One day when Brideen’s mother got up, she gave their breakfasts to
Brideen and to her father, to the dog, to the little cat, to the calves,
to the hens, to the geese, to the ducks, and to the little robin
redbreast that would come to the door at breakfast-time every morning.
When she had that much done, she ate her own breakfast. Then she began
readying herself for the road.
Brideen was sitting on her own little stool without a word out of her,
but she putting the eyes through her mother. At long last she spoke:
“Is mama going from Brideen?”
“She’s not, _a stóir_. Mama will come again in the evening. She’s going
to Galway.”
“Is Brideen going there, too?”
“She’s not, _a chuid_. The road’s too long, and my little girl would be
tired. She’ll stay at home making sport for herself, like a good little
girl would. Won’t she stay?”
“She will.”
“She won’t run out on the street?”
“She won’t.”
“Daddy’ll come in at dinner-time, and ye’ll have a meal together. Give
mama a kiss, now.”
The kiss was given, and the mother was going. Brideen started up.
“Mama!”
“What is it _a rúin_?”
“Won’t you bring home a fairing to Brideen?”
“I will, _a chuid_. A pretty fairing.”
The mother went off, and Brideen remained contented at home. She sat
down on her little stool. The dog was curled before the fire, and he
snoring. Brideen woke him up, and put a whisper in his ear:
“Mama will bring home a fairing to Brideen!”
“Wuff!” says the dog, and went asleep to himself again. Brideen knew
that “Wuff!” was the same as “Good news!”
The little cat was sitting on the hearth. Brideen lifted it in her two
arms, rubbed its face to her cheeks, and put a whisper in its ear:
“Mama will bring home a fairing to Brideen!”
“Mee-ow!” says the little cat. Brideen knew that “Mee-ow!” was the same
as “Good news!”
She laid the little cat from her, and went about the house singing to
herself. She made a little song as follows:
“O little dog, and O little dog!
Sleep a while till my mama comes!
O little cat, and O little cat!
Be purring till she comes home!
O little dog, and O little cat!
At the fair O! my mama is,
But she’ll come again in the little evening O!
And she’ll bring home a fairing with her!”
She tried to teach this song to the dog, but it’s greater the wish the
dog had for sleep than for music. She tried to teach it to the little
cat, but the little cat thought its own purring sweeter. When her father
came in at midday, nothing would do her but to say this song to him, and
make him to learn it by heart.
The mother returned home before evening. The first word Brideen said
was:
“Did you bring the fairing with you, mama?”
“I did, _a chuisle_.”
“What did you bring with you?”
“Guess!” The mother was standing in the middle of the floor. She had her
bag laid on the floor, and her hands behind her.
“Sweets?”
“No!”
“A sugar cake?”
“No, _muise_! I have a sugar cake in my bag, but that’s not the
fairing.”
“A pair of stockings?” Brideen never wore shoes or stockings, and she
had been long coveting them.
“No, indeed! You’re too young for stockings a little while yet.”
“A prayer book?” There’s no need for me to say that Brideen wasn’t able
to read (for she hadn’t put in a day at school in her life), but she
thought she was. “A prayer book?” says she.
“Not at all!”
“What is it, then?”
“Look!”
The mother spread out her two hands, and what did she lay bare but a
little doll! A little wooden doll that was bald, and it purblind; but
its two cheeks were as red as a berry, and there was a smile on its
mouth. Anybody who’d have an affection for dolls, he would give
affection and love to it. Brideen’s eyes lit up with joy.
“_Ora_, isn’t it pretty! _Ara_, mama, heart, where did you get it? _Ora
ó_! I’ll have a child of my very own now,--a child of my very owneen
own! Brideen will have a child!”
She snatched the little doll, and she squeezed it to her heart. She
kissed its little bald head, and its two red cheeks. She kissed its
little mouth, and its little snub nose. Then she remembered herself,
raised her head, and says she to her mother:
“Kith!” (like that Brideen would say “Kiss.”)
The mother stooped down till the little girl kissed her. Then she must
kiss the little doll. The father came in at that moment, and he was made
do the same.
There wasn’t a thing making Brideen anxious that evening but what name
she’d christen the doll. Her mother praised “Molly” for it, and her
father thought the name “Peggy” would be apt. But none of these were
grand enough, it seemed to Brideen.
“Why was I called Brideen, daddy?” says she after supper.
“The old women said that you were like your uncle Padraic, and since we
couldn’t christen you ‘Padraic,’ you were christened ‘Brigid,’ as that,
we thought, was the thing nearest it.”
“Do you think is she here” (the doll), “like my uncle Padraic, daddy?”
“O, not like a bit. Your uncle Padraic is fair-haired,--and, I believe,
he has a beard on him now.”
“Who’s she like, then?”
“_Muise_, ’twould be hard to say, girl!--’twould be hard, that.”
Brideen meditated for a while. Her father was stripping her clothes from
her in front of the fire during this time, for it was time for her to be
going to sleep. When she was stripped, she went on her knees, put her
two little hands together, and she began like this:
“O Jesus Christ, bless us and save us! O Jesus Christ, bless daddy and
mama and Brideen, and keep us safe and well from accident, and from the
harm of the year, if it is the will of my Saviour. O God, bless my uncle
Padraic that’s now in America, and my Aunt Barbara--.” She stopped,
suddenly, and put a shout of joy out of her.
“I have it! I have it, daddy!” says she.
“What have you, love? Wait till you finish your share of prayers.”
“My Aunt Barbara! She’s like my Aunt Barbara!”
“Who’s like your Aunt Barbara?”
“The little doll! That’s the name I’ll give her! Barbara!”
The father let a great shout of laughter before he remembered that the
prayers weren’t finished. Brideen didn’t laugh, at all, but followed on
like this:
“O God, bless my Uncle Padaric that’s now in America, and my Aunt
Barbara, and (this is an addition she put to it herself), and bless my
own little Barbara, and keep her from mortal sin! Amen, O Lord!”
The father burst laughing again. Brideen looked at him, and wonder on
her.
“Brush off, now, and in into your bed with you!” says he, as soon as he
could speak for the laughing. “And don’t forget Barbara!” says he.
“Little fear!” West with her into the room, and into the bed with her
with a leap. Be sure she didn’t forget Barbara.
From that night out Brideen wouldn’t go to sleep, for gold nor for
silver, without Barbara being in the bed with her. She wouldn’t sit to
take food without Barbara sitting beside her. She wouldn’t go out making
fun to herself without Barbara being along with her. One Sunday that her
mother brought her with her to Mass, Brideen wasn’t satisfied till
Barbara was brought, too. A neighbour woman wouldn’t come in visiting,
but Barbara would be introduced to her. One day that the priest struck
in to them, Brideen asked him to give Barbara his blessing. He gave his
blessing to Brideen herself. She thought it was to the doll he gave it,
and she was full-satisfied.
Brideen settled a nice little parlour for Barbara on top of the dresser.
She heard that her Aunt Barbara had a parlour (in Uachtar Ard she was
living), and she thought that it wasn’t too much for Barbara to have a
parlour as good as anybody. My poor Barbara fell from the top of the
dresser one day, as I have told already, and one of her legs was broken.
It’s many a disaster over that happened her. Another day the dog grabbed
her, and was tearing her joint from joint till Brideen’s mother came to
help her. The one leg remained safe with the dog. She fell into the
river another time, and she had like to be drowned. It’s Brideen’s
father that came to her help this journey. Brideen herself was almost
drowned, and she trying to save her from the riverbank.
If Barbara wasn’t too well-favoured the first day she came, it stands to
nature it’s not better the appearance was on her after putting a year by
her. But ’twas all the same to Brideen whether she was well-favoured or
ill-favoured. She gave the love of her heart to her from the first
minute she laid an eye on her, and it’s increasing that love was from
day to day. Isn’t it the two of them used to have the fun when the
mother would leave the house to their care, times she’d be visiting in a
neighbour’s house! They would have the floor swept and the plates washed
before her, when she’d return. And isn’t it on the mother would be the
wonder, _mor ’eadh_!
“Is it Brideen cleaned the floor for her mama?” she’d say.
“Brideen and Barbara,” the little girl would say.
“_Muise_, I don’t know what I’d do, if it weren’t for the pair of you!”
the mother would say. And isn’t it on Brideen would be the delight and
the pride!
And the long days of summer they would put from them on the hillside,
among the fern and flowers!--Brideen gathering daisies and
fairy-thimbles and buttercups, and Barbara reckoning them for her (so
she’d say); Brideen forever talking and telling tales that a human being
(not to say a little doll) never heard the likes of before or since, and
Barbara listening to her; it must be she’d be listening attentively, for
there wouldn’t come a word out of her mouth.
It’s my opinion that there wasn’t a little girl in Connacht, or if I
might say it, in the Continent of Europe, that was more contented and
happy-like, than Brideen was those days; and, I declare, there wasn’t a
little doll under the hollow of the sun that was more contented and
happy-like than Barbara.
That’s how it stood till Niamh Goldy-Head came.
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