and she took it up that Peetcheen had told
Moll that he was going.</p>

<p>“Well, that’s the best I could wish to hear, if
it’s a thing that he wasn’t going to contint himself
here at home with us; and too sure I am that
he’ll do well ... ay, and won’t forget his poor
mother....”</p>

<p>Julia comes up to them, and whips the child
from Moll, the same as if she was dirt and not fit
to touch him. That vexed Moll; small blame to
her! So when old Mrs. Caffrey began reeling out
of her all that she imagined Moll had said ...
and a bit more that she didn’t say ... such as
that poor Peetcheen was working hard there beyant
to send home money to them, Moll never put her
right. The old mother related it quite cheerfully,
thinking it would pacify Julia. But it didn’t.
You never saw so vexed a person.</p>

<p>“So, that’s where the price of me fine heifer is
gone!” said Julia; “and I that had him dead!
drowned in a bog-hole ... or murthered....
Breakin’ me heart I was, about a villyin of the
soart! Well ... all I know is, them that thinks
I’m goin’ to stop here and rair Peter Caffrey’s
babby for him is in a great mistake! I’ll not do
it! I’ll go after him, before I’m many days older!”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span>“Is it go to America? Sure, woman dear, you’d
never find him! You might as well go look for a
needle in a haystack. America is a middlin’ big
place, mind ye!” said Moll.</p>

<p>No one knew better than Moll how to get round
people. She was that clever, she could knot eels,
the people said. She knew what a foolish notion
it was of Julia’s, to go off to America; and that
Julia herself would soon cool on it, if she was let
alone. So that’s why she contradicted her.</p>

<p>“Fitter far, ay, and decenter, too, for a woman
like you to stay where you’re well off, in your good
home, with Peetcheen’s mother for company, and
Peetcheen’s babby to be lookin’ at....”</p>

<p>“Mind yer own business, and be off about it,
now!” said Julia, choking with the anger; “what
call have you to be putting in yer gab here? I
want no interference from you, or the likes of ye!
Leave me to manage me own affairs! I’ll see to
make Peetcheen pay for what he’s after doing ‘on’
me!”</p>

<p>And at that, Moll did turn about and waddle off.
And she never let on but it was a real fact about
Peetcheen being in America. Sure, maybe she
believed it herself! A body that does as much
talking as Moll might get confused betimes. But<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span>
a few evenings after that, she ventured over to
Caffreys’ again. She was most anxious to get back
to that house; so she wanted to find out how it
was going on with Julia and her American plan.
She found her, fighting rings round her with the
old woman, and abusing Peetcheen into the dirt.</p>

<p>“Sure, what at all! wasn’t it only sthrivin’ to
better himself he was?” said Moll; “a good steady
poor boy he was, always and ever!”</p>

<p>It was like oil on lit turf to Julia, to hear her put
in a good word for Peetcheen. When you want
the woman to come round, in the case of any little
difference between her and the husband, you
should find all the fault you can with him. Then
you’ll find the wife will wear horns, and stand up
for her husband, and turn on you. And Moll knew
that as well as any one. She could see how mad
Julia would get, when she and old Mrs. Caffrey
would be all for compassionating Peetcheen, and
saying how good he was, and all to that. In fact,
no one could say anything bad that ever he did.
To be sure, he never did anything, one way or the
other.</p>

<p>And now, here was Moll, very full of a letter
she was after hearing read out by one of the
neighbours.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span>“It was wrote,” she said, “by one of the Caffreys,
cousins of the family here, that are out there so
long, and doing well, too, they appear to be, by
what I hear....”</p>

<p>“So they are,” said old Mrs. Caffrey, perking
up at this account of her son’s people being
set out to Julia; “and why wouldn’t they? and
it’s likely to them me poor child wint! God sind
him safe!”</p>

<p>“And Amen to that, I pray!” said Moll; the
same as if she herself thought it was there he
was.</p>

<p>Julia was listening to all this. It made her more
set than ever about going after Peetcheen. She
was like the rest of us; only too ready to believe
what she wanted to believe. She took all this,
about the letter from the cousins, for proof that
Peetcheen was really gone to America.</p>

<p>“And to think he should be out there, with full
and plenty, I’ll be bound; and me slavin’ here!
I’ll not do it nor it’s not to be expected that I
would, either!”</p>

<p>She was just mad to be off. And there were few
would miss her in Ardenoo. Even Peetcheen’s
baby would be far more contented, lying on the
granny’s knee, or with Dark Moll, than he ever<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span>
was with his mother. An infant is very easy put
about; and Julia was very odd and jerky in her
ways. But, sure she could have had no nature in
her, or she never would have left the child.</p>

<p>Julia made no delay, only sold the second heifer
to Big Cusack. Not much she got out of the thing.
The two beasts “had themselves ett,” he said,
“very nearly,” meaning that nearly the whole
price was owing to him for their grass. Peetcheen
hadn’t paid a penny for them, since first he got
Big Cusack to take them in on his pasture-field.
In fact, Julia was none too well treated in the business
of her fortune. It was all gone now, except
the few pounds she got from Mr. Cusack over the
heifers.</p>

<p>But “Divil’s cure to her!” was what was mostly
said about her; “why couldn’t she keep a civil
tongue in her head, and not harish the dacent boy
out of the place that he was raired in; and the
father and grandfather before him?”</p>

<p>Julia of course heard nothing of this. There
wasn’t one would be willing to draw her tongue on
them; and anyway, there would be no sense in
interfering. She never asked advice from man nor
mortal; so she had no chance of finding out how
much truth there was in the story about Peetcheen<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span>
being in America. She went off, as soon as she
could take her passage.</p>

<p>A few days after she left, “Glory be!” says Dark
Moll, sitting by the fire, with old Mrs. Caffrey
opposite to her, and the child asleep on her lap,
“glory be, there’ll be p’ace and quietness here now,
anyway! And I’ll come back, never you fear,
acushla, the way you’ll not be lonesome and fretted
here wid yourself! Nor be at a short for some
sinsible person to take the babby out of your
arrums while you’d be out....”</p>

<p>But she never finished the sketch she was giving
of what all she would do. For at that word, old
Mrs. Caffrey gave a screech that very nearly lifted
the thatch off the house.</p>

<p>“Oh, Peetcheen! Peetcheen!” she cried; “and
is it yourself that’s in it? Come over to meself, the
way I’ll get a good look at ye! The Lord save us!
but where wor ye this lin’th of time, at all at all?”</p>

<p>“What’s all this?” said Moll; “what are you
sayin’? Is it Peetcheen you think is here? or
could it be Something Not Right ... and the
people saying it was what he should be ‘away’
wid the Good People ... and me a poor
blind ould woman that can’t know what’s going
on....”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span>But the same Moll was very hardy, and not
easily daunted by man nor mortal; just she said
that wanting to get compassionated. But neither
Peetcheen nor his mother took any heed of her.
For it <i>was</i> Peetcheen, right enough! and very
slaved-looking he was; with his feet on the world,
you might say, his brogues were so worn and
broken. And by that sign, the people thought
it was on the stray he must have been, ever
since he went off after selling the heifer at
the fair.</p>

<p>But no one ever got much account of the business
or of what became of the money he had then;
whether he spreed it all, or if he held on to any of
it. It was like as if he had brought back some
of it, anyway. For they had more appearance of
comfort about them the next winter than ever they
had before. Peetcheen got a neighbour to draw
home a nice little bit of turf for the winter, from
the bog; and there was a new shawl for the mother,
for going to Mass.</p>

<p>Peetcheen, you remember, had that laid out in
his own mind, when he was on his way home,
after marrying Julia. And, moreover, the big arm-chair,
that Julia had put by, above in the room,
the way it wouldn’t be getting knocked about in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span>
the kitchen ... and as well, she didn’t want
Peetcheen to have the comfort of falling asleep in
it, as many a time he did ... well, that chair
was brought back and put in the chimney-corner.
And many a comfortable snooze Peetcheen took
in it now, when he would feel inclined to rest himself;
a wish he often had.</p>

<p>He’d sit there of an evening, when the people
would drop in for a <i>ceilidh</i>,<a id="FNanchor_9" href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> a habit they lost
while Julia was there. But they came again now,
and would be very anxious to know all about where
Peetcheen had been. They got no great satisfaction.</p>

<p>“Where was I since?” Peetcheen would say;
“well, I went as far as Turn-Back! Ah! indeed! it
<i>is</i> a gay piece out of this, sure enough!”</p>

<p>Peetcheen wasn’t such a fool but that he could
hold his tongue, when he chose. And there’s
many a wise adviser of a person that can’t do
that, to save their lives.</p>

<p>“You’ll be getting her back now,” said Big
Cusack to him; “the Woman, I mane, the Rest
of ye....”</p>

<p>He was after hiring Peetcheen then, for the same
job his father before him had had. Ay, and what’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span>
more, Peetcheen managed to hold on to it, from
that out.</p>

<p>Peetcheen had the fashion at times, that if he
didn’t want to answer a question in a hurry, he
would push the old <i>caubeen</i> down over his face,
and scratch the back of his head. He did that
now; and then says he, “I dunno, Mr. Cusack;
I always h’ard tell, that it’s as good to l’ave well
alone! And I’d have no wish in life to be interferin’
with anywan; let alone with a woman.”</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span>

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER IV<br>

<small>A DAYLIGHT GHOST</small></h2>
</div>

<p><span class="smcap">Heffernan</span> of the Furry Farm, being lame now as
well as old, thought it would be the best of his play
not to go too far to look for the wife he was so
anxious to bring home, now that he had Julia out
of the way. And this is how he took the notion
of seeing whether he could get a daughter of old
Flanagan’s, a near neighbour of his. And as he
said to himself, he knew all about those people,
and what way they were situated, as to their little
place and all to that.</p>

<p>“A man needn’t expect any fortune with one of
his girls,” he thought; “but what of the few
pounds? The land lies very handy to me own
farm,” ... and so it did. Flanagan’s land
“merined” the Furry Farm; and it was a wonder
how two places so close together could be so
different from one another! They both lay upon
the same range of the Furry Hills. But whereas
Heffernan’s was low down, and the house facing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span>
north, so that it seldom got a blink of sunshine,
the Flanagans had theirs half-way up a slope the
opposite side, where it had shelter, as well as all
the sun and south wind there was to be had. In
fact, it was one of the sweetest little places about
the whole of Ardenoo. Greenan-more it was
called, an old name that is said to mean “the big
sunny parlour,” or something like that. It’s
likely it got that name put upon it when there were
people living in the old rath up above at the top
of the hill behind the house. But of course
there is nothing of a dwelling there now; nothing,
only a hollow, with a Lone Thorn growing in the
middle of it, and nettles and stones. Lonesome
places, raths are! where the Good People live,
and their music can be heard, and they themselves
be seen, by them that are able to do so.</p>

<p>It would delight you, to look at Greenan-more!
with the lake lying at the foot of the hill on which
the house stood. The limestone pushes up there,
close to the surface, and helps to keep the earth
warm, so that the grass grows earlier there than it
does anywhere else about Ardenoo. It’s a sweet
grass, too. One bite of it is worth more to a beast
than a full feed off the low, sour bottoms of the
Furry Farm.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span>The land was different on the two places; the
houses were different; and the people were different,
too. Heffernan’s was well enough, in the way
of it being comfortable and plentiful; but it was
lonesome and no great appearance of tastiness
about it. But Flanagan’s had a snug, bright look.
The two daughters were always contriving some
little thing to give it a look. It was all neat and
clean; with a rose growing over the door, and the
walls whitewashed to that degree, that when the
sun shone on them, they would dazzle you, nigh-hand.</p>

<p>“Like a smile upon a rosy face!” Jim Cassidy
used to think to himself, when he would be taking
a streel up the hill, of a Sunday or a holiday evening.
And when a boy takes to that kind of talk,
it’s easy to guess what he has in his mind.</p>

<p>With Jim, I may as well tell you, it was little
Nelly Flanagan that he was thinking about;
though when he’d be there, it was all to chat to the
old father he had come, <i>by the way of</i>!</p>

<p>And Nelly that took no more heed of Jim than
of any other boy about Ardenoo! What was she,
only a child! no more; as gay and as frolicsome as
a pet lamb. But still in all, Nelly was very nice,
and biddable. She would do anything in this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span>
world wide that the elder sister, Christina, would
say. And why wouldn’t she?</p>

<p>Here’s who were living at Greenan-more at that
time: old Flanagan himself; a real old Sport.
Not a fair or a funeral, a wake or a wedding in
all Ardenoo, but he’d make it his business to be
there; and with him there lived his two girls,
Christina and Nelly.</p>

<p>The mother had died soon after Nelly being
born; had no great comfort with Flanagan, and
no wish to go on living. So when she felt herself
to be on the last, all she said was: “I’ll give the
baby to you, Chrissie!” There’s the pet name
she had for her.</p>

<p>And Christina, that was only a little slip of a
thing, about nine or ten years old, took on at once
to mind the infant, and was like a little mother to
her. Those that would be in and out of the house
said it was most amazing, the way she cared the
little sister. She was very wise and sensible, and
as good as she could be, every way.</p>

<p>In fact, as time went on, the two sisters were
just made upon each other, as the saying is. They
were always together; Christina made a baby of
Nelly and Nelly made a mother of Christina.
And what caused this the more with them was, the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span>
father being the sort he was; taking very little
heed of anything, only his own amusement. That
is all right enough, in its way. But it doesn’t help
you to get on in this world; and I don’t know is
it apt to do much for you in the next. What
Flanagan and men like him don’t spend in their
playing about, they waste in idleness. Christina
did as much as ever she could. But on a farm,
there’s always many things that a woman
can’t do.</p>

<p>And this is how she began first to be thinking a
good deal about Jim Cassidy. For he was very
smart. He would see with half an eye what was
wrong, and set it right while another would be
wondering what ought to be done. He was ready
and willing to do anything in life for them at
Flanagan’s, so that Christina, that was what we
call the sense-carrier of the family, got to depend
on Jim for every hand’s turn that wanted doing
about Greenan-more; such as the drawing home of
the turf from the bog; or getting the hay or oats
saved, or buying in a couple of young pigs to be
fattened. Of course, the selling of the stock had
to be left to Flanagan himself; and that was the
pity; and was little good to either him or his girls.
He would no sooner have the price of the cattle or<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span>
sheep or whatever it might be, paid into his hand,
than he’d go off on a spree, and then you couldn’t
tell what he’d be up to; as likely as not, never
come home, till he’d have it spent.</p>

<p>What the girls had for themselves was anything
they could make of the butter and eggs, the geese
and turkeys and so on. They were satisfied
enough, they didn’t want so much. So was the
old father, contented in his own way.</p>

<p>And here again, there was a wide difference
between them and the Heffernans. Poor Mickey,
for all his industering, never took much satisfaction
out of what he worked so hard for; and as for
Julia, she was so crabbed always, that she used
never to enjoy her own life, nor let any one else
enjoy theirs either; at least, as long as she remained
in Ardenoo; of course, she might have changed,
going to America.</p>

<p>Yes, the Flanagans were peaceful and easy-going;
all but Christina, that favoured her dead
mother, and as she got a bit older, used to feel
anxious betimes about many things. Of course
this made her all the more ready to look to Jim
Cassidy for help. Like as if he was a brother,
she often said to herself. But there’s many a
brother that wouldn’t be as good-natured to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span>
a couple of sisters as Jim was in regard to the
Flanagans.</p>

<p>Christina having so much dependence out of
Jim, then, small blame to her, when, one evening
as she was driving in the cows, and he came up,
she nearly fell out of her standing, when he said:</p>

<p>“I’m going off next week!”</p>

<p>“Going off! A—where, Jim?” she said, though
she knew well, all the time. There was only the
one place for a boy like Jim to make for, those
times.</p>

<p>“To America! Where else?” said Jim. “The
uncle that’s there beyant has wrote me word, that
he has me passage paid, and, moreover, has a good
job waiting on me. So why wouldn’t I go, and
not to be stopping on here; pulling the divil by
the tail for the rest of me days!”</p>

<p>He stopped at that; and if he’d been looking at
Christina, instead of staring out over the lake, the
way he was, he would have seen that she had turned
as white as a patch of bog-cotton. But he never
looked at her, only went on to say: “There’s only
the one thing that I’m sorry for leaving behind
me! Sure, what need I care for going! a boy like
me, without one belonging to me left now in
Ardenoo; or indeed the whole of Ireland! Only<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span>
the one thing for me to regret! that’s Greenan-more....”</p>

<p>And if he had chanced now to look at Christina,
he would scarcely have known was it her or Nelly
that was standing beside him; for Christina’s eyes
were dancing, and her cheeks flushed and warm....</p>

<p>But Jim was still gaping out across the lake, as
if he had never seen till then the way it shimmered
and flashed under the setting sun. He saw nothing
of the change in Christina, only went on:
“Greenan-more! ay, Greenan-more! that’s where
me thoughts will be; that’s what I’m fretting to
leave behind; where I’d always love to be...!
But you’ll write to me, Christina....”</p>

<p>At the word, Christina felt happiness rising,
rising like a warm wave about her....</p>

<p>“... and you’ll tell me about every one, and
everything that’s going on in the place ...”
Jim stopped a bit there ... and then, in a
whisper, “and about Nelly...?”</p>

<p>Then Christina felt the wave die down, and she
grew cold. Everything suddenly turned black
and lonesome, all in a minute. She felt giddy, as
if the world had begun to sink away from under
her feet. But she said nothing. Indeed, why
should she? Wouldn’t it be the queer world, if<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span>
people did what they say they do, and just told
out whatever they think? They don’t; nor they
couldn’t; it would never answer....</p>

<p>All Christina could say, was: “Next week?
why then, that’s short notice!”</p>

<p>And Jim helped her to drive the cows into their
shed, and got her the stool, and she sat down and
began to milk. Just the way he was always
helping her! and he stood beside her, for a bit,
advising her about this thing and that thing; and
she felt as if it was all a dream.</p>

<p>But one thing was real enough to her. She
knew Jim was only delaying there, in the hopes
of seeing Nelly coming out from the house, to
help to carry in the milk. And poor Christina felt
ashamed of the satisfaction it was to her, that as
likely as not Nelly would forget all about the
cows, and the dairy, and the evening’s work.</p>

<p>She had that satisfaction; not a sight of Nelly
was to be seen. And Jim, after waiting a bit,
thinking that maybe Christina would be bidding
him to come into the house, or stay to his supper
there, just went off home to wherever he was
stopping.</p>

<p>He had short notice, sure enough, for so long a
journey. But what matter for that? If you have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span>
little, you travel light. Christina, that was always
busy at some industering, had a grand lot of stockings
of her own spinning and knitting, ready to put
into his bundle. Nelly had nothing, and she cried
down tears to turn a mill, over that. But Christina
had the fashion still, when she would go to
the Shop, that she’d bring home a lucky-bag to
Nelly, as if she was a child still. She did that,
the very day before Jim started. And what was
in the lucky-bag, but a grand breast-pin, that had
a stone in it, shining like a diamond, only of course
it couldn’t be that! Nelly offered the pin to Jim
for a keepsake, and he was as proud as if it really
<i>was</i> a diamond she had for him.</p>

<p>Jim went off, and of all the friends he left behind
him you’d think Christina cared the least. But
there’s many a one like that. They’ll be able for
the day’s work, and will keep bright and busy;
ay, and have a smile and a pleasant word for
every one. But underneath all that, there’s something
aching, aching...! unknown to all the
world, except themselves.</p>

<p>It’s like the “swallyin’-holes” you come on now
and then in the boggy bits of Ardenoo. You may
be walking along, happy and contented, in the
sunshine, making your way through heather and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span>
brambles and fern; sweet smells coming up to
you from the bog-myrtle and meadow-sweet; and
suddenly with a gasp you stop short! There at
your feet, you’ll see a gaping hole, half hidden by
moss and rushes ... and when you look down,
far, far below the warm, smiling surface of the bog,
you see water, black and deep and silent.</p>

<p>“It’s not me, at all; it’s Nelly he wants!”
Christina kept saying to herself, always, always,
while she’d be going about her work, up and down,
early and late, as busy as ever she could be. Busier
than ever, indeed! It seemed now as if she never
could rest, and couldn’t be easy, unless she was
doing something, for the old father, or little
Nelly.</p>

<p>It’s dreadful, when you have to look on, at some
one else getting the very thing that you would give
your heart’s blood for! Ah, dreadful! even if it’s
some one you love that’s robbing you. And it
makes it no better, if the one that’s getting what
you want is maybe not caring two straws about it;
not even knowing it’s there to be had. Nelly
didn’t; she had no more notion of Jim and how he
felt than the man in the moon. Christina could
not have held out at all if she had known.</p>

<p>I won’t say that Nelly didn’t feel a bit lonesome<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[116]</span>
for Jim. She missed him coming about the place,
as he had the fashion of doing. But she never
thought much of anything, and she was so beautiful
and so nice every way, that she could not but be
happy. Why, when she’d be going to the chapel of
a Sunday, the boys would be striving with one
another to get where they could have the full of
their eyes of little Nelly Flanagan. And a girl
can’t but know something of what goes on in that
way; and feel it a satisfaction, too. There wasn’t
one in Ardenoo could hold a candle to Nelly in
point of looks. Christina was well enough, too, a
very fine appearance of a girl she was, no doubt.
But she was older and more settled in her ways,
than Nelly, hadn’t the same happy, laughing looks
and little tricks and fun. How could Christina
be like that and she with the weight of the work on
her shoulders always, not to speak of the care of
Nelly, from the time she was born! It had made
her very quiet and grave in herself; as if she had
left youth behind her, long ago, though in years
what was she but a girl still?</p>

<p>Jim wasn’t very long gone off, when what happened,
only old Flanagan took and died on the two
poor girls. And you would wonder to see how they
lamented him; and he so little use to them, or<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[117]</span>
indeed to himself either, or any one else, except
maybe the play-boys that he would be consorting
with, whenever he had the money to stand treat.
And small good that was going to be, to them or
him!</p>

<p>Still, when any one is gone and laid in the grave,
there’s no one going to say anything but what is
good of them; and so by old Flanagan. And of
course his own girls were the last to hear of any
little faults or follies he had to do with. That
made it all the harder on them, when things began
to be looked into, and it was found out that there
was a lot of money owing on the farm. The girls
had always trusted their father, the way women
mostly do. Christina had felt a bit anxious at
times, but still, she had managed to keep middling
straight at the Shop by bringing in her eggs and
butter and so on, to exchange them against whatever
tea and sugar, flour and meal and soap and
whatever else she wanted in the housekeeping line.
That was the way the weight of the business was
done at Melia’s. Christina knew pretty well how
their account stood there. But she never had
any intelligence of anything further. The father
had the notion that many men have, that women
understood nothing about money, and the less<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[118]</span>
they had to say to it the better. So it was a terrible
surprise to Christina when she found out, after the
father died, that there was rent owing on the farm.
The agent was very easy-going, and had let it run
on out of good-nature to old Flanagan. But now
he was beginning to think that the two girls would
not be a very good mark for all that money. And
although he talked to them as kind as could be, he
was beginning to hint to others that maybe girls
like the Flanagans would be as well off without the
responsibility of so much land, when there wasn’t
a man to work it. He really may have thought
they would be better off in a smaller place. But
besides that, he knew well that old Heffernan
would be glad enough to get Greenan-more, because
it lay so convenient to his own farm; and
that maybe if he could arrange to let him have it,
he’d be getting a hand-over for himself. And of
course he wanted to do the best for himself, like
the rest of us.</p>

<p>Christina didn’t understand all these things, but
she began to feel very downhearted, as if there was
trouble in store for them, when the next rent-day
was coming round, and she knew how little
there was to meet what was due. That was bad;
but her own care, that no one knew of but herself,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[119]</span>
was far worse. She could neither eat nor sleep,
thinking, thinking always.</p>

<p>Well, she was sitting at the door one evening,
knitting, when who did she see coming up the hill
towards her but Mickey Heffernan. She spoke to
him very civilly, as she always would, but wondered
greatly what was bringing him there. For
it was seldom he took the light from their door, or
indeed from any other door either. He lived to
himself, and so he, too, had little notion of what
was going on about the place. It would have been
a big surprise to him, too, if any one had told him
that there was any idea of his getting Greenan-more.</p>

<p>But that nothing to the business he had really
come about; a most amazing thing it was! Christina
could hardly believe her ears, when at last
Mickey brought it out.</p>

<p>It appeared that he had been taking notice of
Nelly; had had a good look at her, the day the
father was in his burying. And now, nothing would
do him, only to see to get her to marry him.</p>

<p>And he said to Christina: “If I have your good
word with her, the thing is as good as done; she’ll
agree to do what you say. And if she does, you’ll
never regret it! For I’ll regulate things for you,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span>
as well as for her. And I needn’t say, my wife’ll
never want ...” and all to that.</p>

<p>Christina listened to him with a whirling mind.
All the thoughts that came up before her then!
She could not separate them from one another.
There was a bit of a song that kept repeating itself,
about an old man trying to get a young wife; and
why the words went singing themselves through
her head——</p>

<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse">Who plans to wreck a singing voice, and break a merry heart,</div>
<div class="verse">He calls a curse that shall be his, until his breath depart—</div>
</div></div>

<p>she did not know! She wasn’t even thinking of all
they meant; only, there they were. But she did
say to herself that supposing such a thing did come
about, it might not be altogether too bad. Isn’t
it often said, “Better be an old man’s darling than
a young man’s slave”? And Heffernan was well
known to be a good sort: kind and sober and
honest, queer and odd though he was in his ways.
Ay, and he was what is known as a “warm” man;
one that had full and plenty, to bring a wife home
to. And Christina felt the comfort it would be to
have him for a friend to herself; and she knew the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span>
need there was for some one to stand between her
and the world. She was like most women: very
timorous about money that was owing, and above
all, about rent being behind.</p>

<p>Then she thought, Nelly had never passed any
remarks about Jim; no more than any ordinary
friend might. She was full as careless and gay as
when he went away. When Jim would write ...
and it was seldom he did, the letter was always to
Christina. He would ask for Nelly, right enough;
but sure the weighty end of American letters is
always asking for this body and that body. Jim
Cassidy’s were the same. Every one of the neighbours
would be mentioned by name. It would have
only seemed more particular if there had been
nothing at all about Nelly.</p>

<p>So Christina had said to herself, that there was
no occasion to be making any talk with Nelly about
Jim at all. Mightn’t he change his mind? or never
come back...? And now, when Heffernan
had his say about Nelly, Christina was sure it was
just all for the best she had never said a word to
Nelly about what Jim had said to her. It would
only have been disturbing her mind.</p>

<p>Christina was all in a flutter, sitting there, with
the knitting idle in her lap for once, and Heffernan<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</span>
just waiting, and not a word more out of his head.
And still ... what ought she to say? what ought
to be done?</p>

<p>At last she said, “Nelly’s not in at this moment.
Away at a bit of a dance she is, down at the cross-roads....”</p>

<p>She stopped there, thinking maybe Heffernan
would be put off his plan, by hearing that about
Nelly, and the father only so lately dead. And
Christina left to do the whole business that evening
by herself. Not that she minded that. She never
grudged Nelly her fun. But she wondered if
Heffernan would blame Nelly.</p>

<p>“Not inclined for going she was,” she went on,
“but I made her go, and I’ll slip off by and by,
to bring her home; sure, she’s young, the crature!”</p>

<p>“She’ll mend of that!” said Heffernan.</p>

<p>After another silence, he got up to leave.</p>

<p>“I’ll not wait any longer to-night,” he said, “but
if it would be agreeable, I’ll drop round next Sunday,
when there will be nothing else to be done.
We can settle the thing then at once.”</p>

<p>“Mind, you’ll have to speak to Nelly herself
first!” said Christina. By that she was trying to
make herself believe that she was giving Nelly a
chance of thinking of Jim.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</span>But only God knows what is in people’s minds!
Surely, half the time we don’t know ourselves.
And the very things that are the most in our
thoughts are the things we get ourselves the most
confused over. And the more we try to see them
clearly, the more confused we get.</p>

<p>With Christina, anyway, that’s how it was.
Sleeping or waking, it was Jim, Jim, Jim! always
and ever; no matter what she was doing, or who
was there. What was he doing now? Was he just
the same? And was he really and truly as fond of
Nelly as he had seemed to be that evening?...
And did Nelly care one <i>thraneen</i> about him?</p>

<p>But she did want to act fairly by them both!
And that was why she had said to Heffernan that
he must speak to Nelly herself first; she would
have no hand in it, until Nelly had had time to
think. She wouldn’t say a word to her, good, bad,
nor indifferent, she thought.</p>

<p>“Whatever you say, I’ll agree to,” Heffernan
said, the last thing as he was waddling off; “but
sure she’ll do as you bid her, I’m sure!”</p>

<p>There’s the way marriages are generally settled
in Ardenoo.</p>

<p>The days passed on, and Christina never said a
word to Nelly still. And then, the very Sunday<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span>
that she was expecting Heffernan to come again to
Greenan-more, wasn’t there a letter from Jim;
and most surprising news in it, this time.</p>

<p>It told that the uncle Jim had gone out to was
after dying, very suddenly, and had left all he had
to Jim. This had happened some time before, but
Jim wouldn’t say anything about it, till he was
sure. But now the whole thing was settled up.
He had the money; and he was coming home at
once.</p>

<p>Jim coming home! Jim coming home! Christina
felt wild at the thought! If he had the money,
what delay would there be only to ask Nelly, and
she would have him, fast enough! The thing was
as good as done. Nelly was to the good yet, as
long as there was nothing settled with Heffernan.
Oh, if only Jim’s uncle hadn’t died so smart! If
only.... But must she tell Nelly? Why
need she tell her? Let her alone! Sorra hair
Nelly would care! Let her marry Heffernan!
One was as good to Nelly, Christina really believed,
as another! She would very soon content herself
at the Furry Farm ... and then.... Oh,
if only Heffernan would marry her at once,
and end the thing! If once Nelly was out of
the way.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span>But Jim, Jim, that had trusted her with his
secret! Christina began to think of this now, and
that Jim had told her everything, and as good as
asked her to look after Nelly for him! Would it be
fair to Jim? How could she play him such a dirty,
mean trick, as to keep this news from Nelly,
knowing all it meant, knowing that Jim intended
Nelly to hear it?</p>

<p>She <i>would</i> tell Nelly. Of course she would!
How could she do anything else but tell her? But
it appeared as if something always came in the way
that morning. She started off to find Nelly, and
read the letter with its wonderful news to her;
and she couldn’t find her.</p>

<p>Christina had been to first Mass; and now Nelly
was off to second Mass, a bit late, as often happened
her; and hurrying all she could, hoping to
get a lift on a neighbour’s car.... So she was
a piece off, down the hill, when Christina called
to her; and not a foot she’d come back!</p>

<p>And what was Christina to do? There was the
letter, burning in her pocket, and never a chance
of telling about it to Nelly, the one that was most
concerned; because, when she got back from the
chapel, she had Heffernan with her, all dressed out
in his best; and Christina thought it would not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span>
answer to have any talk of Jim then; and of course
no more it would.</p>

<p>The same thing, while the dinner was going on;
no opportunity for a word with Nelly.</p>

<p>“It isn’t to be, now!” Christina said to herself;
she might indeed have spoken to Nelly, if she had
really made up her mind to it, but the minute they
were done eating, Heffernan said, “I may’s well
have a look at that hay you were telling me about,
now. And this little girl will show me the way!”
meaning Nelly.</p>

<p>“Very well!” said Christina, wondering in herself
how cute old Mickey was, to make a chance
for himself!</p>

<p>So they got up from the table. Heffernan took
his stick, that he never could do without, since his
accident at the fair of Balloch, and there was Nelly
all smiling, quite ready; and off they went together;
December and May.</p>

<p>Before they were farther than the yard, Christina
called after them: “Nelly! Nelly, come here a
minute...!”</p>

<p>“Ah, for what?” cried Nelly.</p>

<p>“I ... I have something to say to ye!” said
Christina; and she wished she hadn’t.</p>

<p>“Oh, won’t it keep?” says Nelly, that had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span>
often been called back that way, to be told how to
behave, and to not be wild ... and she had no
edge on for being lectured then.</p>

<p>She thought it was bad enough, having to go off
with Mickey by herself....</p>

<p>“That’s all right! come along!” said Heffernan.</p>

<p>He was thinking, the poor old man, that it was
what Nelly wanted to be hurrying off with him.</p>

<p>“Mind, now! I told you to listen to me!” said
Christina, very serious. Yet she was relieved when
Nelly just laughed and went on to the hayfield.
And Christina called out, “I’ll be after you, Mr.
Heffernan, as soon as ever I have the place readied
up. And glad I’ll be of an advice about that hay.”</p>

<p>“Och, sure there’s no occasion for you to be in
too great a hurry!” said Heffernan, quite talkative.</p>

<p>When they were started, “I could do no more!”
said Christina to herself, looking after them, Nelly
like a child, frisking along beside Heffernan and
his limp, and she chattering away to him and
amusing him. There’s the sort Nelly Flanagan
was; always ready to please whoever was next to
her.</p>

<p>Plenty there are like that; plenty of girls, pretty
and pleasant and smiling. But there’s nothing
more! no more than if it was a picture you had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span>
hanging by a nail from your wall. But God made
them, and the men like them.</p>

<p>As I was saying a while ago, it’s hard to know
exactly what is in your own mind, let alone in
another’s. But it’s likely that what Christina was
really thinking now was this: if once Heffernan
spoke to Nelly, and got her to pass her word to
him, the thing would be settled, for good and all.
Heffernan would get the marriage over at once.
An old man has no time to lose, courting. Not
that Mickey was what people in general would
count as old; only that was how the girls always
talked about him, he being so very settled and
quiet-going in every way.</p>

<p>Along with that, she thought how that Nelly
would be safe and contented with him. He was
good, and Nelly was easy-going and hadn’t any one
else in her mind. Christina was only too ready to
think that.</p>

<p>But the great thing was, that if Nelly was out of
the way ... mightn’t anything happen, as soon
as not! Christina did not put that into words,
even in her own mind. There was one thing sure,
however. She wanted Jim for herself. But that,
too, she had to put away from her. The loneliness
of her! She had not one, in this world wide, to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span>
speak to. If she had had itself, how could she!
how could she!</p>

<p>As soon as Christina had all done, the dishes
washed up, and the floor swept over, and a bit
thrown to the hens, she went off after Nelly and
Heffernan. She thought she wouldn’t be in too
big a hurry. The day was hot and bright and she
would take her time.</p>

<p>She did that. When she got to the gate
of the Big Meadow, and looked across it down
to the lake that lay beyond, she perceived
Heffernan and Nelly, and they standing, talking,
with their backs to her, gazing out over
the water that rippled and flashed under the
sunshine, just as it was when Jim had told her
he was going away, and for her to give him
news of Nelly.</p>

<p>Christina stopped when she caught sight of them.
The thing was going on just as she would wish it
should. She might as well give Heffernan his
time to say all he wanted. He was slow. It
would take him a good while to make Nelly
understand. She laid out that she would go across
to join them, of course, as she had arranged, but
very nice and easy, taking her time. She began
by being very particular about hasping the gate;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[130]</span>
a thing, in troth, that you can hardly be too careful
about, on a farm.</p>

<p>It gave her some trouble, the gate being loose
from the hinges, and Christina remembered it was
a job that Jim had meant to do for her, to set that
gate right, only he got such short notice about
leaving for America. When she had it secured
again, she straightened herself up, and turned
round, so as to be facing the field she was going to
cross. What did she see, there half-way between
herself at the gate, and Nelly at the far end of the
meadow, only Jim himself!</p>

<p>The sight left her eyes, near-hand, and small
blame to her. She rubbed them hard, and looked
again. There he was, right enough. He was
laughing, as he had the fashion of doing, a quiet,
half-shy smile, but saying nothing. It was Jim
all over. The field was so full of light and heat
that she felt dazzled. You could see little quivering
waves rising up into the air from the sun-cocks.
Christina thought everything was moving before
her eyes. Except Jim. He stood there, quite
quiet, laughing still.</p>

<p>“Nelly doesn’t see him!” was the first thought
that came into Christina’s head; “Nelly doesn’t
see him! and maybe he hasn’t seen her! It’s not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[131]</span>
that side he’s looking, at all! It’s towards me he’s
turned.... Och, if only I can keep him that
way...! till I’ll get down to him ... and
keep him in chat ... if only Heffernan had his
say out with Nelly, and gets her promise....
Oh, why did Jim come here, just this minute!
What at all brought him now! If only he’d have
stayed away another bit! Even an hour ...
and not for he to be appearing, till it would be
settled.... An’ Nelly that doesn’t mind one,
no more than another ... what does Nelly care!”</p>

<p>With that word, in a clap, Christina begins to
think of Jim! Jim, and the look in his eyes,
straight and full of longing and misery, while he
was beseeching of her to write him word of every
one ... “and Nelly!”</p>

<p>It takes a long time to tell a thing, but you’ll
make up your mind quick enough. Christina had
hers determined, before she had made her way
across the warm, smiling aftermath to the first line
of sun-cocks.</p>

<p>Supposing Nelly didn’t care! Jim did. It was
like a blow on a bruise for Christina to have to feel
that this was true. But when she did, and saw
what ought to be done, she lost no time.</p>

<p>“Jim!” she called out; and when he made no<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span>
answer, “Jim!” again. Still he said nothing;
only stood there, laughing. So then she shouted
out, “Nelly! Nelly! look-at-here. See who’s in
it!”</p>

<p>At the word, Nelly turned round, and in a second
there she came, flying like a bird up the field, the
sun shining on her shining hair, and her pink skirts
floating this way and swelling that way, as she ran,
and kept calling out, “Jim! Jim! is it yourself
that’s in it, at all at all?”</p>

<p>She was like a bird, as I said, but a bird that was
taking wing from a cage.</p>

<p>To tell the truth, she wasn’t caring so much
about poor Mickey and his way of courting. She
was listening to him, because she was too much
surprised to do anything else, and besides she
couldn’t really imagine he was in earnest, and was
just letting him go stuttering on, and half inclined
to laugh in his face, only she was too kind to do
the like.... But of course she’d far liefer
have a boy more her own age and gait of going to be
looking out across the lake with, than Heffernan,
Furry Farm and all. So off she ran from him and
towards Jim.</p>

<p>There you have them all; Nelly running lightly
from one end of the hayfield, and Christina stepping<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span>
quickly from the other end of it, and they
both making for Jim who was standing between
them. Surely either of them would reach him
quickly ... and of course, poor Christina was
full sure he would go a piece of the way down to
meet Nelly! But instead of that, he kept backing,
and backing away from them; laughing always,
but saying nothing.</p>

<p>“What are you at, Jim?” said Nelly, flushed
and out of breath, but radiant with smiles of
welcome. “Can’t you stop, and not be going on
that-a-way?”</p>

<p>Still Jim kept moving, moving away from them;
sliding across the field, and not a word out of
his head, in spite of all Nelly could say. Then
he got to the stone wall that ran round the Big
Meadow; and then over with him, and Nelly and
Christina coming after him.</p>

<p>When they got to the wall, they looked over it
into the next field; a big, flat pasture-field it was;
broad and open to the blazing sunshine. You’d
think a mouse couldn’t stir there, without being
seen. But sight nor light of Jim the sisters could
not get there.</p>

<p>“Where is he, at all at all?” said Nelly, her
cheeks as red as roses between the heat and the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span>
excitement she was in; “some trick he’s after
playing off on us! We’ll find him above at the
house, never fear! And to say he lepped the wall,
and never stirred a stone off it!”</p>

<p>The wall was just made of loose stones, laid one
upon another without mortar. Cattle or sheep
could knock a gap through them, ready.</p>

<p>The sisters looked at one another. Nelly
turned white.</p>

<p>“Sure, Jim’s always souple,” said Christina, so
quietly that you’d never imagine she had a hair
turned on her; “but now, let you make no delay,
only turn back to Mr. Heffernan, not to be leaving
him there with no one only himself ... sure
that’s no right way to be going on! Have manners,
child dear!”</p>

<p>And to herself, Christina was saying, “To think
she never took notice of the breast-pin, and he with
it in his tie!” for they were close enough to see it;
anyway, that pin sparkled in the sun. “I wonder
does she remember giving it to him, at all!”</p>

<p>“Let you come back with me, Chris!” said
Nelly, coaxing her; as if she was turning shy with
Mickey, all of a sudden.</p>

<p>“What nonsense is this to be going on with?”
said Christina a bit short. But still in all, she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span>
went. She scarce ever could refuse Nelly anything
that she had the giving of.</p>

<p>And wasn’t it a small thing to do, to walk down
a piece to meet old Heffernan, compared to what
Christina was after making up her mind to?</p>

<p>She was going to give Jim up! I mean, to give
up thinking about him; for the bitterest part of the
thing was, that she had nothing else to give up!
Why would she come between Jim and what he
wanted so much?</p>

<p>“... and Nelly!” he had said; “write me
about everything that’s going on about the place
... and Nelly!”</p>

<p>Something had died in Christina at these words.</p>

<p>To give up Jim! I won’t say it was like parting
with a bit of herself; for Christina had no such
great liking for her own four bones, that that
would have troubled her much. And did anything
trouble her now? She felt all ice, as if she had no
feeling left.</p>

<p>And what was she to do! What was she to do!</p>

<p>It seemed half her life, before they met Heffernan,
coming puffing and limping up the field.
He hadn’t a word more out of him about the
business he had in hand, and seemed really vexed
at the way Nelly had run off from him.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[136]</span>“Cassidy? Jim Cassidy?” he said, when they
went to explain the thing to him; “why, what
at all! there wasn’t a living soul in the meadow
nor isn’t now, only our three selves! Is it wanting
to make me out a fool, altogether, yous are?
Maybe that’s not so easy done!”</p>

<p>He stopped at that, with his mouth open, as if
he was surprised at himself that he had said so
much. He looked from one to another of the two
girls, as much as to say, “What excuses have yous
to make to me?” for he was quite offended. And
when no one said anything, he just turned off short,
when they reached the gate leading out of the
meadow, and went home, as crabbed as you like.</p>

<p>But by that time Christina was past caring a
pinch of snuff what he did. She could think of
nothing, only Jim. She thought she’d never get
back to the house quick enough, she was so full
sure he would be there waiting for them.</p>

<p>Leaning out over the half-door, she pictured him
to herself, the way he often was, before he went
to America, laughing and kind. Her face was
white, and the two eyes burning, burning in it, as
she went hurrying on, across the yard, and into the
house.</p>

<p>As for Nelly, she was all smiles and gaiety.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[137]</span>
Little she cared for Heffernan, or what humour he
was in, and he going off from that! She was
calling out, “Jim! Jim! where at all are you? what
do you mean...?” as she ran here and there
looking for him, rosy and warm again in the
cheeks, as if they were playing a game of hide-and-seek.</p>

<p>But the sorra Jim could they find! High, low, or
holy, there wasn’t a sight of him to be seen; though
Nelly hunted and searched and looked and called,
all over the place; while Christina, white and
hot-eyed, went about her usual work.</p>

<p>“A body would think you didn’t care, Chrissy,”
said Nelly indignantly.</p>

<p>Care! Did she care about her chance of heaven?</p>

<p>Later in the evening, Nelly went straying off
through the neighbours, telling her story, about
Jim being in the Big Meadow, and then going off
from them. Did This or That body see him?
Nelly would ask, with wide, innocent eyes. She
was only laughed at. Nobody saw Jim Cassidy!
Let her go home and make up some better story
than that, if she wanted to entertain people.</p>

<p>“But we <i>did</i> see him! the two of us saw him!
and we even spoke to him! And he made us no
answer, only disappeared, the same as if the ground<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span>
had opened and swallowed him down!” Nelly
insisted.</p>

<p>“Maybe so it did, but we’ll not swally your
story!” was all the satisfaction Nelly got.</p>

<p>So she went home to Christina and “Ah, Chrissy,
do you think would it be a warning, and that poor
Jim just came back to tell us he’s dead, there beyant
in America?” said Nelly, beginning to cry
down tears like the rain.</p>

<p>But Christina never made her an answer. She
couldn’t! What Nelly was after saying, was what
she had been thinking. But such thoughts never
seem so bad, till some one else puts them into
words.</p>

<p>To think of Jim, Jim Cassidy dead! She
nearly hated Nelly for saying the word that ends
everything ... except Love.</p>

<p>She put her hand into her pocket, and pulled out
Jim’s letter, and gave it to Nelly.</p>

<p>“That came this morning, and I never got the
chance of showing it to you all day, till now,”
she said. And she kept watching Nelly from under
her eyelashes, to see would she mind it much.</p>

<p>But Nelly was a real child. She never thought
of anything, except just what a body would put
before her in words. She said nothing as she took<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[139]</span>
the letter and read it. There was nothing in it,
only about he coming home; and the money he
was after getting by the uncle that died.</p>

<p>Then: “Starting the day week this was wrote!”
she said. “Well, well! But sure he couldn’t be
here yet, this len’th of time...! whether or
which....”</p>

<p>And then she gave a look at Christina, but she
was as busy as a nailer with one little thing or
another about the kitchen, so that she took no
notice of the way that Nelly was staring her. And
maybe it was as well that Nelly got no encouragements
to say, what was on the tip of her tongue,
how that Christina appeared noways glad or interested
at the thoughts of Jim coming home.</p>

<p>“And the luck that he’s after happening on!
And they two that were always the greatest of
friends!”</p>

<p>That was what Nelly said to herself. But she
never kept anything long in mind, and so things
went on at the Flanagans’. The sisters were in a
kind of bewilderment. Christina was going about,
not speaking only when she couldn’t help it, and
she feeling as if she was moving through a black
fog, cold and dreadful, and Nelly upset, because
she wasn’t used to anything from Christina but<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[140]</span>
petting. She’d wonder for a minute or so what
at all should be the matter with Chrissy, and then
she’d start her gay little lilt of a song again....</p>

<p>It appeared to Christina as if she had known all
her life what was going to happen, when, a few
days later, as she was coming in with the milk,
what did she see, only Jim Cassidy, and he leaning
over the half-door, just as she had often fancied
him. Leaning across it he was, and Nelly standing
just inside, and they two laughing and chattering
together and seeming as if they didn’t think
there was another soul in this living world, except
their two selves.</p>

<p>Christina started back; and the can of milk
dropped out of her hold.</p>

<p>“Oh, Chrissy! here’s Jim!” said Nelly, the
words tumbling out over one another and she
between laughing and crying ... “and he only
just after landing....”</p>

<p>“What else, only just landed?” said Jim, looking
from one to the other, very puzzled; “what
else would I do, only come on here straight?”</p>

<p>“But sure, didn’t we see you...? Ora,
Chriss, look at the milk...!”</p>

<p>“Never mind now! come and give a hand to
wipe it up!” said Christina, and they all were glad<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[141]</span>
of an excuse for doing something, Christina in
particular. For she was all of a tremble, and
didn’t want that to be seen.</p>

<p>So by this, one thing and another was spoken of,
till at last Jim got telling them about a queer
dream he had had, while he was on the way
home.</p>

<p>“I thought to see the two of you,” he said, “in
the Big Meadow, and yous coming towards me,
through the sunshine ... it appeared as if it
was a Sunday, with yous, and so it was with us in
the ship, too ... I remember it well....”</p>

<p>“Sure, if you saw us, we saw you, too!” said
Nelly; “Sunday ... sure enough! it was the
day old Mickey Heffernan was....”</p>

<p>She stopped herself, and grew very red.</p>

<p>“The day Mickey Heffernan ... what?”
said Jim.</p>

<p>“Ah, nothing at all!” said Nelly; “men does
be shocking foolish betimes ... and quare conduction
you got on with, that same day ...
backing away from us, as if you thought we had the
scarleteen, or something you’d take from us, that
you wouldn’t let us within the bawl of an ass of
you...!”</p>

<p>“That <i>was</i> quare and very quare, too!” said<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[142]</span>
Jim; “but I’ll see not to let the like occur again,
if I can prevent it!”</p>

<p>He and Nelly began to laugh again. And they
two were so taken up with one another, that they
never heeded Christina. She slipped away without
their knowing.</p>

<p>They didn’t miss her for long enough. Maybe it
was bad of them; Jim that had trusted her, and
Nelly that she had given up all for. But there’s
what happened. And it was only natural, after all.
Jim had Nelly; and Nelly couldn’t but be taken
up with all he had to say.... And then,
Christina was one that no one ever thought wanted
looking after. So it wasn’t till it had grown dusk,
that they began to wonder where she was, and
why wasn’t she there, to be making down the fire,
and seeing everything ready, as she always did.
They waited a little bit longer, and then another
little bit longer ... and the time seemed short
enough, to Jim, anyway; till at last they got
uneasy, and went looking for Christina.</p>

<p>But they never saw her again.</p>

<p>They searched high and they searched low.
They went to the neighbours, thinking to find her
somewhere off among them; though, as they well
knew, it was the last thing she thought of doing,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[143]</span>
idling and <i>ceilidhing</i><a id="FNanchor_10" href="#Footnote_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> away from home of an
evening. The neighbours came, and helped, and
there wasn’t a spot about the place but they
searched, calling and whistling and shouting for
her; out all night with lanterns and candles.
Every one had a great wish for Christina. Why
wouldn’t they! she that was so good and kind.
But she was not to be found.</p>

<p>They kept up the search, for days and days,
thinking it might be that some kind of weakness
had come over the poor girl, and that they would
come on her somewhere, and she in a faint.</p>

<p>But not a sign of her ever they found.</p>

<p>Some thought it was what she might have
slipped into the lake, when she was turning out the
cows after milking them, for it was down towards
the water they were driven of an evening. And
that lake, it was well known, had no bottom to it,
in places; and it was supposed that the water
drained away through underground channels ...
and if any one chanced to get drawn into one of
them ... well, there was no more to be known
of that person.</p>

<p>And more were of the opinion that she might
have fallen into one of the swallyin’-holes I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[144]</span>
mentioned. And anything that goes in there
never comes out any more.</p>

<p>It nearly killed Nelly, the fright and awfulness
of losing Christina that way. She fretted and
pined, till the half of her wasn’t in it. And Jim
as bad, for he was as fond of Christina as Nelly
was; just in the same way, too; as if she was his
sister.</p>

<hr class="tb">

<p>For many a long day, after Jim and Nelly were
married, and living on there in the old home, they
would talk of Christina, and think maybe she’d be
coming back to them, just walk in on the door....
For they always thought it wasn’t dead she was
at all, only “away” with the Good People in the
old rath, at the top of the hill behind Greenan-more.</p>

<p>The door was always left open, and the fire
strong, and food ready, at night, and in particular
on Hallow Eve, the way she could come in there,
if she had a mind to.</p>

<p>But she never did.</p>

<p>And so best. It’s a poor thing, to be looking at
happiness through another person’s eyes; even if
you chance to be as fond of them as Christina was
of Nelly, let alone of Jim.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[145]</span>And it’s bad enough to fret for doing wrong.
But isn’t it worse again to have to feel yourself
sorry, and you after doing what you knew was
right! as it was with Christina. But there’s many
a thing that it’s hard to explain, as well as what the
Flanagans saw in the sunshine, that day crossing
the Big Meadow.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[146]</span>

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER V<br>

<small>MATCHMAKING IN ARDENOO</small></h2>
</div>

<p><span class="smcap">There</span> was of course a good deal of talk among the
neighbours about all that took place at Greenan-more,
just soon after old Flanagan dying there.
To say nothing of the queer way Jim Cassidy
appeared (as they said), to the two girls, that
Sunday evening, when they were out in the hayfield,
with old Heffernan ... and anyway, nothing
was farther from Nelly’s thoughts then than
the same Jim! whatever poor Christina may have
had in her mind!... To say nothing of this at
all, wasn’t it a shocking affair to see a fine, good
girl like Christina, going out of this world the way
she did! no one to know what became of her, no
more than if she never had been there at all!</p>

<p>Still, the people didn’t speak so much over it
as you might expect. They felt Nelly and Jim
wouldn’t like it. Besides, there was talk of Christina’s
being “away”; and as every one knows, it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[147]</span>
doesn’t answer to be too free-spoken about the
Good People.</p>

<p>Very little of the talk reached Mickey Heffernan,
as usual. He lived very backwards, as has been
said; he heard little, and he said less. It was the
fashion he had, and it served him well. It did now,
for it helped him to believe that no one knew a
word about his having wanted little Nelly Flanagan
for himself. In fact, very few did and they
soon forgot it, there was so much else to be talked
about. Mickey was very proud to think that the
business with Nelly had gone no further; any man
would feel the same. But instead of this taking
the edge off him for getting married, it only made
him the more anxious to hear of some other girl
that would come in upon the floor of the Furry
Farm. Julia was gone out of his way; so why
would he not strive to bring a wife in there?</p>

<p>Little Kitty Dempsey was the next he looked to
get; and a very curious way that came about. Not
that any man was to be blamed for fancying Kitty!
She had every one’s good word, the same little girl.</p>

<p>“A very nice little cut of a person,” it would
be said of her, “agreeable and pleasant-spoken in
herself; noways uppish or short with any one.
And the darlint blue eyes of her, that she can say<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</span>
what she chooses with! Sometimes they’ll laugh,
like running water in sunshine; and again, they’ll
fill up, if she’s fretted, till they’d remind you of
nothing so much as a shower of an April day.
And as straight she is as a rush, and as light on her
foot as a willy-wagtail; like a young larch tree,
slim and upright; and wouldn’t any one sooner be
looking at the like of that than at one that has been
twisted and bent by the wind on the side of a hill,
or has had the half of it ett away by a hungry colt?
Oh, there’s some girls that there does be a power
of marrying on, before they can be settled! But
troth! that’s not so with Kitty Dempsey!”</p>

<p>In fact, at this time, though Kitty was young
yet, it was the wonder of Ardenoo that she wasn’t
married long ago, for as they said, it wasn’t her
looks stood in her way; though she never got to
be as rosy in the face and <i>flauhoolich</i><a id="FNanchor_11" href="#Footnote_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> as her sisters
all were. Many a time they blamed Kitty for that,
as if she could help how she looked! But the
father, old Dick Dempsey, would whisper to Kitty:</p>

<p>“Never mind, <i>asthore</i>! it isn’t always the big
people that reaps the harvest, Kitty!”</p>

<p>He was very nice and gay, the poor man, and
always had a great wish for Kitty, and stood up<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[149]</span>
for her whenever he could. But Kitty was the
youngest of a long family; and as you may often
notice in that case, she seemed to come in for the
fag-end of everything.</p>

<p>When she was no more than a child, she could
see plain enough that there wasn’t a dance or a
fair, a wake or a wedding far or near, but all the
other girls would go off to, and have their fling of
whatever fun was to be had. And they would say
to Kitty, “Better for you stop at home and let
your hair grow! you’ll have your turn by and by!”</p>

<p>But there was not really much difference in age
between Kitty and the next sister; only one had
to stop at home, and somehow, Kitty was more
agreeable to do that than any of the others.
Though, as she grew up more, she often had a wish
to go about, like another, and get her share of
sport; and when they’d say, she’d have to wait
another little while, and then let her take her turn,
“To-morrow’s a long day!” Kitty would cry. But
that never did her any good.</p>

<p>She would feel it lonely enough, of an evening,
when the others were away off sporting somewhere,
and only the old father and mother left about the
place. The only consolation Kitty had those
times was when she’d go off to the well for the can<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[150]</span>
of water. Dan Grennan would be very apt to be
there or somewhere about, and then, of course,
he’d get the water for her to carry it home, as far
as the back of the turf-clamp. Dan was a neighbour,
a decent, quiet boy, what we call a “lone
bird,” for he had no one belonging to him in the
place.</p>

<p>Well and good; this got to be the habit most
evenings, till Kitty’s mother took notice that the
water began to be very late coming in for her cup
of tea. So, out with her, one time, and she slipped
along, very quiet and easy, till she heard a laugh
from behind the turf-clamp. Round it she went;
and there were Kitty and Dan, with the can of
water on the ground between them.</p>

<p>There’s where they were in error, not to have
talked their fill below at the well, and have done
with the thing. But sure, young people are all the
same. When they begin to chatter and talk with
one another, they get it as hard to stop as if it
was the sea they were striving to empty out with a
sieve.</p>

<p>It chanced that old Mrs. Dempsey was very
thirsty at that present time, which was what
maybe had her so fractious. But indeed, at the
best of times, the turn of a straw would leave her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</span>
as cross as an armful of cats, she was so short in the
temper.</p>

<p>“Well, Dan, me fine fellah!” she said; “and
is it you that is in it?”</p>

<p>“It is, Mrs. Dempsey, mam,” answered Dan,
quite civilly; and then he added, “and no harm
in that, I hope?”</p>

<p>He should not have said that; giving her an
opening.</p>

<p>“Troth, I dunno about that!” said she, and
was twice as vexed, because poor Dan was so
quiet-spoken with her; “that depends,” she says,
“but a boy that has nothing between him and
the world only his two hands has no call in
life,” she says, “to be here, <i>colloguing</i><a id="FNanchor_12" href="#Footnote_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> with my
dauther!”</p>

<p>Mrs. Dempsey was a Cusack, and held herself
very high. She turned to Kitty, that was as red
as roses by then.</p>

<p>“Off with ye, and bring in that water, that I’m
sick and tired waiting on!”</p>

<p>Kitty was ready enough to go. Ashamed she
felt, to have that word said to Dan, and she by.
She went off, without giving him word or look.
How could she, with the mother stumping along<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</span>
behind her, as big as a bush and as red as a turkey-cock!</p>

<p>“And she gobbling out of her, too!” said Dan to
himself, as he sneaked off, with a very sore heart.
He was a fine, big, able boy, that you would never
think troubled his head about anything. But boys
like that have times that they want comforting,
as well as another. Dan was out of a job then,
and he was intended to ask an advice of Kitty,
whether he ought to go to England for the harvest
or not, only when he saw her, he forgot everything
else except little Kitty Dempsey. He was not to be
blamed for that. You would maybe have done the
same yourself.</p>

<p>But the very next day after Mrs. Dempsey giving
him his walking-papers, as I said, Dan got a
job of driving a lot of cattle out to Dublin market.
And when he had that done, he bobbed up against
a comrade-boy of his own, and this boy was after
taking his passage to America. And he was so
lonesome in himself, to be going away, that he
offered the lend of money to Dan, the way they
could go together. I needn’t say Dan jumped at
the chance.</p>

<p>But he had to start off as he stood; and no one
at Ardenoo knew a word about his going, for long<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[153]</span>
enough. So there was many a mile of salt water
between poor Dan and Kitty, and still Mrs.
Dempsey would be going to the well herself of an
evening. It was the price of her, to be putting
such rounds upon herself, and for what? But as
Dan said long after, when he and Kitty would be
talking over things, “Divil’s cure to them that has
a bad suspicion of others!”</p>

<p>Kitty used to fret a good deal, wondering how it
was that she never saw Dan nor heard anything
about him, since the time her mother caught her
and him together behind the turf-clamp. But she
passed no remarks to man nor mortal. And one
day that she and the mother were at Melia’s shop,
where the post-office is, a letter was slipped to
Kitty, that no one saw only herself. Mrs. Melia
knew well the sort old Mrs. Dempsey was, and so
did every one else about Ardenoo.</p>

<p>Kitty had to keep that letter in her pocket, and
it burning a hole there, till she was going to bed
that night before she had any opportunity of
opening it. What was there inside of it, only a
picture of Dan, all done out so grand and fine,
that you would scarcely know it to be Dan at all,
only his name was written under it. And on the
back of the picture there was this verse:</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</span></p>

<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="verse">When this you see,</div>
<div class="verse">Then think of me, D. G.</div>
</div></div>

<p>So Kitty was not much the wiser about what had
happened, when she got this from Dan. But not
long afterwards, she got word that it was in
America he was, and had good pay there. And
then no one seemed to know much more about
Dan.</p>

<p>It wasn’t too long after this, that old Dick
Dempsey, himself, Kitty’s father, took and died on
them; “harished out of the world,” some said, by
the wife he had, that could never think anything
right that he did; or any one else, for that matter,
except herself. There’s a power of people like
Mrs. Dempsey.</p>

<p>It was the woe day for poor Kitty, when her
father was gone, and she and the mother left to
manage for themselves. By this time all the
others were married, or gone off to America. And
of course they all said among themselves, that the
farm that had reared the whole of them, and had
given snug fortunes to every girl that married out
of it, ought to be able to keep Kitty and the
mother in the greatest of comfort.</p>

<p>So it should too; only there chanced to be a few
bad seasons, when the grass was short ... or the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[155]</span>
rain didn’t come till it wasn’t wanted, and so the
crops got spoilt in the saving. Every one else about
Ardenoo was in the same boat. Except for this:
Mrs. Dempsey was of the opinion that they were
all fools but herself. That kept her down worse.
She would take no advice. She thought she knew
better than men that had been farming all their
lives, while she had been rearing chickens and
making butter. Her great idea was, to spend
nothing. She grudged doing that, more than
anything.</p>

<p>Now it is well known that the best fertiliser you
can use on land is, money. If you treat your land
well, it will treat you well; a thing that is true of
more than farming.</p>

<p>But with Mrs. Dempsey it was take all and give
nothing; above all, for labour. She would keep
no help for the house. So it was Kitty! here; and
Kitty! there, from dawn to dark. Kitty was
never done. She was the most willing little
creature you could find in a day’s walk; as good as
ever was wet with water. But what avails all one
girl can do on a farm? with poultry and milk, turkeys
and pigs, and then be expected as well to do
haymaking, or the thinning of turnips, or dropping
potatoes, and I don’t know what all besides. It<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[156]</span>
was only folly to think any one pair of hands could
overtake all that.</p>

<p>And here again was another reason why poor
Kitty was not to have her chance of a bit of sport
like another. At first, as I explained, she had to
step one side, in order that the sisters that were
older, the “ones that were next the door,” as they
are called at Ardenoo, could have their fling, there
were so many of them there. And secondly she
had to stop at home now, because they were <i>not</i>
there! no one in the place, only the old mother
and Kitty. So that is how she never had any
other “coort” except Dan; and of course then she
thought all the more of him; the same as a hen
with only one chicken. She’ll fuss and cluck as
much for it as if she had the whole clutch.</p>

<p>Girls that are allowed a bit of liberty, the way
they can be putting a whole lot of boys through
their hands, as some do, are better off in a way
than Kitty was with Dan.</p>

<p>“One thing moiders another!” as the man with
the toothache said, when he felt the pain going
into his ear. And if a girl has Phil, and Jack, Mike,
and Pat as well as Art, it’s likely she’ll not fret too
much about any of them if they go off, as Dan did.</p>

<p>However, you never know what turn a young<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[157]</span>
mind will take. People differ, as well as the things
they happen up against. Kitty wasn’t like other
girls; and those that knew her best never wished
that she was.</p>

<p>All the same, good and contented as she strove
to be, it was hard on her! Year in, year out, going
on the one old gait; her nose for ever to the grindstone.
And along with all, if anything went wrong,
Mrs. Dempsey would take and scold at Kitty,
most bitterly, as if the girl was to be blamed when
the potatoes turned black, or the oats got lodged,
beaten into the ground with the heavy dreeps of
rain.</p>

<p>As for the fow! That was what had the old
woman more annoyed than anything. The rage
she got into, one season, when a lot of young goslings
died! She said it was what Kitty had neglected
them, and that she cared for nothing, only
idling her time over her geranium-pot. Now it
was true that Kitty did think a lot of that flower,
and no one but herself knew, or cared, that it was
Dan Grennan that had brought it to her, and it
only a little weeny bit of a thing. Kitty had
minded it so well, that it flourished up the finest
ever was seen. She was very fond of flowers, but
any little bit of a garden that ever she made, something<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[158]</span>
happened it; either the pigs rooted it, or the
hens tore it about. So to keep her geranium-pot
safe, it was up on top of the pump she had it, the
time the goslings died.</p>

<p>Mrs. Dempsey was making for it, to fling it pot
and all out of that, when, behold ye! she was took
bad all of a sudden. Some kind of Blessed Sickness
it was; and in the clap of your hand, it left her
speechless, and with no power of herself from the
waist down, ever after. In fact she didn’t last too
long after this happening. But, of course, Kitty
nor no one could know but she might live for years
yet.</p>

<p>When she was laid up that way, it left Kitty
there, nothing but a bird alone, as you might say;
the mother good for nothing, only having to be fed
and minded, the same as an infant child, and twice
as hard to please as any baby. Kitty was that
tender-hearted, that she fretted, night, noon, and
morning, when the old woman wasn’t able to
speak; though what all the neighbours were saying
was, “Won’t poor Kitty have great ease, now that
the mother’s tongue is stopped, the ould torment!”</p>

<p>But to listen to Kitty, you would believe there
never was another mother so good on the face of
the earth, as what she had herself.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[159]</span>Shortly after this taking place with the Dempseys,
the fair-day of Timahoe came round. Dark
Moll Reilly was in it, of course, herself and her
fiddle. No wake nor wedding nor sport of any
kind was right about Ardenoo, without Moll.</p>

<p>There was people of the opinion that the dark
woman could see more than she let on to be able to;
and that it was just a gait of going she put on, the
way she could get a better acquaintance with
things that were not meant for her. Certain it is
that there wasn’t a stir, far or near, or anything
going on about Ardenoo, but what Moll always
had the first whimper of it. But no one ever heard
a bad word from her, about any son of men; nor
she wouldn’t either. She knew only too well, that
she ought to be careful, and not have the people
afraid of her tongue. In that way, she had many
a snug stopping-place, where she was always made
welcome, with her fiddle and her chat about everything,
because the people felt Moll wasn’t one to
carry stories. Besides, she was a knowledgeable
person, and very understanding, and had made
up many a match among the neighbours at
Ardenoo.</p>

<p>Going away from the fair she was, this day,
when Big Cusack, that was a brother of Mrs.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[160]</span>
Dempsey’s, overtook her on the road, and asked
her would she sit up on the side-car with him, and
he could be giving her a lift as far as he was going
her way.</p>

<p>“I’m thankful to ye, sir,” said Moll, “but I
wouldn’t wish to be too troublesome....”</p>

<p>“Not the least trouble in life!” he said, and
gave her his hand across the well of the car, to help
her up. And then, when they were jogging on
again, they fell into chat and the whole topic
between them was, poor Kitty Dempsey and the
way she was left with the helpless old mother;
and she with ne’er a one in it but herself.</p>

<p>“But sure, she needn’t be so!” said Moll.
“There’s plenty of boys would be glad enough to
be sending in their papers there ... and she your
niece, too, Mr. Cusack!”</p>

<p>“Troth, I’m not so sure about the boys at all!”
said Big Cusack; “the most of them, they put a
high figure on themselves now. They’re not to be
caught with chaff, these times. Kitty Dempsey,
indeed, with no stock to speak of on the farm!
And it all racked out, the mother taking in grazing
cattle, and letting them eat the roots out of the
pasture ... and the ditches choked ... and
fences wanting to be made up ... let alone the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[161]</span>
two years’ rent that’s owing on the place this
minute....”</p>

<p>He had a sup taken at that time, or he wouldn’t
have been so talkative.</p>

<p>“Do you tell me that! Dear, dear!” said Moll;
though well she knew it all before he spoke. But
there’s no way so good to flatter people up, as to
listen to them talking as if it was all new to you,
although you might have the thing twice as well
off, as they would that were telling it. Dark Moll
was well aware of this. Besides, being old and
poor, as well as blind, the creature! of course she
knew she ought to be very humble in herself. So
she had the habit, as I said before, of being very
careful and exact in what she would say, and in
particular to a man like Big Cusack, a strong
farmer that had a right to every respect.</p>

<p>“I do tell you that, and, moreover, I’m sure of
it!” says he in answer.</p>

<p>“Troth, then, and I’m not one bit sure!” said
Moll, “askin’ your pardon and grantin’ your grace
for the word, Mr. Cusack! But I think, and not
alone that, but it’s too sure I am that there’s
plenty would jump at little Kitty Dempsey, ould
mother and all. Sure, she can’t last for ever, God
help her! and let her do her best. I know one,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[162]</span>
anyway, that I’m too sure would take her,” says
Moll, “this instant minute; a qui’t, settled boy, wid
money in the bank, as well as the snuggest place
you need ask to lay an eye upon! And he wanting
a woman there, this len’th of time! And well you
know that I’m only saying what’s the truth!”</p>

<p>“Who is it you’re speaking of?” asks Cusack.</p>

<p>“Why, who but Mickey Heffernan!” said Moll,
“away off at the Furry Farm; he’s after marrying
the sister Julia to a boy from Clough-na-Rinka
... one of the Caffreys ... but that’s no consarn
of a man like you, Mr. Cusack! But poor
Mickey hasn’t one to do a hand’s turn for him now,
barring himself. Sure he had a right to have
looked into the thing before this, and not be leaving
himself the way he is. And now he’s driving
about the country, I hear, looking for a wife; and
his spokesman with him....”</p>

<p>“I have no great acquaintance with the man,”
said Cusack.</p>

<p>“No, nor couldn’t,” said Moll; “Mickey was
like the rest of the Heffernans, great always at
keeping himself to himself. And the lonesome
place he has! But sure, if it was arranged, can’t
he come to live at Dempsey’s, and be seeing after
the two places from there, quite handy?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[163]</span>“That might answer,” says Cusack. “Middling
ould he is, I believe?”</p>

<p>“No more than sixty, if he’s that, itself,” said
Moll; “and as sound as a trout; ay, and maybe
would be better to Kitty than one of them young
bloomin’ boys that’s going these times, the sorra
much good they are only spreeing and play-acting....
But Mickey is not that way of thinking ...
real sober and.... Let me down off o’ the car,
Mr. Cusack, sir, if you please.... It’s to Biddy
Fay’s I’m going for the night....”</p>

<p>“We’re past it,” said Cusack.</p>

<p>Moll knew that, as well as he did. But it came
more natural to her to tell a lie than the truth,
even if it was to do her no good itself.</p>

<p>“Past the turn to Biddy’s are we? but sure
we can’t be far,” said Moll; “just stop if you
please, sir, and let me down and give me a twist
round to set me going right, and may the Lord
reward ye for helping the poor dark ould woman!”</p>

<p>So Cusack did that; but it wasn’t to Biddy Fay’s
Moll was steering; no, but passed on, and made
for the Furry Farm, as hard as she could go. It
was a long way, and she couldn’t make it that
night at all. But the next evening she got to
Mickey Heffernan’s right enough.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[164]</span>There was no one within at that time, except the
boy that was spokesman to Mickey in looking for
the wife. He was a neighbour’s son, well known to
Moll.</p>

<p>“So you haven’t Mickey marrit yet?” said Moll,
when they had passed one another the time of day.</p>

<p>“No, faith!” said the boy; “and sick and
tired I am of the job! God and the world wouldn’t
plase Heffernan with a wife!”</p>

<p>“Och, wait till your own turn comes round, me
hayro! maybe you’ll have picking and choosing
then....”</p>

<p>“When I want a wife, I’ll see to do the thing
myself!” said the boy; “I’ll have no interference,
only go and kill a Hussian for meself! Why can’t
a man go and make it all right with the girl herself,
and not to be having all this ould botheration...?”</p>

<p>“Musha!” says Moll, “there’s a great deal to be
looked into, besides the girl!”</p>

<p>So then she went on to talk of Kitty, and they
spoke about that over and over and up and down;
and at long last the spokesman agreed to bring
Heffernan across to Cusack’s the very next
Sunday; and he sent word by Moll.</p>

<p>That all came about; and very pleasant they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[165]</span>
were, all round. Heffernan and a few more; tea
they had and hot cake and punch afterwards.</p>

<p>“I thought to have the girl herself here,” said
Cusack, “but she’s not willing to leave the mother,
that’s ‘donny’ this len’th of time; and besides
she’s a bit timersome in herself....”</p>

<p>“She’s none the worse of that!” says the spokesman;
“and anyway, won’t it be time enough, when
we have all settled ... we’ll see her then....”</p>

<p>To make a long story short, they agreed about
the whole thing, that very evening; Cusack
praising up the Dempseys’ farm, sure, and all the
fine grass it was able to grow; and the spokesman
not one bit behind in making much of the Furry
Farm. Mickey himself said nothing, only sat
there smoking and looking into the fire.</p>

<p>And there’s the sort they were laying out for
little Kitty Dempsey! and he without a word to
throw to a dog! But they never minded him; only
settled everything, even to having the wedding in
a week from then. Heffernan and the boy went off
home, and Cusack went to his bed, very satisfied
with the work he was after putting over him.</p>

<p>Away with him the very next day to Dempsey’s
to tell Kitty. He found her very lonesome and
fretted.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[166]</span>“I miss me poor mother, every hand’s turn,”
she said; “now that she’s laid by in her bed.
And I dunno at all how I’ll get to mind her, the
way she should be attended to. Och, but it’s lonesome
the place is, without her voice, even to be
faulting me! And the doctor’s bottles to be paid
for...!”</p>

<p>So the uncle begins then to advise Kitty about
this thing and that, and how it was a thing impossible
for her to be thinking of going on the way
she was; she could never manage to do all. And
then he worked it round that she ought to get
married. And in the end he spoke of the fine
match he was after making up for her.</p>

<p>“What! It’s not ould Mickey Heffernan!” said
Kitty. “I never seen the man, but I remember
to hear me father, the heavens be his bed! speak of
him as a settled man, since I was the height of a
bee’s knee! An old fellah ...” and then Kitty
took to go cry the father, that had always been
so good to her.</p>

<p>“Hut, what at all!” said Cusack; and then he
began to reason cases with Kitty over the marriage,
reminding her that the mother was depending
out of her then; and what a good thing it would
be for them both, for Kitty to get Heffernan that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[167]</span>
was able and willing to pay up the rent that was
due on the Dempseys’ farm; and how would Kitty
like for them to be thrown out on the roadside,
instead of being left in the old home in comfort, and
having some one sensible to do all for them?</p>

<p>Poor little Kitty! she cried down tears like the
rain. For that was the first that ever she heard of
there being rent owing. It was the mother that
had managed badly to let that happen; she
couldn’t help it, maybe; and had never told Kitty
a word about it.</p>

<p>Kitty said now, would the uncle wait a bit, till
she could think it over? But Cusack saw no sense
in that; he being an experiented man in business
and money and all to that. He knew there might
only be unpleasantness, if there was any delay.
And maybe Heffernan might change his mind
about paying up, and then wouldn’t he only have
had his trouble for nothing, and Kitty not settled,
and where would the rent come from? Cusack
hadn’t it, nor wouldn’t know where to look for it.</p>

<p>So he just told Kitty that the gale-day was
coming round very shortly, and what was she going
to do, to make up the rent? And that cowed her,
the crature! and she was always biddable. Sure
she got the fashion of it, from the time she was able<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[168]</span>
to walk. So she gave in to what Big Cusack
said.</p>

<p>In due course, the day for the wedding came
round. There was a great gathering of the neighbours
and friends at Dempsey’s, and everything
done in the greatest of style, four bridesmaids for
Kitty no less. Cusack wanted to do the thing
right, when he went about it, and he took on the
ordering of it all.</p>

<p>Up bowls Heffernan’s side-car, and himself and
his friends; and he with a sprig of spearmint in his
coat for a buttonhole-bit; feeling as fresh in himself
as a rolled ass. But he was as white as the
snow about the head, and as lame as a duck, the
poor man! And when they saw him, spraddling
up towards the house, “Sure, that can’t be him
that’s going to be marrit!” said one of the bridesmaids.
Not one of them ever laid eyes on Mickey
before. He was never one for going about, as I
said, and in particular had given up the fashion of
even going to a wake, or any place of the kind,
where the boys and girls consort together, for
years past.</p>

<p>“Is it a wife he wants, or a coffin?” says another
girl; “bad scran to him, what a thing he wants
to go do, to get a girl to marry him!”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[169]</span>I needn’t say, Kitty wasn’t let hear these remarks.
But of her own accord, when Heffernan
got up to the door, she makes one fly, out of the
kitchen, and into her own little room, and begins
to cry. And the bridesmaids went after her, and
clapped the door to, and began flinging up their
hands, and crying “Och, wirra, wirra!” till you’d
think it was keening at a funeral they were, and
not at a wedding, where there should be nothing
but rejoicement.</p>

<p>The noise they made vexed Cusack.</p>

<p>“What nonsense is this?” he said; “let me have
no more of it! Go after Kitty,” he said, “and tell
her I order her to come out here, at once! and not
to be making a Paddy FitzSummons’s grandmother
of herself. Let alone of every one else!”
he says.</p>

<p>“Och, give her her time!” said Heffernan. It
was remembered to him after, that the only word
he said at that time was to try to pass things off
agreeably.</p>

<p>A comrade-girl of Kitty’s, that knew the ins and
outs of the whole affair, went up into the room
after her.</p>

<p>“Come back into the kitchen, Kitty agra!” she
said; “and give over that work.... Put by that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[170]</span>
pickther of poor Dan ... that’s all done with
... and where’s the sense in heating up old
broth...?”</p>

<p>But Kitty did nothing, only stand there with her
face to the wall in a corner, and she crying; while
outside in the kitchen, Cusack was raging like a lion.</p>

<p>“She should be made to come out here!” he
said; “I seen girls before now purshood through a
bog, and had to be tied on the car, to get them to
the chapel, the way they could be married....
Well, Moll Reilly, and is that yourself?”</p>

<p>“It is, it is, then! and God save all here!” said
Dark Moll, very breathless and hurried. “Where’s
Kitty? Not that I could see her! but sure I
thought she would be coming to bid me the <i>ceud
mile failte</i>!”<a id="FNanchor_13" href="#Footnote_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a></p>

<p>Cusack began to whisper to Moll, to explain
what was going on. But she seemed not to care to
hear him, and only anxious to get into where
Kitty was.</p>

<p>“Let me at her; I’ll go talk to her!” said Moll,
“and you’ll see I’ll soon make her l’ave that,
before I have done with her!”</p>

<p>And so she did, too. But it wasn’t exactly the
way Cusack thought.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[171]</span>“Take care! Mind yourself!” said he to Moll,
seeing her making a drive for the door of Kitty’s
room, the same as if she had the sight of her eyes.
But Moll was so taken up with what she had on
her mind, that for once she forgot she was blind.</p>

<p>“You’re wanting without there!” said Moll to
the bridesmaids; and when they were gone, said
she, very quiet and easy, “Who do you think I’m
after seeing ... I mean, after meeting up with
... there, a while ago?”</p>

<p>“I dunno,” said Kitty, giving a great sob.</p>

<p>“... and he looking into the well ... and
talking of how he used to be rising cans of water
there with you ... and then carrying them as
far as the turf-clamp....”</p>

<p>“Not Dan!” said Kitty. And she turned first
as white as paper and then as red as roses.</p>

<p>“Faith, who else?” said Moll.</p>

<p>“Ora, what made he come now? and it too late!”
And Kitty began to cry again.</p>

<p>“Late? the sorra late!” said Moll.</p>

<p>“Why wouldn’t it be late, and the wedding all
fixed up? ... let alone the rent that’s owing....”
Kitty was thinking that Dan had come
home as poor as he went.</p>

<p>“Och sure! ‘divil dance on the rint!’—there’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[172]</span>
the very word Dan said!” said Moll; “it’s churns
and ass-loads of money he has with him, that he’s
after bringing out of America!”</p>

<p>That was only foolish talk of Moll’s. A few
pounds was all Dan had been able to gather up
while he was away. But it was enough, for all
that. To start with, he had given Moll a half-sovereign
out of his purse, to let him have a word
with Kitty. Ay, and had promised her as much
more, if he got her. And Moll had never owned
that much before in her life. Whereas, all old
Heffernan would be good for would be an odd
copper or two, and maybe an apronful of potatoes,
whatever time they would be going to waste.</p>

<p>“Poor Dan, and he only landed home yesterday!”
said Moll; “and the fine figure of a man
that he is!”</p>

<p>“Ora, what will I do, at all at all?” cried Kitty,
with the tears pouring down her face. They two
were shut into Kitty’s room, while outside the
kitchen was full up of people, fidgeting about,
waiting for the bride to appear and passing the
time by looking at every mortal thing in the place.</p>

<p>The table was all laid out for the wedding
dinner, the greatest you could see. And when any
of the Dempseys’ friends would pass remarks,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[173]</span>
carelesslike, on the fine white table-cloth, or the
china teacups, or the silver forks and spoons; they
well knowing that all had been borrowed from
Miss O’Farrell above at the Big House ... on the
minute, Heffernan’s spokesman would cry out:
“We’ve bigger and betther at home, in our
place!”</p>

<p>But in Kitty’s room: “What will you do, is it?”
Moll was saying: “well, seeing the strong faction
that Heffernan has with him, there would be
neither sense nor reason in Dan Grennan’s coming
in for you among them all, and he without one,
only himself; barring that he could r’ise a ruction,
like Phaudrig Crohoore! But he never could; and
as he can’t come to you, you’ll have to go to him.”</p>

<p>“How so?” says Kitty; “they’re the full up of
the kitchen, so that I couldn’t pass them by; and
as for the window, it’s that small I needn’t try that
way; so what am I to do, Moll?”</p>

<p>“Troth, it’s you has little wit! What’s to ail
you, only to put on my cloak, and the hankercher
over your head, and draw it well down over your
eyes ... and who’s to know is it Dark Moll or
Kitty Dempsey?... I mean, Mrs. Dan Grennan,
that is to be...!”</p>

<p>“And then ... what am I to do, after?” said<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[174]</span>
Kitty, with a trembling in her voice. But there
was a kind of little smile in her eyes, too.</p>

<p>Moll explained the thing.</p>

<p>“You’ll meet Dan below, there at the well.
Sure it’s you that mightn’t be surprised to see him
there, nor he to see you, faith! And Heffernan’s
car is at the corner below, just out of sight of this
house.”</p>

<p>“But ... but....”</p>

<p>“And why not? Isn’t that car nearly yours,
this minute, and haven’t you every right, so, to
take the lend of it? And maybe you never would
have the chance again! Lepp up on it, yourself
and Dan! and off wid yiz to the chapel. Ould
Father Brogan is laid up in his bed, God assist him
from it, I pray! and it’s the new curate, that
doesn’t know Jack from Paddy in this parish, that
had to be sent by Father Brogan this morning, to
marry you and ... who will I say, eh, Kitty? Is
it ould Heffernan with his critch and his white
beard you’ll take, or Dan? You have your choice.
And there’s another thing! I gave word to a
brides-boy and girl to be waiting below there on
the road, and go with you, to give an appearance
to it all, and the way you’d not feel lonesome ...
and....”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[175]</span>“Are ye coming, Kitty?” said Cusack, with a
roar like a bull, he was so impatient.</p>

<p>“What’ll I do at all at all?” says Kitty to Moll,
most pitiful.</p>

<p>Moll opened the door a little bit.</p>

<p>“She’ll be wid yous, in one instant minute of
time,” she said to Cusack in a whisper; “wait
until I go to the well for a sup of water, to beethe
her timples.... It’s no way for a girl to be
getting marrit,” says Moll, “to have a pair of red
eyes, and a swelled nose upon her; and well you
know that, Mr. Cusack!”</p>

<p>“There’s water here in the kitchen,” said
Cusack. So there was, plenty.</p>

<p>“That’ll not do, it must be drawn fresh,” said
Moll.</p>

<p>“I’ll send a boy for it; here, Patsy! you’ll be
soupler than Moll!”</p>

<p>“Ora, will you be aisy! that would not answer at
all!” said Moll. “I must go for it wid meself and
no one else by; there’s a char-rum to be said over
the well ... and let no one speak a word to
Kitty while I’m doing all that!”</p>

<p>“Well, well, whatever you say!” said Cusack.
He knew Moll to be an experiented woman and so
she had her way.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[176]</span>Moll then as soon as she had the door shut again
on Cusack and all the people, was taking off the
cloak and handkerchief and giving all instructions
over again to Kitty, when, “Look-at-here!” said
Cusack; “more misfortunes!”</p>

<p>And over he rushed to the hearth, like a redshank,
to where the dinner was being cooked. A
great, sudden cloud of steam was rising up, and
threatening to destroy everything. The pig’s face
and greens was after boiling over into the fire, and
all the women gathered round, puffing and blowing,
striving to keep down the ashes that was powdering
over the fine elegant goose they had roasting
in front of the fire. The men just stood round,
their hands in their pockets and their mouths
gaping open, not able to do a hand’s turn, only all
very much engaged wondering what would become
of the dinner....</p>

<p>As Moll said after, ’twas God that done it, that
started the thing, so that she perceived ’twas little
they would be thinking of Kitty. “Here now,
here’s your chance, and take it, girl dear! Throw
the cloak about ye, and dart while you’re young!”</p>

<p>On the word, there stepped out into the kitchen
(to all appearance) Dark Moll, with her head
down, and off she went at a dog’s trot to the well.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[177]</span>
And not one even took notice that she never asked
to bring a can, or even a noggin with her, to get the
water in. In fact, not one of the wedding-party
thought of meddling with Moll (as they thought),
they were so taken up with the danger the goose
was running with the ashes.</p>

<p>But when all that was done with, they waited,
and they waited; at long last, first one and then
another slipped out to try could they see what was
delaying Moll at the well.</p>

<p>“Where must she be, the ould rap?” said
Cusack, very short.</p>

<p>“Here’s her cloak, anyway!” said a girl, picking
it up where Kitty had let it fall....</p>

<p>“Sure, that’s not Moll’s cloak, girl dear!” said
another, giving her a look to say no more.</p>

<p>There was a good deal of the people beginning to
have a suspicion that something was up.</p>

<p>“Your car is gone, Mr. Heffernan,” said one,
and then the spokesman said, “So it is! beyant
there it was heeled up....”</p>

<p>“Where’s Kitty? where’s Kitty?” shouts Cusack,
dashing back to the house, and on into her
room.</p>

<p>Of course, it was empty. Moll had watched her
opportunity and had slipped out of the house with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[178]</span>
the crowd, and whatever any one else might have
thought, Cusack took no notice, till he ran out
again, and met up with her near the well. It
wasn’t till then that he began to suspect some
villainy.</p>

<p>“Where’s me niece? where’s Kitty, I ask ye?
This is some of your tricks, ye ould faggot, ye!”
says Cusack, very fierce.</p>

<p>“Och, the Lord save us!” says Moll, pretending
to cry; “and that he may forgive you, Mr. Cusack,
for having the bad thought of a poor dark woman!
Is it me to go do the like! Sure yous all seen me,
and I going off for the water ... and it’s what I
must have took a wakeness and I coming back
... fell out of me standing, so I did; sure, isn’t
there me cloak upon the ground, where I had to
let it down off o’ me shoulders....”</p>

<p>What could Cusack say to that? And, indeed,
no more questions were asked then. For the
weight of the people could make a guess about
what was going on. And when the spokesman
called out, that they should pursue after them, for
who could tell what might be happening to Heffernan’s
side-car, and a lot of other boys, ready for a
bit of fun, began yoking up, there wasn’t a bridle
to be found! Stuck into the heart of the turf-clamp<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[179]</span> 
they were; got there that night late. But
no one ever knew who put them there.</p>

<p>There was nothing more to be done, then, except
to gather back into the house, and wait. And by
degrees, it appeared as if some that were there
knew more than they cared to tell. Whether they
did not, it vexed Heffernan’s party, who began to
look inclined for fight. Only for Dark Moll, indeed,
there might have been a bit of a row, but
she kept going about from one to another, talking,
and saying how that there was no use in crying
over spilt milk, and if Kitty itself was gone, wasn’t
there as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it?
So they all did their best to make the thing pass
over quietly. The dinner was nearly ready, and
wouldn’t it be a pity, they all thought, to have it
wasted! And Heffernan’s spokesman, when Big
Cusack said they might as well wait and take their
share of whatever was going, agreed, and added:</p>

<p>“We might as well! Sure won’t we have to stay,
anyway, till they’re back with the car! Mickey
would be hard-set to go any distance with that leg
of his!”</p>

<p>The boy was young, and had no intention of
losing his chance of whatever sport there might be,
no matter who got Kitty.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[180]</span>Heffernan as usual said nothing. He was looking
very down in the mouth. But who could
wonder at that, after the way things had gone
against him?</p>

<p>Before any more was said, back rolled the car,
and Mickey and the spokesman had to make the
best they could of seeing it, with Dan and Kitty
sitting upon it! It was fortunate that the new
curate that had just married them came with them,
for of course every one would be anxious to have no
unpleasantness before him. But, besides, there
was a girl with them, Margaret Molally by name,
that they had expected to the wedding, but had
been delayed; so that when the car overtook her,
as she was hurrying along to Dempsey’s, she was
glad enough to take the lift they offered her. And
Dan got her up beside him, he driving, while Kitty
and the curate sat together; and so Dan had
an opportunity of explaining the thing to Marg
Molally.</p>

<p>Between her and the young priest, everything
went off quite smoothly. He suspected nothing,
and so it was all the easier to keep up appearances
before him. As for Marg, she just went about
from one to another, now attending to the old
bedridden mother, and now helping with the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[181]</span>
cooking, or passing a pleasant remark to some of
the strangers that were there. Heffernan himself
showed up well. No one could have acted better
than he did that day. He showed no spleen, but
when they all had their dinners taken, and a glass
or two was given round, to set the thing going,
Mickey was the first to take the floor with the
bride, game leg and all; while Dark Moll played
up her best with “Haste to the Wedding!” and
“The Joys of Matrimony.”</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[182]</span>

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VI<br>

<small>A SETTLED GIRL</small></h2>
</div>

<p><span class="smcap">It’s</span> often remarked, that one wedding brings on
another; as if, you’d really think, the men were
like sheep, and if one ventures, the rest of the flock
will follow the same way, even if it’s over a cliff or
down the face of a quarry-hole. And that is how
the neighbours accounted to themselves for what
occurred at the Furry Farm, not long after the
affair at Dempsey’s that is after being related.
You’d think poor Mickey had had enough bad luck
to daunt a younger man than he was. Two fine
young girls he had been after, and still, there he
was, without a woman at home to look after the
place for him. But in spite of all, he appeared to
feel an interest in anything of the sort that would
be going on, as if he thought by that means to get
some insight into how the thing should be managed.
Still he couldn’t but feel that he had had enough of
looking for young, foolish persons, and that it
would be fitter for him to be thinking of one more<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[183]</span>
his own standing in life. He may have thought
this out for himself, or it may have been pure
Chance that brought him and Marg Molally together;
if there is such a thing as Chance! Anyway
Dark Moll had a hand in it too, as usual with
such affairs about Ardenoo. It certainly was
Moll’s doing that Marg was at the wedding at
Dempsey’s, and that began the whole business,
though Mickey never cast a thought on Marg that
day scarcely, nor she on him, except to be kind to
him; and that she was to every one there; she
couldn’t be different.</p>

<p>As for Moll, the design she had in persuading
Marg to go to the wedding had nothing at all to do
with Mickey or the Furry Farm.</p>

<p>At that time, there was not a more lonesome
creature in all Ardenoo than Margaret Molally!
She had not long before buried her father; and
that left her without one but herself, in the little
place they had, a bit up the boreen that borders
Dempsey’s farm. So she was sitting inside by the
fire, one fine morning, because she had no heart to
do anything else, when she heard some one coming
along towards the house; and by the knock-knock
of a stick upon the path she guessed it to be Dark
Moll. And so it was.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[184]</span>“God save all here!” said Moll, groping her way
forward, till she felt the half-door, and could lean
in over it. Blind and all as she was, it was seldom
Moll missed her mark.</p>

<p>“God save yourself, kindly, Moll,” said Marg,
getting up to bring the blind woman in; “but,
sure, there’s no one here now with me, only meself;
and not long I’m to be left here, either, by all I
hear!”</p>

<p>Her tears began to flow down again as she said
this.</p>

<p>“I got a slight knowledge of that,” said Moll,
when she got herself settled on the stool by the fire,
that Marg led her to; “just a whimper of it that is
going about through the people. But it’s hard-set
a poor blind body does be, to get at the rights of
a story. Ay, acushla! it’s easy to deceive Dark
Moll! But what I understand is,” she went on,
“that you’ll have to quit out of this; and, moreover,
they are all on the same word about it, that
it’s bad treatment for your poor father’s child!
Ay, indeed!”</p>

<p>“Sure, who ever heard of a girl being a herd
over a farm!” said Margaret.</p>

<p>That was the means of living the Molallys had
had. The father was herd on a small holding of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[185]</span>
land. He was a weakly, delicate man, that was
seldom able for a whole day’s work, though willing
always to do his best. But he was a nice, respectable
person, that could be depended on, and he had
the good word of all that knew him.</p>

<p>“A <i>girl</i> made herd?” said Moll; “well, I dunno!
and still they all tell me that it was yourself did
the weight of the work here, instead of the poor
father, those years past!”</p>

<p>“There was no one else,” said Margaret.</p>

<p>“Wasn’t there Larry, your brother?” said Moll;
“and he had a right to have stopped at home here,
to help them that reared him, and only the two of
you in it; instead of galloping off to America, the
way he did, and leaving all to you to do....”</p>

<p>“That’s all gone by now,” said Marg. She
didn’t want to hear Larry blamed; though it was
his fault that she was left now poor and alone.</p>

<p>The name Larry Molally had in Ardenoo was,
that he was “a bad bird, as ever flew! an arch-thief,
mixing himself up in every mischief about
the place, ever since he could mitch from school.”</p>

<p>In spite of that, and a great deal more that the
neighbours never knew, the mother doted on
Larry. It’s often the case, and the worse a child
behaves, the more anxious the mother is to make<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[186]</span>
excuses for him; as if he was blind or deaf, or even
had not right sense. God knows, maybe that is so,
and they go wrong because they have not the wit
to know the difference!</p>

<p>“Your poor mother that fretted for Larry!”
said Moll, with a change of tune as she noticed how
Marg spoke of the matter.</p>

<p>“She did so!” said Marg; “she got little and
humpy, and poor-looking in herself, no matter
what you’d try to do for her! She never would
stir out of that chimney-corner, only spinning and
knitting stockings to have ready for Larry, against
he’d come home to her! God help her! and there
they are yet, hanging by a cord across the chimney,
the very way she had them, when she was took
bad....”</p>

<p>“Ay! died off in the clap of your hand, so she
did!” said Moll. “Well I remember it! The light
of Heaven be with her soul, and the soul of your
father, this day, I pray; and what was it ailed him,
acushla?”</p>

<p>“A cold he took,” said Marg; “a cold that went
in on him, and turned to a suggestion on the lungs.
It was there, the doctor said, the whole demur was;
and he lasted very short, only the week, and went
off in the night-time, quiet and easy.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[187]</span>“I’m proud to hear that,” said Moll; “and,
moreover, so best, not to see him suffer long;
for when a disease like that gets its hold on you,
all the doctors from this to Jarminy won’t be of
the least assistance! But sure, we all have to go,
when our time comes round; and welcome be the
will of God!”</p>

<p>“It leaves me terrible lonesome here this day!”
said Margaret, wiping her eyes on her apron.</p>

<p>“Ay are ye lonesome,” said Moll, “and lonesome
again, to the back of that! But God Almighty
gives some people very quare treatment....
That’s a darling fine lot of little goslings you
have there ... as well as a poor body like me can
see ... I mean, can tell by the <i>yeep! yeep!</i> of
them. They’ll be worth good money to you, one
of these days! How many have you in the flock?”</p>

<p>“Six-and-twenty,” said Margaret, “but sure, I
have no heart for them or anything, now! and
don’t know where I can get a roof over my own
head, let alone the hens and geese, and the poor
cow, that’s after having twin calves, the finest that
you could lay eyes upon!”</p>

<p>“Twin calves!” said Moll; “that always is for
luck!”</p>

<p>“Och, for luck!” said Margaret. “There’s no<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[188]</span>
such thing for me as luck. I often wish I was done
with everything....”</p>

<p>“Ora, what kind of talk is that to be having!”
said Moll; “you’re just down a bit in yourself,
girl dear! But you won’t be so! To-morrow’s a
new day. And did you hear the great fine wedding
they’re to have above at Dempsey’s; for Kitty and
old Mickey Heffernan?”</p>

<p>“I heard nothing about it, only that it was to
be,” said Marg, “and could scarce believe it. But
sure, let every one please themselves! But as for
the wedding, I don’t know a ha’porth about it!”</p>

<p>“No, nor couldn’t,” said Moll, “living the way
you do, up this lonesome place! But you’ll be
there of course?”</p>

<p>“I’ll wait till I’m asked!” said Marg.</p>

<p>“And isn’t that what brought me here,” said
Moll quickly, so quickly that Marg never suspected
it was a lie of Moll’s. She was so well used
to saying whatever would serve her turn that any
one might be deceived into believing her. But
what Moll said to herself, by way of excuse, was
that she knew well Marg would be welcome, for
Kitty Dempsey had a heart as big as a box and
would welcome any old friend, such as Marg
Molally, with a <i>ceud mile failte</i>!</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[189]</span>“Of course you’re asked,” Moll went on, “and
expected, too; and why would you not go? Hold
up your head! there’s money bid for ye!”</p>

<p>“I’m done with all that sort of talk now,” said
Marg; “that may be left to the young girls....”</p>

<p>“I dunno about that!” said Moll; “it mightn’t
be too late at all for you. God’s good. And you
never can tell what floor you’ll meet your luck
on!”</p>

<p>“I have no great wish for going,” said Margaret,
then.</p>

<p>“Well, please yourself, and your friends will like
you the better!” said Moll; “only it’s too sure
I am that your father’s child would be welcome at
that wedding! The Dempseys had always a great
wish for the Molallys; and along with that, I was
thinking in meself, that if you were there, you
would be giving a hand with the poor old mother.
She’s more helpless this minute than an infant
child; God look down on all them that has no use
of their legs!”</p>

<p>“That’s another thing altogether,” said Marg;
“maybe I would take a streel up there.... Mrs.
Dempsey often was kind to us....”</p>

<p>“Her tongue that was the worst of her ...”
said Moll, “but maybe she couldn’t help it.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[190]</span>“Her bark was worse than her bite,” said Marg;
“and now, Moll, sit over to the table, and take
share of the bit of dinner....”</p>

<p>And when that was over, Moll went off to the
Dempseys’, and made it all right with Kitty about
Margaret Molally being asked to the wedding.</p>

<p>The reason Moll wanted that done was, to bring
round a plan she was trying to work out. It was
for her own good, but she oughtn’t to be too much
blamed for that! Any one like Moll has to think
for themselves. She was just depending out of God
and the neighbours; along with any little trifle she
could make out by the old fiddle, playing at fairs,
or wakes or weddings, as the case might be. But
it wasn’t much she ever got in that way, and she
never expected more than a few coppers. People
can’t give what they have not got. There were
other helps that Moll looked to; such as stopping
at Molally’s for a night or so, and getting a meal
there, when she would be in that direction. The
Molallys were good to her; and so she didn’t
like the notion of Marg’s leaving that house, and
maybe whoever would come after her might not
be so agreeable.</p>

<p>This is why Moll was making up a match in her
own mind, for Margaret, with a boy that was a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[191]</span>
second cousin’s son of her own, and that was very
well acquainted with Mickey Heffernan, being in
fact his spokesman at that time, and having made
up the match for him with Kitty Dempsey. Moll
knew that this boy, Jack Rorke by name, would be
at the wedding, of course; and her idea was to get
him and Marg acquainted. Then there might
be another wedding, between them; Jack Rorke
might slip in for the herding that old Molally used
to have, and Marg could remain on in her home.
But above all, in that case, Moll would still be able
to stop there when it suited her, and get the best of
treatment, as she always had, from the Molallys.</p>

<p>Moll was right about the Dempseys.</p>

<p>“It’s proud we’ll be to see any old friends here
that day, such as one of the Molallys,” said Big
Cusack, who was managing the whole thing for
Kitty.</p>

<p>“I was sure of that,” said Moll, “and I’m ready
and willing to call over and bring poor Marg any
message you send....”</p>

<p>Cusack was sitting outside the door, smoking a
pipe, and he went on to say, “What I often do be
thinking is, why isn’t that fine decent girl married
herself?”</p>

<p>“Musha, then you couldn’t tell, nor no one<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[192]</span>
could!” said Moll; “nor yet how a thing of the
kind might come about still!”</p>

<p>“Good and hard-working she is,” said Cusack,
“and comes of a decent stock. And I understand
she has a snug little fortune, that the poor father
laid by for her, too. I don’t know, in this world
wide, what the boys can be thinking about, that
she’s not married long ago! They have no
sense, or one of them would have had her before
this!”</p>

<p>“Well, it’s often I heard it said,” answered Moll,
“that every dog has his day; and that every
woman gets her chance; and so it will be with
Marg!”</p>

<p>She was thinking of the young cousin she had in
her mind, to marry Marg. Little she or any one
else except herself and the one boy knew that
Margaret Molally had had her chance, years ago,
and had let it pass her by! Marg was like other
girls in that. But the difference was in herself.</p>

<p>People talk about girls and courting as if they
were all made after the one pattern, and what one
does is the same as all the rest. But girls are as
different in their natures as in their looks. Some
are all for fun with any boy they meet; and others
are as shy and as silent and stiff as a young filly off<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[193]</span>
the side of a mountain; and there are good and bad
of both sorts.</p>

<p>Margaret was one of the quiet ones; timid and
proud and humble always, though she needn’t have
been, she was so fine and handsome. She would
take the eye, anywhere, so that you would think
she might pick and choose among the boys of
Ardenoo. So whatever made her take a fancy to
Patsy Ratigan, it would be hard to explain. For
he was what is known as a “bit of a play-boy”;
always up to some sport; as different from Marg
as dark is from day. But she thought that the sun
shone out of Patsy; and they would have made a
match of it, sure enough, only for Marg’s brother
going off to America, the way he did.</p>

<p>That was what upset all Margaret’s plans. In
the first place, she saw very plainly that it would
never do for her to be thinking of her own concerns,
or to dream of leaving the old people. The father
was failing in health, and the poor mother could
do nothing but fret after Larry. That wasn’t all.
When Larry went, he had taken Marg’s fortune
with him; took it down from where it was hidden,
up in the thatch, to pay his passage to America!
the money that was saved for Margaret, and that
she herself had helped to put together!</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[194]</span>A mean, bad trick it was of Larry’s, so much so
that the Molallys could not say a word about it,
for shame’s sake, to think that their son should rob
his own sister. At least, that is how Margaret and
the father felt. But the poor mother took his part
even then, and said, why wouldn’t he take it!
Hadn’t a son as good a right as a daughter to
anything about the place? and better, too! And
then she cried and said, she never thought Marg
would grudge his share to poor Larry! and he her
only brother, and no harm in him, only a bit of
foolishness.</p>

<p>Marg said no more. But she knew well that once
the money was gone, it was gone for good and all;
they need never hope to get so far before the world
again. And she would never marry into the
Ratigans unless she could bring money with her,
to have them passing remarks about her and her
people.</p>

<p>Most of the money that Larry took away with
him had been put together by Mrs. Molally and
Margaret. Whatever they made by their eggs and
butter and so on they saved for Marg’s fortune,
and added it to anything the father could lay by
for the same purpose, after the rent and other
debts were paid. That was little enough! But<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[195]</span>
the two women would always be having something
to sell. Mrs. Molally, in particular, was noted for
that. It was sometimes said that all she wanted
was to get Marg married and “from under her feet
in the house, the way she could have the place to
herself and be looking after the father and Larry,
without any one else to interfere between them.”
That might be; she might have felt jealous of the
way the father had, of looking to Margaret for his
pipe of an evening, or the clean collar for Mass on
Sunday. And many a mother has to let her girl
get the upper hand of her at her own fireside. But
Mrs. Molally wouldn’t have that at all; why would
she, a fine, able woman she was, at that time? And
she never cared for Margaret a bit the way she did
for Larry.</p>

<p>But all her plans failed with the poor woman.
Her heart’s darling, Larry, went off, without even
saying good-bye to her or any one in the old
home ... of course, he might have been ashamed,
seeing he was robbing them at the same time; and
Margaret was left with her, the daughter that she
would have given cheerfully, body and bones, for
Larry’s little finger. And all the savings of years
gone too.</p>

<p>With things like that, Margaret made up her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[196]</span>
mind to give no more encouragement to Ratigan,
at least for a while. Still, she would scarcely have
broken with him the way she did, if she had seen
him soon after Larry disappeared. Her heart was
very sore then, not alone the disappointment and
disgrace about Larry, but the way the mother was
taking it, as if she was inclined to lay blame upon
Marg herself.</p>

<p>Ratigan had the fashion of strolling up of an
evening to Molally’s, on the chance of meeting
Marg out through the fields; for she used to go
through them, to count the cattle, to save her
father from walking all the land, when maybe he
would be feeling tired. Marg did that faithfully
for him, and I need not say, it came all the easier
to her when Patsy Ratigan would join her and have
a chat with her.</p>

<p>She never knew, till after Larry went, how much
she used to count on seeing Ratigan; for although
she had no intention of telling him, or any one else,
all that had taken place, it would have cheered her
to have a word with some one young like herself,
and that would have been able to speak of other
things. The old people could do nothing but fret.</p>

<p>But Ratigan never came, for over a week. It
was really nothing worse than a bit of a spree that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[197]</span>
he was on, as had often occurred before, without
Margaret’s knowing exactly what was going on.
But to have it happen now! Margaret thought
the wide world was overshadowed by their trouble,
and she could not understand why Ratigan did not
come to help to lighten it for her.</p>

<p>So she was half-wild with grief and longing and
disappointment the evening that Larry did at last
appear again.</p>

<p>“Good-evening, Marg,” he called out to her,
where she was standing in a wide pasture-field;
“let me get beyant them bullocks for you, and
head them back.... You’re a bit late, aren’t
ye?”</p>

<p>She was, and it was growing dusk.</p>

<p>“I’m obliged to ye,” said Marg, feeling her face
stiffening as she spoke; “but when I want help,
I’ll ask it!”</p>

<p>“What’s astray with ye?”</p>

<p>“Nothing in life,” she said, raising her eyes to
Patsy’s face, and he looked so smiling and careless
that she could not stop herself from going on,
“only I’m of the opinion that every one should
mind their own business!”</p>

<p>“I’ll be making off with meself, in that case,”
said Ratigan.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[198]</span>“You might do worse,” said Margaret.</p>

<p>And all the time, she could have bitten her
tongue out, that said such bitter things to him.</p>

<p>Ratigan was said to be a “bit short in the
temper.” But any one might have been vexed at
what Marg had said then. He just turned off, and
went away, without another word. And not long
afterwards, Margaret heard that he, too, had
quitted out for America.</p>

<p>There were people to say, that Patsy Ratigan
had reasons of his own for going, and that he didn’t
leave until he could not do anything else. But
Margaret knew nothing of that. Girls never do
know half the queer things that the boys are up to!
If they did, there would be more of them sitting
contentedly at home, and better off there, than
marrying. But they won’t believe that, nor
wouldn’t, if you were to put your eyes upon sticks!</p>

<p>No, Marg knew nothing of Patsy’s wild doings.
She thought he went away because she had spoken
so coldly to him that evening. And though she
often said to herself, that it was better so, and
that anyway, on account of the money being gone,
she would have had to give him up, still...!</p>

<p>Many and many a night, when all the world was
asleep around her, Margaret would be lying awake,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[199]</span>
and would cry a sackful, thinking of Patsy, and
wondering would he meet Larry, for weren’t they
both in America! And had she any right to be
short with him?</p>

<p>She had done it all for the best, but even that
won’t keep you from fretting, when a thing is past,
and you feel that you went against your own heart,
and still, you have room to wonder, were you right?
or would it have been better to have left it alone?</p>

<p>But Almighty God doesn’t ever bring back the
past. Of course, He could, if He chose; but all
we know is, that He never does. Marg was often
heart-sick, going over what had been said, between
herself and Ratigan, that evening in the pasture-field.
And it was long enough before she gave up
fancying that if only she looked down the boreen
at dusk, she would see Ratigan going along home
from his work, with his coat thrown loosely across
his shoulders, and he whistling, and jigging a step
now and then. Patsy was as lovely a dancer of a
reel as you need ask to see. Margaret then did her
best to stop thinking about him at all.</p>

<p>“I’ll not expect to hear a word afore Hollintide!”
she would say to herself, and begin maybe counting
eggs she would be about bringing to Melia’s
shop. Then it was, “afore the Chrisemas”; and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[200]</span>
then “Shrove Tuesday.” So she wore the time
away, measuring it by the Saints’-days and holidays.
But not a sign did Ratigan make.</p>

<p>Not long after, the mother died; and with this
new loss, the sharpness of the pain round her heart
about Patsy began to wear off, by degrees. One
consolation she had; not one but herself and Ratigan
ever knew that they had been “speaking”;
as far as she could tell.</p>

<p>So the years rolled on, and Marg Molally was
getting to be what you might call a “settled girl”;
quieter and more retired on herself than ever. She
seemed to have no wish for doing anything, except
minding the old father and their little place. And
she was beginning to grow more contented, every
day that passed over her head. She had plenty to
keep her going, from dawn till dark; and, moreover,
her heart was in her work, for she was kind to every
living thing under her care.</p>

<p>“It’s pets Marg makes, out of even the ducks
she rears!” the neighbours would say. “Blue
ribbons you’ll see next, tied round the lambs’
necks! sich nonsense to be getting on with! as if
she wouldn’t have enough to do, without that
foolishness!”</p>

<p>Whether she ever went so far as that or not, I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[201]</span>
can’t say; but whatever she had, throve ahead. And
as for the young lambs that she would rear on the
cup, wouldn’t any one be fond of them! To see how
they’ll run races with one another, a whole flock of
them! and play up and down a sunny bank! Any
one would feel delighted to be watching them.</p>

<p>And a lone woman like Marg has her feelings,
just the same as one that has a houseful of children.
If you try to stop spring water from running its
own course, won’t it take and bubble out by some
other vent? And so by Marg. She had to be
caring for something. And she did it well; and,
signs on it, there was a look of comfort and order
about her little home, that every one noticed. And
money’s worth had gathered there, too; though of
course the old stocking that Larry had emptied had
never been filled again. Above all, the old father
was cherished and made happy, in every way that
was possible. Marg thought nothing a trouble that
she could do for him. In fact, nothing was any
trouble to her, that he wished done. Love makes
easy labour.</p>

<p>Then he died; and lonesome and fretted was
Margaret, when she found herself without him,
and not knowing where she would turn to make
herself a home again.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[202]</span>And still she found herself going off to the wedding
at Dempsey’s that had occasioned so much
talk at Ardenoo. Marg went, but she kept herself
very quiet all through. There was a great deal
that wanted doing at Dempsey’s that day, what
with the helpless old woman and everything else;
and Marg would rather be putting her hand to
business such as getting dinner ready, or putting
down the fire, than to be mixed up with the young
boys and girls and their jokes and fun.</p>

<p>That is how it happened that scarcely any one
that was there took notice of Margaret; and
Heffernan in particular knew nothing of her being
there among the other people, until he had done
the dance with Kitty. It was no right thing to do,
to persuade a man like Mickey that was on in
years, and stiff, as well as lame of one leg, till they
got him out on the floor to dance, just to raise a
laugh. But what do young people think of only to
get their bit of fun where they can!</p>

<p>When the dance was over, Heffernan was ready
to drop, puffing and blowing, and he staggered
over to where Dark Moll was sitting, playing her
fiddle, with Margaret close beside her. Up she
jumped at sight of Mickey, to leave a seat empty
for the poor old fellow; and the way he would not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[203]</span>
be thinking that she did that on purpose, she said,
“Now that’s over, we may as well be getting ready
another round of tay; dancing is drouthy work!”</p>

<p>So she went over to the hearth, to take up the
teapot out of the ashes where she was keeping it
warm; and Dan Grennan was standing there, and
talking about all the sights and queer ways he met
in America.</p>

<p>“And who should I bob up against, only last
winter,” he went on, “but a near neighbour of our
own here ... one of the Ratigans ... yous
remember Patsy?”</p>

<p>At that word, Margaret turned very white, and
she stooped down, as if she wanted to rake the
ashes together. And said some one, “How is
Patsy doing out there? Has he anny intentions of
coming home for a wife, like yourself?”</p>

<p>“Och, the divil an intention!” said Dan; “sure,
isn’t he well settled in there already? He’s marrit
this len’th of time; to a widdy woman with a fine
shop and a family too....”</p>

<p>Marg raised herself up then, and her face was
blazing, and her eyes like coals of fire. But she said
nothing; only went back, quiet and easy, to the
corner where she had been sitting, and began by
offering the first of the tea to Heffernan. And<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[204]</span>
when he had it taken, he looked up at Marg, very
gratefully.</p>

<p>“That’s good!” he said; “that’s the way I
like tay! hot and sweet, and that strong, you could
raddle lambs with it!”</p>

<p>Truth to tell, there was no scarcity nor meanness
of any kind at that wedding; Dark Moll found it
hard to carry away her share of what was left over,
when every one had had enough.</p>

<p>In spite of what she got, and the good treatment
she met with, she was discontented in her own
mind. For do what she would, she could not get
Margaret into discourse with the boy she had laid
out for her. But Moll was as steadfast as a weasel
to any plan that ever she formed.</p>

<p>It might have been a month or more after the
wedding at the Dempseys’, that Mickey Heffernan
was outside in front of his house, sitting on the bit
of old wall, because the height of it just favoured
the game leg, and enabled him to rest himself without
having to stoop. He was feeling lonesome, and
looking as forgotten as a hen without a tail. Small
blame to him, if he did feel down in the mouth!
after the trick that was played on him, and that
lost him the fine young wife he thought to bring
home to the Furry Farm. And then, to make it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[205]</span>
worse, to see how simply little Barney Maguire
could get a woman! and one that seemed suitable
every way you looked at it.</p>

<p>Mickey had been there for some time, when he
heard a cough. He looked round, and who was it,
a few perch away on the road, but Dark Moll.</p>

<p>“Hi!” shouted Mickey to her; “where are you
off to, in such a murthering hurry, Moll?”</p>

<p>“Who’s that, that’s calling me, in the name of
God?” said Moll, in a small, weak kind of a voice,
as if she was frightened at hearing him.</p>

<p>“Sure it’s only me ... Mr. Heffernan,” said
Mickey; “who else?”</p>

<p>“The Lord save us! and is it a-by the Furry
Farm I am?”</p>

<p>“Where else?” said Mickey.</p>

<p>“Well, now, isn’t it the poor case to have no use
of your eyes,” said Moll.</p>

<p>But well she knew where she was! and had intended
in her own mind to get a chance of talking
to the boy, Jack Rorke, that she wanted for Marg,
and thought might be with Heffernan yet. And
along with that, she thought of having a chat with
Heffernan himself to see if he would be willing to
put in a good word for Jack, and recommend him
for the herding that Marg was to be put out of,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[206]</span>
now the father was dead. For Heffernan being
a respectable, well-thought-of person, a character
from him would be worth having.</p>

<p>“Come along in, Moll,” said Heffernan, “and
give us any news that’s going!”</p>

<p>“I’ll take a sate, and be thankful to ye, Mr.
Heffernan,” said Moll. “But for news ...
sorra bit of ‘chaw-the-rag’ there is to be had, as
far as poor ould Moll can tell!”</p>

<p>Moll knew that scarcely anything was being
spoken over still at that time, in all Ardenoo,
but the wedding at Dempsey’s; and she didn’t
want to let Heffernan hear of that through her.</p>

<p>“And how did ye get this far?” asked Mickey.</p>

<p>“Shanks’ mare,” answers Moll. “Stopping below
there at Molally’s I was last night and
thought to get carried, with Marg and the ass,
when they went off to the fair this morning. But
at the last minute, she made up her mind to part
them twin calves of hers, if she could get any kind
of a price for them. Sure she doesn’t know what
way to turn, the crathur, and annoyed she is trying
to think what to do, and she having to quit out
of her own little place ... so there was only
room for the two little bastes in the cart, and her
and me had to walk; we parted company a piece<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[207]</span>
off and she went along on to the fair, and I was to
wait about.... I had no wish to go any farther,
not feeling too well.... And I wonder what luck
poor Marg is having, or did she sell at all? I hear
there’s a big droop in the price of all stock. But
sure, it’s better for a body be moving somewhere,
even if it’s only to get you a prod of a thorn in the
toe!”</p>

<p>“Marg? that’ll be a dauther of old Molally’s
beyant, that is only after dying?” said Heffernan.</p>

<p>“The very person,” said Moll; “nice and even-going
and quiet, and the girl the same. And not
one in it now, only herself!”</p>

<p>“It’s a poor thing, to be with only a body’s self,
then!” said Mickey; “the same as me; I haven’t
one about the place inside or out, but meself; and
I wanting to go to the fair to look for a couple or
three calves and pigs. But how could I and leave
the house without one to keep an eye on things
here, while I’d be away!”</p>

<p>“Do you tell me that? why, where’s your sarvint
boy, Jack Rorke it was you had lastly!”</p>

<p>“Gone!” says Heffernan; “he gave me impidence;
said, indeed, that he had no notion of
lighting the fire or swinging on a pot to boil ...
that it was girl’s work I was expecting of him. So<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[208]</span>
with that, I let out, and hit him a ding in the face.
I thought to give him a knuckle in the throat, but
it was the jaw-bone I struck; and see the way it
left me! But sure I forgot; you can’t see that, or
anything else!”</p>

<p>“The Lord help you!” said Moll, very pityingly.
“And where is Jack?”</p>

<p>“I never laid an eye on him since,” said Heffernan,
indifferently; then, getting confidential, “I’m
disappointed and put about, every way! Look at
me now, and I after getting all the house whitewashed,
and even a fresh load of gravel thrown
down before the door ... and a new leg after
going into the kitchen table ... and all that
trouble and expense gone, for nothing as a body
might say!”</p>

<p>“You may say that!” said Moll; “things do
turn out very contrairy betimes, and let people do
their best endayvours! Here now,” she went on,
“is a pair of stockings I’m after knitting for Jack
that’s a third cousin of me own ...” for she
wanted now to make some excuse up for having
come there at all; “but now, as he’s not with you,
I dunno will I give them to him at all!”</p>

<p>“He’s not worthy of them,” said Mickey, eyeing
the stockings in Moll’s hand, and from them<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[209]</span>
looking down to where his own were showing above
the rims of his brogues, and thinking that there
was scarcely an inch of the same stockings but was
holes, for the want of some woman to dam them
for him; “Jack’s not worthy of them. But as you
have them this far, if you’d sooner not be having
to carry them back again, you can just leave them
here, and I’ll see to make some use of them.”</p>

<p>“They’d not be suitable for your wear, Mr.
Heffernan,” said Moll; “just only coarse, plain
knitting of me own pattern....” Moll had no
wish to let Mickey have them at all. He was
known to be a bit near and “grabbish”; and she
knew he’d not give her more than maybe a handful
of meal or a few potatoes for the stockings.</p>

<p>“Och, they’re not too bad at all,” said Heffernan.
He liked nothing better than to get something
for nothing. So Moll then changed her
tune.</p>

<p>“Well, sure you’re welcome to them! or anything
else I’d have, only they’re not good enough
... but a poor ould body like me, it’s little I have
at any time.... And is it gone for good Jack
Rorke is?” she said.</p>

<p>“Good or bad, he’s gone out of this; and far
better off I am, without him or the likes of him!”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[210]</span>
said Mickey; “he’s as stupid as a kishful of
brogues. And lazy along with all!”</p>

<p>Heffernan went on talking like this, never remembering
that Moll had said Jack was a cousin
of hers. But he was a bit stupid himself, as well
as the boy he was abusing. And Moll was too cute
to let him see if she was vexed. Anyway, what did
she care about Jack? and in particular when it was
from a man like Heffernan that the talk and fault-finding
was coming.</p>

<p>“He was fit for nothing in life,” Mickey went on,
“only standing about, watching a hen to go lay!
I’m well rid of Jack! But I’ll have to get some one
in his place! I’m not all out as souple as I used
to be!”</p>

<p>Well, that minute a new plan came into Moll’s
mind. She saw only too plainly that Jack Rorke
would have no chance of a character from Heffernan;
and without that, from the last man that
had employed him, Jack would never get the
herding.</p>

<p>So, as quick as a flash, she began on a new tack.</p>

<p>“It’s a woman you want here, Mr. Heffernan!
getting married is what you have a right to be
thinking about....”</p>

<p>She felt a trifle awkward in saying that word<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[211]</span>
“married,” seeing the hand she had had in the
Dempsey wedding. But Heffernan made her no
answer. It appeared really as if he never knew
rightly whether to laugh or to be angry at the
trick that Moll put Dan and Kitty up to. And, at
all events, Moll had been so cute over it, that she
never got the share of blame that was hers by
right.</p>

<p>Moll began again, when she saw how quiet
Mickey took what she said.</p>

<p>“You’re lonesome here, Mr. Heffernan, but I
know a girl that’s worse off, even! and faith! I’m
thinking it’s what it’s a pity to be spoiling two
houses with the pair of yous!” and then she
stopped.</p>

<p>Heffernan still said nothing, till he had the pipe
filled again, and drawing well. Then, when he had
it going to his liking, he appeared to take heart,
and he said: “And who might that be? not that
I’m one for making up me mind in a hurry....”</p>

<p>“You’re right there, too!” said Moll; “and
above all to be cautious, before you tie a knot
with your tongue that you can’t unloose with your
teeth! But now ... if you were to get word of a
nice, decent little girl, with a cow, and a couple
of pigs and ... not to mention the calves that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[212]</span>
... and as purty a breed of geese as there is in
Ireland....”</p>

<p>“Well, and who are you talking about?” said
Mickey, his mouth watering, you’d think, to hear
of all Marg’s stock.</p>

<p>“Why, who but Marg Molally!”</p>

<p>“I have no acquaintance with the girl,” said
Mickey.</p>

<p>“Ay, have ye!” said Moll; “isn’t it her was at
Dempsey’s that night ... and brought you over
the tay ... and aren’t you after hearing all about
her now from me, too!”</p>

<p>“Was that her at Dempsey’s?” said Heffernan;
“and good tay it was, too! She can’t be too
young?”</p>

<p>“No,” said Moll; “but what does a sensible
man, like yourself, with a place that’s worth looking
after, want with one of them whipsters of girls,
that would be for ever dressing herself up, and off
to every wake and wedding in the place. Far
more comfort there will be with one that would
have her mind on her business, and be striving to
keep a man’s things together for him!”</p>

<p>“I’d always wish to have the place someways
decent!” says Mickey.</p>

<p>“To be sure you would, and why wouldn’t<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[213]</span>
ye? Whisht now! is that wheels I hear?” said
Moll.</p>

<p>“Faith, I believe so,” said Mickey; “them
that hasn’t eyes has ears!”</p>

<p>“That will be Marg, coming back from the
fair,” said Moll; “and now, Mr. Heffernan, I
may’s well be cuttin’ me stick and paring it along
the road, the way I won’t be keeping the poor girl
waiting on me, below there at the cross-roads. We
have it laid out that we’ll meet there, when she’s
on her way home; and I’ll go back with her, to
be company to her this night, anyway, God help
her!”</p>

<p>“I may’s well go that far with you,” says
Mickey, getting down stiffly from the wall, and
reaching for the stick that he always had convenient
to his hand.</p>

<p>“In the name of God, then, do so!” said Moll.</p>

<p>Heffernan meant by that, to get a look at Marg;
and so he did. For there she was, waiting as Moll
had said. She was standing by the little ass, with
her hand on its neck, and her head a bit bowed,
and the look in her face would put you in mind of
the picture of the Virgin Mary in the chapel, it
was so sorrowful and patient. She was tired out,
with the heat of the day and the noise and confusion<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[214]</span>
in the fair; and she had on the big blue cloak
that came to her from the mother. It was the
weight of two cloaks, it was so good and heavy.
And she had a blue handkerchief on her head, tied
under her chin, and a grand big blue apron, over
her red skirt, that was made of wool from her own
sheep, and by her own two hands. Those colours
were in the picture, too.</p>

<p>She and Heffernan passed the time of day with
one another; and then he asked, “Is it buying or
selling you were to-day?”</p>

<p>“Striving to sell, I was,” said Margaret; “but
could get no price worth while; and besides I
hadn’t it in my heart to part those two little
calves, unless I got a real good offer for them!
But now I’m wishful that I had got shut of them,
at any money, and not have to bring them home,
and the poor ass gone lame on me!”</p>

<p>“Lame, is she?” said Mickey; and he hobbled
over, to have a look at what was wrong; and hard-set
he was to stoop to look at the donkey’s feet, he
was so stiff.</p>

<p>“She is so, lame, and very lame!” said Marg; “as
lame as a duck; I doubt will she ever get home
to-night, and then what will I do, at all at all!”</p>

<p>She looked ready to cry.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[215]</span>Heffernan stood and thought; and Moll watched
him as if she had her sight, thinking to herself,
“If only you’d let me manage the thing for ye!”</p>

<p>But Moll knew when to hold her tongue.</p>

<p>At last, said Heffernan, “If it would be any convaniency
to you to leave ass and calves at my
place, there a piece up the boreen, until the lameness
wears off, sure, why not, and welcome!”</p>

<p>Margaret said nothing for a minute, but while
she was thinking what to answer that would be
suitable, Moll struck in her word, “Sure, that’s the
great plan, all out, of yours, Mr. Heffernan!”</p>

<p>“That ass,” Mickey went on, “will never get
the cart and its burden home to-night!”</p>

<p>Marg looked the ass all over, and even led her
on a few paces, to see if it was only that she was
pretending; for asses have their tricks betimes like
that. But it was worse she was by then, scarcely
able to keep on her feet at all.</p>

<p>So Margaret gave in to what Heffernan said;
and they all turned about, and went up to the
Furry Farm. A fine, comfortable place it was, too,
as far as sheds and hay and straw went, all very
complete and plentiful.</p>

<p>So there was no delay in finding room for all
Margaret’s belongings, and settling them in great<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[216]</span>
comfort. And then Heffernan said, “If yous would
step inside, I’ll be pleased to have your company
to tay.”</p>

<p>“Troth and we will! it’s meself that’s very
drouthy wid the great heat of the day.... And
that God may reward ye, Mr. Heffernan, for the
kind thought!” said Moll, beginning to speak very
free, and then ending humbly, when she thought of
herself. But any one like Moll that has to look
out for themselves doesn’t like to lose the chance
of a stray meal. It was different with Marg. Still,
she did not wish to seem unfriendly with the man
that had just been so good-natured to her; so she
and Moll went into the kitchen, Mickey showing
them the way.</p>

<p>The look of it! Everything was in a muddle; the
remains of the dinner on the table; the floor not
swept over; not a thing washed up, you’d think,
for a month of Sundays; hens picking about, and
the dog with his nose into the pig’s pot.</p>

<p>“Go ’long out o’ that!” said Mickey, making a
whack at him with the stick. He lost his balance
and down he fell, with his head into the fire, only
as luck would have it, it was out.</p>

<p>“Och, murther! I’m kilt!” he cried.</p>

<p>“The Lord save us!” said Margaret; and she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[217]</span>
ran over, to pull him out of the fire, as she supposed.
She had a fine strong arm; and she had
him raised in no time.</p>

<p>“Are you much hurted?” she asked, in great
concern.</p>

<p>“The sorra hurt,” he said; “but only for
you....”</p>

<p>He was trembling all over. Any one on in years
will feel a fall like that to be a great shock.</p>

<p>“Sit down there, a minute or two,” said Margaret,
and she pulled over a big chair, and put him
into it. It chanced to be the very chair he always
sat in.</p>

<p>“Rest yourself now, and I’ll do what’s required....”</p>

<p>That was always the way with Margaret. If
anything had to be done, she didn’t stop to ask,
“Whose business is it?” and neither would she
interfere. But if she saw no one else making a
move, then she did the thing herself, and without
making any talk about it.</p>

<p>Besides that, she felt very sorry for old Mickey,
seeing him so helpless. As long as he was moving
about, and had his stick, he managed right
enough. But without it, and lying as he did after
the fall, he was as helpless as an infant.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[218]</span>“I believe the fire is black out, this minute!”
said Heffernan, beginning to laugh, and half
ashamed of the fright he had got, when he fell,
and only into cold ashes.</p>

<p>“Sure it won’t long be so!” said Margaret;
and she set to work and in no time she had a
blazing hearth, and the kettle on the boil.</p>

<p>“Do I hear the water sizzling out into the fire
already,” said Moll; “that’s a good sign of you,
Marg!”</p>

<p>“How so?” said Marg.</p>

<p>“Sure, doesn’t all the world know that when a
girl has good success with a fire, and it kindles up
quick for her, that’s a certain sign that her ‘boy’
is thinking of her!”</p>

<p>Marg’s face fell, but neither Heffernan nor old
Moll perceived the change in her. So she pulled
herself together, and got the supper ready for the
three of them, as if she had been used to the house
all her life. And when they were done, she washed
up and put all straight, while another would be
thinking about it; and Heffernan sat in his big
chair, with the pipe in his mouth, and watched
Marg moving about, and looked very contented.</p>

<p>“That’s something like, now!” was all he said.
But he was remembering his sister Julia, and how<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[219]</span>
smart and hard-working she had been; too much
so, in fact! because there were days when herself
and her besom would be too much for Mickey,
and he would have no peace anywhere in the house.
Still, he didn’t like the dirt and confusion, now
that Julia was gone. So that’s why he enjoyed
seeing Marg putting the things in order again.</p>

<p>When she had it all finished, it was beginning to
grow dusk, and said Heffernan, “It’s a long step
for yous to be getting home,” meaning Molally’s,
“and it’s middling late, and there’s the chance of
people along the road that might be a bit rough
and noisy, after the fair. So I’ll just throw the
harness, on the ould mare, and drive ye back.”</p>

<p>That took place; but the only word he said
that night of what might be in his mind was when
Moll and he had a word together, in a whisper,
after he had driven them up to the very door
of Molally’s and Marg had gone to the back of
the house, for the key that she had hidden there
under a bunch of thistles.</p>

<p>Said Moll, “She becomes a side-car well!”</p>

<p>And he answered, “It’s a true word you’re
saying!” By that, Moll thought things were
going as she wished.</p>

<p>No man ever was so tender of a lame ass as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[220]</span>
Mickey was of Marg Molally’s, keeping her there,
and feeding her on the best of hay and even oats.
And when Margaret would make inquiries about
her, he never would agree that she was fit to travel,
yet. So there he kept her, and the two calves;
because they had to wait, till the ass would be well
enough to bring them back to Marg.</p>

<p>This is how things were, when Margaret got at
last the news she had been expecting so long;
that the new herd was hired, and that she would
have to clear out as soon as she could. She knew,
of course, that it had to be. But that did not
hinder her from feeling very fretted and lonesome,
thinking of the little home she was to leave, where
she had lived all her life, and had worked so hard.
So she had no great heart for the bride’s-party
that was being given for Kitty and Dan Grennan
at Big Cusack’s, just about then. But she had
promised Kitty that she’d go; and Margaret
Molally never was one to go back of her word.</p>

<p>Who was there, only Mickey Heffernan! As it
turned out, the party was meant for him, too, to
try and bring him and Marg together. Dark Moll
had set the notion going, and all she spoke to
agreed it would only be right.</p>

<p>Marg was as innocent as the child unborn of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[221]</span>
what was going on. Her mind was full of other
things; between thinking how best she could lend
a hand that evening, and wondering what was before
herself, and she without a home, when she’d
be only a few days older! So she never perceived
what Moll and Cusack and others as well were up
to, trying to help out Mickey’s courting ... if
you could call it so!</p>

<p>“Did j’ever see two so hard to get into hoults
with one another?” said Dan to Kitty.</p>

<p>“You can’t get Marg to see what he’s after!”
said she; “she has no more intelligence of what
Mickey wants....”</p>

<p>“Not like some...!” said Dan.</p>

<p>“Have behaviour, now,” said Kitty, pretending
to be angry; “but of all the simple girls...!”</p>

<p>Maybe that was just as well. For if Margaret
had ever suspected what was being thought about
her and Heffernan, would she have done what she
did? Would she have come forward, when Mickey
was leaving, to help him on with his big frieze
coat? And then, when no one else made a move,
would she go out of the house after him, and over
to where his car was, to help him up on it? Indeed,
she felt puzzled and half indignant that none of the
others offered to do anything for the crippled old<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[222]</span>
man. But they were holding back, out of good-nature;
while Margaret’s heart was swelling with
pity for him, and anger at their indifference.</p>

<p>“To think that Dan and the whole of them are
there! and they well knowing ... but when
people is engaged with sport for themselves, they
forget very easy!” she ended, as with a great deal
to do, she got Mickey ready for the road.</p>

<p>“I’m obliged to ye!” said Heffernan, that never
used two words where one would do.</p>

<p>“It’s little enough, after all you done for me!”
Margaret made answer.</p>

<p>Then he dropped his stick and she picked it up
and handed it to him on the car.</p>

<p>“I’d be badly off, without that!” he said.</p>

<p>She saw that he had the rug just laid loose across
his knees, and she tucked it well about him.</p>

<p>“That’s the good thought!” he said; “if I
get anyways chilled, the pain does be bad on
me!”</p>

<p>“The nights do be cold enough,” said Marg.</p>

<p>She put the reins into his hand, and still he did
not move, only sat there, looking very helplessly
down at Marg, as she stood beside him.</p>

<p>“Them calves of yours is doing lovely, with me
at the Furry Farm!” he said then.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[223]</span>“I’m proud to hear it, and very thankful to
you, Mr. Heffernan!”</p>

<p>“Ora, what about it! but I’m thinking, this
len’th of time, that ye might do worse than to
come and be looking after them yourself ...”
and then he dropped the stick again.</p>

<p>“I’m sorry to be troublesome to ye, about them,
for so long,” said Marg, picking up the stick again
for him, “but if only I....”</p>

<p>“... If you’d come, for good and all,” said
Mickey, “to mind them calves ... and ...
and everything else about the place, that’s going
to rack and ruin ... all for the want of a woman
there.... So ... I’m middling old now, but,
sure, I can wait a bit ... maybe you couldn’t
bring your mind to take me at all ... only if
you’d turn it over in your mind....”</p>

<p>Margaret started at that, as if a shot had been
fired off, close to her ear. She turned red. At last
she understood what he was driving at. Then she
grew white, and dizzy....</p>

<p>But her mind flew over everything! her home
gone, and she left, lonely and desolate, without a
soul she cared for, to be looking after and working
for.</p>

<p>She looked up at Heffernan on the car, and the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[224]</span>
sight of him, with his eyes fixed on her as if his life
depended on what answer she would make ...
and above all the useless foot hanging loose as he
sat balanced there, helpless, just as she had settled
him ... these things melted Margaret’s heart.</p>

<p>“You’ll ... you’ll think of it, maybe!” said
Mickey, anxiously.</p>

<p>“Think!” said Margaret; “and what else do I
be doing, only think!” and she laughed even as
she went on: “But it’s an ould saying I often heard,
‘Thinking’s poor wit!’” and she ended with another
laugh, that had a sob in it, too.</p>

<p>“Then you’ll agree?” said Heffernan.</p>

<p>“At your request!” said Margaret.</p>

<p>There now is the whole account of how Heffernan
got a wife at long last, to bring into the Furry
Farm. Of course there was talk about it. Some
said Mickey was just caught on the rebound, and
took Marg after losing the other girls.</p>

<p>“I b’lieve meself,” said Dan to Kitty, “it’s
what Mickey couldn’t find it in his heart to see
them two calves leaving the Furry Farm; and
neither did he wish to have to pay Marg for them!
Wasn’t it cheaper on him marry her and have them
for nothing? let alone a girl like her to take care of
them and him and all he has!”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[225]</span>“That’s no right way to be talking!” said
Kitty; “won’t they both be the better of one
another? and if they don’t live happy, that you
and I may!”</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[226]</span>

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VII<br>

<small>AN AMERICAN VISITOR</small></h2>
</div>

<p><span class="smcap">The</span> talk about Heffernan being married at last
had all died away, and Marg was well settled in at
the Furry Farm, busy and contented, looking after
the house and her old man there, when another
affair arose at Ardenoo that was the cause of a
great deal of unpleasantness and worry.</p>

<p>A stranger from America turned up there; at
least, that’s what he said he was, and no one for
long enough knew anything different. But it was
really Patsy Ratigan, no less, that had left Ardenoo
years upon years before, and in too great a hurry
to leave any message to say why or where he was
going. Now he was back, and feeling none too sure
what kind of welcome would be waiting for him.
So he thought, when he got there, the day after he
landed from America, that he’d keep himself quiet,
till he saw how the thing would go on.</p>

<p>The place looked to Patsy wider and more silent
than ever; the people fewer, and any he met,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[227]</span>
either they didn’t know him, or he couldn’t put a
name upon them. That was just what he wanted,
really; and still, he thought it very strange that
everything was so changed from his recollection of
it! He forgot that the world and all it contains
must always be moving. If you come back to a
place you left, even a very short time before, you’ll
always find something not the same as it was. If
it’s only a kettle that you leave swinging over the
fire, while you run out for a few sprigs to hurry it to
boil, it won’t be the same when you come in again.
The water will be hotter or colder; the fire will be
stronger or maybe gone black out.</p>

<p>Patsy should have bethought himself of the
length of time he had been away, and then he
wouldn’t have been so put out, to find things
different. And, indeed, whatever change he saw
in Ardenoo, there was more upon himself! Hard-set
any of the neighbours would have been, even
the comrade-boys that knew him best in the old
wild days, to make out the thin rake of a fellow,
ragged and light, that he used to be, in this big,
stout, heavy-looking man. And he dressed,
moreover, in black glossy clothes and a slouch
hat; and with a gold watch-chain and ring upon
him.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[228]</span>Grand indeed Patsy looked! And still, as well-appearing
as he was, sitting resting himself by the
side of the road, he was very uneasy in his mind.
For he was thinking that he was on the last of his
cigars, and wondering in his own mind how he was
going to knock out another smoke, let alone any
other little necessary comfort he might want.
Very downhearted he was, and was feeling as
lonesome as a milestone without a number upon it,
when somebody else came in sight, walking along
very brisk, although with a stick.</p>

<p>“I should know that person, anyway!” said
Ratigan to himself; “she seems familiar....
Why, if it isn’t Dark Moll Reilly! And she with
the ould shawl ... and the fiddle under it, on
her back ... and all the ould bags hanging round
her, to gather whatever she’s given.... She’s apt
to have all the news of the place ... if there is
any to know! If I can get chatting with her ...
and she’ll not see who I am....”</p>

<p>So when she got near where he was, he called out
to her:</p>

<p>“Hi! you there! my good woman! where are
you off to?”</p>

<p>At the words, Moll stopped short, and began
poking with the stick, as if to feel her way. It was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[229]</span>
as if hearing the voice had put a “blind” upon
poor Moll; like the bit of board, or old cloth, you’ll
see sometimes fastened across the face of a beast
that is a rogue, to keep it from straying out of its
own pasture.</p>

<p>“I ask yer pardon, sir,” she said, “but sure, I’m
dark, you perceive! and couldn’t tell, no more nor
the dead, where y’are or who y’are!”</p>

<p>With that, she dropped a curtsey, with her back
to Ratigan, by the way of that she was so confused.</p>

<p>“Here!” said Ratigan, getting up, and catching
her by the hand, “come over here, and sit down,
and we can have a bit of discourse.... Just
come here I am, from America, only landed
yesterday....”</p>

<p>“From America! do ye tell me that, sir!” said
Moll; “and are well acquainted with these parts,
are you, sir?”</p>

<p>“Never set foot here, till now!” said Ratigan;
“I just took me grip in me hand, and started off on
this trip. And some friends of mine across the
herring-pond were most anxious I should visit
Ardenoo, and look up some old connections of
theirs, and bring them all the news.... It’s
when you’re away awhile from a place that you’ll<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[230]</span>
be feeling queer and lonesome for them you left
behind there!”</p>

<p>Ratigan was always ready for any kind of play-acting,
and he could tell lies as easy as a dog can
trot. He had made up this story, while Moll was
groaning and letting herself down upon the bank
beside him, very cautiously.</p>

<p>“Blind, are you? that’s a hard case!” he went
on; “but I dare say you’ll be able to give me the
information I require. I have all the names I was
to ask after, wrote down here in my pocket-book,”
he said, pretending to take one out of his breast,
but all he had there was an old purse and it empty.
“D ... D ... Dempsey ... ay, that’s the
name of one ... queer names, the most of them
are! Now, what about them?”</p>

<p>“Och, the Dempseys!” said Moll; “why, the
sorra one of that family is left in the old place! by
that name, at least. The last of them, little Kitty,
took and married a boy ... Dan Grennan it is ... and
he after coming home from America.... You
never chanced to meet up wid a boy of
the name, out there, sir?”</p>

<p>“Never heard it, till this minute!” he said.</p>

<p>“Well, Grennan came home, and just was in
time to get Kitty, that was very near marrit upon<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[231]</span>
old Heffernan of the Furry Farm.... And in
luck Dan was, too, to get his head in there at
Dempsey’s ... and a nice little girl for a wife he
got, when he did cut his good days short, marrying
at all!”</p>

<p>“Married young, did he?” said Ratigan.</p>

<p>“Ay, did he; and a very decent, quiet man he
is, and always was; so that Kitty didn’t get the
worst of it! They’re not to say too out-of-the-way
rich; for whatever little money Dan brought home
with him out of America didn’t stand them long.
But God was good to Kitty; is sending her the full
up of the house of childher; and nineteen turkeys
she has, this year, let alone two pigs, and has the
grass of her cow, for doing the herding for ould
Heffernan....”</p>

<p>“Heffernan of the Furry Farm?” said Ratigan;
“that’s another I was to ask about.... But
from the description I was given of him, he should
be a great age by now! Or is he to the good at
all?”</p>

<p>“Getting young again he is,” said Moll, “ever
since he has Marg there to be minding him and the
place....”</p>

<p>“Marg! what Marg is that?” said Ratigan, a
bit impatient.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[232]</span>“Why, who but ould Molally’s dauther!” said
Moll; “she was none too young, but even so,
Mickey might be her father. But what won’t a
girl do, to get where there’s money! And he wid
a head upon him as grey as a badger!”</p>

<p>Now the reason Moll spoke like that was, she
had a spleen in for Marg, because she thought it
was she herself had made up that fine match for
Marg, with old Heffernan, and that in consequence
she ought to be as free to go in and out at the
Furry Farm as she used to be at Molally’s, before
Marg had quitted it, to become Mrs. Heffernan.
But Mickey didn’t like those ways, of having such
as Moll too frequent visitors in his house; and
Marg never went against him.</p>

<p>“As grey as a badger, is he?” says Ratigan;
“well, sure, there’s some says, the bracketty<a id="FNanchor_14" href="#Footnote_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a>
bird is the purtiest of the clutch!”</p>

<p>“Grey; and as lame as a crutch, to the back of
that!” says Moll; “a cant off the side-car that
caused it. But Mickey was always weak about the
legs; born on a fair-day, as the saying is, with the
two knees of him boxing for sugar-sticks!”</p>

<p>“Lame of a leg, and grey in the head!” said Ratigan;
“that’s a fancy man for a girl to go take!”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[233]</span>“Marg was none too young herself, though
fresh and active still,” said Moll; “and when all
fruit fails, welcome haws! She wanted some one.
But if you have any wish for more information
than a poor ould blind body can give you, sir,
can’t you go give them a call at the Furry Farm?
They do be mostly always within.”</p>

<p>“Well, maybe I would do that,” said Ratigan;
though not a notion he had of doing any such
thing.</p>

<p>So Moll gave him all the directions for finding
his way, which Ratigan knew as well as she did;
and then she went off on her own business, leaving
him sitting still by the roadside.</p>

<p>“Divil may care what way you go, for <i>I</i> don’t!”
said Moll to herself, when she got a piece off from
Ratigan; “to say he was too mean even to offer
me the price of a pint, and I as dry as a limekiln,
telling him all the news!... Who is he now, at
all? For I can’t believe that he’s a stranger in
these parts. He was too ready with his talk ...
and too anxious for news....”</p>

<p>She went on again, another little bit, thinking
hard. Then, “I have it now!” she thought,
laughing to herself; “it’s that bright boyo, Patsy
Ratigan, as sure as God made little apples! And<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[234]</span>
the great big size of him now! The broad red face
of him! and he the full of his skin; instead of the
way he was, so thin that there wasn’t as much fat
upon him as would grease a gimlet! And the
thick back to his head! and used to have a long
neck upon him, like a distracted gander peeping
down a pump-hole to look for poreens!”<a id="FNanchor_15" href="#Footnote_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a></p>

<p>Moll, as I said, had better use of her eyes than
the people thought. Still, she never would have
known Ratigan again, only that her ears were so
sharp. It was his voice she knew.</p>

<p>“And why did he tell that story? It’s terrible
to be a liar!” thought Moll; “but sure, he must
have some good reason.... Let you say nothing,
Moll Reilly,” she went on to herself, “until you
see how the cat jumps....”</p>

<p>Now it was true enough, what Moll had said to
Ratigan about the Heffernans not often going from
about their own place. Mickey wasn’t able for
much travelling, on account of the bad leg; and
Marg didn’t feel it right to leave him. Besides,
she had always been one to keep herself to herself.</p>

<p>The place she went most to was Grennan’s. And
so it happened some time after Ratigan coming
back, though no word of that had reached the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[235]</span>
Furry Farm, that Marg said one evening to
Mickey, “I have an occasion for going over to
Grennan’s ... some eggs that Kitty is gathering
for me ... and now, I have the churning done,
and the butter made and all cleared away. So
I’ll bring a sup of the fresh buttermilk with me,
for it’s always welcome in a house like theirs; and
it the Hallow Eve and all....”</p>

<p>Dan Grennan had got in on Dempsey’s farm
when he married Kitty. But it was a small holding,
and not worth much, by the time all the older
girls had been fortuned off it. And though Dan
had brought some money home with him out of
America, it didn’t stand long, between rent that
was owing, and then old Mrs. Dempsey having to
be buried, when her time came; and of course Dan
wanted to do the decent thing by Kitty’s mother.
So when all that was attended to, there wasn’t
much coming in, and Dan was glad enough to
undertake the herding of the Furry Farm for
Heffernan. It lay convenient to their own little
place, too.</p>

<p>Marg had another reason for wanting to go to
Grennan’s that same evening, but she didn’t want
Mickey to know anything about it just then.</p>

<p>“Well, go, in the name of God!” said Heffernan,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[236]</span>
to her standing ready to start; “and as you are
going, you might as well throw an eye over that
young stock that I have there beyant. Dan is
good, and very good; but it’s the master’s eye that
puts meat upon his beasts, and I’m not able this
len’th of time to be going across fields and rough
ways....”</p>

<p>“Whatever you say yourself, I’ll do,” said his
wife.</p>

<p>Marg never had any wish for going outside of
her own work or interfering with what belongs to
men. But she would not disagree with any word
Mickey said. To give him his due, neither did he
interfere with her. He was only too contented and
happy to have her there, kind and good and
peaceable; instead of Julia that had been such a
heart-scald to him for so long, that he didn’t know
himself to be the same, since he got shut of her,
and had Marg to look to for everything.</p>

<p>She saw him settled comfortably by the fire,
with his pipe for company, before she set off, with
her can swinging by her side; and, moreover, a
brave big lump of butter fresh off the churn, swimming
in the milk. She was bringing that a present
to Kitty, for Marg was very nice and free-handed
in her ways. But there was no use in speaking of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[237]</span>
the butter to Mickey. That might only bring on
an argument. And a woman has a good right to
her churn and all that comes out of it. If she
chooses to give any of it away, why not? And if
Mickey knew nothing about it, he couldn’t object
to it. Supposing he had any claim to the butter,
wouldn’t he be all the better of its being given in
charity and kindness, and he getting so far on in
life? And they would never miss it, no, nor twice
as much.</p>

<p>Marg was counted a very lucky hand over a
dairy, and always had good yield from the milk.
Near though she was to the Furry Hills, that were
well known to be full up of fairies, she never got
any annoyance from them, such as the Good
People to “milk the tether” on her, or to take
away the value of the milk from her. But of
course, that mightn’t be luck, so much as that
Marg knew what she was about. She was very
particular not to give away anything to a stranger
that might come borrowing from her on May Day;
a mistake that has cost many a woman the loss of
a fine cow. And she never forgot to throw a grain
of salt into the churn, before she began to stir the
dash. And as soon as ever she had the butter
taken off the churn, she took care to stick the first<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[238]</span>
bit against the wall, for the fairies. People can’t
be too careful in such things, especially if they live
anyway near such a place as the Furry Hills.</p>

<p>It was from those hills that Heffernan’s place
had got its name of the Furry Farm. The hills
rose up, across his land, steep and sharp, like the
fin of a fish. High they were, and grown over with
furze and ferns and brambles and old thorn bushes,
that of course no one would ask to disturb. But
anyway, you could never run a plough up such
hills as they were, so there was no occasion to
interfere with anything that grew on them.</p>

<p>In one part of the Furry Hills there was a gap,
like a cleft, and the old people said it had been
made there by a fairy sword. A narrow road, no
more than a boreen, ran through that cleft; and
hardly any one used it, though it was handy enough
for many purposes. But there was great talk of
fairies being thereabouts, and that fairy music
could be heard there, and so on. It might be, too,
that the old boreen was deserted because there was
another road made, better and even handier for
cattle that would be going to fairs at Ardenoo or
Balloch. But even before that new road was there,
the people would never go through the cleft by
themselves or late at night; and it was used as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[239]</span>
seldom as possible. Except for this: not very far
distant there lay a holy well, that people would go
to at certain times. But Marg could get across the
hills to Grennan’s without passing near the cleft
at all.</p>

<p>She was supple and strong still, because she gave
herself no time to get stiff in the limbs, only always
kept going about something or other. So now it
was no trouble to her to cross the hills, and strike
off through the fields to Grennan’s.</p>

<p>The instant minute after she saw Kitty and they
had passed the time of day with one another, “Any
news yet?” asked Marg.</p>

<p>“The sorra news!” said Kitty; “me heart’s
broke, so it is, fretting, and Dan the same. And
he tells me, he heard below there at Melia’s, that
there’s more cattle gone, the same way, as if the
earth had opened and swallowed them. No account
of them to be got, high, low, or holy! And
not a night, since Dan missed that bullock out of
the Big Field here, but there’s a rosary said in this
house at bedtime, for it to be got back. The Lord
forgive them that gets on with such work!”</p>

<p>“Did you ask St. Anthony?” said Marg; “he’s
great, for things that are lost. I remember to hear
tell of an old woman that lost her rosary once, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[240]</span>
she having a great regard for it. So she used to ask
St. Anthony; and it was a twelvemonth after, she
went to turn up the mattress of her bed; and there
was the rosary!”</p>

<p>“Look at that, now!” said Kitty; “well, sure,
we might try him!”</p>

<p>“You could do no more, then,” said Marg;
“but ... there’s the fair-day of Balloch coming
round ... and himself might take the notion of
selling there some of the cattle; and then he’ll
have to be told about the bullock being lost!”</p>

<p>“I suppose that will have to be!” said Kitty,
and she ready to cry; “it can’t be kept from him
for ever! It was God that done it, that his leg
got too bad for him to be able to go round the
place, to see the stock and count them himself,
this while back!”</p>

<p>Kitty meant no harm to Mickey by that saying;
and Marg didn’t think it of her.</p>

<p>“What way is he now?” Kitty went on; “it’s
a long time since he took the light from this
door.”</p>

<p>“He’s well enough,” said Marg, “barrin’ for the
leg, that has been giving him great punishment this
good while. Only for that, and that I didn’t wish
to be putting any other annoyance upon him, I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[241]</span>
would have told him about the bullock being lost
before now.”</p>

<p>“Wait another little weeny while!” said Kitty,
coaxingly; “what would we do at all, if he fell out
with Dan?”</p>

<p>“Sure don’t I know that well! and have no
wish in life to be making trouble,” said Marg,
“carrying stories and telling tales ... only
... you see, he depends on me to bring him the
report....”</p>

<p>She sat down then and began watching the
children, while Kitty hung down the kettle to wet
a grain of tea.</p>

<p>“Ora, Kitty,” said Marg, jumping up, “mind
the child! the baby will be killed, if you don’t take
heed! Little Mag isn’t able to be lifting him....”</p>

<p>The little girl at Grennan’s was called after
Marg herself, and Kitty used to let her have the
baby on the floor to nurse him.</p>

<p>“Och, never fear for them!” said Kitty; “here!
I’ll put the two of them outside the door with a
pinch of sugar ... there now, Maggie; be good
and don’t be annoying me and I busy with Mrs.
Heffernan; and take care of the baby....”</p>

<p>Kitty never was one to have much talk about
her babies, and in particular when Marg that had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[242]</span>
none was by. But Kitty was right, to let them
mind themselves, and learn to do that, by being
left alone. If you’re always watching a child, and
warning it about falling and so on, it will never
learn to be handy with the little feet or anyway
independent.</p>

<p>Kitty settled the children outside, then, and that
left the kitchen quiet, so that she could give Marg
the cup of tea in peace and quiet, and have a chat.</p>

<p>“I suppose,” said Kitty, while she was cooling
a sup of her tea in the saucer, “I suppose you
heard tell of the American that’s beyant in
Clough-na-Rinka?”</p>

<p>“How would I hear,” said Marg; “that never
goes anywhere, except to the chapel, from one
year’s end to the other!”</p>

<p>“I wonder at that!” said Kitty, “but there he
is, this len’th of time, stopping with the Widdah
Grogan; and has her heart-scalded, by what I hear,
with his grand, particular ways! Wanting beefsteaks
and pie for his dinner, no less! as if he was
a lord. And as for the talk he does have out of
him...!”</p>

<p>“Americans does mostly always be that way,”
says Marg; “quare notions they have, there
beyant....”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[243]</span>“And for all that,” said Kitty, “in ways, you’d
think him real innocent; don’t ask the use of a
bedroom at all, so he’s no trouble that way ...
go away now, Mags! and don’t be annoying
me....”</p>

<p>Marg watched, while Kitty hunted the little girl
again out of the kitchen, to where she had the baby
laid in a turf-basket; and Marg wondered to herself,
how Kitty could bear to have them out of her
sight. But she said nothing about that, only,
“Has no bed! that’s a quare way to be going on!”</p>

<p>“It appears,” Kitty explained, “that this is a
man that got out of his health there in America,
and was ordered a voyage across the salt water;
and he knew people out there, that spoke to him
of this place, and how quiet and healthy you could
be here. And above all things, he says, he was
warned never to sleep under a roof, if he could
avoid doing so. Well, you know that little canoe
of a place Mrs. Melia has, squeezed on at the back
of her house? she keeps a bit of hay in it for the
pony, and it’s there the American asked to be let
lie down at night; says he has to have the fresh air.
He has a bad foot, too, the crature! the size of a pot
it is with all the old rags and bandages he keeps on
it. Oh, very lame he is, with it, and says he always<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[244]</span>
was, from a child, and had a fortune spent on it,
but can find no cure. So there’s the way it is with
him; he appears to have all the money any one
could require. Stands treat, regular, to the boys
that gather in to hear his stories, at Melia’s, and
tells the shop-boy to score all up to him. I’d as
soon he’d let that part of it alone!” said Kitty;
“Dan was a bit too late coming home, a few nights
ago, and then....”</p>

<p>Kitty sighed.</p>

<p>“It’s a seldom thing for that to occur with
Dan!” said Margaret.</p>

<p>“Oh, ay! there’s not much to fault in Dan!”
said his wife; “only a body gets a bit anxious, for
fraid he might get the fashion of being late ...
maybe begin stravaguing the roads....”</p>

<p>“Well, if the American is the way you say, with
the bad foot, they’ll not go far, if they want his
company!”</p>

<p>“Ay! that’s only God’s truth! and now speaking
of a lame leg and the like, what remedy are you
trying for Mickey?”</p>

<p>“Nothing; for there seems no good in anything
I can apply to give him ease!” said Marg.</p>

<p>“Did you think of getting the water from the
Holy Well?” said Kitty.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[245]</span>“I thought of that, over and over,” said Marg;
“but I never got to try it for him yet. Only this
evening, and I coming along here, I was intended
to bring home a sup of the blessed water in the
buttermilk can. And so I will, too, for I can get it
easily, on the way back. So as soon as you can
have the can readied out, I’ll be shortening the way
home,” says Marg.</p>

<p>“I’ll not ask to delay you, so,” said Kitty, “and
it Hallow Eve and all; and the daylight beginning
to fade. And cold it’s turning, too!”</p>

<p>“I’ll not heed that!” said Marg; and away she
went.</p>

<p>There was a touch of frost in the air; the grass
felt crisp underfoot. Dusk was gathering about
the fields and the shadows began to lie very thick
and dark under the trees and hedges. Margaret
even shivered a little, as she hurried on. But that
might be because all these lonesome signs of the
night seemed worse, after leaving Kitty’s kitchen,
gay and full up of the little chatter and laughing of
the children, the baby in Kitty’s arm, and little
Maggie standing beside her mother, to watch Mrs.
Heffernan disappearing into the twilight. Marg
loved to go to Grennan’s, and see the children, and
maybe now and then coax one of them to sit on her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[246]</span>
knee and let her play with it. All the same, she
was sighing now, to think how silent and sober her
own house was, compared to Grennan’s.</p>

<p>She was thinking, going along, of the sound of
the little voices there; “like music!” she said to
herself. And with that word, she started. For,
whether it was some echo carried on the wind from
Grennan’s, or whatever it might have been, that
very moment she thought she heard some sound of
music coming out of the darkness to her as she was
passing through the Big Pasture-Field.</p>

<p>“What can it be? Sure, I often heard tell of
fairy music, and how that some can hear noises,
like piannas and bugles, if they put their ear to
the ground, close by a rath. But that can only be
foolishness! I’ll not let the like of that talk stop
me now, from going to the Holy Well, if there’s a
cure, or even some small relief to be got there, for
that poor leg of Mickey’s!”</p>

<p>So on she went, by the Furry Hills, until she got
to the Holy Well, close under the Cleft of the
Fairy Sword.</p>

<p>“It’s well the moon is up,” thought Marg,
“the way I’ll have no delay in filling the can!”</p>

<p>The Holy Well lay in a corner, where the Big
Pasture-Field sloped down to a hollow. Many’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[247]</span>
the time Marg had seen it, of a Saint’s Day, with
the lone thorn that leans out over the water all
dressed up with bits of ribbon, and even rags, that
the people would tie there, when there would be a
Pattern at the Holy Well. And, besides, the girls
had a great fashion of going there on Hallow Eve,
to try old charms and “pistrogues,” “so that they
might get to see whatever boy they were to
marry.”</p>

<p>Well, this time, when Marg came in sight of the
Well, wasn’t it all hid from her! ay and even the
hollow where it lay was covered over with white
columns of mist, that rose, and wavered, moving
this way and that way as the night wind blew. It
was steam from the Well, for the water there is
warm. Not hot enough to make tea and boil
eggs, as Mickey used to tell the people, but just
nicely warm. And always in frost or cold, you
could see the steam rising from it.</p>

<p>But as long as Marg had been at the Furry
Farm, she had never chanced to see it like that.
The Well lay a piece off from where she had business.
And Marg never had been one to go stravaguing
the fields for pleasure; and she wasn’t
going to begin that fashion now, and she married.</p>

<p>Marg began to go slower, and to feel a bit fearful<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[248]</span>
in herself. It was Hallow Eve, when, as everybody
knows, the dead can come back to visit
those they love. And here was she, all alone
among the wide, silent fields, close to the Holy
Well, with the moonlight white upon everything.
And not a sound, only the whisper, whisper, of the
stream that ran from the Well; and the soft, white
clouds of steam, dancing and beckoning like
strange beings that had life, this way and that way
across the water....</p>

<p>“I’ll make no delay, for fraid I’d take fright
altogether here!” she said to herself; and she
hurried forward to the brink of the Well, and
dipped in her can.</p>

<p>What did she see, when she straightened herself
up again, but a Face, at the other side of the Well,
and it staring, staring at her.</p>

<p>Her heart stopped beating; then “Patsy!” she
said, in a choked kind of voice....</p>

<p>At the word, a puff of steam blew between her
and the Face, and when she was able to see clearly
again, it was gone!</p>

<p>How Marg got home that night, she never knew.
All of a tremble she was; so much so, that her two
shoes were full up with the water that kept spilling
out of the can, she was walking so unsteadily. But<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[249]</span>
still she kept on as fast as she could, and never let
go her hold of the water from the Holy Well, till she
had it landed in upon the kitchen floor. And proud
she was to find herself there! and to be able to shut
the door, between herself and the black shadows
that seemed to rise out of the night, and to have
been chasing and threatening upon her heels, once
she left the Holy Well, all the way across the dark,
lonesome fields.</p>

<p>But what was worse on her was, that the old fret
seemed to be wakening up in her heart; a sharp
kind of pain, after all those years, at sight of the
boy that had treated her so queerly. She couldn’t
tell why! but there it was; and there’s others the
same, that will always have a soft corner in their
hearts for any one they were young with; let alone
that they’d have a wish for, as poor Marg had for
Ratigan.</p>

<p>And, “Was it Patsy that was in it?” she kept
asking herself; “or could it be that it was only
some Appearance for Death ... or a Visit ...
the Lord be between us and harm, I pray!”</p>

<p>But now she was inside her own house, and it all
seemed full of light that was very bright after the
dark night outside.... There was a great look of
comfort upon it. There were rows and rows of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[250]</span>
good pewter plates and dishes and noggins, all
shining and twinkling in the blazing firelight, she
had them so well scoured and polished up. And
the place was hung round with the fine sides of
bacon that she had cured; hanks of yarn she had
spun, and stockings she had knitted, in the
chimney-corner, above her spinning-wheel of black
oak. And Mickey himself was sitting there, very
much as she had left him, in his big chair, close
to the turf-box, the way he had it convenient to
throw on a few sods when they were needed to keep
the big pot boiling. He had his specs upon his
nose and his pipe ready filled, and the newspaper
on his knee, reading in it now and again. Margaret
never forgot to bring that to him, every
week, from Melia’s shop.</p>

<p>“You’re later than I thought,” said Heffernan
to her.</p>

<p>“There’s what has me delayed,” said Margaret.
“Kitty Grennan that bid me try the water from
the Holy Well on that leg of yours ...” and she
showed him what she had in the can.</p>

<p>“And is that what you were at!” said Mickey,
looking as proud as Punch; “getting the blessed
water to beethe me leg. Well, sure, you can’t do
worse than try it! But I was getting really unaisy<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[251]</span>
in me mind, for fear of something having happened
you ... and a body feels a thing of the sort
worse, if they’re helpless the way I am!”</p>

<p>“The sorra ha’porth is wrong with me!” said
Marg.</p>

<p>And neither there was. And, of course, there
was no occasion to tell Heffernan about what had
happened at the Holy Well. What could she say?
If it was an Appearance, well and good! there was
no more to be said. But if it was Ratigan...!
and how could it be? How could he be there,
trying to play off some trick on her? Wouldn’t
it be best to say nothing?</p>

<p>How could it be Patsy? wasn’t he married in
America, ay, long enough before she was herself!
And never had thought it worth his while to send
her one line, either to ask for news of herself, or
to tell her what he was doing with himself, out
there. Just by chance, she had heard of his
marriage. And, in troth, only for hearing that,
she might be Marg Molally yet. You never can
tell what small little word here or there will get
you to do a certain thing or to leave it alone.</p>

<p>Whatever came or went, then or at any other
time, Marg never failed in anything that could be
done for Mickey. She was very fearful about<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[252]</span>
going to the Well, after seeing what she saw there,
that first night. And it should be done after dark,
too; still, she persevered.</p>

<p>“It must be continued on,” said Dark Moll,
that had a good knowledge of such things, so that
Marg thought well of consulting her, one day she
met her on the road; “you must go on wid it.
And the water must be got by one that has a wish
for whoever has need of it; and that person must
go by themselves ... if the Holy Well is to do any
good, that is!”</p>

<p>There wasn’t really one, on the face of this
earth, to care one straw about poor Mickey, only
his wife. And Marg ... sure, it was more
compassion than anything else she felt for him,
seeing how old and lonely and helpless he was.
Though, indeed, he was kind in his own way to her,
and showed great confidence and respect for her
and all she did, and she felt thankful to him, over
and over, for that, and for the good home he put
her over. That’s a thing that is generally a satisfaction
to a woman, and it was to Margaret.</p>

<p>But with others, Mickey Heffernan was no
great favourite. He had no agreeable ways with
him. He would do a kind turn for another, as
soon as the next one; but then again he had a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[253]</span>
fashion of taking the good out of whatever he did
that-a-way; the same as the cow that fills the can,
and then kicks it over. So it came about that
there was no one to go for the water for his leg but
Marg herself. She went to the Holy Well every
evening of her life then. Sometimes it would be
fairly early, just duskish, and sometimes it would
be late enough before she would be ready to start
off, but she never failed to go.</p>

<p>This was the way with Marg, and as nothing
strange occurred for some time, she was beginning
to think that she had only imagined to see Ratigan
that Hallow Eve at the Holy Well, when she got
another great fright there. Bad as the first was,
this was worse, so much so, that she nigh-hand fell
out of her standing.</p>

<p>She was making her way along by the Furry
Hills, when suddenly there was the greatest stamping
and rustling and big clattering as if cart-loads of
stones were being thrown down the side of the Fairy
Cleft, and heavy sounds of grunting and breathing
and snorting. And then she thought there was
something like a figure of a man, going through the
dusk, towards the Cleft, with a stick in his hand.</p>

<p>Margaret stopped and tried to think what it
could mean.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[254]</span>“It can’t be Dan Grennan!” she said to herself;
“for what would he be doing here at this hour?
God knows but it might be some villyans of
tinkers.... But whatever it is, I’ll have to find
out who is there, making so free, and coming in
here upon our place!”</p>

<p>So, though she was as frightened a woman as
could be, she gave a great shout, thinking by that
to frighten away whoever it might be.</p>

<p>It did frighten the man that was there! her
voice lifted him off his feet, he was so startled, the
fields being generally so silent at that hour.</p>

<p>He jumped up, and then he stopped; and the
snorting and trampling feet stopped, too. Then
the figure, that Marg could just make out against
the pale yellow of the evening sky, where it was
above the hill ... the figure seemed to Marg
to turn about, and then she could hear it coming,
coming quickly down the hill towards her.</p>

<p>She was frightened in earnest then. Her first
thought was, that she’d run away. But her
knees gave under her. So she crouched down
close to the damp ground, thinking to escape
being seen. And she had herself dead and buried,
in her own mind that is, when the man came up,
and stood still beside her.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[255]</span>“So you don’t know me, Marg Molally!” he
said, in a very sad, mild voice; “you don’t remember
poor Patsy now! Nor couldn’t, I suppose!
Mrs. Heffernan is too big and grand a person now,
to have any recollection of the ould times!”</p>

<p>And with that, he turned on the light of a lantern
he was carrying under his coat; and Marg saw
plainly who it was.</p>

<p>“In the name of God, Patsy Ratigan, it’s not
you!” she said.</p>

<p>“Who else?” said he; “is it that I’m that
changed a man, that you don’t know me? But
small blame to me to be changed! after all the
want and hardships I’m after putting over me!
And small blame to you, either, not to know me.
It’s another story with you,” he says, “the same
as ever you look! not a day older than you were,
the day you ... well, sure, it’s bad to be raking
up old sores! But if it was you that had been
away, and came back...! No matter what
change there was upon you, I’d know your skin
upon a bush, so I would!”</p>

<p>Marg couldn’t but listen to him, for she was too
much surprised to do anything else. Puzzled too
she was. For she was thinking of the Face she
had seen at the Well; and she had known that to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[256]</span>
be Patsy Ratigan. And now here was a big, red-faced,
puffy-looking man, saying that he was
Ratigan!</p>

<p>God knows, there’s many a thing remains a
puzzle! not to speak of what a body might chance
upon, of a Hallow Eve.</p>

<p>But she got no time then to think this out, for of
all the romancing that ever was heard, and Ratigan
reeled it out of him then.</p>

<p>“Little I thought, that when we’d meet, you
would have forgotten me!” he said; “but sure
enough, there’s the way...!</p>

<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="first">“The full pig in the sty</div>
<div class="verse">Thinks little of the empty one passing by!</div>
</div></div>

<p>“And I working and slaving off there in America,
and never thinking when I came back, that I’d
find meself forgot by every one, and you marrit!”</p>

<p>“Marrit!” said Marg; “and what about yourself?
and the widdah with her shop ... and the
six children?”</p>

<p>“Widdah? What widdah?” said Ratigan;
“who was it at all that put round that story upon
me? I only wish I had him here!” says he, very
courageous, “and I’d soon show him the differ!
And you to believe that of me! I couldn’t have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[257]</span>
believed it of you ... only for seeing it now! All
I wonder is,” he went on, very bitter, “that it
wasn’t ten widdahs! and sixty children that they
had laid out for me! And I that was thinking of
no one, only the girl at Ardenoo that I used to be
helping of an evening with the bullocks ... and
of the welcome home she would have for me,
whenever I’d come back!”</p>

<p>Phwat! what he had in his mind was, that he
had had enough of the hard work in America, and
the hurry and noise there, once the widdah died,
the crature. And her children took and threw
Ratigan out of that; and it appeared then that
they owned the shop and money, once the widdah
was gone. And a loss it was to Patsy, that he
hadn’t inquired fully into the thing before he got
married. But when he had to quit out of the shop,
where he had lived very nice and easy, and found
he would have to earn for himself, he began to turn
over in his mind about Ardenoo. Maybe Marg
Molally was to the good still. And he knew her to
be a good warrant to work. Moreover, he remembered
that Ardenoo was a pleasant place for
being idle in; and that’s what he liked best always.</p>

<p>What he said further then to Marg was, that all
he’d care to do now was, to have leave to rest<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[258]</span>
himself awhile before going back again; and that
he was trying the water of the Holy Well for a bad
foot he had. But he had been advised to do the
cure secretly, and that was how he chanced to be
coming there so late to the Fairy Cleft.</p>

<p>“But,” says Ratigan, “I never said, to man nor
mortal except yourself, who I am. You’re the
only living soul in Ardenoo that I have any wish
to speak to; and I’ll trust to you to say nothing!”</p>

<p>“Very well!” said Marg, a bit puzzled why he
should want nothing said. But, like many another,
she was proud to be told what no one else
knew.</p>

<p>“And where do you stop?” said Marg then.</p>

<p>“Beyant in the town,” said Ratigan, telling
the truth for once; “Mrs. Melia that lets me sleep
in the hay-loft that she has leaning up at the back
of the house; and then it’s not so expensive on a
poor man like Patsy. And, besides, I’d liefer not
to be inside the shop; I can’t abide the least smell
of drink!”</p>

<p>Mrs. Melia could have told a different story
about that, for the American, as he was called at
the shop, was the talk of the whole place, the way
he was going on with every play-boy that was
there, treating them all. And she could get no<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[259]</span>
money out of him, only now and then. He
would always be telling her, that he was expecting
funds from his agent in America by the next mail.</p>

<p>Well, that agent lived quite convenient to Ardenoo!
and was going about on four legs, as long
as he would be let. There was no doubt that
Ratigan had some way of getting money into his
pocket; and also that cattle and other things were
disappearing, no one knew how; neither did any
one know whose turn it would be next.</p>

<p>There is something very curious about cows
and the things that will happen to them. Dark
Moll had a story she was fond of relating, about
Andy McGuinness, long ago, that saw a strange
woman dressed in green, and long hair as yellow as
butter flowing down her back, and she was milking
Andy’s fine cow one summer evening. So
Andy caught the cow by the tail, when the woman
disappeared at sight of him. And by that means
he got inside the Furry Hills. And there was the
fairy-woman he had seen, and she with a fairy
child in her arms. And Andy had to promise her
that she might take a pint of milk every night for
the child. And then he found himself out again
with his cow safe in his own fields. And after
that he had no more trouble with her. She<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[260]</span>
had been no use to him up to that, giving
only small sups of milk, and no yield of butter
upon even what she gave.</p>

<p>Well, Moll said, now that all the cattle were
disappearing, that it would be simple enough to
find out all about them if only some one had the
spirit to go to the Fairy Cleft like Andy, and see
what was taking place there. She was right, too,
as it happened, though not exactly in the way she
meant. But no one had any wish to take that
advice.</p>

<p>“It’s easy for them to talk, that will do nothing
themselves! advice is always cheap!” they would
say.</p>

<p>Ratigan, or the American, as the people called
him, had a good deal to say about the stealing of
the stock.</p>

<p>“If it was away in the States that such a thing
was going on,” he said, “the whole countryside
would join, and turn out to hunt the cattle-thief!
What good are the people here, anyway! Only
for this bad foot of mine, I’d start the thing
meself!”</p>

<p>And with that he stuck out a foot as big as a beehive,
to all appearance. And who was to know
that there wasn’t a ha’porth the matter with the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[261]</span>
same foot? It was all play-acting he was, and
by this talk he made it easy for himself to come
and go after dark, in and out of the hay-loft at
Melia’s.</p>

<p>“Dan Grennan,” said Ratigan another time,
“Dan that had a great deal to say over his glass
last night about this business, and in particular
about a bullock that is missing off the Furry Farm.
Strayed, as likely as not! But I can’t help thinking
of a saying I used to hear from an Irishman I
met over in America; how that the fox always
smells his own smell!”</p>

<p>There were some that heard him say this that
were inclined to be angry. It was no right thing
to say of a decent neighbour. But the others
laughed it off. The American had a way of
making jokes, and no one minded much what he
said, he being very free with his treats, too, to
every one.</p>

<p>All this time, poor Dan and Kitty were fretting
their hearts out about the bullock that was lost.
They knew well that Heffernan would blame them
for the loss, and maybe bid them leave the place for
some one that would be more careful. And then
what would become of them and the little family?
Marg did all she could, but the thing could not be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[262]</span>
kept from Mickey’s knowledge for ever. He took
it very hard.</p>

<p>You would really think that it was worse for
him to be at a loss than any one else that had met
the same misfortune. And he with not one in his
house to care about providing for, except himself
and the wife! But God help him and all like him!
Sure his money and money’s worth appeared to be
all he had, at that time anyway, to care about;
excepting only Marg herself, of course. And he
was so well used by now to her, and all her care
and attention, that he scarcely knew himself either
how necessary she was to him, or how much he
thought of her.</p>

<p>But now, he wouldn’t listen to one word she’d
say about this loss, to try to reconcile him to it;
only he would keep on, ding-dong, from morning
to night and from night to morning, lamenting
about the fine beast that was gone, and saying
that such a thing had never occurred as long as he
had been to the good himself. At last, he began
to say that he’d have to turn Dan and Kitty away.</p>

<p>Now this is the kind of talk Marg had to listen
to, all day long, up and down, this way and that
way, the same thing over and over again, till she
grew sick of the very name of a bullock! So you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[263]</span>
could hardly blame her, that she began to look
forward to the evenings, when she would be
slipping off to the Holy Well, and the chance of
seeing Ratigan there and passing a few remarks
with him. It happened pretty often that they
met in this way.</p>

<p>Ratigan still had the same pleasant manners
with him, and the tongue that could coax the birds
off the bushes. Sometimes he’d be telling Marg
of all the troubles and hardships he met up with,
out in America; and then again, it would be
nothing but about the money you could earn and
the fine times you could have there. And this
would be, while he would be carrying the can of
blessed water a piece of the way home for her.
He never could abide, he’d cry, to see a woman
have to work! as long as he’d have a leg under
him; and how that he himself was nearly cured by
the same Well. Now Marg could not but be glad
to have her mind diverted from poor Mickey
with his complaints about the lost bullock as well
as his lame leg.</p>

<p>It was worse that Heffernan was growing over
this matter as time went on, instead of beginning
to forget it. In fact, it wasn’t Mickey alone, or
even those only that had lost a beast themselves<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[264]</span>
that were uneasy, but all Ardenoo could do
nothing but talk about the cattle being stolen,
and wonder whose turn would come next.</p>

<p>Now this thing is so simple that it’s curious
more don’t turn their hands to it. Horn brand or
hide brand, they’re easily got rid of, with the help
of a file and a pair of scissors. And if you start
early in the night, you can travel a long way with
whatever you may have to drive, before the weight
of the people will be out of their beds. And if
there chances to be a lonely spot like the Fairy
Cleft anyway convenient, that crowns you for the
job. The beasts could be taken there and along
the disused boreen as handy as you like. Ratigan
had it all as fit for his requirements as if he had
made it himself.</p>

<p>At last Heffernan made up his mind that he’d
run no more risks about having his cattle stolen.
So he said to Marg, “The fair in Clough-na-Rinka
is coming on, and it would be as good for us to sell
that half-score of store cattle there as to leave
them to be stolen, like their comrade. They’ll
sell at a loss,” he went on, with a sigh, “but sure,
little fish is sweet! and the rent has to be made up.
And it will only be worse to be keeping them back
and having to fodder them in the winter, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[265]</span>
the hay none too plenty ... sure, they’d have
themselves ett against next May!”</p>

<p>“Whatever you say yourself,” said Marg, only
too glad of the chance of getting rid of the bullocks,
and thinking that then maybe Mickey would cease
to be fretting and annoying himself over the one
that was stolen; “but how will you manage to get
to the fair?”</p>

<p>“I know well that I’d have no right to go, and
the leg the way it is with me,” said Mickey, “but
I think you’d do, if you were instructed.”</p>

<p>“I’ll go, if you say the word,” said Marg.</p>

<p>She felt glad of the chance. She would hardly
say it, even to herself, but she would like to get
away for even that one day from poor Mickey.
Not that she’d let any one say a word against him,
but she was worn out of all comfort by his growling
and complaining. Of course it was the bad leg
that helped to make him so contrary; and Marg
never forgot that, and would never make him an
answer, no matter what he’d say.</p>

<p>“I can go away easy enough with the mare and
side-car ...” for that is how Mickey himself
always went to fairs.</p>

<p>“Ora, what side-car do you want?” said Mickey
a bit short; for now along with all else, the poor old<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[266]</span>
man was fretting because he could not go to do the
business himself, being sure, like every one, that
he could do it better than any one else; “what side-car
do you mean? Can’t ye take the little ass?”</p>

<p>“She’s very slow now,” said Marg, “and it will
leave me that I’ll have to be a long time away from
you.”</p>

<p>“It’s lost for the want of work she is, this
minute,” said Heffernan; “fresh enough she is,
this minute, to dance a cat off the high-road! and
as well, there’s a bit of ploughing that the mare
could be at, here at home....”</p>

<p>“I can walk; shanks’ mare will do me full as
well as either ass or mare!” said Marg, that had
not one ounce of lazy flesh upon her bones.</p>

<p>So when the fair-day came round, she was up
and off, bright and early, before the stars were out
of the skies, the cattle having been sent on ahead
with Dan Grennan. Marg had no delay in selling
the stock, for fine beasts they were; and to a dealer
that she and Mickey were well acquainted with, so
that Marg felt no great anxiety about the business.</p>

<p>When they had the bargain closed, “Come along
in here, Mrs. Heffernan, mam,” said this dealer,
“to Mrs. Melia’s, a decent woman she is and keeps<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[267]</span>
a decent house as you may wish to find. And I can
be paying you the money inside there, in the
parlour, away out of the noise and crowds in the
street,” said he, “let alone the mud and gutther,
with the heavy rain that’s falling....”</p>

<p>“Very soft entirely it has turned, since the turn
of the day,” said Marg; “the cloak on me is heavy
with the soaking wet.”</p>

<p>“You’re saying only the truth, mam,” said the
dealer; “and all the more reason for you to be
getting into shelter, where we can be having a cup
of tea, or whatever other refreshment you like to
put a name upon.”</p>

<p>“I thank you kindly,” said Marg; “indeed,
I’ll be glad of something warm to drink....”</p>

<p>Like many another woman, Marg had neglected
herself in the matter of food, and had never tasted
bite nor sup since leaving home that morning.
And now that she had the selling of the cattle off
her mind, she remembered that, and began to feel
very weak-like in herself.</p>

<p>So she raised no demur to going into Melia’s,
and in particular because she had observed Ratigan
a piece off from her down the fair-green. He
was pretending not to know her. Marg was no
hand at that work, and she was glad not to have to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[268]</span>
meet up with him, before all the neighbours. But
Ratigan was keeping a close eye on her, all through.
Not a turn of Marg that day but he watched.
And when he saw herself and the dealer going into
Melia’s, my dear, what did he do, only whipped
round like shot, in and out among the crowds of
people and beasts of all kinds, and up with him into
the hay-loft. The big foot was no hindrance to
him, he would explain, only betimes. And anyway,
every one was too much taken up with their
own concerns to mind much what the American
was about that evening.</p>

<p>The loft wasn’t to say very well built. There
was a chink that he had often found very convenient,
for seeing what went on in Mrs. Melia’s
parlour. He put his eye to it now.</p>

<p>In due course, he saw all he wanted to see.
There were Marg and the cattle-dealer, drinking
their tea and eating fried eggs and bacon; and
badly they both stood in need of their bit. Then
the dealer pulled out the purse, and counted out
the money upon the table, that he was paying for
Mickey’s stock; and the luck-penny was handed
back to him. Ratigan’s mouth was watering at
the sight, and when he saw Marg tying up what
she got, a full hundred pounds, in a strong bag,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[269]</span>
and fastening that into the front pocket of her
cloak, inside, a very safe spot.</p>

<p>“Yiz never got any account of the bullock that
was lost ... not to say, stole?” says the dealer.</p>

<p>“Never a word,” said Marg; “whoever done it,
no one knows, nor can’t think. And to say that
all over the whole of Ardenoo such work to be going
on! Sure it’s a fright, so it is!”</p>

<p>“You may say that; a fright it is, sure enough!”
says the dealer; “but whoever it is, will soon be
known! I have that from certain knowledge; and
that the polis has all ready, and will have the thief
inside of the barracks, before he’s a day oulder! so
mind, now, I’m telling you!”</p>

<p>“It would be a charity, too!” said Marg; and
then the dealer bid her the time of day, and went
off, to get the cattle home before it would be dark
night down upon him and them, and it raining
hard still.</p>

<p>Marg was just thinking in herself, had she the
money safe for Mickey, and fidgeting with her
hand to feel was it where she had put it, not two
minutes before, and she was thinking of the long
road that lay between her and the Furry Farm,
where she’d be as apt as not to meet with tinkers
and queer people going along, after leaving the fair<span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[270]</span>
and maybe they not so sober as they might be ...
when the door of the parlour opened, very easy,
and in walked Ratigan. And not a limp was upon
him then! He had too many other things in his
head, to remember about his lame foot. But anyway,
Marg was too much surprised to meet him
there quite suddenly, after she trying to not see
him all day, to remark on that. She was flustered,
too, about the bag of money, not having satisfied
herself yet that she had it in the safest place.</p>

<p>She turned to face Ratigan, trying to look
careless. But she felt trembly and queer, meeting
him there, in that little crowded-up parlour.
Someways, it wasn’t the same thing at all as when
they would be having just a chat in the dusk at the
Holy Well, or straying along through the quiet
fields.</p>

<p>“Good-evening, Mrs. Heffernan, mam,” said
Ratigan, very polite; “I seen you over and over
to-day ...” and he stopped short, and his eyes
began looking at her every way.</p>

<p>“Well, and if you did, and had anything to say,
why didn’t you come up and speak to me?” said
Marg hurriedly.</p>

<p>It wasn’t what she wanted to say to him at all.</p>

<p>“Och sure, how was I to know would you wish<span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[271]</span>
that?” said Ratigan, very humble in himself; and
then Margaret’s heart softened towards him.</p>

<p>“You’re not going out in that dreep of rain?”
says he, noticing that Marg was pulling up her
cloak about her shoulders, where she had it
undone, while she was drinking her cup of tea;
“teeming out of the skies it is, as if all the wathers
of the salt seas I have to cross was coming down
upon Ardenoo!”</p>

<p>“I’ll have to face out, rain or no rain,” said
Marg; “I have a long ways before me!”</p>

<p>“I’ve a longer!” says he; and he puffed a big sigh
out of him; “and has to go wid meself....”</p>

<p>“You should be used to that!” says Marg.</p>

<p>He had her persuaded that he never was married
at all.</p>

<p>“I ought to be, I know,” said Ratigan; “but
I haven’t the short memory I see with some
people for the old times! But them that’s in
heaven themselves, finds it easy to forget all else;
and thim that’s snug and warm in their own home,
has little thought for them that has to be without
in cold and wet and hardship!”</p>

<p>“There’s more a body wants than food and
fire,” says Marg, as if she was thinking out loud.</p>

<p>“Ay is there! that’s a true word!” said Ratigan.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[272]</span>He was thinking at that present, that he wanted
the price of his passage back to America, as badly
as ever a man wanted anything! He had squandered
away the money he had got for the cattle he
had stolen, in paying Mrs. Melia some of what he
owed her, and the rest drinking and spreeing. And
now he was after hearing through the chink in the
hay-loft all that the dealer had been saying to
Marg. He knew about the money she had been
putting away; and he knew, too, about the polis,
and the danger he was in. And he felt that the
sooner he could quit out of that the better it would
be for his health.</p>

<p>But how was he going to get away, and he
without a penny to his name! And it would take
some days for him to get any more by that means
he was employing. And he must lose no time.</p>

<p>The only thing to be done was, to get a hold of
that bag of money he had seen with Marg. Have
it he must, by hook or by crook! Maybe she’d go
with him. That would be the simplest, though
not what he’d like best. But he spoke to her very
nice and soft, saying how he thought the world
and all of her, and trying to get to coax her....</p>

<p>“I must be shortening the road home!” was all
Marg said in answer. And she went over to the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[273]</span>
window, and stood there, looking out at where the
rain was coming down in white sheets of wet, and
running down the street in streams, all choked up
with mud, after the traffic of the day, and the
trampling feet of the sheep and cattle. It wasn’t
very tempting; and she turned away from it, as if
she couldn’t make up her mind ought she to go, or
to wait a while longer.</p>

<p>Ratigan all the time was watching her, like a cat
with a mouse.</p>

<p>“Maybe it would be as good for you to start off
at once!” he said; “it’s not better it will be getting
... only the dark night coming down....”</p>

<p>He was mad to be off, knowing it wouldn’t answer
for him to be delaying there, so close to the
barracks, and even wondering how soon he’d have
to make a run for it, money or no money. But if
only he could get Marg outside the town, and on a
lonely piece of the road, how simply he could be
coming along behind her in the dark, and take the
bag from her; and she never to know who he was.
Or if she did itself, what loss! A man like Ratigan
can’t be too particular.</p>

<p>“No, it’s not better it will be getting!” he said
again.... “Sure, if only I dar’ go with ye, to see
you safe ... but that mightn’t answer....”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[274]</span>“The Lord save us!” says Marg, interrupting
him there. “That’s Mickey! I thought to know
the rattling sound of the side-car; it never can go
by annonst....”</p>

<p>Sure enough, there it was, coming up the street,
and Heffernan sitting balanced upon it, looking
little and bent and perished-looking, with the dint
of the wind and wet, in spite of the big frieze coat
he had on, with the collar shaving his ears, and his
hands lost in the length of the sleeves.</p>

<p>“Holy Mother of God!” said Marg, “sure it’s
not down he’s wanting to get, there, in that
thronged place! He’ll be kilt dead! Wait, wait a
minute, Mickey!” she said, as if he could hear her
through the window, “wait! there’s no one can
humour that poor leg only meself, when he does be
getting down off the car....” and in her hurry
to save Mickey, she threw off the heavy cloak and
left it, money and all, down upon the floor, and
ran out, through the heavy <i>polters</i> of rain, over to
Mickey upon the car.</p>

<p>“You’ll mind that for me!” she called out over
her shoulder to Ratigan, as she darted out of the
door.</p>

<p>Mind it! Little delay Ratigan made, only
whipped the bag of money out of where Marg had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[275]</span>
it inside the cloak, and away with him, like a
redshank, by the back door.</p>

<p>“What at all brought you here, at this late
hour?” said Marg, reaching up her hand to help
Mickey off the side-car.</p>

<p>“Well, when I saw the evening turning so wild
and hard,” said Mickey, “I thought bad of you
having that long walk home, after such an early
start this morning. And along with all, I had a
bad dream and I sitting in the chimney-corner.
I thought to see you in some great danger ...
and it was about the money you were after getting
for the bullocks.... So Dan was back, and he
gave me an account of all, and the good price
they made.... And I got him to throw the
harness on the old mare ... it was too bad a day
for she to go plough.... I would have been here
long ago, if I’d been able to get ready meself....
But hurry now, girl dear! you’re getting all wet
... and no cloak about you....”</p>

<p>“Sure, what matter! And I dreading the long
walk home in the dark!” said Marg, nearly ready
to cry when she thought of the poor old lame chap
quitting his snug seat at home, to come look for
her, at the very time that she was listening to
Ratigan with his foolish wild talk.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[276]</span>“I’ll just run back for the cloak,” said Marg,
“and then there need be no more delay upon us,
only to get home in comfort!”</p>

<p>Well, there’s where it was, when she went back,
and took up the cloak, and just put her hand
inside, to make sure she had the money, and it
wasn’t there! She nigh-hand fainted, with the
fright. She couldn’t believe it! She felt in all
her pockets, over and over again. She called out
for Mrs. Melia, who came and helped her to look
everywhere about the room, and out in the wet
street, over to where Mickey was waiting on the
side-car, and telling Marg to make haste and come
on out of that.</p>

<p>“What will you do, at all at all?” said Mrs.
Melia ... “will you be able to pacify Mickey?
... tell him ... what would you say? that you
left it here with me, and I having it locked up and
had to go away....”</p>

<p>Mrs. Melia made that up out of the goodness of
her heart, but Marg wouldn’t agree.</p>

<p>“I can only say what happened,” she said.</p>

<p>She did that; and Heffernan looked terribly put
about. But he took it the best ever you knew.
Far worse Marg herself was.</p>

<p>“We’ll go at once and notice the polis!” he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[277]</span>
said; “sure whoever took the money can’t be
far!”</p>

<p>So they did that; but they scarcely had their
story told, when in walked two constables, and
Ratigan between them.</p>

<p>It was all up with him then! the butter came out
of the stir-about in earnest. The whole thing was
opened up and explained. Great excitement
there was over it, and a trial of law, that you can
hear talked about still in Ardenoo.</p>

<p>What never was rightly known was, who told
the polis. Some laid it on Dark Moll, but others
would not believe she’d do such a dirty mean turn.
Still, she had a spleen in for Ratigan, because he
never gave her so much as the price of a drink
of porter; penny wise and pound foolish as the
saying is.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[278]</span>

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VIII<br>

<small>ROSY AT FURRY FARM</small></h2>
</div>

<p><span class="smcap">Kitty Grennan</span> was just after starting the children
off for school, of a dark, rainy morning, coming
up to the Christmas. She was readying-over the
house, stooping to make down a fire for the pig’s
pot, when she heard a quick, heavy step outside,
and in comes Dan, very hurried.</p>

<p>“Musha then, Dan,” said Kitty, a bit short,
“what brings you back here so soon?”</p>

<p>She was feeling that she had a lot to get through,
and that she could do it better if there was no one
in the place only herself.</p>

<p>“Sure, I thought,” she went on, “that if I seen
you here by dinner-time, it would be the soonest I
need expect, after all you told me last night had to
be done, below there at that gap, to keep the cattle
from breaking out of their own fields.... But
Dan, agra! is there anything the matter with ye?
You look pale-looking, someways ... as if you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[279]</span>
were after seeing something not right ... a ghost
or.... Gashly white you are indeed, God help
ye!”</p>

<p>“The sorra ha’porth is wrong with me!” said
Dan, “but as for what I seen...! troth, it may
be a ghost, or it may not! But the appearance
there was upon it was of little Rosy Rafferty, that
marrit Art Heffernan ... and we heard last week
was after burying him, God rest his sowl! supposing
it’s true that he’s gone....”</p>

<p>“And is it true?”</p>

<p>“Och, so she says, and that poor Art was only
lying a short time, though out of his health for long
enough ... but I must be off now....”</p>

<p>“Stop a minute, Dan! What brings her here
now?”</p>

<p>“Wirra, if I know! going back home to the poor
old mother, she says. And now, will ye lave the
way, and let me out on the door?”</p>

<p>Kitty was standing between him and it.</p>

<p>“To the mother! And is it that Rosy doesn’t
know?”</p>

<p>“The sorra word she knows!”</p>

<p>“And you didn’t let on to her about it?”</p>

<p>“No! nor wouldn’t, for a pound-note. Let me
get out of this place, woman dear, I tell ye. She’ll<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[280]</span>
be here in no time, and I’ll not stop to be seeing
her....”</p>

<p>“Ora, Dan, acushla, won’t you wait even till
I’ll make her sensible of what’s after happening...?”</p>

<p>“I’ll not! Where’s the use? It’s woman’s
work, so it is! Let me go! Sure, haven’t I to be
off about me business!”</p>

<p>And with that, Dan made a bolt through the
door, and was out of sight, before you could look
about you.</p>

<p>“What will I do at all at all?” said Kitty to
herself, trembling and watching the door.</p>

<p>She hadn’t long to wait, fortunately, for that
would only have made her more cowardly ...
when up comes Rosy, and she with a young child
in her arms. As thin as a rake, Rosy was, and her
face as white as the snow.</p>

<p>“Och, Rosy, and is it yourself that’s in it!”
said Kitty, speaking very fast; “come in here,
<i>ahagur</i>, and sit down by the fire! Here, let me take
the child from you; you must be tired! Sure, they
say a hen is heavy if you carry it far enough, let
alone a babby the size of this of yours, the Lord
love her, I pray!”</p>

<p>Kitty talked like that, because she was so upset<span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[281]</span>
and confused. The baby was no size, scarcely.
But it’s never too easy to know what to say to them
that are in trouble. So it was the last word she
wanted that Kitty could lay her tongue to then.</p>

<p>Rosy just sat down, and let Kitty take the child
from her. And her two hands dropped into her
lap, and she sat there, with the big, hollow eyes of
her looking, looking all around, as if she was
expecting to find there something she had lost;
and every minute giving a bit of a cough, very low
down and weak-sounding, as if that was all she
was able to do. Her hands were burning hot,
but she shivered now and then, and the wet from
her clothes began rising in steam, with the heat of
the fire, for Kitty had her by the hearth.</p>

<p>“Well, and how are ye yourself?” Kitty went on,
“and this little one is cold, the cratyureen! I must
get her a sup of warm milk. She’s about the one
size with our own babby here, that’s asleep above
in the room....”</p>

<p>“Ay, poor little Bride, that is,” said Rosy;
“she’s all I have now, since I lost poor Art....”</p>

<p>“We heard about that, but only a bare sketch of
it, and couldn’t rightly believe it,” said Kitty;
“God help us all! the fine boy that he was! And
was he long sick, the poor fellah?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[282]</span>“Ay! long enough for he to be tired of his bed,
and of seeing me put about for the want of his
wages. That was what had him worse! It was a
chill he took, from a wetting he got, one night that
one of the other van-drivers was too drunk to look
after his own horse, when they got back to the
stables. So Art did this man’s work, when he had
his own done, the way he wouldn’t maybe lose his
job, let alone the poor horse, that couldn’t be left
without his feed and rub-down. That left Art
very late getting home. And you couldn’t
warm him. Pains in the bones he took. There
was nothing I heard of but I tried with him. But
all was of no avail!”</p>

<p>“Glory be to God! to think he took his death so
simple!”</p>

<p>“Ay and suffered terrible,” said Rosy, still
looking all round the kitchen, and talking quite
hard and unconcerned you’d think; “and until
then, we had great comfort! He was earning fine
pay at that job. But it’s not long the purse will
last, when there’s nothing coming in, and a great
deal going out, for medicine and doctors and
nourishment.... But what I thought terrible
bad of, was not being able to get down here to see
me poor mother! not for a long time. I managed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[283]</span>
to send her a few little things, to put her over
the Hollintide; but sure well I know, she’d have
given all the tea and sugar that ever came out of
Dublin, for the one sight of me!”</p>

<p>“Ay, so she would!” said Kitty; “but she
wasn’t too badly off for company then ... we
went over to see her....”</p>

<p>“Well, and how did she appear then?”</p>

<p>“The best!” said Kitty; “Dark Moll was
stopping with her at that time, in the nights, anyway.
And your mother was looking very comfortable
and all done out very nice; and the house the
same.”</p>

<p>Kitty saw no occasion for telling Rosy that it
was in bed the Widdah Rafferty was that day, and
scarcely able to turn herself round; and her poor
eyes strained crooked in her head, watching the
door, for Rosy and Art, that she was expecting
down from town. And it was Kitty herself that
had swept over the place, and had settled up the
old woman with a white handkerchief about her
neck, and a clean cap from under the bed, where
she was saving it up for Rosy to see on her, the way
she would be someway decent-looking then.</p>

<p>“I’m glad to get that account of her,” said
Rosy; “many’s the time me and Art spoke over<span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[284]</span>
her, and how we could not prevail with her to come
to us. We had her once, but she couldn’t content
herself in Dublin. Cart-ropes wouldn’t hold her;
only grousing to get back to her own little house;
lonesome, she said, she felt, for the dresser with the
bits of chaneys of cups and jugs that she was
looking at all her life; and sure, the weight of them
were no good! only cracked so that they wouldn’t
hold anything!”</p>

<p>“Sure it’s just whatever a body is used to!”
said Kitty; “I chanced to be going past her house,
the day she got back to it. You’d wonder, to see
how proud she was, when she picked the key of the
door out from under the furze-bush, where she
had hid it, when she went away....”</p>

<p>“Just two months was all she stopped with
us,” said Rosy.</p>

<p>“A bit puzzled she was, at first, to open the
door,” said Kitty, “because the grass and weeds
had all grown up round about the furze-bush, and
it was a good while before we could get the key.
But it was there, just as she had left it, for Heffernan
never went next nor near the place although it
is on his land. But it appeared as if he knew
nothing about her going, or coming back either.</p>

<p>“So we opened the door that was stiff, and the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[285]</span>
key rusty and had to be humoured. And there,
when we got in, everything was just as she had left
it, even to a few sods of turf piled against the
wall. And in that way, we had no delay in lighting
a bit of fire. I stopped awhile with her, and got
her in a sup of spring water. And she had plenty
of little vittles, that she said you had sent with
her....”</p>

<p>“Ay, ’twas little she’d take from me ... and
never could get to know why she wouldn’t stop
altogether!” said Rosy again, very pitiful, as if she
couldn’t but keep thinking of that.</p>

<p>“I never could find out rightly, what fault she
had to being in Dublin,” said Kitty; “but for one
thing, says she to me, ‘It’s a fright, so it is, the way
they do be going along with the funerals in Dublin!
the horses trotting their living best, as if it was a
hurry the people were in, to get shut of whoever
was dead, and have them out of their sight, once
the breath of life leaves the body! They appear
to have no nature in them at all, there beyant in
the Big Smoke,’ she says, ‘so much so that I’d
far liefer to be at home in me own little place
here,’ she says, ‘with the little things and the ways
that I was always used to,’ she says.”</p>

<p>“Whethen now, she needn’t have minded that!”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[286]</span>
said Rosy; “we could have brought up any of her
own little <i>curey-careys</i> that she had any wish for
... and as for funerals! the Lord knows how
she got such a notion as that! Sure wouldn’t
we have brought her back to Ardenoo, and buried
her in the old graveyard of Clough-na-Rinka,
where all the family does be buried? Poor Art!
his people all belong to Dublin and it was with
them I laid him. But we’d have brought her back
here, and laid her alongside me poor father. She
that was particular about his funeral! She made
him be carried the longest way round, and she went
to the greatest trouble ever you knew, for fear
they’d be opening the grave for him of a Tuesday.”</p>

<p>“I often heard that it was no right thing to do,”
said Kitty. Neither it is.</p>

<p>“He was worthy of it all, whatever!” said Rosy,
letting herself go back on the old days when she
had both father and mother with her; “dear! the
kind father he was to me! ‘Look at your long
<i>scursheen</i> of a daughter!’ me mother would cry
to him betimes, ‘off there she is, idling and playing
football with the boys! she has a right to be
checked!’ and all the answer me father would make
was, ‘Let her alone! the world will well larn her!
she’ll have her own share of trouble, time enough!’<span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[287]</span>
And sure, so I had!” said Rosy, and with that
word, she began to cry.</p>

<p>“Ora, God comfort ye!” said Kitty, crying
herself then. And she laid the child down out of
her arms, and went to compassionate Rosy.</p>

<p>But Rosy stood up, and flung away from her,
and then threw herself down upon the settle, and
“Let me alone!” she said, “until I cry me fill!”</p>

<p>“Do that, God help ye!” said Kitty; “sure it
will only ease your heart; only not to be fretting
too much....”</p>

<p>“And why wouldn’t I fret for Art, and cry him
too, and he the best man to me that ever stood in
shoes! No matter what notion I took, even the
time I got the feathery hat with his week’s wages,
he never as much as said to me, ‘Ill you done it,
Rosy!’”</p>

<p>And Kitty thought to let her have her cry out,
and that she would say nothing more to stop her.
But Rosy lifted herself up again at that word about
Art, and said she, “What at all am I doing spending
me time here, instead of going off home at
once? Sure won’t me mother be as bad as meself,
very nigh-hand, about Art, that she often said was
the same as a son to her?”</p>

<p>And she was making for the door, when Kitty<span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[288]</span>
said, “Rosy, acushla, won’t you stop a bit longer,
till the weight of the rain is over? And I’m just
about hanging down the kettle, to wet a cup of tea.
It will put some heart into ye. Sure it will only
have your mother worse, if you were to go in and
you so poor-looking in the face. Fretting she’ll be,
then; and you with a cold upon you!”</p>

<p>Rosy was after giving a few little coughs out of
her again.</p>

<p>“I’ll wait for no tea here!” said Rosy; “can’t
I get all I want, at home with her?”</p>

<p>“Don’t be asking to go there, Rosy!” said Kitty.
And there she stopped; and of all the white,
frightened faces that ever was seen, Rosy’s was
the worst.</p>

<p>“Why? is <i>she</i> dead too?” says she, as calm and
quiet as if she was just asking, “Is she gone to
the chapel?”</p>

<p>“Och no! not at all! Dead? Why, what put
that foolishness into your head? But ... well,
you see, she wasn’t to say too well at all this
length of time....”</p>

<p>“Sure that’s no news!” said Rosy; “out of her
health she has been for long enough. And isn’t
that all the more reason for I to be with her, that
knows all her little ways...?”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[289]</span>“Very weakly entirely in herself she was,
latterly,” said Kitty, “and I could see no improvements
in her, and ... and had no great comfort....”</p>

<p>“I used to be dreaming a power about her!”
said Rosy.</p>

<p>“And it’s a long step, up that boreen, where
your little place is, and I wasn’t so well able to go
look after your mother,” said Kitty, “when this last
baby came; a real little <i>shaan</i> she is, very little and
donny in herself, and very contrary and cross, would
do nothing only bawl at first, so that I mightn’t lay
her out of me arms, day or night ... and....”</p>

<p>Kitty stopped a minute, not knowing what she
ought to say next.</p>

<p>“Well?” says Rosy, with the two burning eyes
of her fastened on Kitty’s face.</p>

<p>“Well, sure, Dan used to give her a look-in, as
often as he could. And he brought me word how
that Mrs. Rafferty said she wasn’t too lonesome at
all. And that Moll Reilly was the best of company
to her, bringing her all the news of the whole
country; and real useful and handy, in spite of her
having no use of her eyes; would get a few sprigs
for the fire or a sup of water from the well, as
handy as any one else ... and....”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[290]</span>Kitty stopped again here. It was much like a
baulking horse being brought up to a jump and
slipping off to one side or the other, every time you
get close to it.</p>

<p>“She’ll not want Moll any more now!” said
Rosy.</p>

<p>“No, indeed she’ll not!” said Kitty.</p>

<p>Of course, what she was thinking was, that
where Mrs. Rafferty was at that present, she’d
have no need of thinking about the fire or water
either, only wait and take what she’d get, one of
a crowd of other old women.... “And so, as I
was saying, I went up to the boreen to see your
mother, as soon as ever I could get to put the
baby down and leave her ... and do you know,
Rosy, it was the poor way I found your mother
in!”</p>

<p>Kitty was beginning to think that it might be as
good for her to say something like that, so that
Rosy might be got to understand how things were,
and that her mother was better away from the old
home.</p>

<p>“Lying in the bed she was,” said Kitty, “and
not able to sit up or move herself; and the fire gone
black out ... and no little refreshment within
her reach, only a bucket of cold water, that she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[291]</span>
could be taking little sups out of, till Moll would
be back at dark. But still, she was contented
enough, and said it was what Moll was real good
to her; and would share with her whatever little
things she’d have gathered up through the neighbours
on her rounds; a grain of tea or a bit of
butter or maybe a cut of bacon; whatever it might
be she’d....”</p>

<p>“She’ll not need to be depending out of Moll
and her old <i>pucks</i> of bags any longer!” said Rosy,
a bit proud in herself.</p>

<p>The Raffertys were a most respectable family
always. Poor they might be, and were, too; but
they never said anything about that, or would
make a poor mouth, only strive to put the best
foot foremost among the neighbours. “And I’ll
not forget it,” Rosy went on, “to poor Moll, nor
let her be the worse of any little attention or kindness
that she showed to me mother, all this time!”</p>

<p>God help her! and only He knew what poor
Rosy had in her mind then, or what way she
thought she would have of rewarding Moll! But
Rosy never thought much. If she did, it wouldn’t
have been the big surprise to her that it was, to
hear all Kitty had to tell her, in the end, about
the poor old mother.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">[292]</span>Rosy stood up, and was making to go out, when
Kitty said, “Arrah, won’t you wait awhile with
me?”</p>

<p>“It’s too long I’ve been already, delaying!”</p>

<p>“But sure, listen...!” and then Kitty
stopped.</p>

<p>“Well?” said Rosy, half impatient.</p>

<p>“She’s ... she’s not there...!”</p>

<p>“What’s that you’re after saying to me? that
me mother’s not in it?”</p>

<p>“Ora, Rosy <i>alanna</i>, don’t take it too hard!
but you see, it was only worse she was getting, and
a week ago we sent for the doctor. And he said
it was no way for she to be left there with no one
all day, only herself; that it was the best of care she
needed ... and she with no use of herself, nor
couldn’t even turn in the bed. And who was
there, to mind her? I could only go an odd
time ... and so ... and so ... they sent the
sick-car and she was took off to the Union ...
and....”</p>

<p>Kitty had to stop at that, for she and Dan had
gone to help to lift the poor weakly old woman
from her bed into the sick-car, and she remembered
the white face of her, and the way she was shaken
and rattled from side to side, as they drove off with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[293]</span>
her, and Dan locked the door, after they quenching
the bit of fire upon the hearth....</p>

<p>“To the Union! Och, Mother! the Workhouse...!”</p>

<p>There’s all that Rosy said.</p>

<p>“She’ll be well minded there, Rosy ... by
what they say!” said Kitty, crying down big tears.</p>

<p>But Rosy appeared to hear nothing, only that
one word, “The Union!” and she jumped up, and
off with her out of the door, and down the boreen,
flying through the pours of rain.</p>

<p>“The Lord help us now!” said Kitty; “what at
all will I do? And the child wakening up to cry!”</p>

<p>She ran to the cradle, and whipped up the poor
little strange baby to comfort it; and then back
with her to the door. Dan was just slingeing into
sight, from the back of the turf-clamp.</p>

<p>“What came over you to stay away like that?”
said Kitty to him; “and there she’s gone racing off,
once she heard about the mother being took off ...
and it raining buckets down out of the skies upon
her ... and she wid a cough....”</p>

<p>“Why did you let her go?”</p>

<p>“If you had stopped in, as I asked you, you’d
know why!” said Kitty; “but it’s to the Union
she’s making now.... What ails you, to be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">[294]</span>
standing there talking, instead of going after
her?”</p>

<p>“And what will I do, when I do catch her?”
said Dan, very meek and humble.</p>

<p>“What is there to do, only go with her? Isn’t
the little ass yoked there, that you had out with
fodder to the bullocks this morning? God be
with the day the same ass fell lame, and had to be
kept at Heffernan’s.... Marg that was coming
back from the fair with her.... But do you be
off now ... here, take the ould umbrell’ with you,
and ... and see here! the quilt from the bed will
help to keep some of the wet off her ... and let
you throw a sack about your own shoulders....”</p>

<p>Dan did all that, and started the old donkey off
as well as he could. Short and sweet like an ass’s
gallop, as the saying is, and she soon failed at it,
but he was able to overtake Rosy. And as soon
as Kitty, that was watching from the door, saw
that he had got her settled into the cart, she went
back to Rosy’s baby, and began to cry.</p>

<p>“And the others all gone from her! Dublin
must be a hard place to rear a child. To think
this is the only one she has left, God comfort her!”</p>

<p>But it wasn’t long Kitty could spend lamenting
like that. She had too much to do, what with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[295]</span>
minding the two babies, and warming and feeding
the other children, coming in wet and perished
from school. So she didn’t feel till it was dark
night down upon her. And then she began to
think there must be something wrong, Dan was so
long about getting back. And she felt uneasy,
the night was so hard. It seemed as if the rain
was never to stop.</p>

<p>Once she had the children all in bed and asleep,
there wasn’t a sound to be heard, only the dreep,
dreep of the wet from the thatch, and the crying
of the wind in the chimney. She was sitting
by the hearth, rocking the cradle. Every minute
was like an hour. Kitty would look up at the old
clock, and think something must have stopped it,
the hands were moving round so slowly.</p>

<p>Suddenly, at long last, the door opened, and in
staggered Dan. Kitty jumped up with her heart
in her mouth; she was so spent with the long loneliness
and the watching, that even to see him,
though she had been expecting no one else, gave
her a great start.</p>

<p>“Musha, Dan, what’s ‘on’ ye at all?” she said,
taking him by the hand; for he was so unsteady
on his legs that she began to think he had drink
taken, though it was seldom Dan took a sup at all.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">[296]</span>He never made her an answer, only let her put
him sitting in front of the fire, and there he remained
and not a word out of his head; and the wet
steaming out of his clothes and he white with cold
and pure misery. Kitty was frightened when she
got a good look at him. But she said nothing,
only gave him some hot tea, and when he had that
taken, and his wet brogues were pulled off, “Thank
God!” he said, “that I’m safe back again!”</p>

<p>“Ay, agra,” said Kitty; “but where did you
leave poor Rosy? I never thought she’d stop
away from the child, above all....”</p>

<p>“Stop away? ay, and that’s what she’s apt to
do!”</p>

<p>“Ora, Dan, what’s this you’re saying?”</p>

<p>And Kitty began to cry again.</p>

<p>The life was coming back to Dan and the colour
to his face, and said he, “I’ll tell ye now! no, poor
Rosy you’ll never see again.... She’ll scarce
pass the night, the Lord have mercy on her
soul!”</p>

<p>“Oh, Dan! is it the truth you’re telling me?”</p>

<p>“It is, it is, God’s truth! You spoke of me
looking as if I was after seeing a ghost, when I
came in here this morning, to warn you that she
was coming. Well, when I was going along with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">[297]</span>
her in the cart to the Union, the heart would die
in me betimes, the way she’d be going on....”</p>

<p>“What way?”</p>

<p>“Och, laughing mostly, and talking to herself.
‘Poor Art!’ she’d cry; ‘the day he near cut the
thumb off himself, instead of one of the seed
potatoes!’ and then about some pickther they got
from Tommy the Crab ... and something about
Wild Geese ... romancing she must have been.
I could not know the half of what she was saying.</p>

<p>“Well, when we got to the Union, we were both
as wet as if we were after being ducked in the sea.
I lifted Rosy down out of the cart, and by good
luck we were just in time to get in. They were
about shutting the gates.</p>

<p>“But in any case, they would have been hard-set
to keep Rosy out! She just ran straight on,
and not a word out of her! I managed to get a
hold of her arm, and kept her in a bit, till I knew
what way we ought to go through that big awful
place. I asked here and I asked there, and at last
we were put in charge of a young slip of a ...
ward-maid, they called her. And she got orders
to bring us to a certain ward, and we’d find Mrs.
Rafferty there.</p>

<p>“Of all the cold, bare places ... the long<span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">[298]</span>
passages and the white walls and stone floors ...
it would give you the shivers, only to look about
you there!</p>

<p>“At last we got to the ward, and you’d wonder
where all the old women came from, to fill it! It
was as big as the chapel beyant ... but as
large as it was, it was small enough for all it had to
hold. You could scarcely drop a pin between
the beds. And some of the women were asleep
and a few lay there middling quiet. But the
weight of them were sitting up, talking and laughing,
or fighting with one another; and a few were
crying to themselves. And most of them had little
weeny tin boxes in their hands that they held out,
begging you for a pinch of snuff. You’d have to
pity them, they were so anxious for it!</p>

<p>“We were brought to a bed at the far end of the
room.</p>

<p>“‘There’s Mrs. Rafferty!’ said the ward-maid.</p>

<p>“Rosy stooped down.</p>

<p>“‘Mother!’ says she; and then she gave a start.</p>

<p>“‘That’s not her at all!’ said Rosy.</p>

<p>“‘Are ye sure? Look again!’ said the ward-maid,
quite unconcerned.</p>

<p>“Rosy put her hand on my arm; it was like a
live coal.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">[299]</span>“‘Take me away!’ says she.</p>

<p>“We went through three rooms more, like that.
Raffertys seemed as thick as blackberries there.
At every step, Rosy’s hand got heavier and her
face wilder.</p>

<p>“‘There’s only the one more,’ says the girl,
‘in that bed ...’ and she pointed to a corner
where there was a screen up; ‘troth, I believe yous
are late! Ay, the bed’s empty; she must have
died since I was round this morning ... sure I
could have told yous....’</p>

<p>“‘I don’t believe a word of what you’re saying!’
says Rosy; and her face was like scarlet now.</p>

<p>“‘Plaze yourselves!’ says the girl very impudent
and hardened.</p>

<p>“But on the minute, up came a nun; she looked
very nice and kind. But what could she do! only
bring us to make sure, where the dead does be put
... and I won’t spake of that! But Rosy just
saw that it was her very mother that was lying
there ... no more respect for her than if it was
a dumb brute mother-naked ... and so Rosy
gave one little sigh out of her, and sank away down
from me, on to the cold, hard floor....</p>

<p>“In a dead faint she was. They got the doctor,
to see if he could bring her to.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">[300]</span>“‘Sir,’ says I, ‘is there much a trouble to her?’</p>

<p>“‘There is, indeed,’ he says, ‘but there won’t
be long!’ and then he said something about her
lungs having been in a bad way for some time past;
and now getting this chill, and the shock and all.
There was little could be done for Rosy; all the
doctors in Dublin wouldn’t save her.</p>

<p>“‘She’ll scarce pass the night,’ he said; and
went off, for he appeared to be very busy, and
tired-looking he was, too. The nun and a couple
more carried off poor Rosy, and I waited about,
thinking to get to see the nun again. And so I
did, after a long time. And she said I might go
home, for I could do no more there.</p>

<p>“‘You can’t see the poor young woman again,’
says she; ‘but it makes no differ, for she knows
no one; and I’ll see she gets proper care.’</p>

<p>“‘Oh sure I know that, mam,’ says I; ‘but if
only she could have seen the poor mother, just the
once...!’</p>

<p>“So she questioned me a bit, up and down;
and I related the whole thing to her, and said, I
thought very bad of leaving Rosy that was a neighbour
and so well acquainted with us both, there
by herself, if death was coming upon her; and
says the nun, ‘I give you my word again, she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">[301]</span>
wouldn’t know you; she’s not aware of anything
now, she’s so far through! But I’ll promise you
that I’ll look after her, so long as the breath is in
her, and I’ll see that everything possible is done
for her; and let you get off back home ... you’re
wet and tired....’</p>

<p>“So she moved off, and I got the little ass ...
she was no good to go at all, by reason of the rain,
that had her powerless ... but she’s like all
asses in that! But that’s what has me so late.
And now we’ll go to bed; I’ll have to be up at cockcrow
in the morning....”</p>

<p>“For what?” says Kitty, “and you so tired!”</p>

<p>“That’s what I am, too; as betten as the road.
But I must give word at Heffernan’s of what’s
after taking place!”</p>

<p>“Them two babbies is sleeping very peaceable,”
says Kitty, taking a last look at her own and
Rosy’s, that she had put lying beside one another,
snuggled up like a pair of kittens on a shakedown in
the corner; “’twas God that done it, that poor Rosy
left that child of hers here with me, and she making
off through the rain this morning....”</p>

<p>“Troth, I dunno!” says Dan; “I’m thinking
we had enough of our own here, without that little
girleen of Art Heffernan’s as well!”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">[302]</span>“Won’t we have plenty for all, with a blessing?”
said Kitty; “and the way they do be knocked
about in the Union! I couldn’t bear the thoughts
of it!”</p>

<p>Dan said no more then. He went off, as soon as
he could, the next morning. And Kitty was to
spend another lonely day, for he never came back
till it was night.</p>

<p>“Well?” said Kitty, running out to the door to
meet him.</p>

<p>“Well, I went up,” said Dan, sitting down
upon the settle, and beginning to tell the whole
story, “and they both were there, listening, and
never said a word, till I happened to mention the
old name; something I said about Rosy and Art
<i>Heffernan</i> do ye mind? And the name had no
sooner crossed me lips when ‘Yoke up!’ says
Mickey; ‘and let you come along with me, Dan!’”</p>

<p>“‘For what?’ says Marg.</p>

<p>“What answer he made her, or if he made any
at all, I can’t tell you, but away we drove, Mickey
and meself. And when we got to the Union,
there! wasn’t poor little Rosy in the dead-house
too, alongside the mother; the two of them lying
there together....”</p>

<p>“The Lord receive them and mark them to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">[303]</span>
grace, I pray!” said Kitty, and she crossed
herself.</p>

<p>“Heffernan went straight off,” said Dan; “and
he never cried crack, till he had all arranged to
have them took to the Furry Farm, back to his own
place. And, moreover, has a funeral and wake
ordered, in the greatest of style!”</p>

<p>“The Lord reward him, whatever!” said Kitty;
“... and the child...? what did they say
about her?”</p>

<p>“Whethen now, I dunno,” said Dan, looking a
bit ashamed.</p>

<p>“I’ll go bail, you never as much as spoke of
her!” said Kitty, quite jealous about Rosy’s
baby; “men does be very queer betimes. But
you had your share to be talking over!”</p>

<p>“Ay, we had so,” said Dan; “and along with
all, Marg never gave me the opportunity; very
strange and silent in herself she was, all through.”</p>

<p>“Do you tell me that!” said Kitty.</p>

<p>“I was thinking in me own mind,” said Dan,
“could she have any thought of all the times ould
Heffernan used to be going to Rafferty’s, and the
talk there was about he going to marry Rosy!”</p>

<p>“Ay, indeed!” said Kitty, “and the Widdah,
the innocent poor woman that she was! saying all<span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">[304]</span>
she’d do, when she and Rosy would be settled in at
the Furry Farm!”</p>

<p>“Little she thought, those days, that it would
be feet foremost the two of them would be, going
there!” said Dan.</p>

<p>Kitty thought a minute and then said she,
“And as for whatever courting old Mickey had
with Rosy, sure Marg mightn’t mind that. ’Twas
a thing of nothing! Look at the len’th of time
Heffernan was looking out, till he got Marg to
take him! He was always to be made a hare of,
the same Mickey, till now that he has her to look
to and make him respected.... And neither
might Marg care for the laugh that went round
... sure, poor Art and Rosy weren’t half as
bad as we ourselves....”</p>

<p>Fretted and all as she was, Kitty couldn’t but
smile at the thought of the trick she and Dan
played on Heffernan.</p>

<p>“Marg will see that no one makes a fool of
Mickey now, at any rate!” said Dan; “but to give
every one their merit, she’s as anxious as he is
now, to pay every respect to them that are gone.”</p>

<p>Kitty began to cry again at that.</p>

<p>“God’s good, that brought mother and child
together in the latter end!” said she; “and sure,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">[305]</span>
they were just made upon one another, Rosy and
the Widdah Rafferty....”</p>

<p>The funeral took place, and a most pitiful sight
it was, to see the two coffins going off together,
past the end of the little boreen where the Raffertys
used to live, and on to the graveyard of
Clough-na-Rinka. There was a fine wake before
that; full and plenty of everything, so that even
Dark Moll hadn’t a word to say, only compliments.</p>

<p>“But what else could a body expect?” says she
to Marg, “your mother’s child couldn’t but do
the thing decent, when you’d go about it! and the
same at the Furry Farm itself. A good dependence
Mr. Heffernan is for all that are living
under him, and of course that’s what Kitty and
Dan Grennan are looking to, when they were so
ready to agree to keep the babby; and it a Heffernan,
too!”</p>

<p>Marg made no answer to Moll about this. It’s
a thing often to be remarked, how that a man and
his wife will grow to be like one another. Marg
Molally had never been much of a talker; and now
that she was Marg Heffernan, she wasn’t getting
much practice at chin-wagging, and had grown
nearly as silent as Mickey himself.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">[306]</span>She said nothing, but what Moll had remarked
made her think. It’s a little puff that will make a
blazing fire. Moll had put into words what had
been floating through her own mind.</p>

<p>The little baby at Grennan’s! and it a Heffernan!
Well Marg was aware, though Mickey had
never said so, that he’d wish to have one of the old
name to come after him. And she shared that
feeling, in a way. She was beginning to feel a pride
in the Furry Farm and everything about the place
that was her home now. Why wouldn’t Art’s
child have some rights there? The people used to
be saying, before Art had gone off with Rosy,
that he stood a good chance for coming in for
whatever Mickey had to leave. Then why not
this baby?</p>

<p>But what would Heffernan himself say to this?
He mightn’t care for it at all. There would be the
expense.... Marg had always been a careful
girl, but she was more so than ever now. She
couldn’t be near and narrow, like Mickey himself;
it wasn’t in her. But she knew he’d like to see her
saving. So she got the fashion of it, to humour
the old man that was so good to her in his own
way.... And how would he like to see money
being spent on Art’s child?</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">[307]</span>And a child that wasn’t her own! how would
that be? Marg Heffernan was really puzzled
about it. She couldn’t let the thoughts of the
little child out of her mind; it kept coming between
her and her work in the daytime and her rest at
night. And it was all the harder on her, because
she kept it all to herself. Speak of it to
Mickey? She couldn’t do that. If he’d say
“no!” away would go the dreams.... For
she never went against her husband in anything.
But if only....</p>

<p>There’s how she was considering the thing, over
and over, up and down and every way, one
evening that she was crossing the fields to Kitty
Grennan’s. The fuss of the wake and funeral was
over by then, and the Furry Farm was more like
itself again.</p>

<p>Before she reached the house at all, she could
hear the singing and laughing and noise going on
inside, the same as ever, only more so. And
when she got there, and was leaning in over the
half-door, there, hadn’t Kitty the big washing-tub
over by the fire, on the floor, and she kneeling
beside it, talking and chirping away, that it would
do you good to be listening to her.</p>

<p>“God bless your work!” said Marg.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">[308]</span>“... And you, too!” says Kitty, just barely
looking up at her, she was so busy.</p>

<p>“What’s this at all you’re at, woman dear?”</p>

<p>“What indeed, only bathing me two little
babbies I am!” said Kitty, laughing through the
steam.</p>

<p>Marg stood a minute, and then she said, “Is it
that yous have that child here yet?”</p>

<p>“Where else?” said Kitty.</p>

<p>“Well, I dunno,” said Marg; “I suppose every
one knows their own business best ...” and
whatever came over her, to make her say that,
she didn’t know; as if she was faulting the Grennans.</p>

<p>But it made no odds what she said. Kitty gave
her no answer. Maybe she didn’t hear what
Marg was after saying. She just burst out
laughing.</p>

<p>“Ora, Marg, will you look-at-here!” she said;
“you’d think little Miss Heffernan, as I do call
poor Rosy’s baby, was striving to r’ise herself up
out of the tub of water, the way she could get a
look at you! She’s the cunningest little crature...!”</p>

<p>Marg went in at that, and over beside the tub.</p>

<p>“Take care! take care, Kitty!” she said;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">[309]</span>
“maybe you’d let one of them slip ... and
wouldn’t they be very easy drownded, and they so
small!”</p>

<p>“Och, the sorra fear!” said Kitty; “I could be
handling a half-score of them, and be making me
soul, at the same time!”</p>

<p>Of course, she was a practised hand by then.</p>

<p>“Let me! ah! let me be at them, too!” said
Marg; and down with her on her two knees, and
began at the baby that was nearest to her in the
tub. And when she felt the soft little body in her
hands, and the warm, pleasant water with the
soap-bubbles floating and winking upon it, her own
eyes began to shine, and her cheeks grew like
roses. Ten years younger she appeared to Kitty
to become, that minute; and a shy, happy smile
on her mouth, like a girl again.</p>

<p>“There now,” said Kitty, lifting the other baby
out upon her lap; “we have one a-piece! But
how did you know so well to take the right child?”</p>

<p>It was only by chance it happened. But Marg
was holding the Heffernan baby in her arms.
And Kitty saw now that the tears were running
down poor Marg’s face. So she pretended not to
see that, and began sharing out the baby-clothes
into two heaps, and instructing Marg, that had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">[310]</span>
never done the like before, how to dress the baby.
And then she got its food ready, and gave the cup
into Marg’s hand.</p>

<p>And Marg did all, just as Kitty directed her, as
mild as if she was an infant child herself. Her
eyes kept bright with tears, but they stopped
falling, and there remained the same soft smile
upon her lips.</p>

<p>She never so much as lifted a look from the
baby, till she had done feeding her, and had her
rocked to sleep upon her knee, Kitty sitting opposite
her and doing the same; and neither of the
women speaking, till the babies were sound asleep.</p>

<p>Then Marg stood up, with Rosy’s child in her
arms, and she said, “Now we must be off with
ourselves; let you be putting the cloak about me!
there it is, upon the floor, where I let it down off
me, before I began at the child.... Mind now,
take care what you’re doing! You might smother
the baby, easy. And now let me be shortening
the way home. It wouldn’t answer to be keeping
this little <i>laneen</i> out too late....”</p>

<p>“Is it taking her away with you, you are!”
said Kitty, very astonished at the thoughts of
Marg walking off like that with the poor little
stray child in her arms.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">[311]</span>“What else, what else? I can’t leave her after
me! I’ll not go without her! Och, Kitty, haven’t
you the full up of the house of your own; and why
wouldn’t I have this one little child?”</p>

<p>“Why not, indeed?” said Kitty.</p>

<p>But it was to herself she said it. Marg never
waited for any answer, only walked off with the
child. She never as much as said, “Good-evening!”
or turned her head to look at Kitty, and she
standing at the door with her own child hugged up
to her.</p>

<p>“God help her, I think it’s what poor Marg
must be bewitched, to go do such a thing as that!
And what will old Mickey say?” thinks Kitty,
turning back into the house, to lay her own baby
into the cradle, and feeling lonesome that the
other one was gone. Kitty was foolish that way.</p>

<p>And as Marg was moving home, she kept saying
to herself, “What will Mickey say? But I don’t
care! I’ll not give you back, even to Kitty! No!
and sooner than the Union, I’ll walk the roads
with you, <i>asthore</i>, if there should be any objections
made to you being at the Furry Farm!”</p>

<p>And every now and then, she’d kiss it and snug
it up close to her very heart. Then the baby
would give a little whimper, and go off to sleep<span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">[312]</span>
again. She never really wakened at all, indeed;
only lay so still, that Marg stopped more than
once, frightened, thinking it was what she had
the baby smothered.</p>

<p>But she needn’t have been uneasy about that!
And as for Heffernan....</p>

<p>When Marg got home, she walked straight in to
where Mickey was sitting in the kitchen by the
fireside. And she opened back her cloak; and
the child began to stretch herself in the heat, and
to laugh and crow.</p>

<p>Mickey that was surprised! and no wonder. He
nearly jumped off his stool at the sight of the baby.
And Marg was too excited and breathless at first to
explain the thing. He had time to take the pipe
from his mouth, and to knock the ashes out of it
against the toe of his brogue, before she got to say,
and she catching her breath every minute with a
kind of a sob, “I’ve brought that child of Art’s
here, out of Grennan’s ... and not to see her
being sent to the Union beyant to be reared ...
and it would be a disgrace to the name of Heffernan ...
and if there’s a word of objections to be made
to her, let it be said now! I can go off somewhere
else.... Not a fear of me, but I’ll be well able to
earn what will do the both of us ... well able I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">[313]</span>
am ...” and she rocking the baby in her arms,
and keeping a tight hold upon it, as if she was in
dread of poor Mickey taking it from her.</p>

<p>Heffernan said nothing for a minute; always
tedious he was; and says Marg, beginning again,
“I’ve brought the child here....”</p>

<p>“Ora, what else, woman dear?” said Mickey.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">[314]</span>

<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER IX<br>

<small>COMRADE CHILDREN AT THE FURRY FARM</small></h2>
</div>

<p><span class="smcap">Well</span>, Marg brought that child home with her,
and when she did, she was so excited that she
scarce knew what she was doing; bringing an old
house on her head, as the saying is. But if she had
known itself, or had taken time to think, would
that have hindered her?</p>

<p>Not it! She had been the best of a daughter,
and a sister, and wife; always doing for others, and
forgetting herself. But with all the love she had
given out, there was more left still in her heart
than had ever been spent. It must have been
waiting there for that baby of Rosy’s. For once
Marg got the feel of it in her arms, small and
soft and helpless, she knew it was what she
had been hungry for, those years upon years
past, and had given up all hopes of ever having
for herself.</p>

<p>And now, at last she had it, and she was satisfied.
No one else wanted that grand little baby;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_315">[315]</span>
no one else had any call or claim to it. It wasn’t
of the Union Marg was thinking, really; let alone of
Grennan’s being so poor a little home, that to have
another mouth there to fill wasn’t lightly to be
thought of. No, she made no account of these
things. They were all lost in the one wish that
was burning in her heart. She must have that
child for her very own.</p>

<p>And curious, too, it was, how little Marg seemed
to consider Mickey himself in this matter, as if
she didn’t care how he’d feel about the little newcomer!
In fact, the night she brought the baby
home, she was more like an old ewe with her lamb
than anything else; on for fight with even a strange
dog that may happen by. And poor old Mickey,
sitting there so peaceable!</p>

<p>To give him his due, there never was a word said
by him, as if he objected to the fuss of having the
child there. Of course, it altered things a good
deal. A baby coming into a house always does.
And hasn’t it a right to? What are children for,
only to teach us, in their own little way, by making
us take care of them! Sent down from heaven
they are, to help to show us how to get there. It’s
a queer sort of man, let alone a woman, but will be
the better of having to do with a child. For you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_316">[316]</span>
have to be good to it; and then it does good to you,
back again.</p>

<p>Now, Mickey was one of the best, if slow and
silent; but good and all as he was, you may easily
imagine that he’d feel a bit put about betimes, at
finding himself left to himself in such things as not
having the stick within reach; or putting his specs
out of his hand and forgetting where they were; or
having to wait of a morning to have his brogues
laced upon his feet, because Marg would be
engaged with the child.</p>

<p>He’d say nothing; that was his way; just sit
there, most patient. But it’s often he’d be wondering
how a thing so little would require so much!
For by the time Marg would have the baby bathed
and dressed of a morning, and hushoed off to sleep
at night, let alone the feeding of her through the
day, there appeared to be little time for anything
else to be done. Not that Marg did neglect the
work. She managed it by getting up earlier and
going to bed later, and so she would contrive to
overtake all. And the things to be done seemed
to her less trouble than ever now; because always
there was the baby, waiting and wanting her,
Marg Heffernan, and no one else.</p>

<p>Marg would have been contented to spend all her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_317">[317]</span>
time with the child, petting it upon her knee, and
playing with its fingers, or making drakes’ tails out
of the little soft wisps of hair upon the head of it!
Not that I’m wanting to make little of the child or
her hair, either! But at the beginning, she was
next door to bald. As she grew big, she grew nice,
and had the loveliest head of yellow curls you
might ask to see. She had no touch of a Heffernan
about her at all.</p>

<p>That was the child that lit on her feet and no
mistake, when she was brought to the Furry Farm!
She that was well minded; too well, in fact.
Poor Marg could scarce bear the wind to blow or
the sun to shine down upon her; only watching
every turn, as if she thought some danger was
waiting to happen to that child, if she took her own
eye off her for a minute.</p>

<p>There’s many a woman like that. And it may
be right enough, as long as the child is helpless in
your arms, because then they’re easily hurt. But
it’s another case altogether when they begin to feel
the little feet under them, and are able to run
about. It was then that the real trouble began
with little Bride.</p>

<p>Here’s how it was. Marg used to dress her up
very grandly. Nothing was too good for the child.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_318">[318]</span>
What could be got at Melia’s shop wouldn’t answer
at all. So Marg would send off to Dublin,
no less, by Tommy the Crab, that had got on well
in the world since the morning he sold the pictures
to poor Art and Rosy.... Tommy had a cart
and horse now, and was a higgler; going about
buying up ducks and chickens and so on. And
he’d call in at the Furry Farm, and Marg would
give him whatever eggs or fowl she had to sell; and
he would bring her back all manner of fineries for
little Bride, that he would choose when he’d be
off in the Big Smoke; and very nice the child
looked in what came out of the grand Dublin
shop, Tommy being very tasty and experiented
about such things.</p>

<p>But what matter how she looked? Who was
there to take notice whether it was a puce frock or
a pink one she’d have on? Not one, except Marg
herself. The Furry Farm wasn’t a place that was
apt to be much frequented by people happening
in, and Bride was too little still to be taken where
she’d be seen. She might as well have been
dressed in sacks.</p>

<p>But if you do put good clothes on a child that
size, you are making trouble for yourself, unless
you can spend all your time watching them; the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_319">[319]</span>
clothes, I mean. It would take a person all their
time, running after one like little Bride, to keep
her from doing destruction on her grandeur.
Marg had plenty of other work that had to be
done, so she began teaching the child the fashion
of keeping quiet, and sitting on her creepy-stool
in the corner. Brigeen was easily taught, being
very biddable, so she’d sit there, quite good,
till you’d have to pity her, waiting till Marg
would give her leave to run out for a little while.</p>

<p>Too anxious poor Marg was about the child, in
every way! afraid of being too kind to her, and
spoiling her by too much love; a thing impossible,
if it’s right love; and afraid, too, of ever being
cross enough to say a harsh word to her, let alone
to punish the child, and she without either father
or mother to take her part. Many a mother with
an only child is not half as careful as Marg was
with little Bride, that wasn’t her own at all,
except through her own goodness. If only Marg
could have taken a leaf out of Kitty Grennan’s
book! Kitty, that had a houseful of children to
contend with by that time, but took things rough
and ready, so that her long family was less bother
to her than the one at the Furry Farm was to
Marg.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_320">[320]</span>Why, if little Bride cried...! But it was
seldom that occurred. How could it? Bride was
healthy and gay, and moreover had the best of
care in every way. What had she to cry for?</p>

<p>And still in all, there’s one thing that none of us
can do well without, and that is, liberty to do what
we want in our own way. And as well, children
want some one the same age as themselves, to be
company to them. Now, little Brigid had neither
friends nor freedom. And that was hard on her,
although, God knows! Marg meant nothing but
kindness.</p>

<p>The child began to be lonesome and forgotten-looking.
Marg herself noticed it at times, and
wondered what ailed her pet. She could not
guess; but supposing she could, what was she to
do? She might put her two eyes upon sticks, and
it would be no use. A grown person can never
go back and be a little child again. And that
was what ailed little Bride mostly; the want of
another child to play with.</p>

<p>Now, strange enough, it was old Moll Reilly
that first really seemed to know what the child
was pining for. Dark and all as she was, she’d
find out things that were going on, often far
better than them that had their sight. She<span class="pagenum" id="Page_321">[321]</span>
was sitting inside at Heffernan’s one evening,
Marg being gone off to the well, and Heffernan
himself outside seeing about the business being
done, so that only Moll and the child were in the
kitchen. And little Bride, after standing for
some time with her finger in her mouth, came
sidling over to the stool where Moll was sitting
by the fire, and crept in as close as she could to the
old woman, as if for company.</p>

<p>“Why aren’t you off somewheres outside?”
said Moll to the child, “playing about in the fields,
where maybe you’d chance to meet up with the
young Grennans? Or up on the Furry Hills?
Grand it does be, there!”</p>

<p>“I can’t,” said Bride, “because me mammy
doesn’t like me to be anywhere that she can’t see
me. Sometimes I do be put out into the yard,
where she can be keeping an eye on me from the
house; and she shuts the big gate that opens out
into the fields ... the way I’ll be safe from the
cows ... but they come to the other side of the
gate and look through it at me with their wicked
ould eyes ... and I do be afeard of them....
And all round the yard, there’s walls and sheds, too
high to look over.... Only there’s one little
spot where the wall is all broken and very low<span class="pagenum" id="Page_322">[322]</span>
down ... and it’s there I do mostly go; where
the little old bits of a house are....”</p>

<p>“And what do you be doing there, alanna?”
said Moll.</p>

<p>“Making a chaney-house,” said little Bride;
“all the old jugs and cups that gets broken, me
mammy gives them to me, and I have a big big
round stone there to make them into little bits....
I’d bring you there, only you’d not be able
to see how grand I have it!”</p>

<p>“That’s a quare place for you to be! and do you
never be lonesome there without one only yourself?”
said Moll.</p>

<p>And little Brigid laughed, and said, “Indeed and
I’m not lonesome! there does always be some one
with me there, where I make the chaneys....”</p>

<p>“Your mammy, is it?” says Moll.</p>

<p>“No, no! it’s not me mammy!” said Brigid,
looking down at the floor and then all round the
kitchen as if she was puzzled; “it’s ... it’s
some one ... I don’t know....”</p>

<p>“What are they like, that do be there with
you?” asked Moll.</p>

<p>Brigid made no answer to this, but began
twisting her little hands together, and kicking
one foot to and fro. And there was no more to be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_323">[323]</span>
said then, for here was Marg back with her can
of water swinging by her side; and Heffernan
himself, limping in to look for his tea. And the
kettle hadn’t boiled, and the fire was low, and
things seemed all behindhand.</p>

<p>Marg fed the child, and thought to get her off to
her bed at once. But whatever queer spirit was in
little Bride, whether it could have been that she
was excited by the talk she had been having with
Moll about the old bits of ruined wall and her
chaney-house and the “some one” that was always
there with her or not, it’s hard to say; only Marg
could get no good of her at all. She would do
nothing she was bid, only running this way and
that way, and laughing when Marg pretended to
get angry with her.</p>

<p>But at long last, Moll, knowing that Mickey was
getting worn out with it all and she herself in the
want of her supper, thought she’d put in her word.</p>

<p>So she said, “There now; too much laughing
ends in crying. See here, Bridie, be a good child!
Look at ... look at how well little Judy and Pat
are behaving, playing about there and no bother to
any one ...” and she pretended to be watching,
or rather listening to a couple of children at the
other end of the kitchen.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_324">[324]</span>Brigid, that had been rushing about, laughing
and shouting, stopped like a shot at that, and
looked up at Moll.</p>

<p>“Where, where are they?” she said; “who’s Pat
and Judy? ... where do you see them...?”</p>

<p>“Look at them! Off there, beyant your
mammy’s spinning-wheel, hiding themselves ...
that’s why you can’t see them ... and there,
now! there they are, going off good to their beds
as soon as they’re told....”</p>

<p>At that Brigid, who had been all noise and
movement, stood still; and the laugh died off her
lips, and her eyes grew big and shining, as she
looked up, but seeming to see nothing. And then
she lifted her little arms, and away she went, as if
she was floating, floating, upon a wave of the sea.
And as she crossed the floor and disappeared
through the door of the kitchen, they could hear
her saying in a half-whisper, “Are you there,
Judy? Is Patsy with you?”</p>

<p>And then she’d go on to answer her own question,
“Ay, indeed, are we here! and will be in bed
and asleep before you....”</p>

<p>“And by that means,” said Moll, telling all this
one day to Kitty Grennan, that she had called in
to see on her rounds, “by that means, I got the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_325">[325]</span>
better of the child, and she was no more trouble
that evening, and Marg was able to attend to the
business and Heffernan himself, and get all done.
It’s no way to be going on, to have everybody
waiting in order to humour a child!”</p>

<p>“If it was my case,” said Kitty, “I’d just give
her a few little slaps....”</p>

<p>“So you would, and you’d be right, too. But
Marg is that particular! And what is little
Brigeen there, only a cuckoo?”</p>

<p>“Not at all!” said Kitty; “where there’s a
cuckoo in a nest, he’ll be pushing out the other
young birds, to take all himself. But there’s no
one at the Furry Farm for little Bride to be interfering
with; there she is, bird alone! And so,
that’s how it comes to pass, what Dan was telling
me about, only last night, that he seen at Heffernan’s.
He chanced to be there a bit late, and a
windy sort of a night it was, and neither raining
nor letting it alone, only the air dark with the wet
that ought to fall and wasn’t. And Dan said,
you’d think there was a whole troop of children
playing and chattering and laughing, in the corner
of the yard where the bit of the old Heffernan
castle is, they say. It was afterwards he thought
how queer it was! he was in too great a hurry then,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_326">[326]</span>
to pass any remarks, for we none of us care to be
too late crossing the Furry Hills at night....”</p>

<p>“You’re right in that, too!” said Moll.</p>

<p>“... but Dan said,” Kitty went on, “that it
was after he got back here he began to think it
over ... and sure, he thought it was the strangest
thing, to say there was no one there only little
Bride, and she was going on talking and making
answer then back to herself, as if she had a couple
of Comrade Children there with her ... and even
dogs she was talking to! One she called Bixey
and another was Slangs; and she’d scold them,
most bitter and natural; and then she’d pet them
and make up friends with them again.... And
sure there was neither child nor dog in that place,
only Bridie herself! It was a fright, Dan said!”</p>

<p>“So it was, a fright,” Moll said, “and appears
most curious too! But now I must be off about me
business....”</p>

<p>“What hurry are you in?” said Kitty; “Dan is
gone off to-day with Heffernan ... some business
or other....”</p>

<p>“If that’s so,” said Moll, “I may’s well give
poor Marg a look in; lonesome the crature does
be there....”</p>

<p>So with that, she waddled off, big cloak and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_327">[327]</span>
stick and all. She guessed she had got all Kitty
had to spare for her, there not being too much in
that house, by reason of all the children. And
when she heard of Mickey not being at home, she
bethought her that it would be a good opportunity
for making a call at the Furry Farm. Marg, she
knew, would be more free to give, when himself
wasn’t there.</p>

<p>But when Moll got to Heffernan’s, it wasn’t
what she expected that she found there. She
looked to be brought into a quiet, orderly, comfortable
place, such as Marg’s kitchen had the name
of always being; and getting well fed and comforted
in every way there. But the whole place
was upside down. Not a hand’s turn had been
done there since the breakfast was ett; everything
through-other, and poor Marg herself running up
and down and here and there, like a mad-woman.</p>

<p>Little Brigid was sitting on her creepy-stool by
the fire, pale and shivering with the fright; and
the big tears were streaming down her face.</p>

<p>“Ora, what’s this at all at all? or what’s the
matter?” said Moll, who dark and all as she was,
as I said before, could always give a good guess at
what was going on, and in particular if it was anything
wrong.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_328">[328]</span>“I’m distracted!” said Marg; “out of me seven
senses I am, and don’t know what I’m doing or
saying, and has me poor little darlint there terrified!
It’s the teethaches I have, and never closed
an eye these two nights, only walking the floor ...
and I tried all the remedies I can hear of....”</p>

<p>“The teethaches!” said Moll; “God help you,
then, but it’s you that are to be pitied! Meself
that used to be mortified with them, till all the
teeth fell out. I got some ease then. But as for
remedies, there’s no certain cure that ever I could
hear of.... There’s charms, of course. And then
there’s that Fairy Doctor ... he lives on beyant
Clough-na-Rinka ... a seventh son he is, and
does a lot of cures. It’s often I used to be thinking
if only he was at that work of doing cures before
my eyes got so bad ... but sure, it’s all the will
of God! and nothing to be done for them poor
eyes now; that day’s gone by for me. But for
teethaches ... he’s most notorious for curing
them. All he’ll do, is just pass his hand across
the bad tooth, and the pain leaves it that instant
minute....”</p>

<p>“I thought of him, over and over,” said Marg;
“but how can I get to go, and himself gone off
with the side-car?... I’d have to walk every<span class="pagenum" id="Page_329">[329]</span>
step of the way. And it would be too far to carry
the child; and worse to be leaving her here
by herself.... I wouldn’t know what might
happen her.... And the car’ll not be back till
dark....”</p>

<p>“Sure, what of that?” said Moll; “can’t I be
sitting here till either of yous is back, and keep an
eye ... I mean, be minding the child? and let
you go in the name of God!”</p>

<p>So that took place. Marg rolled her cloak about
her and went flying off at a sweep’s trot, to get
cured by the Fairy Doctor; and Moll settled herself
in by the chimney-corner, in Mickey’s own
big chair. She was a very gay old body, the very
sort that children always love to be with. So before
very long, she had little Brigid sitting on her
lap, talking away.</p>

<p>“You do be very lonesome here betimes, don’t
you?” said Moll.</p>

<p>“I do, middling,” said Brigid; “I am this evening,
with every one gone off ... and Pat and
Judy, that I do mostly have to play with, are gone
too. Off a long ways they are; gone to buy hay for
foddering the cattle, for the grass is beginning to
run very short....”</p>

<p>That was the very word she had heard Heffernan<span class="pagenum" id="Page_330">[330]</span>
saying when he was starting off with Dan
awhile before. And whatever Brigid knew to be
going on, she and her Comrade Children were to
do the same.</p>

<p>“Where’s that you sent me mammy to?” she
said then; “a Fairy Doctor, is it? and what kind
of a thing is that?”</p>

<p>“Oh, there’s different sorts of Fairy-men,” said
Moll; “and, moreover, of Fairy-women, too!
Didn’t my very grandmother meet a Fairy-woman
one evening, and she coming home from a dance
at the cross-roads; ay, and the Fairy-woman had
seven fairy children after her....”</p>

<p>“<i>Seven</i> children!” said Brigid, growing red at
the thought.</p>

<p>“... and they all dressed in grand red cloaks!
And long hair as yellow as butter in June, and it
streaming down their backs ... and golden
crowns upon their heads....”</p>

<p>“... Upon their heads!” said Bride, with her
eyes shining and her face quite pale now at the
thought of all this.</p>

<p>“Upon their heads, of course! where else?”
said Moll; she might easy have known better than
to go on spouting out of her like that to the innocent
poor child ... “and riding upon ponies they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_331">[331]</span>
do be ... white ponies, with long tails flying
behind them in the wind, they go so fast....”</p>

<p>“Where, where? I’d like to see them!” said
the child, her little voice choking with wonder at
all Moll was telling her.</p>

<p>“Whethen now, they do be in a-many places,”
said Moll; “the Furry Hills at the back of this
very house used to be full up of them ... is still,
for all I know....”</p>

<p>With that, she bethought her of what Marg had
said, about taking care of the child. And she began
to consider that maybe Bride’s mind might
get upset, and that she’d take the notion of going
off to look for the fairies herself.</p>

<p>So Moll went on to say, “But all that happened
a very long time ago; and little girls mustn’t be
too venturesome, only do as they’re bid, and then
there will nothing happen to them!”</p>

<p>But it’s the first word that counts. Little
Brigid took no heed of this warning. She was
standing beside Moll now, with the little rosy
hand laid upon the old woman’s checky apron,
and she looking up at her, and listening, listening,
to every word that was said.</p>

<p>And now she went across to the half-door, that
she was just able to peep over, by standing upon<span class="pagenum" id="Page_332">[332]</span>
her tippy-toes; and Moll could hear her saying,
in a whisper, “Pat! Judy! are yous there?
Mind now and see to get that hay off the carts
and ... and....”</p>

<p>She stopped at that, because, like many another
that might be wishing to give directions, she
didn’t know very well herself what ought to be
done. She used to listen to Marg and Mickey,
without appearing to mind them, and then, whatever
they said, she would repeat it to the Comrade
Children, when no one would be by that would
maybe laugh at her. There’s nothing a child
hates more than to be made fun of. But she
managed so that there wasn’t a hand’s turn done
about the Furry Farm but she would have the
same going on, with herself and Pat and Judy.</p>

<p>Moll often said afterwards, that it gave her a turn
as if she was listening to something not right, to
hear the little voice talking away, and then answering
itself back, “So we will, Brigeen, do all you say!
But when are you coming out here to play with us?
Tired we are, waiting on you....”</p>

<p>Before there was time to make any reply to
that, Brigid ran back to Moll, and said, “Here’s
himself, coming back!”</p>

<p>On the minute, Moll began to stir herself. She<span class="pagenum" id="Page_333">[333]</span>
never had any great hopes out of Mickey, in the
way of what he might give her. She knew how
hard he always got it, to part money; and so, as
soon as she had it all explained to him, about Marg
being away, and had got the penny that Mickey
handed to her when he was down off the car, she
said, “Now that you’re here, Mr. Heffernan, I
may’s well be making the road short. The child
will be right enough with you about the place ...
and Dan too....”</p>

<p>Mickey didn’t say against her; he had no great
wish for having Moll in the kitchen.</p>

<p>So she went off, and Heffernan stumped into the
house, and planked himself down in his chair by
the fire. He gave a look round, and there he saw
Brigid, sitting on her creepy, looking as if butter
wouldn’t melt in her mouth, she was so meek.</p>

<p>“Well, Missie!” said Heffernan; for there’s the
name he had for the child.</p>

<p>She said nothing, but he took no notice, and not
long after, he fell asleep. He was old, and tired
after the long day he had had, driving.</p>

<p>Bride watched him for a while. Then, when she
had made sure that he was sound asleep, she rose
up off her stool, and crept over very softly to the
half-door again.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_334">[334]</span>She had no delay in opening it, because Mickey
had not fastened it as Marg always did, in a way
the child did not understand yet. Brigid peeped
out. There was no one in sight. Dan was gone
off, after unyoking the old mare, to drive in the
cows to be milked. There wasn’t a picture of a
man about the yard.</p>

<p>It was the kind of a spring’s evening that you
would think it a sin to stop in the house; cold and
bright and no wind stirring. Here and there you
could hear a little bird tuning up, but there was
little signs of growth on anything yet. Little
Bride thought something was saying to her,
“Come out! come out!” as she stood a minute
half-ways through the door.</p>

<p>She looked back at Heffernan. Was he really
asleep, she wondered, or only pretending? He
gave a sigh, and she was satisfied and looked out
again, and said, in a whisper, “Are yous there?
Patsy! have you the hay above in the loft...?”</p>

<p>“Ay, have I!” she made answer to herself;
“and me and Judy only waiting on you, to go off
to the chaney-house to play....”</p>

<p>“Is it there we’ll go?” said the real child.</p>

<p>“No! why would we?” said the Comrade
Children; “we’re tired of playing there! We’d<span class="pagenum" id="Page_335">[335]</span>
like to go away, away! out beyant the yard, and
up into the rath on the hill ... and maybe we’d
get to see some of the Good People there and....”</p>

<p>“Sure I wouldn’t be let to do that!” said little
Brigid.</p>

<p>“Och, come along!” answers the Comrade
Children; “won’t your own Pat and Judy be with
you, and won’t let anything happen to you?”</p>

<p>“Do yous know the way?”</p>

<p>“Ay do we! weren’t we often there, and even
went into the hill itself! follied after the Fairy-woman
that was looking for the sup of new milk
for the fairy baby, and it lying there upon her lap
sick for the want of nourishment! And it was we
that ‘milked the tether’ for her to get it from
Marg’s dairy into the rath....”</p>

<p>“The time the grand big cow went back in her
milk ... and me mammy was that put out!...
And will we see the fairy children, with their
crowns of gold upon them, and they riding, and
long red cloaks upon their backs, and...?”</p>

<p>“To be sure we will! see all there is to see!”
said the Comrade Children; “only let you hurry,
and not be keeping us waiting here all night on
you....”</p>

<p>Then out of the door goes little Brigid, talking<span class="pagenum" id="Page_336">[336]</span>
all the time to herself, and answering herself back
as if there was a whole regiment of children in the
place, instead of only herself.</p>

<p>She ran straight to that choice spot of hers,
where the small little remains of the old castle
of the Heffernans was. And there she stood a
minute, listening, you’d think. All that remained
there now of the old building that had once been
so grand and fine was a couple or three bits of
walls, half-roofed, very thick and strong. In one
of them there was a pointy long-shaped hole, like
where the window of a chapel might have been.
Many a time Brigid had stood, and had looked at
the hole, and had longed to climb up and out
through it, to see what was on the other side, only
Marg had always checked her. So of course the
child couldn’t but know that her mammy wouldn’t
wish her to go through there.</p>

<p>But now it seemed as if she forgot all that!
She scrambled up and out through the window;
she half fell, half jumped on to the long grass
outside. Of course she had no call to do the like;
but don’t we all act contrary at times? and it’s
often you’ll hear it said, “Where’s the sense in
being young, if you’re not foolish?” Little
Bride just picked herself up; stood still a minute,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_337">[337]</span>
looking back at the hole. Then she held out the
two little hands, the soft, rosy little hands that
Marg loved to kiss, as if to catch hold of other
hands; and off she started, running as fast as the
little feet would carry her, towards the Hill of
the Rath, that was dim and fading already into
the night.</p>

<p>Inside in the kitchen, Mickey slept ahead for a
while; long enough in fact for it to be middling
dark when he began to stir himself and waken up.
Then he looked about him, and missed Marg,
and remembered all that was after happening, and
that she was gone off, and the child left in his
charge. She had been sitting on her creepy in the
corner. He looked over to see if she was there
still. The stool was, but the little girl was gone.</p>

<p>At first, Heffernan didn’t mind so much,
thinking it was only outside Bride should be. So
he gave a great shout of a call to her, and even
when there was no answer, he only thought, “She
mustn’t be far; I did no more than close me eyes
for a minute of time!” half ashamed, the way the
most of us are about taking a doze by the fire; as if,
you’d think, it was one of the seven deadly sins
to fall asleep anywhere only in your bed.</p>

<p>But when no Bride appeared, after a bit Mickey<span class="pagenum" id="Page_338">[338]</span>
grew uncomfortable in himself. He got up and
limped over to the door, to see could he see the
child in the yard. It wasn’t till he found that the
night was settling down dark and quiet, that
the real lonesomeness came over him! He called
again, but of course there was nothing, only echo
from the old walls for him to hear. Little Brigid
was too far away for any shout from him to
reach her.</p>

<p>“What will I do, at all at all?” thinks Heffernan
to himself; “I wish to God Marg was back
here! What a thing for her to go do, to be getting
the teethaches this day of all days, and leave me
here to be annoyed with the child going astray on
me! And sure, if anything was to happen little
Missie, Marg would never over it!”</p>

<p>He felt now that he’d give a good deal to see
little Bride come trotting up to the door; and he
strained his eyes out into the darkness as if by
that he thought he might get her back.</p>

<p>Many’s the time he had thought it long, when
he’d have to wait his turn till Marg would be
done with the child; and he might sit there,
lonely and forgotten and as if he was no consequence,
till the child would be dressed and fed
and all to that. But he had never said a word<span class="pagenum" id="Page_339">[339]</span>
of a complaint, and now it was all past. He
could only see the look on Marg’s face, when she’d
have Brigid on her knee, warm and smiling after
her bath; or latterly, the way she’d be folding
the little hands for her, and getting her to say her
prayers, before she’d be put into her bed. Heffernan
was half-wild, thinking how fretted Marg would
be, if she came home and found the child gone.</p>

<p>“She’d never stop here at all, wanting her!” he
said to himself.</p>

<p>That minute, he heard Dan’s foot outside, and
he called to him, and gave him instructions. He
wasn’t to mind anything, mare or cows either,
only run off to search for the child; first at the well,
and then at the old quarry-hole; and if he got no
signs of her at either of those places, he was to take
off along the high-road, after a band of tinkers
that Heffernan and he had passed that day coming
home after buying the hay.</p>

<p>“Sure, what would they want with the child?”
said Dan; “doesn’t the like of them have the
full up of their ass-carts of fine children of their
own?”</p>

<p>“Be giving me none of your chat!” said Heffernan
to him, pretty severe; and at that, off went
Dan. He was anxious enough himself by then.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_340">[340]</span>When Dan was gone, Mickey felt worse than
ever.</p>

<p>“How am I to stop here,” he thought, “or
how could I face Marg, if she comes back to
find Missie gone? Maybe it’s what she’d show
fight....” She might say, wasn’t it a queer
thing, that he couldn’t look after the child for one
evening, and she that had always done everything
for him, those years past! And well he knew that
himself! He couldn’t call to mind any time that
he had asked Marg to do a thing for him, but she
was ready for the job. And to say he couldn’t do
that much for her, only dropping off asleep...!</p>

<p>He couldn’t keep inside. He hobbled out into
the yard again, and tried to look through the
darkness that had fallen now over everything
around.</p>

<p>“It would be very simple for any one to go
astray now, let alone a little child!” he thinks to
himself.</p>

<p>On the minute, he began to call to mind the
time he had lost a lamb once, and that it was
above upon the Hill of the Rath he had found it.</p>

<p>“And why wouldn’t a child be the same as a
lamb, and try to get up higher always, when it
would be lost?” he thought to himself; “and a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_341">[341]</span>
poor thing it would be, if anything was to happen
Brigeen now and she half reared ... and a
Heffernan too ... and along with all, to think
of the way Marg is made upon her! thinks the
sun rises and sets in that child!”</p>

<p>With that, off stumps Heffernan, out through
the yard into the fields beyond, towards where
the Hill of the Rath rose up, dark and bristly, a
piece off from the house. The moon was just
commencing to rise, so that he had some light
to show him where to put his poor old feet and
he limping along.</p>

<p>He hadn’t been up the Furry Hills for many a
day, not since he got the game leg that indeed
hindered him of a-many a thing he might be wishing
to do. But he set himself real courageous now
to climb the Hill of the Rath; and you’d wonder
how sprightly he went up it.</p>

<p>And as he worked his way, he could call to mind
many a queer story of what was to be seen about
that rath; stories he had heard from his very
father; how that, one day and they sowing oats,
just about that time of the year, didn’t there a
weeny little red cap drop from out of the rath,
right where they were working! And some boy
ran to pick it up, but before he could reach it, my<span class="pagenum" id="Page_342">[342]</span>
dear, didn’t a great furl of wind rise it off of the
ground and blew it back into the rath again!
And they all thought to hear a great laugh!</p>

<p>And another day, a third cousin of his father’s
was gathering nuts, and he a young boy at the
time, and it was from trees that grew on the side
of the Hill of the Rath he was picking them. And
suddenly, there was a lovely young girl, and she
dressed in green, smiling at him very pleasant.
And then she disappeared, as if the hill had opened
to take her in.</p>

<p>“It’s no place for a little child to be, whatever!”
thought Heffernan to himself; “and maybe
would get a fright there that would last her for her
lifetime! Or maybe not be let come back at all,
only a ‘Visit’ sent in her place...!”</p>

<p>Mind you, it was hard work enough for any one
at any time to get up that hill, let alone an old
lame fellow like Mickey, and it the night. The
place was all grown over, too, with briers and
thorns and nut-trees; and big stones lay loose
here and there, and made the going very rough.
But Heffernan persevered on, until he got to
the top, and then he climbed down into the
rath; and very lonesome it appeared, and darker
than ever the night was, when he got to the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_343">[343]</span>
bottom of it, where a very old, twisted thorn-bush
grew.</p>

<p>Something white was under the shelter of that
bush; no more, you might think, than a gleam of
the moonlight that was just beginning to peep
in over the edge of the hollow of the rath. But
to Mickey that white thing looked like the stray
lamb he had found there, in that very spot, long
ago. He went over and stooped down, and laid his
hand upon it; and what was there, only little
Brigid, lying there curled up like a kitten! And
she was so tired that when Heffernan picked her
up, she only stirred herself round in his arms, and
settled herself off to sleep again.</p>

<p>Well, how Mickey got down that steep, rough
path and he with the child to carry, is more than
I can tell you, or indeed more than he could understand
himself. But he did it. He got her
safe home. When he had her inside by the fire,
he could see that her little face and arms were
scratched and bruised and torn with briers; and
so were her grand little clothes, and muddied,
where she must have slipped and fallen a few times.</p>

<p>“But what odds for all, when she’s found and
safe at home, before Marg is back!” said Heffernan
to himself, as he was letting himself down into<span class="pagenum" id="Page_344">[344]</span>
his big chair very carefully, the way he wouldn’t
waken little Bride, lying asleep in his arms.</p>

<p>While all this was going on, Marg, God help her!
was galloping along on her way home, very happy
at being rid of the teethaches, that had left her
soon after she had been with that Fairy Doctor.
There’s people very wise that will tell you such a
thing can’t be, but you’ll see such cures done about
Ardenoo. It was so with Marg, anyway, and she
was in good heart, hurrying back to the child and
Mickey and carrying a couple or three little matters
with her that she thought of when passing
Melia’s shop; a newspaper for Heffernan and a bit
of tobacco, and a sugar-stick for the child. And
she was thinking the way long till she’d get home
to little Brigid, when didn’t she bob up against
some one in the dark; and who was it only Dan.</p>

<p>“What’s bringing you off here, Dan?” said she,
“instead of attending to the business at home;
is there anything wrong...?”</p>

<p>Dan didn’t know how to begin to tell her.</p>

<p>“It was ... it was himself that bid me....
I was to make no delay for anything, only look
for the child along the road ... and sure, as like
as not....”</p>

<p>“The child! is it Bridie? What do you mean?<span class="pagenum" id="Page_345">[345]</span>
Sure there’s nothing after happening to her!
Speak up, why don’t ye!”</p>

<p>“Sure isn’t that what I’m trying ... but she
can’t be far, nor hadn’t time to be really lost ...
well, well!” as Marg rushed away from him,
“why wouldn’t she listen, and not go flying off
that-a-way like a mad-woman!”</p>

<p>Mad! Well that’s what Marg really was, and
she racing along like the wind, with a short hold
of her skirts, and flinging her cloak and parcels
from her, hither and over, as she ran! What did
she care about them, about anything now? There
was only room in her mind for the one thought:
little Brigid was gone.</p>

<p>Gone! Lost! and what is there that can
happen, able to make you feel more astray and
lonesome, than to lose anything, even if it’s only
a button off your shirt? But of all things, to lose
a child! All the dreadful things that ever you
heard come into your mind, and you make up
your mind that they’re all happening to that one
child! Cold, you think, and hungry; worst of all,
tired and frightened, and crying out for you to
save it!</p>

<p>And then you wonder what at all made it go off!
Did you speak sharp to it, or give it a little slap,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_346">[346]</span>
so that the child had gone off fretting and sore-hearted;
and never to come back in life again?</p>

<p>All these things, and more, passed through
Marg’s mind, as she was tearing along the dark,
silent road. She kept saying to herself, with a
kind of sob, “What at all am I to do? Where
should she be? To stray off, in the night and
cold ... sure she’ll get her death! What was
Dark Moll about, that she couldn’t do that much,
and she with nothing else to think of ... and
how well it should be my poor little <i>laneen</i> that
wandered away! how well the Grennans can
have all theirs with them, safe and warm, this
night, and my one little pet to be lost ... lost!
I had little to do, to go leave the house at all, for
any Fairy Doctor! Sure, if I had stopped where
I was, the pain might be gone by this! And the
little child ... and she so small ... God and
His Holy Angels watch over her, this night,
I pray!”</p>

<p>And along with these ideas there came into
Marg’s mind the thought that when she’d get
back to the house, there would be Heffernan,
sitting by the fire, smoking, maybe, and maybe
taking a sleep in his chair as he had the fashion
of doing, easy and snug, and not casting a thought<span class="pagenum" id="Page_347">[347]</span>
on little Brigid. He never did appear to take
much notice of the child. And Marg felt now
that she couldn’t stand that; it would make her
hate the very sight of Heffernan. To think he’d
be there, just as usual, warm and comfortable,
and he near the close of his days, and her young
little darling that was only beginning to live,
gone from her!</p>

<p>She was wild when she got to the door, and out of
breath, so that she had to stand a minute before
she could raise the latch. And as she was shaking
at it, trembling all over, heart, soul, and body,
behold ye! what did she hear, only some one
singing inside in the kitchen! Singing, of all
things! And a queer old cracked voice it was,
too, that was crooning out:</p>

<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
<div class="first">“There was a frog lived in a well,</div>
<div class="verse">Sing song, Kitty Katty Kimo.”</div>
</div></div>

<p>“The Lord save us! that must be Mickey I
hear! that never lifted a lip to sing in his mortial
life before! Gone mad on me he must be, along
with all other misfortunes! But sure, what odds
about that or anything else, now!” thinks Marg to
herself.</p>

<p>And at last she got the door open, and then she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_348">[348]</span>
nearly fell into the kitchen, being giddy as well as
tired, not to speak of the fret that was on her.</p>

<p>What did she see then, by the light of a fine
turf fire, only himself was sitting there, Mickey, in
his own corner, where she imagined him as she was
running home. But what she never thought to
see, he had little Bride upon his knee, rocking
and dandling her, as handy as you please. Marg
could scarce believe her eyes. She stood there,
trying to get her breath, and looking at the two
there before her; and then she said, “She’s not
lost, then; thank God for all!”</p>

<p>And still she made no attempt to interfere with
Mickey; she never did; though now you could
know by her that she was wild for the feel of her
heart’s treasure, her <i>cushla machree</i>, in her own
arms.</p>

<p>The child opened her eyes, and looked up dreaming-like
at Marg; then slumbered off again, with
her rosy cheek and the tumbled bush of yellow
hair croodled up against Mickey’s old frieze
coat, the same as a lamb with a ewe. And all
the wisdom of the world couldn’t have shown her
better.</p>

<p>A little slow blush crept up over poor Mickey’s
face. It was the first time ever he balanced a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_349">[349]</span>
child upon his knee, and he was doing it the best,
though awkward-appearing, with the child’s legs
and one small little arm hanging helpless, and her
frock every way upon her. But he thought he was
great to have Brigeen hushoed off to sleep. “See
that, now,” says he, “sure a child is aisy minded,
if only you go about it right. Ay, and knewn
where to go look for her, too, what noan of yous
knew, above on the Hill of the Rath....”</p>

<p>“You! you! was it yourself done that? and
took that great imminse climb.” The tears began
to rain down Marg’s face; a seldom thing to
be seen. She went over to Heffernan and stooped
down to kiss him.</p>

<p>“Aisy, aisy now,” says he; “if you’re not careful,
you’ll have the child awake!”</p>

<p class="center">THE END</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<p class="ph2">Carmen and Mr.<br>
Dryasdust</p>
</div>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="ph3">By Humfrey Jordan</p>

<p class="center">Author of “The Joyous Wayfarer,” “Patchwork
Comedy,” etc.</p>

<p class="center"><i>12<sup>o</sup>. $1.35</i></p>

<p>Carmen has smouldering in the depths of
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life, which gives her the mastery over Mr.
Dryasdust, whose academic career has been
devoted with rare singleness of purpose to
a study of the habits, physical peculiarities,
and occasional vices of the common fly.
How Carmen comes to have her way, how
Mr. Dryasdust comes to surrender the ambition
of a lifetime, and how Carmen’s
feelings undergo a change from tolerant
affection to love that seeks a place, a real
place, in the life of the man with whom
her own life is linked, is told with many
excellent touches of satire and not a little
sly fun.</p>
</div>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<p class="ph2">Horace Blake</p>
</div>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="ph3">By<br>

Mrs. Wilfrid Ward</p>

<p class="center">Author of “Great Possessions”</p>

<p class="center"><i>$1.35 net. By mail, $1.50</i></p>

<p>“Mrs. Ward has done much excellent work
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make Horace Blake really and indeed great—great
in intellect, great in evil, and great, finally,
in good. He holds the reader captive just as he
is described as holding his world captive.”</p>

<p class="right"><i>The World</i>, London.</p>
</div>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<p class="center"><i>By the Author of<br>
<span class="large">“Aunt Olive in Bohemia,”<br>
“The Notch in the Stick,” etc.</span></i></p>
</div>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="ph2">The Peacock Feather</p>

<p class="ph3">By<br>
Leslie Moore</p>

<p class="center"><i>$1.35 net. By mail, $1.50</i></p>

<p>In a moment of reminiscent detachment the
wearer of the Peacock feather describes himself
as “one whom Fate in one of her freakish moods
had wedded to the roads, the highways and
hedges, the fields and woods. Once Cupid had
touched him with his wing—the merest flick
of a feather. The man—poor fool!—fancied himself
wounded. Later when he looked for the
scar, he found there was none.” And so he
wandered.</p>

<p>Here is a rare love story, that breathes of
the open spaces and is filled with the lure of the
road.</p>
</div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<p class="center"><span class="u"><i>By the Author of “The Way of an Eagle,”<br>
“The Knave of Diamonds,” etc.</i></span></p>
</div>

<div class="blockquot">
<p class="ph2">The<br>
Rocks of Valpré</p>

<p class="ph3"><i>By</i> E. M. Dell</p>

<p class="center"><i>Colored Frontispiece. $1.35 net</i></p>

<p>The story of a girl who consents to wed the
man who dominates her, before she is awake
to the fact that he is a stranger within her
gates. And when the “preux chevalier” of
her child-life again comes on the stage, she is
quick to realize that this companion of her
summer idyll challenges with her husband
the possession of her heart. The author again
proves her rare gift for character drawing, and
her ability to handle dramatic and delicate
situations in a wholesome and graphic manner.</p>

</div>
<hr class="tiny">
<p class="ph3">G. P. Putnam’s Sons<br>
<small>New York  <span class="gap">    London</span></small></p>


<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<p class="ph1">FOOTNOTES:</p>
</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> Potatoes.</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">[2]</a> Lane-way.</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="label">[3]</a> Basket.</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4" class="label">[4]</a> Stem of grass.</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_5" href="#FNanchor_5" class="label">[5]</a> Dublin.</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_6" href="#FNanchor_6" class="label">[6]</a> Fool.</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_7" href="#FNanchor_7" class="label">[7]</a> Rogue.</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_8" href="#FNanchor_8" class="label">[8]</a> Feed.</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_9" href="#FNanchor_9" class="label">[9]</a> Gossip.</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_10" href="#FNanchor_10" class="label">[10]</a> Gossiping.</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_11" href="#FNanchor_11" class="label">[11]</a> Burly.</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_12" href="#FNanchor_12" class="label">[12]</a> Talking confidentially.</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_13" href="#FNanchor_13" class="label">[13]</a> Hundred thousand welcomes.</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_14" href="#FNanchor_14" class="label">[14]</a> Speckled.</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_15" href="#FNanchor_15" class="label">[15]</a> Small potatoes.</p>

</div>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">
<div class="transnote">
<p class="ph1">TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:</p>

<p>Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.</p>

<p>Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.</p>

<p>Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.</p>
</div></div>
<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 74263 ***</div>
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