Theresa and Mrs. Donegan had between them put the children into the
brightest of moods, and they completely forgot all the wrong side of
their adventure and their misgivings about meeting Mrs. Daly.
At the gates some of the lodge-keeper's children were playing. The
instant they saw Theresa, one ran in shouting the news to his mother,
and the others set off like deer to the village calling out to every
one they met that the young ladies and gentlemen were coming down the
road bringing Theresa along with them.
"What a nuisance!" said Rosie. "Now we shan't be the first to tell Mrs.
Daly."
"Pat! Mick! Biddy!" shouted Bobbo. "Come back, will you!" But it was no
use; they were too far down the road to pay any attention.
"Perhaps that is better," said Nessa. "She is too weak for a great
surprise."
But Nessa was not prepared for the effect of having the news spread
before them.
Every one, who heard it, first refused to believe, and then were told
to go and see for himself; so by the time Theresa and her escort
reached the village they were surrounded by a miscellaneous crowd, the
members of which, not all quite sober, were wanting to get near Theresa
to see if she were there in "real earnest."
With each addition to their party the children's spirits rose higher
and higher. They were determined not to satisfy any one's curiosity,
and to every question they responded with some bit of nonsense. They
knew every one's private history, and bandied jokes with each new-comer
till their progress along the road was accompanied by continuous roars
of laughter interspersed with a sort of hail of questions.
"Ah, now tell us! How was it ye outwitted the polis an' found her when
they couldn't?" called one.
"Outwitted the police!" returned Winnie. "Have you come to your age,
Kitty, and don't know yet that the police have got no wits to put out?"
"Thrue for ye, Miss Winnie, asthore; it's me own wits are out to ask
such a question!"
"But where did yez find her?" asked another, pushing Kitty aside.
"Why, where the police didn't find her, of course!" laughed Murtagh.
"Then it's plenty o' places ye had to choose from; but tell us now, Mr.
Murtagh, honey, how did yez find her? How was she?"
"Pining for a sight of you, Mrs. Malachy," replied Murtagh, turning to
the village schoolmistress.
"Sure, Theresa! Is it yer own self come back?" cried a woman from the
edge of the crowd. "Tell out now; who was it spirited ye away?"
"The fairies--the good people," cried Rose and Winnie together, while
Theresa blushed and laughed.
"Ah, Mr. Murtagh, my jewel, give over jokin' and tell us where ye found
her," called Kitty again, having elbowed her way back close to them.
"Wouldn't any one know you're a woman, Kitty?" began Murtagh, when a
man on the other side of him interrupted in a heavy voice:
"Don't tell her a word, Mr. Murtagh; she's the curiousest woman in the
place."
"And you'd like me to tell you instead," said Murtagh, looking up with
a merry twinkle. "Ah, well, if you want to know, it was Miss Winnie's
bright eyes did the business."
"But however was it she did it?" asked the man.
"For shame, Phelim. Were you born on April fool's day not to know
that?" laughed Murtagh.
"Go to Shuna Toolin an' get her to teach ye," called out several voices
amid fresh derisive laughter.
"Tell us round here, Master Bobbo, honey, that niver asked a question,"
cried a woman, persuasively.
"Well, it was up there by the river, if you want to know so badly,"
returned Bobbo.
"Up by the river! Why, sure, that's where the police looked and niver
found a bit of her!" cried several voices together.
"Don't be insulting us comparing us to those omadhauns of police, that
don't know a whisky press when they see one," called Murtagh.
Roars of laughter interspersed with "Arrah whisht, Mr. Murtagh,"
greeted that remark. Then some one cried out, "Three cheers for the
young ladies and gentlemen," and Nessa's bewildered ears were deafened
with three loud "Hurrahs."
"Three groans for the polis!" called another.
In the midst of the hearty groan with which he responded to the
invitation, Murtagh caught sight of Nessa trying to lift little Ellie
out of the crush.
"Carry Miss Ellie, will you, Pat Molony?" he called. Thrusting out
two dirty, kindly arms from behind her, Pat Molony lifted Ellie over
Nessa's head, saying gallantly: "It's not fit for the likes o' you,
Miss, to be carrying childer. It's more like a white lily ye are;" and
when Nessa looked round to thank him she saw Ellie contentedly sitting
on his shoulder, with one arm round his dirty neck.
In this fashion, joking and laughing, they passed through the village
and out on the road close to Mrs. Daly's cabin. Then some ran on to
tell her they were coming. At the garden gate Theresa passed them all,
and rushed into the cottage alone.
Murtagh and Winnie were close behind her. They overheard a smothered
cry, then--"Oh, my darlint! my darlint! is it you yourself?" and there
was something in the intensity of the voice that made them suddenly
stop short. The laughter died from their faces, and they stood
looking at each other. A strange awe had fallen upon them. The noisy
laughing crowd seemed far away; they heard only the kisses that were
being exchanged in the dark cottage, and children as they were, they
understood suddenly something of what the mother had suffered.
They did not think of entering the cottage, and the crowd, seeing them
stand still, stood still too. A fear ran through it that they were too
late,--that Mrs. Daly had died without seeing her daughter. The noise
and laughter were suddenly hushed. Some one said, "What's happened?"
Faces were turned anxiously towards the door. While Winnie and Murtagh
stood gazing into each other's eyes, there was a dead silence. They
neither of them ever forgot that strange hush and the bewildering
thoughts that filled it.
The silence was broken by Mrs. Daly's voice saying, "An' where are they
till I thank them?"
Then Theresa ran to the door to call them in, and the crowd, seeing
that all was right, trooped into the cottage after the children.
Mrs. Daly was sitting up in the bed; Theresa knelt beside her with her
arms around her neck.
"I'll never be able to thank yez right," said Mrs. Daly; "but if ye
care for a poor woman's blessing, may it follow ye to the end of your
days. And may none of ye ever feel the hundredth part of the sorra I've
had since she's been gone from me."
"True for ye, Mrs. Daly. May they have peace and happiness all the days
of their life for the good turn they've done to the poor this day,"
cried some from behind with a ring of feeling in their voices.
"But we didn't," said Murtagh to Mrs. Daly--"I mean, we didn't find
her to-day. We knew where she was; we helped her to hide from her
stepfather when she lost the rent; but she's got it now." He spoke with
difficulty, and he was glad to have got it all out.
Mrs. Daly hardly seemed to pay attention to the sense of the words. She
had got her arms round Theresa and was thinking only of her.
"It's all one," she answered. "You've brought her back alive, an' I
thought she was dead."
A few minutes more and the children had left the cottage. The crowd
stayed behind anxious to hear at last Theresa's story, and they walked
soberly along the road with Nessa.
"Isn't it delightful," said Rosie, "to think that it's all so well
over?"
"Berry belightful," returned Ellie, so emphatically that she made them
all laugh. But then she wanted to know--"What for all the people were
laughin'?" and while Rose explained, the other children walked on
silently.