Phelim Otoole's Courtship and Other Stories Part 36

"Ha, ha, ha! Come in, man alive; never mind little Toal."

"Like raipin' hooks! I'll tell you what, Jemmy, I say now in sincerity, that there is every prospect of a plentiful sayson; and that there may, I pray G.o.d this day; meadows an' all--O above all, the meadows, for I'm not in the hay business myself."

"So," said Murray, laughing, "you would cut off your nose to vex your face."

"I would any day, even if should suffer myself by it; and now good-bye, Jemmy Murray, to the dioual I pitch the whole thing! Rapin' hooks!"

And as he spoke, off went the furious little extortioner, irretrievably offended.

The subject of Margaret's marriage, however, was on that precise period one on which her father and friends had felt and expressed much concern.

Many proposals had been made for her hand during Art's apprenticeship; but each and all not only without success, but without either hope or encouragement. Her family were surprised and grieved at this, and the more so, because they could not divine the cause of it. Upon the subject of her attachment to Maguire, she not only preserved an inviolable silence herself, but exacted a solemn promise from her lover that he should not disclose it to any human being. Her motive, she said, for keeping their affection and engagement to each other secret, was to avoid being hara.s.sed at home by her friends and family, who, being once aware of the relation in which she stood towards Art, would naturally give her little peace. She knew very well that her relations would not consent to such a union, and, in point of mere prudence and forethought, her conduct was right, for she certainly avoided much intemperate remonstrance, as afterwards proved to be the case when she mentioned it.

Her father on this occasion having amused them at home by relating the tift which had taken place between c.o.o.ney Finnigan and himself, which was received with abundant mirth by them all, especially by Margaret, seriously introduced the subject of her marriage, and of a recent proposal which had been made to her.

"You are the only unmarried girl we have left now," he said, "and surely you ought neither to be too proud nor too saucy to refuse such a match as Mark Hanratty--a young man in as thrivin' a business as there is in all Ballykeerin; hasn't he a good shop, good business, and a good back of friends in the country that will stand to him, an' only see how he has thruv these last couple o' years. What's come over you at all? or do you ever intend to marry? you have refused every one for so far widout either rhyme or raison. Why, Peggy, what father's timper could stand this work?"

"Ha, ha, ha! like raipin' hooks, father--an' so the little red rogue couldn't bear that? well, at all events, the comparison's a good one--sorra better; ha, ha, ha--reapin' hooks!"

"Is that the answer you have for me?"

"Answer!" said Margaret, feigning surprise, "what about?"

"About Mark Hanmity."

"Well, but sure if he's fond of me, h.e.l.l have no objection to wait."

"Ay, but if he does wait, will you have him?"

"I didn't promise that, and, at any rate, I'd not like to be a shopkeeper's wife."

"Why not?"

"Why, he'd be puttin' me behind the counter, and you know I'd be too handsome for that; sure, there's Thogue Nugent that got the handsome wife from Dublin, and of a fair, or market-day, for one that goes in to buy anything, there goes ten in to look at her. Throth, I think he ought to put her in the windy at once, just to save trouble, and give the people room."

"Ha, ha, ha! well, you're the d.i.c.kens of a girl, sure enough; but come, avourneen, don't be makin' me laugh now, but tell me what answer I'm to give Mark."

"Tell him to go to Dublin, like Thogue; he lives in the upper part of the town, and Thogue in the lower, and then there will be a beauty in each end of it."

"Suppose I take it into my head to lose my temper, Peggy, maybe I'd make you spake then?"

"Well, will you give me a peck o' mail for widow Dolan?"

"No, divil a dust."

"Sure I'll pay you--ha, ha, ha!"

"Sure you'll pay me! mavrone, but it's often you've said that afore, and divil a cross o' Your coin ever we seen yet; faith, it's you that's heavily in my debt, when I think of all ever you promised to pay me."

"Very well, then; no meal, no answer."

"And will you give me an answer if I give you the meal?"

"Honor bright, didn't I say it."

"Go an' get it yourself then, an' see now, don't do as you always do, take double what you're allowed."

Margiret, in direct violation of this paternal injunction, did most unquestionably take near twice the stipulated quant.i.ty for the widow, and, in order that there might be no countermand on the part of her father, as sometimes happened, she sent it off with one of the servants by a back way, so that he had no opportunity of seeing how far her charity had carried her beyond the spirit and letter of her instructions.

"Well," said he, when she returned, "now for the answer; and before you give it, think of the comfort you'll have with him--how fine and nicely furnished his house is--he has carpets upon the rooms, ay, an' upon my sounds, on the very stairs itself! faix it's you that will be in state.

Now, acushla, let us hear your answer."

"It's very short, father; I won't have him."

"Won't have him! and in the name of all that's unbiddable and undutiful, who will you have, if one may ax that, or do you intend, to have any one at all, or not?"

"Let me see," she said, putting the side of her forefinger to her lips, "what day is this? Thursday. Well, then, on this day month, father, I'll tell my mother who I'll have, or, at any rate, who I'd wish to have; but, in the mean time, n.o.body need ask me anything further about it till then, for I won't give any other information on the subject."

The father looked very seriously into the fire for a considerable time, and was silent; he then drew his breath lengthily, tapped the table a little with his fingers, and exclaimed--"A month! well, the time will pa.s.s, and, as we must wait, why we must, that's all."

Matters lay in this state until the third day before the expiration of the appointed time, when Margaret, having received from Art secret intelligence of his return, hastened to a spot agreed upon between them, that they might consult each other upon what ought to be done under circ.u.mstances so critical.

After the usual preface to such tender discussions, Art listened with a good deal of anxiety, but without the slightest doubt of her firmness and attachment, to an account of the promise she had given her father.

"Well, but, Margaret darlin'," said he, "what will happen if they refuse?"

"Surely, you know it is too late for them to refuse now; arn't we as good as married--didn't we pa.s.s the Hand Promise--isn't our troth plighted?"

"I know that, but suppose they should still refuse, then what's to be done? what are you and I to do?"

"I must lave that to you, Art," she replied archly.

"And it couldn't be in better hands, Margaret; if they refuse their consent, there's nothing for it but a regular runaway, and that will settle it."

"You must think I'm very fond of you," she added playfully, "and I suppose you do, too."

"Margaret," said Art, and his face became instantly overshadowed with seriousness and care, "the day may come when I'll feel how necessary you will be to guide and support me."

She looked quickly into his eyes, and saw that his mind appeared disturbed and gloomy.

"My dear Art," she asked, "what is the meaning of your words, and why is there such sadness in your face?"

"There ought not to be sadness in it," he said, "when I'm sure of you--you will be my guardian angel may be yet."

"Art, have you any particular meanin' in what you say?"

"I'll tell you all," said he, "when we are married."

Margaret was generous-minded, and, as the reader may yet acknowledge, heroic; there was all the boldness and bravery of innocence about her, and she could scarcely help attributing Art's last words to some fact connected with his feelings, or, perhaps, to circ.u.mstances which his generosity prevented him from disclosing. A thought struck her--

"Art," said she, "the sooner this is settled the better; as it is, if you'll be guided by me, we won't let the sun set upon it; walk up with me to my father's house, come in, and in the name of G.o.d, we'll leave nothing unknown to him. He is a hard man, but he has a heart, and he is better a thousand times than he is reported. I know it."