A CHEEKY IRISH GIRL.
At tea the girls were very stiff. Molly and Nora were put as far as
possible asunder. They did not have tea in the drawing room, but in the
dining room, and Mrs. Hartrick presided. There was jam on the table, and
two or three kinds of cake, and, of course, plenty of bread and butter.
As Molly had predicted, however, the news of her expression “Go to
Jericho!” had already reached Mrs. Hartrick's ears, and the fiat had
gone forth that she was only to eat bread and butter. It was handed to
her, in a marked way, by her mother, and Linda's light-blue eyes flashed
with pleasure. Nora felt at that moment that she almost hated Linda. She
herself ate resignedly, and without much appetite. Her spirits were
down to zero. It seemed far less likely than it did before she left
O'Shanaghgan that she could help her father out of his scrape. It
was almost impossible to break through these chains of propriety, of
neatness, of order. Would anybody in this trim household care in the
very least whether the old Irishman broke his heart or not? whether he
and the Irish girl had to go forth from the home of their ancestors?
whether the wild, beautiful, rack-rent sort of place was kept in the
family or not?
“They none of them care,” thought Nora. “I don't believe Uncle George
will do anything; but all the same I have got to ask him. He was nice
about my letter, I will own that; but will he really, really help?”
“A penny for your thoughts, Nora, my dear,” said Mrs. Hartrick at this
moment.
Nora glanced up with a guilty flush.
“Oh, I was only thinking,” she began.
“Yes, dear, what about?”
“About father.” Nora colored as she spoke, and Linda fixed her eyes on
her face.
“Very pretty indeed of you, my dear, to think so much of your father,”
said Mrs. Hartrick; “but I cannot help giving you a hint. It is not
considered good manners for a girl to be absent-minded while she is in
public. You are more or less in public now; I am here, and your cousins,
and it is our bounden duty each to try and make the others pleasant,
to add to the enjoyment of the meal by a little graceful conversation.
Absent-mindedness is very dull for others, my dear Nora; so in future
try not to look quite so abstracted.”
Nora colored again. Molly, at the other end of the table, bit her lip
furiously, and stretched out her hand to help herself to another thick
piece of bread and butter. In doing so she upset a small milk-jug; a
stream of milk flowed down the tablecloth, and Mrs. Hartrick rose in
indignation.
“This is the fourth evening running you have spilt something on the
tablecloth, Molly. Go to your room immediately.”
Molly rose, dropped a mocking courtesy to her mother, and left the room.
“Linda dear, run after your sister, and tell her that, for her
impertinence to me, she is to remain in her room until dinner-time.”
“Oh! please forgive her this time; she didn't mean it really,” burst
from Nora's lips.
“Nora!” said Mrs. Hartrick.
“Oh! I am sorry for her; please forgive her.”
“Nora!” repeated her aunt again.
“It is because you do not understand her that she goes on like that; she
is such a fine girl, twice--twice as fine as Linda. Oh, I do wish you
would forgive her!”
“Thank you,” said Linda in a mocking voice. She had got as far as the
door, and had overheard Nora's words. She now glanced at her mother, as
much as to say, “I told you so,” and left the room.
Nora had jumped to her feet. She had forgotten prudence; she had
forgotten politeness; her eyes were bright with suppressed fire, and her
glib Irish tongue was eager to enter into the fray.
“I must speak out,” she said. “Molly is more like me than anybody else
in this house, and I must take her part. She would be a very, very good
girl if she were understood.”
“What are your ideas with regard to understanding Molly?” said Mrs.
Hartrick in that very calm and icy voice which irritated poor Nora
almost past endurance. She was speechless for a moment, struggling with
fresh emotion.
“Oh! I wish----” she began.
“And I wish, my dear Nora, that you would remember the politeness due to
your hostess. I also wish that you would consider how very silly you
are when you speak as you are now doing. I do not know what your Irish
habits are; but if it is considered in Ireland rather a virtue than
otherwise to spill a milk jug, and allow the contents to deface the
tablecloth, I am sorry for you, that is all.”
“You cannot understand. I--I am sorry I came,” said Nora.
She burst into sudden tears, and ran out of the room. In a few moments
Linda came back.
“Molly is storming,” she said; “she is in an awful rage.”
“Sit down, Linda, and don't tell tales of your sister,” answered Mrs.
Hartrick in an annoyed voice.
“Dear me, mother!” said Linda; “and where is Nora?”
“Nora is a very impertinent little girl. She is wild, however, and
unbroken. We must all have patience with her. Poor child! it is terrible
to think that she is your father's niece. What a contrast to dear
Terence! He is a very nice, polite boy. I am sorry for Nora. Of course,
as to Molly, she is quite different. She has always had the advantage of
my bringing-up; whereas poor Nora--well, I must say I am surprised at my
sister-in-law. I did not think your father's sister would have been so
remiss.”
“There is one thing I ought to say,” said Linda.
“What is that, dear? Linda, do sit up straight, and don't poke your
head.”
Linda drew herself up, and looked prettily toward her mother.
“What do you wish to say?”
“It is this. I think Nora will be a very bad companion for Molly. Molly
will be worse than ever that Nora is in the house.”
“Well, my dear Linda, it is your duty to be a good deal with your
cousin. You are too fond of poking holes in others; you are a little
hard upon your sister Molly. I do not wish to excuse Molly; but it is
not your place as her younger sister to, as it were, rejoice in her many
faults.”
“Oh, I don't, mother,” said Linda, coloring.
“Linda dear, I am afraid you do. You must try and break yourself of that
very unchristian habit. But, on the whole, my dear, I am pleased
with you. You are careful to do what I wish; you learn your lessons
correctly; I have good reports of you from your schoolmistresses; and if
you are careful, my dear, you will correct those little habits which mar
the perfect whole.”
“Thank you, dear mother,” said Linda. “I will try to do what you wish.”
“What I particularly want you to do just now is to be gentle and
patient with your cousin; you must remember that she has never had your
advantages. Be with her a good deal; talk to her as nicely as you can;
hint to her what I wish. Of course, if she becomes quite incorrigible,
it will be impossible for me to have her long with you and Molly; but
the child is much to be pitied; she is a very pretty creature, and with
a little care could be made most presentable. I by no means give her
up.”
“Dear mother, how sweetly Christian-like and forgiving you are!” said
Linda.
“Oh, hush, my dear; hush! I only do my duty; I hope I shall never fail
in that.”
Mrs. Hartrick rose from the tea-table, and Linda soon afterward followed
her. Mr. Hartrick was seen coming down the avenue. He generally walked
from the station. He came in now.
“What a hot day it is!” he said. “Pour me out a cup of tea, Linda. I am
very thirsty.”
He flung himself into an easy chair, and Linda waited on him.
“Well,” he said, “where are the others? Where is the little Irish witch,
and where is Molly?”
“I am sorry to say that Molly is in disgrace, as usual,” said Mrs.
Hartrick.
“Oh, dear, dear!” said Mr. Hartrick; “we ought to send her to school,
poor child! I am sorry for her.”
“And I intended to give her quite a pleasant evening,” said Mrs.
Hartrick, “in honor of her cousin's arrival. She was in disgrace
yesterday when Nora arrived; and I had thought of giving the girls
a delightful evening. I had it all planned, and was going to ask the
Challoners over; but really Molly is so incorrigible. She was very pert
to me, although she did bring a better report from school; she used some
of her objectionable language to Linda, and was more awkward even than
usual.”
“Look at the tablecloth, father,” said Linda.
“I think, Linda, you had better run out of the room,” said Mr. Hartrick.
He spoke in an annoyed voice.
“Certainly, father, I will go; but don't you want another cup of tea
first?”
“Your mother shall pour it out for me. Go, my dear--go.”
“Only, mother, is it necessary that we should not ask the Challoners
because Molly is naughty? The rest of us would like to have them.”
“I will let you know presently, Linda,” said her mother; and Linda was
obliged, to her disgust, to leave the room.
“Now, then, my dear,” said Mr. Hartrick, “I don't at all like to call
you over the coals; but I think it is a pity to speak against Molly so
much as you do in her sister's presence. Linda is getting eaten up
with conceit; she will be an intolerable woman by and by, so
self-opinionated, and so pleased with herself. After all, poor Molly may
have the best of it in the future; she is a fine child, notwithstanding
her naughtiness.”
“I thought it likely you would take her part, George; and I am sorry,”
answered Mrs. Hartrick in a melancholy tone; “but I am grieved to tell
you that there is something else to follow. That little Irish girl is
quite as cheeky, even more cheeky than Molly. I fear I must ask you to
say a word to her; I shall require her to be respectful to me while she
is here. She spoke very rudely to me just now, simply because I found it
my duty to correct Molly.”
“Oh, that won't do at all,” said Mr. Hartrick. “I must speak to Nora.”
“I wish you would do so.”
“I will. By the way, Grace, what a pretty creature she is!”
“She is a beautiful little wildflower,” said Mrs. Hartrick. “I have
taken a great fancy to her, notwithstanding her rudeness. She has never
had the smallest care; she has simply been allowed to grow up wild.”
“Well, Nature has taken care of her,” said Mr. Hartrick.
“Yes, dear, of course; but you yourself know the advantage of bringing
up a girl nicely.”
“And no one is more capable of doing that than you are,” said Mr.
Hartrick, giving his wife an admiring glance.
“Thank you, dear, for the compliment; but I should be glad if you would
speak to Nora. Now that she is here, I have no doubt that we shall soon
discipline her; and I should like her to pay quite a long visit--that
is, of course, if she becomes conformable to my ways.”
“She will be sure to do that, Grace,” replied the husband. “I am glad
you mean to be good to her, and to take her in hand, poor little lass!”
“I thought she might have some good masters and get some valuable
lessons while she is here,” said Mrs. Hartrick. “Would you believe
it, George?--that little girl of sixteen calmly informed me that her
education was finished. At the same time, she said she knew no language
but her own, and just a smattering of that dead tongue, Irish. She
cannot play; in short, she has no accomplishments whatever, and yet her
education is finished. I must say I do not understand your sister. I
should have thought that she was a little more like you.”
“There never was a more particular girl than Ellen used to be,” said
Mr. Hartrick; “but I must have a long talk with Nora. I'll see her this
evening. I know she has a good deal she wants to talk to me about.”
“A good deal she wants to talk to you about, George?”
“Oh, yes, my dear; but I will explain presently. She is a proud little
witch, and must not be coerced; we must remember that her spirit has
never been broken. But I'll talk to her, I'll talk to her; leave the
matter in my hands, Grace.”
“Certainly, dear; she is your niece, remember.”