'Is it ASK? when I see the light!—Sure they'd be proud to give the
traveller all the beds in the house, let alone one. Take care of the
potato furrows, that's all, and follow me straight. I'll go on to meet
the dog, who knows me and might be strange to your honour.'
'Kindly welcome,' were the first words Lord Colambre heard when he
approached the cottage; and 'kindly welcome' was in the sound of the
voice and in the countenance of the old woman who came out, shading her
rush-candle from the wind, and holding it so as to light the path. When
he entered the cottage, he saw a cheerful fire and a neat pretty young
woman making it blaze: she curtsied, put her spinning-wheel out of the
way, set a stool by the fire for the stranger, and repeating, in a very
low tone of voice, 'Kindly welcome, retired.
'Put down some eggs, dear, there's plenty in the bowl,' said the old
woman, calling to her; 'I'll do the bacon. Was not we lucky to be
up—The boy's gone to bed, but waken him,' said she, turning to the
postillion; 'and he'll help you with the chay, and put your horses in
the bier for the night.'
No; Larry chose to go on to Clonbrony with the horses, that he might
get the chaise mended betimes for his honour. The table was set; clean
trenchers, hot potatoes, milk, eggs, bacon, and 'kindly welcome to all.'
'Set the salt, dear; and the butter, love; where's your head, Grace,
dear!'
'Grace!' repeated Lord Colambre, looking up; and, to apologise for his
involuntary exclamation, he added, 'Is Grace a common name in Ireland?'
'I can't say, plase your honour, but it was give her by Lady Clonbrony,
from a niece of her own that was her foster-sister, God bless her! and
a very kind lady she was to us and to all when she was living in it; but
those times are gone past,' said the old woman, with a sigh. The young
woman sighed too; and, sitting down by the fire, began to count the
notches in a little bit of stick, which she held in her hand; and, after
she had counted them, sighed again.
'But don't be sighing, Grace, now,' said the old woman; 'sighs is bad
sauce for the traveller's supper; and we won't be troubling him with
more,' added she, turning to Lord Colambre with a smile.
'Is your egg done to your liking?'
'Perfectly, thank you.'
'Then I wish it was a chicken for your sake, which it should have been,
and roast too, had we time. I wish I could see you eat another egg.'
'No more, thank you, my good lady; I never ate a better supper, nor
received a more hospitable welcome.'
'Oh, the welcome is all we have to offer.'
'May I ask what that is?' said Lord Colambre, looking at the notched
stick, which the young woman held in her hand, and on which her eyes
were still fixed.
It's a TALLY, plase your honour. Oh, you're a foreigner;—it's the way
the labourers do keep the account of the day's work with the overseer,
the bailiff; a notch for every day the bailiff makes on his stick, and
the labourer the like on his stick, to tally; and when we come to make
up the account, it's by the notches we go. And there's been a mistake,
and is a dispute here between our boy and the overseer; and she was
counting the boy's tally, that's in bed, tired, for in troth he's
overworked.'
'Would you want anything more from me, mother?' said the girl, rising
and turning her head away.
'No, child; get away, for your heart's full.'
She went instantly.
'Is the boy her brother?' said Lord Colambre.
'No; he's her bachelor,' said the old woman, lowering her voice.
'Her bachelor?'
'That is, her sweetheart: for she is not my daughter, though you heard
her call me mother. The boy's my son; but I am afeard they must give it
up; for they're too poor, and the times is hard, and the agent's harder
than the times; there's two of them, the under and the upper; and they
grind the substance of one between them, and then blow one away like
chaff: but we'll not be talking of that to spoil your honour's night's
rest. The room's ready, and here's the rushlight.'
She showed him into a very small but neat room. 'What a
comfortable-looking bed!' said Lord Colambre.
'Ah, these red check curtains,' said she, letting them down; 'these have
lasted well; they were give me by a good friend, now far away, over the
seas—my Lady Clonbrony; and made by the prettiest hands ever you see,
her niece's, Miss Grace Nugent's, and she a little child that time;
sweet love! all gone!'
The old woman wiped a tear from her eye, and Lord Colambre did what he
could to appear indifferent. She set down the candle, and left the room;
Lord Colambre went to bed, but he lay awake, 'revolving sweet and bitter
thoughts.'
The kettle was on the fire, tea-things set, everything prepared for her
guest by the hospitable hostess, who, thinking the gentleman would
take tea to his breakfast, had sent off a GOSSOON by the FIRST LIGHT to
Clonbrony, for an ounce of tea, a QUARTER OF SUGAR, and a loaf of white
bread; and there was on the little table good cream, milk, butter,
eggs—all the promise of an excellent breakfast. It was a FRESH morning,
and there was a pleasant fire on the hearth, neatly swept up. The old
woman was sitting in her chimney corner, behind a little skreen of
whitewashed wall, built out into the room, for the purpose of keeping
those who sat at the fire from the BLAST OF THE DOOR. There was a
loophole in this wall, to let the light in, just at the height of a
person's head, who was sitting near the chimney. The rays of the morning
sun now came through it, shining across the face of the old woman,
as she sat knitting; Lord Colambre thought he had seldom seen a more
agreeable countenance, intelligent eyes, benevolent smile, a natural
expression of cheerfulness, subdued by age and misfortune.
'A good-morrow to you kindly, sir, and I hope you got the night well?—A
fine day for us this Sunday morning; my Grace is gone to early prayers,
so your honour will be content with an old woman to make your breakfast.
Oh, let me put in plenty, or it will never be good; and if your honour
takes stir-about, an old hand will engage to make that to your liking,
anyway; for, by great happiness, we have what will just answer for you
of the nicest meal the miller made my Grace a compliment of, last time
she went to the mill.'
Lord Colambre observed, that this miller had good taste; and his
lordship paid some compliment to Grace's beauty, which the old woman
received with a smile, but turned off the conversation. 'Then,' said
she, looking out of the window, 'is not that there a nice little garden
the boy dug for her and me, at his breakfast and dinner hours? Ah! he's
a good boy, and a good warrant to work; and the good son DESARVES the
good wife, and it's he that will make the good husband; and with my
goodwill he, and no other, shall get her, and with her goodwill the
same; and I bid 'em keep up their heart, and hope the best, for there's
no use in fearing the worst till it comes.'
Lord Colambre wished very much to know the worst.
'If you would not think a stranger impertinent for asking,' said he,
'and if it would not be painful to you to explain.'
'Oh, impertinent, your honour! it's very kind—and, sure, none's a
stranger to one's heart, that feels for one. And for myself, I can talk.
of my troubles without thinking of them. So, I'll tell you all—if the
worst comes to the worst—all that is, is, that we must quit, and
give up this little snug place, and house, and farm, and all, to the
agent—which would be hard on us, and me a widow, when my husband did
all that is done to the land; and if your honour was a judge, you could
see, if you stepped out, there has been a deal done, and built the
house, and all—but it plased Heaven to take him. Well, he was too good
for this world, and I'm satisfied—I'm not saying a word again' that—I
trust we shall meet in heaven, and be happy, surely. And, meantime,
here's my boy, that will make me as happy as ever widow was on earth—if
the agent will let him. And I can't think the agent, though they that
know him best call him old Nick, would be so wicked to take from us that
which he never gave us. The good lord himself granted us the LASE; the
life's dropped, and the years is out; but we had a promise of renewal in
writing from the landlord. God bless him! if he was not away, he'd be a
good gentleman, and we'd be happy and safe.'
'But if you have a promise in writing of a renewal, surely you are safe,
whether your landlord is absent or present?'
'Ah, no I that makes a great DIFFER, when there's no eye or hand over
the agent. I would not wish to speak or think ill of him or any man; but
was he an angel, he could not know to do the tenantry justice, the way
he is living always in Dublin, and coming down to the country only the
receiving days, to make a sweep among us, and gather up the rents in a
hurry, and he in such haste back to town—can just stay to count
over our money, and give the receipts. Happy for us, if we get that
same!—but can't expect he should have time to see or hear us, or mind
our improvements, any more than listen to our complaints! Oh, there's
great excuse for the gentleman, if that was any comfort for us,' added
she, smiling.
'But, if he does not live amongst you himself, has not he some
under-agent, who lives in the country?' said Lord Colambre.
'He has so.'
'And he should know your concerns: does he mind them?'
'He should know—he should know better; but as to minding our concerns,
your honour knows,' continued she, smiling again, 'every one in this
world must mind their own concerns; and it would be a good world, if it
was even so. There's a great deal in all things, that don't appear at
first sight. Mr. Dennis wanted Grace for a wife for his bailiff; but she
would not have him; and Mr. Dennis was very sweet to her himself—but
Grace is rather high with him as proper, and he has a grudge AGAIN' us
ever since. Yet, indeed, there,' added she, after another pause, 'as you
say, I think we are safe; for we have that memorandum in writing, with a
pencil, given under his own hand, on the back of the LASE, to me, by
the same token when my good lord had his foot on the step of the coach,
going away; and I'll never forget the smile of her that got that good
turn done for me, Miss Grace. And just when she was going to England and
London, and, young as she was, to have the thought to stop and turn to
the likes of me! Oh, then, if you could see her, and know her, as I did!
THAT was the comforting angel upon earth—look and voice, and heart
and all! Oh, that she was here present, this minute!—But did you scald
yourself?' said the widow to Lord Colambre. 'Sure you must have scalded
yourself; for you poured the kettle straight over your hand, and it
boiling!—O DEEAR! to think of so young a gentleman's hand shaking so
like my own.
Luckily, to prevent her pursuing her observations from the hand to
the face, which might have betrayed more than Lord Colambre wished she
should know, her own Grace came in at this instant.
'There it's for you, safe, mother dear—the LASE!' said Grace, throwing
a packet into her lap. The old woman lifted up her hands to heaven, with
the lease between them.—'Thanks be to Heaven!' Grace passed on, and
sunk down on the first seat she could reach. Her face flushed, and,
looking much fatigued, she loosened the strings of her bonnet and
cloak—'Then, I'm tired;' but, recollecting herself, she rose, and
curtsied to the gentleman.
'What tired ye, dear?'
'Why, after prayers, we had to go—for the agent was not at prayers,
nor at home for us, when we called—we had to go all the way up to
the castle; and there, by great good luck, we found Mr. Nick Garraghty
himself, come from Dublin, and the LASE in his hands; and he sealed
it up that way, and handed it to me very civil. I never saw him so
good—though he offered me a glass of spirits, which was not manners to
a decent young woman, in a morning—as Brian noticed after. Brian would
not take any either, nor never does. We met Mr. Dennis and the driver
coming home; and he says, the rent must be paid to-morrow, or, instead
of renewing, he'll seize and sell all. Mother dear, I would have dropped
with the walk, but for Brian's arm.'—'It's a wonder, dear, what makes
you so weak, that used to be so strong,'—'But if we can sell the cow
for anything at all to Mr. Dennis, since his eye is set upon her,
better let him have her, mother dear; and that and my yarn, which Mrs.
Garraghty says she'll allow me for, will make up the rent—and Brian
need not talk of America. But it must be in golden guineas, the agent
will take the rent no other way; and you won't get a guinea for less
than five shillings. Well, even so, it's easy selling my new gown to one
that covets it, and that will give me in exchange the price of the gold;
or, suppose that would not do, add this cloak,—it's handsome, and I
know a friend would be glad to take it, and I'd part it as ready as look
at it—Any-thing at all, sure, rather than that he should be forced to
talk of emigrating; or, oh, worse again, listing for the bounty—to save
us from the cant or the jail, by going to the hospital, or his grave,
maybe—Oh, mother!'
'Oh, child! This is what makes you weak, fretting. Don't be that way.
Sure here's the LASE, and that's good comfort; and the soldiers will be
gone out of Clonbrony to-morrow, and then that's off your mind. And as
to America, it's only talk—I won't let him, he's dutiful; and would
sooner sell my dresser and down to my bed, dear, than see you sell
anything of yours, love. Promise me you won't. Why didn't Brian come
home all the way with you, Grace?'
'He would have seen me home,' said Grace,' only that he went up a piece
of the mountain for some stones or ore for the gentleman—for he had the
manners to think of him this morning, though, shame for me, I had not,
when I come in, or I would not have told you all this, and he himself
by. See, there he is, mother.'