NEXT DAY
I was doing up the bed in Mr. Wolley’s room whin Miss Claire walked in.
She wint into her father’s closet and cam out wid her arms fool of his
cotes. These she set on the bed and camly wint to wark sarching throo
his pockits. After a bit she cam upon what shes looking for—the fat
litter which arrived yisterday. She held it in her hand a sicond her
eyes closing oop. Thin suddintly she wint over to the fire place. She
toar the litter acrosst, invillip and all, then neeling throo it into
the grate and set it on fire. Joost thin her father cam in, and she
looked oop at him and smiles.
“Why Claire” ses he, “what are you doing?”
“Papa” ses she, “sumthing told me that _he_ had ritten. I soospected you
yisterday. I’ve just been burning the litter. Hereafter papa” ses she,
“whin anny more such litters cum, trate thim in the same way—_burn
thim—burn them—burn them_” ses she.
Thin she stared up at him wid her cheeks all red and feverish, and she
cryed out suddintly, “Oh papa! papa!” ses she, crowched doon on the
harth and sobbed wid her face all ooncuvvered and the teers joost poring
down.
“My puir Claire!” ses the auld man brokenly; then he seen me and spoke
in a feerce voyce:
“Lave the room Delia!” ses he.
This arfternoon Mrs. Wolley cum down to the kitchen. She’s very figitty
and nerviss and she skurce looked me in the face at all.
“Delia” ses she, “yure moonth is oop on the 12th. We’ve decided to let
you go.”
I cudn’t spake at all fur the loomp in me mouth. I wint to the sink and
foosed aboot wid the dishes.
Mrs. Wolley continued unasily.
“You understand Delia” ses she, “we’ve no complaint to make aboot you.
You’re a good cook and excellent in ivery way—but Claire—Claire isn’t
very well and we must humour the child. The fack is Delia, the very site
of you seems to recall a sartin unplissant person to her mimmry.”
“Oh ma’am,” ses I, “indade I wud cut me hed orf for Miss Claire, but
indade,” ses I, “it’s sad I’d be to lave the child as such a time. Let
me stay ma’am, if oanly till ye go to town in October.”
“No” ses she, shaking her hed, “it’s better not.”
I set down and thort the matter over. Why shud I be turned out in this
fashun ses I to mesilf. It’s a shame, a crool shame it is. It was thin
Mr. Mulvaney cum sontring in and befure I know wat I’m about I’m telling
him the story of me sorrers.
“Bad cess to thim all!” ses he, “they desarve to lose a fine girl like
you, Delia, and if ye’d lissen to my airging it’s laving thim ye’d be
to-day and stipping wid me over to Father Dugan’s. These Wolleys do be a
trubblesum famly. Shure they’ve toorned the hole poynt oopside doon wid
thrubble. I heer that the Robbins are arfter being beside thimsilves wid
feer of Mr. James. Now Delia” ses he, “ef ye’ll not be heering to the
praste, thin it’s anuther bit of advice I’m arfter giving you. Stip
across to the Widdy Bangs’ house,” ses he, “and tell her your
thrubbles,” ses he. “I’ll bet me job aginst the Frinchman’s that she’ll
fix you all rite wid the family.”
So I wint over to the widdys house. A spoonky little culloured maid
opened the frunt dure. She guv a luk at me face—ignoring me best clothes
on me body and ses she:
“Go to the back dure,” ses she. “_I_ recave me collars there.”
“It’s Mrs. Bangs” ses I “I want to see.”
“Mrs. Bangs,” ses she, “is ingaged wid Mr. Wolley.”
I heerd the widdy’s voyce inside and prisintly she cum oot and ses:
“Hoo is it Lilly,” ses she, (My God! The Nigger’s name was Lilly and she
black as hell).
“Why, it’s Delia!” sez the widdy.
“Can I spake to you a minnit, mam!” ses I.
“Why certinly Delia. Whot is it,” ses she.
I wint to throw me aprun over me hed but fownd I’d left it at home, so I
set up a paneful cry widout it. “Oh wirrah! wirrah!” ses I, “it wuz an
avil day whin I crossed the oshun. Oh mam” sez I, “it’s a cruel warld
and peeple do be hard on a poor hardwarking crachure wid niver a frind
in the world.”
The widdy looked as if she were aboot to larf, but she’s that sorry fer
me she controlled hersilf. She poot her hand on me shoulder and ses she
kindly:
“Cum! What is it, Delia? my deer?”
“Mrs. Wolley do be arfter firing me, Mrs. Bangs,” ses I, “and all
because I’m odyiss in the site of Miss Claire and all because I hilped
her meet Mr. Harry Doodly—the crool faithless good-for-nothing villyun”
ses I.
“You poor crachure,” ses she, “and you want me to spake fur you. Why, of
coorse I will. I’ll go rite over and appeel to Claire’s sinse of
justiss.”
Whin I was gitting ondrissed to-nite I herd me dure opening, and I guv a
lowd yill, fer I’m in me chimmy aloan. As Miss Clair cum in, I rooshed
into me closet, and I spoak to the child frum behind the harf closed
dure.
“What is it darlint?” ses I “Its ashamed I am fur you to see me in
dishabeel and me wid twinty bunyuns on me feet and moles on me ligs and
arms. What is it swatehart?”
“Delia” ses she in the gintlest voyce, “Plase forgive me for my croolty
and ingratichude. I’ve been thortless and oongrateful too” ses she,
spaking into the closet, “for aven oonder the sircumstunses I don’t
regret—Harry. So you’ll stay—won’t you Delia?” ses she.
“Stay miss?” ses I, “Why darlint you cuddent roon me out wid a steem
roller.”
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