“Shure thin an’ I’ll jist tramp
on as fur as Hap House, I and my childher; that is
av’ they do not die by the road-side. Come
on, bairns. Mr. Owen won’t be afther sending
me to the Kanturk union when I tell him that I’ve
travelled all thim miles to get a dhrink of milk for
a sick babe; more by token when I tells him also that
I’m one of the Desmond tinantry. It’s
he that loves the Desmonds, Lady Clara,—loves
them as his own heart’s blood. And it’s
I that wish him good luck with his love, in spite
of all that’s come and gone yet. Come on,
bairns, come along; we have seven weary miles to walk.”
And then, having rearranged her burden on her back,
she prepared again to start.
Herbert Fitzgerald, from the first moment of his interrogating
the woman, had of course known that he would give
her somewhat. In spite of all his political economy,
there were but few days in which he did not empty
his pocket of his loose silver, with these culpable
deviations from his theoretical philosophy. But
yet he felt that it was his duty to insist on his
rules, as far as his heart would allow him to do so.
It was a settled thing at their relief committee that
there should be no giving away of money to chance applicants
for alms. What money each had to bestow would
go twice further by being brought to the general fund—by
being expended with forethought and discrimination.
This was the system which all attempted, which all
resolved to adopt who were then living in the south
of Ireland. But the system was impracticable,
for it required frames of iron and hearts of adamant.
It was impossible not to waste money in almsgiving.
“Oh, Herbert!” said Clara, imploringly,
as the woman prepared to start.
“Bridget, come here,” said Herbert, and
he spoke very seriously, for the woman’s allusion
to Owen Fitzgerald had driven a cloud across his brow.
“Your child is very ill, and therefore I will
give you something to help you,” and he gave
her a shilling and two sixpences.
“May the God in heaven bless you thin, and make
you happy, whoever wins the bright darling by your
side; and may the good days come back to yer house
and all that belongs to it. May yer wife clave
to you all her days, and be a good mother to your
childher.” And she would have gone on further
with her blessing had not he interrupted her.
“Go on now, my good woman,” said he, “and
take your children where they may be warm. If
you will be advised by me, you will go to the Union
at Kanturk.” And so the woman passed on
still blessing them. Very shortly after this
none of them required pressing to go to the workhouse.
Every building that could be arranged for the purpose
was filled to overflowing as soon as it was ready.
But the worst of the famine had not come upon them
as yet. And then Herbert rode back to Castle
Richmond.
FATHER BARNEY
