Mike Duffy and his wife came into the Quins' kitchen one week-day
night, dressed in their Sunday clothes; they had been making a visit to
their well-married daughter in Lawrence. Patrick Quin's chair was
comfortably tipped back against the wall, and Bridget, who looked
somewhat gloomy, was putting away the white supper-dishes.
"Where 's Nora?" demanded Mike Duffy, after the first salutations.
"You may well say it; I 'm afther missing her every hour in the day,"
lamented Bridget Quin.
"Nora's gone into business on the Road then, so she has," said Patrick,
with an air of fond pride. He was smoking, and in his shirt-sleeves;
his coat lay on the wooden settee at the other side of the room.
"Hand me me old coat there before you sit down; I want me pocket," he
commanded, and Mike obeyed. Mary Ann, fresh from her journey, began at
once to give a spirited account of her daughter's best room and general
equipment for housekeeping, but she suddenly became aware that the tale
was of secondary interest. When the narrator stopped for breath there
was a polite murmur of admiration, but her husband boldly repeated his
question. "Where's Nora?" he insisted, and the Quins looked at each
other and laughed.
"Ourselves is old hins that's hatched ducks," confessed Patrick.
"Ain't I afther telling you she's gone into trade on the Road?" and he
took his pipe from his mouth,--that after-supper pipe which neither
prosperity nor adversity was apt to interrupt. "She 's set up for
herself over-right the long switch, down there at Birch Plains. Nora
'll soon be rich, the cr'atur'; her mind was on it from the first
start; 't was from one o' them O'Callahan b'ys she got the notion, the
night she come here first a greenhorn."
"Well, well, she's lost no time; ain't she got the invintion!" chuckled
Mr. Michael Duffy, who delighted in the activity of others. "What
excuse had she for Birch Plains? There's no town to it."
"'T was a chance on the Road she mint to have from the first,"
explained the proud uncle, forgetting his pipe altogether; "'twas that
she told me the first day she came out, an' she walking along going
home wit' me to her dinner; 't was the first speech I had wit' Nora.
''T is the mills you mane?' says I. 'No, no, Uncle Patsy!' says she,
'it ain't the mills at all, at all; 't is on the Road I 'm going.' I
t'ought she 'd some wild notion she 'd soon be laughing at, but she
settled down very quiet-like with Aunty Biddy here, knowing yourselves
to be going to Lawrence, and I told her stay as long as she had a mind.
Wisha, she 'd an old apron on her in five minutes' time, an' took hold
wit' the wash, and wint singing like a blackbird out in the yard at the
line. 'Sit down, Aunty!' says she; 'you 're not so light-stepping as
me, an' I 'll tell you all the news from home; an' I 'll get the
dinner, too, when I 've done this,' says she. Wisha, but she's the
good cook for such a young thing; 't is Bridget says it as well as
meself. She made a stew that day; 't was like the ones her mother made
Sundays, she said, if they 'd be lucky in getting a piece of meat; 't
was a fine-tasting stew, too; she thinks we 're all rich over here.
'So we are, me dear!' says I, 'but every one don't have the sinse to
believe it.'"
"Spake for yourselves!" exclaimed one of the listeners. "You do be
like Father Ross, always pr'achin' that we 'd best want less than want
more. He takes honest folks for fools, poor man," said Mary Ann Duffy,
who had no patience at any time with new ideas.
"An' so she wint on the next two or free days," said Patrick
approvingly, without noticing the interruption, "being as quiet as you
'd ask, and being said by her aunt in everything; and she would n't let
on she was homesick, but she 'd no tark of anything but the folks at
Dunkinny. When there 'd be nothing to do for an hour she 'd slip out
and be gone wit' herself for a little while, and be very still comin'
in. Last Thursday, after supper, she ran out; but by the time I 'd
done me pipe, back she came flying in at the door.
"'I 'm going off to a place called Birch Plains to-morrow morning, on
the nine, Uncle Patsy,' says she; 'do you know where it is?' says she.
'I do,' says I; ''t was not far from it I broke me leg wit' the dam'
derrick. 'T was to Jerry Ryan's house they took me first. There's no
town there at all; 't is the only house in it; Ryan 's the switchman.'
"'Would they take me to lodge for a while, I d' know?' says she, havin'
great business. 'What 'd ye be afther in a place like that?' says I.
'Ryan 's got girls himself, an' they 're all here in the mills, goin'
home Saturday nights, 'less there's some show or some dance. There's
no money out there.' She laughed then an' wint back to the door, and
in come Mickey Dunn from McLoughlin's store, lugging the size of
himself of bundles. 'What's all this?' says I; ''t ain't here they
belong; I bought nothing to-day.' 'Don't be scolding!' says she, and
Mickey got out of it laughing. 'I 'm going to be cooking for meself in
the morning!' says she, with her head on one side, like a cock-sparrow.
'You lind me the price o' the fire and I'll pay you in cakes,' says
she, and off she wint then to bed. 'T was before day I heard her at
the stove, and I smelt a baking that made me want to go find it, and
when I come out in the kitchen she 'd the table covered with her
cakeens, large and small. 'What's all this whillalu, me topknot-hin?'
says I. 'Ate that,' says she, and hopped back to the oven-door. Her
aunt come out then, scolding fine, and whin she saw the great baking
she dropped down in a chair like she'd faint and her breath all gone.
'We 'ont ate them in ten days,' says she; 'no, not till the blue mould
has struck them all, God help us!' says she. 'Don't bother me,' says
Nora; 'I 'm goin' off with them all on the nine. Uncle Patsy 'll help
me wit' me basket.'
"'Uncle Patsy 'ont now,' says Bridget. Faix, I thought she was up with
one o' them t'ree days' scolds she 'd have when she was young and the
childre' all the one size. You could hear the bawls of her a mile away.
"'Whishper, dear,' says Nora; 'I don't want to be livin' on anny of me
folks, and Johnny O'Callahan said all the b'ys was wishing there was
somebody would kape a clane little place out there at Birch
Plains,--with something to ate and the like of a cup of tay. He says
'tis a good little chance; them big trains does all be waiting there
tin minutes and fifteen minutes at a time, and everybody's hungry. "I
'll thry me luck for a couple o' days," says I; "'tis no harm, an' I've
tin shillings o' me own that Father Daley gave me wit' a grand blessing
and I l'aving home behind me."'"
"'What tark you have of Johnny O'Callahan,' says I.
"Look at this now!" continued the proud uncle, while Aunt Biddy sat
triumphantly watching the astonished audience; "'t is a letter I got
from the shild last Friday night," and he brought up a small piece of
paper from his coat-pocket. "She writes a good hand, too. 'Dear Uncle
Patsy,' says she, 'this leaves me well, thanks be to God. I 'm doing
the roaring trade with me cakes; all Ryan's little boys is selling on
the trains. I took one pound three the first day: 't was a great
excursion train got stuck fast and they 'd a hot box on a wheel keeping
them an hour and two more trains stopping for them; 't would be a very
pleasant day in the old country that anybody 'd take a pound and three
shillings. Dear Uncle Patsy, I want a whole half-barrel of that same
flour and ten pounds of sugar, and I 'll pay it back on Sunday. I sind
respects and duty to Aunty Bridget and all friends; this l'aves me in
great haste. I wrote me dear mother last night and sint her me first
pound, God bless her.'"
"Look at that for you now!" exclaimed Mike Duffy. "Did n't I tell
every one here she was fine an' smart?"
"She 'll be soon Prisident of the Road," announced Aunt Mary Ann, who,
having been energetic herself, was pleased to recognize the same
quality in others.
"She don't be so afraid of the worruk as the worruk's afraid of her,"
said Aunt Bridget admiringly. "She 'll have her fling for a while and
be glad to go in and get a good chance in the mill, and be kaping her
plants in the weave-room windows this winter with the rest of the
girls. Come, tell us all about Elleneen and the baby. I ain't heard a
word about Lawrence yet," she added politely.
"Ellen's doing fine, an' it's a pritty baby. She's got a good husband,
too, that l'aves her her own way and the keep of his money every
Saturday night," said Mary Ann; and the little company proceeded to the
discussion of a new and hardly less interesting subject. But before
they parted, they spoke again of Nora.
"She's a fine, crabbed little gerrl, that little Nora," said Mr.
Michael Duffy.
"Thank God, none o' me childre' is red-headed on me; they're no more to
be let an' held than a flick o' fire," said Aunt Mary Ann. "Who 'd
ever take the notion to be setting up business out there on the Birchy
Plains?"
"Ryan's folks 'll look after her, sure, the same as ourselves,"
insisted Uncle Patsy hopefully, as he lighted his pipe again. It was
like a summer night; the kitchen windows were all open, the month of
May was nearly at an end, and there was a sober croaking of frogs in
the low fields that lay beyond the village.