“Who is that?” said the man, peering through
the darkness.
“Me, pa.”
“Who are you? Charlie?”
“No, pa. Tom.”
“Where’s your mother?”
“She’s out at the chapel.”
“That’s right.... Did she think of
leaving any dinner for me?”
“Yes, pa. I —”
“Light the lamp. What do you mean by having
the place in darkness? Are the other children
in bed?”
The man sat down heavily on one of the chairs while
the little boy lit the lamp. He began to mimic
his son’s flat accent, saying half to himself:
“At the chapel. At the chapel, if you please!”
When the lamp was lit he banged his fist on the table
and shouted:
“What’s for my dinner?”
“I’m going... to cook it, pa,” said
the little boy.
The man jumped up furiously and pointed to the fire.
“On that fire! You let the fire out!
By God, I’ll teach you to do that again!”
He took a step to the door and seized the walking-stick
which was standing behind it.
“I’ll teach you to let the fire out!”
he said, rolling up his sleeve in order to give his
arm free play.
The little boy cried “O, pa!” and ran
whimpering round the table, but the man followed him
and caught him by the coat. The little boy looked
about him wildly but, seeing no way of escape, fell
upon his knees.
“Now, you’ll let the fire out the next
time!” said the man striking at him vigorously
with the stick. “Take that, you little whelp!”
The boy uttered a squeal of pain as the stick cut
his thigh. He clasped his hands together in the
air and his voice shook with fright.
“O, pa!” he cried. “Don’t
beat me, pa! And I’ll... I’ll
say a Hail Mary for you.... I’ll say a
Hail Mary for you, pa, if you don’t beat me....
I’ll say a Hail Mary....”
The matron had given her leave to go out as soon
as the women’s tea was over and Maria looked
forward to her evening out. The kitchen was spick
and span: the cook said you could see yourself
in the big copper boilers. The fire was nice and
bright and on one of the side-tables were four very
big barmbracks. These barmbracks seemed uncut;
but if you went closer you would see that they had
been cut into long thick even slices and were ready
to be handed round at tea. Maria had cut them
herself.
Maria was a very, very small person indeed but she
had a very long nose and a very long chin. She
talked a little through her nose, always soothingly:
“Yes, my dear,” and “No, my dear.”
She was always sent for when the women quarrelled
Over their tubs and always succeeded in making peace.
One day the matron had said to her:
“Maria, you are a veritable peace-maker!”
And the sub-matron and two of the Board ladies had
heard the compliment. And Ginger Mooney was always
saying what she wouldn’t do to the dummy who
had charge of the irons if it wasn’t for Maria.
Everyone was so fond of Maria.
