The Widow O'Callaghan's Boys Part 7

"But the General makin' the gravy was fine, and sure I never tasted no better gravy neither. I wish I could just be lettin' 'em know at home.

Mike will have to be turnin' into a girl, too, one of these days, and it might ease him a bit if he could know the General wasn't above cookin'.

My mother said I'd be comin' to visit 'em when my work was done, if Mrs.

Brady could spare me."

A half-hour later a trim-looking boy presented himself at the sitting-room door.

"Come in, Pat," invited the General, looking up from his paper with a smile.

Pat smiled back again, but it was to Mrs. Brady that he turned as he entered the room.

"Mrs. Brady, ma'am," he said, "the dishes are done and the kitchen made neat. Will you have me to be doin' something more for you this evenin'?"

"No, Pat," replied Mrs. Brady kindly. "Your work, for to-day, is done.

You may take off your ap.r.o.n."

"Yes, ma'am. Would you kindly be lettin' me go home a little while then?"

Pat's look was eager but submissive.

"Certainly, Pat," was the reply. "Take the kitchen key with you."

"Thank you, kindly, ma'am," returned Pat gratefully. And with another smile for the General, who had not resumed his reading, the boy left the room, and, shortly after, the house.

"Listen!" cried Mrs. O'Callaghan, with uplifted ringer. And the rollicking talk about her ceased on the instant.

"'Tis Pat's step I hear outside, and here he is, sure enough. Now, b'ys, don't all of you be on him at wanst. Let him sit down in the father's chair."

Pat, feeling the honor paid him, and showing that he felt it, sat down.

The little boys crowded around him with their news. Jim and Andy got as near to him as they could for furniture, while Mike looked at him from the farther side of the tiny room with a heart full of love and admiration in his eyes. They had not seen Pat since Sat.u.r.day morning except at school that day, and that was not like having him at home with them.

"And how does your work come on?" asked his mother as soon as she could get in a word.

"Fine," said Pat. "'Tis an elegant place." Then, with an air that tried hard to be natural, he added, "The General himself made the gravy to-day."

"What!" exclaimed his mother. "The Gineral!"

"He did," said Pat. "He put on one of Mrs. Brady's ap.r.o.ns, and 'twas fine gravy, too."

The widow looked her astonishment. "And do you call that foine?" she demanded at last. "The Gineral havin' to make his own gravy? What was you a-doin', Pat?"

"I was helpin' Mrs. Brady with the puddin' sauce and dishin' up. 'Twas behind we all was, owin' to a caller, and Mrs. Brady said if it hadn't been for me the dinner would have been spoiled sure. I got there just in time."

"The Gineral," said Mrs. O'Callaghan, looking about her impressively, "is the handsomest and the foinest gintleman in the town. Iverybody says so. And the Gineral ain't above puttin' an ap.r.o.n on him and makin'

gravy. Let that be a lesson to you all. The war's over. You'll none of you iver be ginerals. But you can all make gravy, so you can."

"When, mother, when?" asked Barney and Tommie eagerly, who saw at once that gravy would be a great improvement on mud pies, their only culinary accomplishment at present.

"When?" repeated the widow. "All in good toime, to be sure. Pat will be givin' Moike the Gineral's receipt, and the b'y that steps into Moike's place--and that'll be Andy, I'm thinkin'--he'll larn it of Moike, and so on, do you see?"

"And I was just thinkin'," put in Pat, with an encouraging glance at Mike, "that Jim Barrows's cookin' was like to be poor eatin'."

"True for you, my b'y!" exclaimed the widow. "The idea of that Jim Barrows a-cookin' niver struck me before. But, as you say, no doubt 'twould be poor. Them that's not above nignaggin' the unfortunate is apt to be thinkin' themsilves above cookin', and if they tried it wanst, no doubt their gravy would be a mixture of hot water and scorch, with, like enough, too little salt in it if it didn't have too much, and full of lumps besides. 'Tis your brave foightin' men and iligant gintlemen loike the Gineral that makes the good gravy."

CHAPTER VIII

"Pat, I forgot to give Mr. Brady the list of things that I want sent up this morning."

Pat looked up from his dishwashing sympathetically, for there was perplexity in the kindly tone and on the face no longer young.

It was always a mystery to the boy why Mrs. Brady called her husband "Mr. Brady" when everybody else said General Brady.

"But it's none of my business, of course," he told himself.

It was Sat.u.r.day morning.

"Do you think you could go down, Pat, when the dishes are finished?"

"Indeed, and I can that, ma'am," returned Pat heartily.

"Do so, then," was the reply. And Mrs. Brady walked away with a relieved air.

"I'm ready, ma'am," announced Pat, coming to the sitting-room door a little later. "Will you be havin' me to take the list to General Brady, or will you be havin' me to be doin' the buyin' myself?"

Mrs. Brady thought a moment. Her husband very much disliked marketing.

If Pat should prove as capable in that direction as in every other, the General would be saved what was to him a disagreeable task. She resolved to try him. So she said, "You may do the buying yourself, Pat."

"Thank you kindly, ma'am," answered Pat respectfully.

"Do you like to buy things?" asked Mrs. Brady, surprised at the expression of antic.i.p.ated pleasure on the boy's face.

"I don't like nothin' better, ma'am. 'Twas but a taste I'd got of it before I left home. Mike does our buyin' now. Buyin's next best to sellin', we both think."

He took the list Mrs. Brady held out and ran his eye over it. "I'll be takin' my basket and bring the little things home myself", he said.

"Would you believe it, ma'am, some of them delivery boys is snoopy, I've been told. Not all of 'em, of course, but some of 'em just. Now raisins, you've got here. Raisins is mighty good, but let 'em buy their own,'

says I. And don't you be doin' nothin' but restin', ma'am, while I'm gone. If I'm off enjoyin' myself 'tain't fair as you should be up here a-workin'. There's not much to be done anyway, but I'll get through with it," he ended with a smile.

Away went Pat, stepping jauntily with his basket on his arm. It was the first of June, and Wennott, embowered in trees, was beautiful. He had almost reached the square before he thought, "She never told me where to go. I can't be wastin' my time goin' back. I'll just step into the bank and ask the General."

Pat loved the General. A woman's ap.r.o.n was the bond that bound the poor Irish boy to the fine old soldier, and it was with the smile that the boy kept exclusively for him that he stepped in at the open door of the bank.

The General was engaged, but he found time to answer the smile and to say in his most genial tone, "In a moment, Pat."

He was soon at liberty, and then he said, "Now, Pat, what is it?"

"Please, sir, have you any one place where you want me to be tradin', or am I to buy where the goods suit me?"