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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/24310-8.txt b/24310-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e4a85bf --- /dev/null +++ b/24310-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1242 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Candle and Crib, by K. F. Purdon + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Candle and Crib + +Author: K. F. Purdon + +Illustrator: Beatrice Elvery + +Release Date: January 15, 2008 [EBook #24310] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CANDLE AND CRIB *** + + + + +Produced by K. Nordquist, Ronnie Sahlberg and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + + + + + CANDLE AND CRIB + + [Illustration] + + By K. F. PURDON. + + Illustrated by BEATRICE ELVERY. + + + + + _BY THE SAME AUTHOR_ + + THE FOLK OF FURRY FARM + + + [Illustration: "AS SOON AS HE WAS GONE, + DIDN'T THE WOMAN THROW DOWN HER KNITTING, + AND LAID HER HEAD UPON HER KNEES, AND CRIED"] + + MAUNSEL & COMPANY, LTD. + + DUBLIN AND LONDON · 1914 + + + + + CONTENTS + + CHAP. PAGE + + I. MOLONEY'S 1 + + II. THE STABLE 10 + + III. THE LETTER 18 + + IV. THE CRIB 34 + + + + + CANDLE AND CRIB + + + + + CHAPTER I + + MOLONEY'S + + +It would be hard to find a pleasanter, more friendly-looking place in +all Ardenoo than Moloney's of the Crooked Boreen, where Big Michael and +the wife lived, a piece up from the high-road. And well might you call +the little causey "crooked" that led to their door! for rough and stony +that _boreen_ was, twisting and winding along by the bog-side, this way +and that way, the same as if it couldn't rightly make up its mind where +it wanted to bring you. So it was all the more of a surprise when you +did get to Moloney's, to find a house with such an appearance of comfort +upon it, in such a place. + +Long and low that house was, and very old. You could tell the great age +of it by the thickness of the thatch, as well as by seeing, when you +were standing inside upon the kitchen floor and looking up, that that +same thatch was resting, not upon common planks, sawn with the grain and +against the grain and every way, but upon the real boughs themselves, +put there by them that had to choose carefully what would be suitable +for their purpose, because there were few tools then for shaping timber. +So that's how the branches were there yet, the same as ever, bark and +twigs and all; ay, and as sound as the day they were put there, two +hundred years before. + +As for the walls at Moloney's ... mud, I'm not denying it! but the +thickness of them! and the way they were kept white-washed, inside and +out! They'd dazzle you, to look at them; especially in the kitchen of an +evening, when the fire would be strong. And that was a thing that +occurred mostly always at Moloney's. For Herself was a most notorious +Vanithee; and there's no better sign of good housekeeping than a clean, +blazing hearth. Sure isn't that, as a body might say, the heart of the +whole house? Heart or hearth, isn't it all the one thing, nearly? For if +warmth and comfort for the body come from the one, doesn't love and +pleasant kindness come from the other? Ay, indeed! + +And now, here was the Christmas Eve come round again, when every one +puts the best foot foremost, whether they can or not. And so by +Moloney's. The darkness had fallen, and a wild, wet night it was, as +ever came out of the heavens. But that only made the light seem the +brighter and more coaxing that the fire was sending out over the +half-door, and through the little, twinkling bulls'-eyes windows, as if +it was trying to say, "Come along in, whoever you are that's outside in +the cold and the rain! Look at the way the Woman has the floor swept, +till there isn't a speck upon it! and the tables and stools scoured like +the snow, and the big old pewter plates and dishes upon the dresser +polished till they're shining like a goat's eyes from under a bed! Come +in! Sure every one is welcome here to-night, whether they come or not!" + +And still in all...! + +Well, one look round would tell you, with half an eye, that something +was wrong at Moloney's, Christmas Eve and all as it was. For Big Michael +himself was standing there in the kitchen, cracking his red, wet fingers +one after the other, and looking most uncomfortable. The wet was running +down from his big frieze coat, but it wasn't that he minded. He was too +well used to soft weather to care about wet clothes. Beside him upon the +floor was the big market-basket, with all manner of paper parcels, blue +and brown, sticking out from under the lid that wouldn't shut down, he +had brought home so much from Melia's shop. But that basket had a +forgotten look about it, because there beside it stood Herself, and she +not asking to unpack it or do a thing with it. She was a little bit of a +woman, that you'd think you could blow off the palm of your hand with +one puff of your breath. As thin as a whip she was, and as straight as a +rush; and she was looking up now at Michael with flaming cheeks and eyes +like troubled waters. + +"No letter!" she was saying; "and is it that you brought home no letter, +after you being to the post! Sure it can't be but they wrote to say were +they coming or not, after they being asked here for the Christmas! Sure +I thought you'd surely have word to say when to expect them; and was +thinking even that they might be coming with yourself! Only I suppose +the little ass and dray wouldn't be grand enough for the wife! Of coorse +I didn't think of _her_ writing; she may know no better, and isn't to be +blemt if she has no manners; she can't help the way she was brought up! +But Art! Sure there must be a letter from him...!" + +"Wait and I'll try again!" said Big Michael slowly; and then he took to +feel through his pockets again for the letter their son was to have sent +them. But when he had done this, he could only shake his head, so that +the rain-drops fell from his hair and beard--turning brackety grey, they +were, Michael being on in years. + +"No, in trath! not as much as one letter have I this night!" he said +slowly. + +At this the Woman began to laugh, in spite of the great annoyance that +was on her. + +"Sure," she said, "if Mrs. Melia had a letter for us, wouldn't she have +given it to you? What use would _she_ have for it? And if she hadn't, +and told you so, where's the sense in you feeling your pockets over and +over? A body'd think you expected letters to grow there, the same as +American apples in barrels! How could you have there what you didn't put +there? But let you go on off ou'er this now! Look at the state you have +the clean floor in, with the rain dreeping from your _cota-mor_!" + +"Coming down it is, like as if it was out of a sieve!" said Michael; +"and wasn't it God that done it, that I took the notion to cut the +holly'n'ivy while the day was someways fine, afore I started off to the +shop! Has it safe below ... so I'll just go for it now, the way we can +be settling out the Crib and all ..." + +"There'll no holly'n'ivy go up on these walls to-night, if I'm to be let +have a say in the business!" said Mrs. Moloney. "Sich trash and +nonsense! making mess and trouble for them that has plenty to do without +that! And as for the Crib, let it stop where it is ..." + +On the word she went back to her stool in the chimney-corner, where she +always sat bolt upright, and took up her knitting, the same as if it +wasn't the Christmas Eve at all. For Art, their only child, that +stocking was meant. But her hands were shaking so much that she dropped +more stitches off the needles than she made, and still she persevered. +Big Michael looked at her for a bit, very pitiful; even opened his mouth +once, as if he wanted to say something; a nice, silent person he was, +very even-going in himself. But he must have thought better of it, for +he only shook his head again, and turned and went off out of the door +into the wild storm and darkness, with the wind howling and threatening +all about the bog and country-side, the shockingest ever you knew. + +And as soon as he was gone, didn't the Woman throw down her knitting, +and laid her head upon her knees, and cried and cried, till her blue +checky apron was like as if it was after being wrung out of a tub of +suds. + +"Och, Art!" she'd cry, "isn't this the queer way for you to be going on! +To say you never answered the letter that was wrote to you! This very +day five-and-twenty years you came here to us! as lovely as a little +angel you were! The grand big blue eyes of you! and the way you'd laugh +up at me and put out the little hand...! And you the only one ever God +sent us! And never a word between us, only when you took the notion to +go off to Dublin; sure it near broke our hearts, but what could we do, +only give you our blessing! And ... and then hearing the good accounts +of the way you were going on.... But it's the wife that done it all, and +has him that changed...! Too grand she is, no doubt, for the likes of +us! Och, grand how-are-ye! no, but not half good enough for Art! He that +was always counted a choice boy by all that knew him! And any word them +that saw the wife beyant in Dublin with him brought back, was no great +things. A poor-looking little scollop of a thing, they tell me she is; +and like as if she'd have about as much iday of taking butter off a +churn, or spinning a hank of yarn, as a pig would have of a holiday! +What opinion could any sensible body have of that kind of a wedding, +without even a match-maker to inquire into the thing, to see was it +anyways suitable or not! Och, Art! Art! it's little I thought, this day +five-and-twenty years, the way the thing would be now!" + + + + + CHAPTER II + + THE STABLE + + +While poor Mrs. Moloney was fretting like this, and it Christmas Eve and +all, Big Michael was making his way through the wind and the sleety rain +to where he had his stable, a piece off from the house. It was +pitch-dark, so that he couldn't see his hand before his eyes, if he held +it up; but he had his lantern, and anyway he knew his way about +blindfold. But even in daylight you might pass by that stable ready, +unless you knew it was there. For it was very little, and being roofed +with heather it looked only like a bit of the bog that had humped itself +up a bit higher than the rest. + +Poor-looking and small as it was, Big Michael was very proud of that +stable. He and Art had built it together, just before Art leaving home. +It was wanted to keep the little wad of hay or straw safe from the +weather, as well as to shelter the cow of a hard night. And after Art +had gone off to the Big Smoke, and for no other reason only getting +restless, as young hearts often do, many and many a time Michael would +slope off to the stable, and sit down there to take a draw of the pipe +and to wish he had his pleasant, active young boy back at home again. He +missed Art full as much as the mother, and maybe more. + +In fact, it was getting into a habit with Michael to go off to the +stable. He had the best of a wife, but still there were times when he'd +wish to be with himself somewhere, so that he could take his ease, and +still not be feeling himself an annoyance to a busy woman. Big Michael +himself, the people said, always looked as if he thought to-morrow would +do. But the Woman that owned him was of a different way of thinking, +always going at something. So he got the fashion of keeping out of her +way. + +When he got to the stable this night, a bit out of breath with the great +wind, he took notice first of the cow, and he saw that she was +comfortable, plenty of straw to lie upon, and plenty of fodder before +her. So then he bethought him of the little ass that was outside under +the dray yet. + +"I'll put her in too!" he thought. "Destroyed she is and quite weakly +with the wet, like all donkeys, God help them! let alone the mud and +gutter she's after travelling through, all that long ways from the shop! +And carrit the things we were in need of, too! I'll let her stand here +near the cow. A good dry bed I'll put under her, and give her a grain of +oats to pet her heart. It'll not go astray with her, and she has it well +earned, the creature!" + +So he unyoked the ass and led her into the stable, and rubbed down her +shaggy coat, all dripping like his own clothes, and fed her, and watched +with a curious satisfaction the nice way, like a lady, that she took the +feed he put before her. + +"Poor Winny!" he said, rubbing a finger up and down her soft ears; +"many's the time Art laughed at you, and said it was only one remove +from a wheel-barra to be driving you! Ling-gerin' Death is what he used +to call you! But sure you do your best! and if you were the fastest +horse ever won the Grand National, you could do no more!" + +He looked round then, with a very satisfied feeling. There he had them, +the two poor animals that depended out of him, but that served him and +his so well, too; had them safe and warm from the storm and rain +outside. He swung the lantern to and fro, so that he could see +everything that was in the stable. One end of it was filled with hay and +straw. The light gleamed here, gleamed there upon the kind, homely +plenty he had stored. Then it fell upon a heap of something else; +something that glistened from many points, green and cheerful. + +"The holly'n'ivy," Big Michael thought, "that I cut this morning, and +has it here, the way it would be handy to do out the place in greenery +against Art and the wife would be here! Well, well! I wouldn't wish to +go against Herself, and she so fretted; but sure I might as well not +have cut it at all!" + +He stood and stared at it, very mournful in himself. For the best part +of the Christmas to Michael was not the good feeding Herself always +provided, though he could take his share of that, as well as another; +no, but the holly and ivy and the Candle and the Crib; and now she had +set her face against them all. And it wouldn't be Christmas at all, he +thought, without them! + +A sudden thought came into his mind. + +"Why can't I have it Christmas here," he said to himself, "and not be +letting all these beautiful green branches go to waste! That's what I'll +do!" + +And with that, he laid down the lantern, and began to decorate the +little stable. He moved slowly, but the work grew under his hands. He +put the bright, glistening holly in the rack that the cow fed from, and +over the door. And he flung the long curving trails of ivy over the +rafters, so that they hung down, and the whole place became the most +loveliest bower of green that you might ask to see. + +He had just put up the last of his green stuff, when the lantern +flickered up and then quenched; it was burnt out. + +[Illustration: "BIG MICHAEL CONTRIVED TO LIGHT THE CANDLE"] + +"Dear, dear!" thought Michael; "a pity it is to say there's no light to +see it by; even if there's no one to look at it, itself!" + +He stood still a bit. It always took Michael a good while even to think. +Then he said to himself, "Wait a bit! go aisy, now, will ye!" as if the +wife was there to be prodding him on. And then he began slowly to +unbutton his coat, and then another under that, and another, and so on, +much like peeling skins off an onion, till at last he came to something +that he drew out very carefully; something long and slim, and that +gleamed white in the light of a match he struck against the wall. + +"_There's_ a Christmas Candle for ye!" he said, looking admiringly at +it; "two foot long if it's an inch! Mrs. Melia does the thing right, if +she goes to do it at all, the decent nice poor woman that she is! Gave +me that Candle in a Christmas present; her Christmas box she said it +was, and says she, 'It'll do to welcome Art and the young wife home!' +says she. And so of course it would, if only it was a thing that they +were coming.... But sure, God knows what happened to stop them.... But I +thought it as good say nothing about the Candle, foreninst Herself, to +be making her worse, when I seen the way she was about the Crib itself! +It's a pity she not to see it ..." + +Slowly and awkwardly Big Michael contrived to light the Candle and to +set it up in a bucket that was there handy. He steadied it there by +melting some of the grease around it, and made it firm so that it could +not upset to do damage to the stable. Then when it was burning well he +went off, turning when he got out into the storm and darkness outside to +look again at the Candle that was shedding a ray of lovely light far +into the night. + +"Ay, indeed!" thought he to himself, with great satisfaction, "it is a +grand fine Christmas Candle, sure enough! And it would be noways right +for us, even if we are only with ourselves to-night, not to have one +lit, the same as every other house in Ardenoo has, the way if any poor +woman with a child in her arms was wandering by, far from her own place, +she'd see the light and know there was room and a welcome waiting there +for them both! Ay, indeed! a great Candle that is, and will last well +and shine across the whole bog! But I wish Mrs. Melia had given me the +letter as well!" + + + + + CHAPTER III + + THE LETTER + + +The queer thing is that Big Michael, slow and all as he was, happened to +be right about the letter from Art. It had been written, and, moreover, +it had reached Ardenoo post-office. But no one knew that for certain, or +what became of it, only a small little pup of a terrier dog belonging to +one of the Melia boys. This pup was just of an age that it was a great +comfort to his mouth to have something he could chew. He was lying +taking his ease, just under the counter where the letters got sorted. +And when, as luck would have it, Art's letter slipped down, of all +others! from the big heap of papers and all sorts that came very plenty +at that Christmas season, this little dog had no delay, only begin on +the letter. In two minutes he had "little dan" made of it!--nothing left +of it only a couple or three little wet rags that got swep' out the next +morning, and never were heard of again. Sure, why would they, when only +the pup knew anything about them? And he couldn't explain the thing, +even if he had wanted to. He escaped a few kicks by that. Still, dogs +often get into trouble the same way, God help them! without having +earned it at all. + +Yes, the invitation for the Christmas was answered. The wife, Delia her +name was, had said nothing at first when it came. To tell the truth, she +was well satisfied where she was, with Art and the child all to herself, +in their one room in a back street. Up a lot of stairs it was, too, and +the other people in the house not to say too tasty in their way of going +on. But poor Delia thought it was all grand, with the little bits of +furniture herself and Art would buy according as they could manage it, +and the cradle in the corner by the fire. + +Poor Art would smother there betimes, nigh-hand, when he'd think of the +Crooked Boreen, and the wide silence of the bog, with the soft sweet +wind blowing across it, and the cows and all, and the neighbours to pass +the time of day with, let alone the smell of the turf-fire of an +evening! Homesick the poor boy was, and didn't know it. + +The way it came about that Art left home was, he got tired of things +there, the very things he wanted now. And there was some said, the +mother was too good and fond with him. She'd lay the two hands under his +feet any hour of the day or night; thought the sun shone out of him, so +she did. And Art was always good and biddable with her; never gave any +back-talk, or was contrary. But all the time he wanted to be himself. He +was much like a colt kept in a stall, well fed and minded, but he wants +to get out to stretch his legs in a long gallop all the time. + +So there's why Art went off from Ardenoo to the Big Smoke, and got on +the best ever you knew. He was very apprehensive about machinery, could +understand it well, and got took on by a great high-up doctor to mind +his motor for him. The old people were that proud when they heard of it. + +"Sure it's on the Pig's Back Art is now, whatever!" they said, "with his +good-lookin' pound a week!" + +Wealth that sounded, away off in Ardenoo. But the sorra much spending +there is in it in a city, where you're paying out for everything you +want. Delia did the best she could with it, but it wouldn't do all she +wanted. + +Still, she pleased Art. Small and white in the face she was, as Mrs. +Moloney had imagined her. Sewing she used to be, a bad life for a girl +to be at it all day. But she flourished up well after getting married. +And what Art had looked into, when he was courting, was the big, +longing-looking dark eyes of her, and the gentle voice and ways, and the +clouds of soft brown hair ... well, sure every eye forms a beauty of its +own. But Art might have done worse nor to marry Delia Fogarty that never +asked to differ from a word he said, till the notion came up of they +going to Ardenoo for the Christmas. When the letter asking them came, he +near riz the roof off the house, the shout he gave, he was that +delighted in himself to be going back home. + +"But what's a trouble to you, Delia?" he says, when he had time to take +notice that she wasn't looking as rejoiced as he expected, only sitting +there with her eyes upon the child in her arms; "a body'd think you +didn't care about going at all!" he says, half vexed. + +"I ... I'd like to go, Art," says Delia, "only I don't know do I want to +go or not.... I ... do you see ..." + +"Well ... what?" + +"Sure ... maybe ... how do I know will they like me or not! And me coat +all wore ... and ... and, moreover, I never got to get a right sort of a +hood for the child ... or a cloak...." + +"Och, what at all, girl dear!" says Art, that was so excited at the +thoughts of getting home that nothing was a trouble to him; "not like +you! What else would they do! And the child ... well, now, isn't it well +we told them nothing about him, the way he'll be a surprise to them now? +The fine big fellah that he is! Sure it would be a sin to go put any +clothes on him at all, hiding the brave big legs of him!" + +Delia had to laugh at that; and then Art went out and bought a grand +sheet of note-paper with robins and red berries and "The Season's +Compliments" at the top of it. And Delia wrote the letter upon this, +because she could write real neat and nice. Art told her every word to +say. + + "DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER," it began, "I have pleasure in taking up + my pen to rite yous those few lines hopping they find yous in good + health as they leave us at this present thank you and God. I would + wish my love and best wishes to ..." and there were so many to be + remembered that Art told Delia to put in "all inquiring friends," + and even shortened like that, the list hardly left room for saying, + "and we will go home for the Christmas and is obliged for the + kindness of asking and we will go by the last train Christmas Eve + and let yous meet that with Ling-gerin' Death and the cart and + we're bringing a Christmas box wid us that yous will be rejoiced to + see so I will end those few lines from your + + "SON AND NEW DAUGHTER." + +When that letter was finished and posted, Delia made no more of an +objection to going, only did the best she could, washing and mending her +own little things and the baby's. But let her do her best and they were +poor-looking little bits of duds! And many's the time, when Art was +away, that she'd cry, and wish to herself that there was no such a place +as Ardenoo on the face of this earthly world. But what could she do, +only please Art! + +Well, the very evening before they were to start for Ardenoo, didn't Art +come home to her in great humour. "Look at here, Delia!" says he, with a +big laugh; "see the fine handful of money," and he held it out to her, +"that Himself is after giving me in a Christmas box! Now we'll do the +thing in real style! Come along out now, before the shops shut, and +we'll buy all before us!" + +Well, if you were to see the two of them that night! the three, indeed, +for Delia wouldn't ever leave the child, only took him with her. To see +them looking in at the grand bright windows full of things! and going +in, Delia half afraid, but Art as loud and outspoken as a lord, spending +free as long as it lasted! To see him then going home with her and the +child, and he all loaded down with parcels! and opened them all out, the +minute they got back! All the things they bought out of that money! A +pipe and tobacco for Michael; a lovely cake with "Merry Christmas" in +pink sugar upon it, for Herself; the grandest of brown shoes and a hat +and feather for Delia, and as for the baby!... Delia could scarce +believe her eyes, all they had got for him, things she had been +wanting.... + +Art made her fit them all on, and when she held up the child to be +admired, with the loveliest of a soft white shawl rolled round him, "He +becomes it well," says Art; "and I suppose you think to make him look +better nor he is, by all that finery!" + +"Your mother'll think him terrible small," said Delia, looking very +fretted again; but she kissed the baby, as much as to say, "Little I +care what she thinks!" + +She said nothing about that part of it, though, only looked up at Art +with the beseeching eyes I mentioned before. + +"Let that go round!" says Art; and he lifted the two of them in his arms +and kissed them both; and then when he had let Delia go, says he, "Me +mother is the smallest little crathureen herself, that ever you saw! So +she needn't talk! And sure what can you expect from a child not a month +old yet! And there's an ould saying and a true one, in Ardenoo, 'It's +not always the big people that reaps the harvest!' and so by this boy of +ours! We won't feel till he'll be working!" + +"Working!" said Delia. And she unclasped the baby's fingers and kissed +the tiny hands inside, that were as soft and pink as rose-leaves, first +one hand and then the other. She never thought that every hand, no +matter how rough and strong, begins by being a baby's hand like the one +she was after kissing. + +"Ay, work!" says Art, very determined; "it would amaze you or any one +that didn't know, the way the children grow up and get sense at Ardenoo! +the way if the old people seemed wishful for us to stop at home with +them, this little fellah of ours would soon ... but whisht!" before poor +Delia had time to say a word one way or other about this iday, "whisht! +what's this at all! A telegram! for me!" + +[Illustration: HE KISSED THEM BOTH] + +A telegram! Poor Delia turned gashly pale at the word, and hugged the +child closer to her, as if she thought that little bit of an +orange-coloured envelope might be going to do some destruction on her +treasure. + +Art read it slowly to himself, while his face grew as long as to-day and +to-morrow; and says he, "Well, it can't be helped! The Master that's +after getting a hurried call to the country and will want me to drive +him ... so I'll not be at read'ness to go...." He looked anxiously at +Delia. + +Not go to Ardenoo! Delia's heart leaped up. + +"Sure, can't we stop where we are?" says she, with dancing eyes. + +"Och, not at all!" says Art; "it wouldn't answer at all to be +disappointing them. And besides, it's down that side he wants to go ... +some sick child ... the Master I mean ... I'll likely be at Ardenoo +before you!" + +"But, Art! ... is it go wid meself? What will I do at all at all?" and +Delia begins to cry. + +"See here now," says Art, "don't be taking on, that way! You wouldn't +have me disappoint the Master ... after he being so good to us, too! The +fine grand little clothes we're after getting!... You'll be as right as +rain! Just wait till you're at Ardenoo, where every one knows me! Why, +you'll be with friends, that very minute! And you wrote it in the letter +yourself, what train to meet you at.... You wouldn't be fretting me +mother and she thinking to have us for the Christmas ... to make no +mention of the child at all!" + +"To be sure not!" says Delia. And she dried her eyes and said no more, +only got ready and went off the next day with the little child, as +smiling and gay as she could appear, waving her hand to Art that saw her +off at the Broadstone station, and did all he could to put her in heart. +But it's a long, long ways from the Big Smoke to Ardenoo. Hours and +hours it took that wet, wild day to get there. And Delia wasn't too well +accustomed to trains and going about. She managed to keep the child warm +and comforted all through, but when the train stopped at Ardenoo she was +that tired and giddy herself, that she scarcely knew what she was doing +or where she was to go. + +She stood a minute on the platform, with the wind and rain beating down +upon her, till it had her even more confused. And the day was nearly +done, and no lamps lit yet. But she made out a porter and asked him, as +Art had bid her, for Mr. Moloney's ass-cart. + +"Moloney's ass and dray? Ay," says the man, "Big Michael was in the Town +to-day at Melia's, and buying all before him, by what I hear. And not +too long ago it was ..." + +"Would I ... could I find him ... where's that place you're after +mentioning?" + +And Delia took a grip of the big hat, that the wind was getting at. + +"Melia's shop? You can't miss it! There's ne'er another.... He should +have left it by now ... but let you go on along that road ..." and he +showed her where it lay, stretching off into the darkness, "and you'll +overtake him, ready! That ass is middling slow!" + +The man guessed who this was speaking to him, for they all had heard +about Art and the wife being expected for the Christmas. And he had no +call to tell her to go off like that. Big Michael was nigh-hand at home +again by then. But he had a sup taken at that present, as often happens +at Christmas. Only he was a bit "on," he'd never have put such an iday +into Delia's head. To think of letting her start after Michael like +that! + +But poor Delia knew no better than to follow fool's advice; how could +she? So she just asked some directions about the road, and then she +changed the child from one arm to the other and faced out in the night +and rain, and a wind that would blow the horns off a goose to overtake +the ass-cart. Little she thought that it was back at the Crooked Boreen +by then, near five good miles away! + +For a while, she wasn't in too bad a heart at all. She was glad to be +out of the train, and she was expecting every step to get some signs of +Michael on in front. But the little light there was went altogether +before long; quenched, like, by the great rain and the heavy clouds that +hung low and dark in the skies. Delia began to feel it very lonesome! +But she kept going on; what else could she do? + +At this time, what she thought worst of was, that the wet was spoiling +her good hat, after Art spending his money upon it, the way she could +make some kind of appearance foreninst his mother and the neighbours. +But what could she do to save it? + +"The cut I'll be!" she thought; "all dreeped with rain!" And indeed the +hat, with its grand feather all broken and draggled, was a poor-looking +thing enough before she was half-ways to the Crooked Boreen. As for the +grand shoes with the high heels, they were like sponges upon her feet, +and she slipping in them as she stumbled along through mud and gutter to +her ankles. + +But she kept going on! The baby lay warm and snug upon her heart. She +managed to keep him sheltered, anyway! Now and then she'd stop and put +her face down to his, to feel his sweet warm breath upon her cheek. Then +she'd go on again. That ass-cart! If only she could catch it! Wouldn't +it be Heaven to be taken off her aching feet and be carried along, +herself and the child, with some one that knew the way, and not to be +feeling lost, as she did now. + +For by degrees that's what Delia had to think; she was lost. Still she +struggled on, the poor little bet-down thing that she was; so tired that +she only kept moving at all by clenching her teeth hard and saying out +loud, "I must! I must! A nice thing it would be for Art to not find me +when he gets home! I must keep going on! The baby would die if I was to +lie down..." for that is what she was more inclined for than anything +else. + +The wind was coming in great gusts now, hindering her far worse than the +rain. It caught her skirts like the sails of a ship; it snatched at her +hat. She tried to hold it on, but a sudden strong blast came, just as +she was shifting the child again in her arms. Like a spiteful hand, it +tore the hat from her head and furled it away; and what could be done, +to get it again, in the storm and darkness? Delia cried at first, +thinking of the loss it was. But she minded nothing long, only the +tiredness and that still she must keep going on. + +Suddenly she began to sing to the child: + + I laid my love in a cradley-bed, + _Lu lu lu lu la lay_. + Little white love with a soft round head, + _Lu lu lu lu la lay_. + +Before she had it done, she thought to see a light a piece off from her. +She made towards it. Out upon the bog itself she was now; and them that +saw her tracks after, said one of the holy Angels must have been guiding +her then, that she wasn't drownded, herself and the child, in a +bog-hole. She slipped here and she fell there on the wet, rough ground; +but she kept on till she reached the light. It was the Christmas Candle, +in Michael's stable, burning there, mild and watchful. + + + + + CHAPTER IV + + THE CRIB + + +While all this was going on, Big Michael was sitting, snug and +comfortable, in the chimney-corner, opposite the wife, and she knitting, +knitting away still. Not a word was passing. She had Michael's supper +ready for him, hot and tasty, the same as ever. But he had no _goo_ for +it. What did he care was it good or bad! How could he feel gay and riz +up in himself, the way a body should at the Christmas, when he knew well +Herself had been crying away while he had been down at the stable? + +If only she'd cheer up! If only she'd agree to have the place dressed +out, and the Crib and all the other little things done the same as ever! +It would do herself good, and they might be having a happy Christmas +after all, even if there was only the two of them there with themselves! +But he said nothing. Big as Michael was, and little as the Woman was +that owned him, it was she had the upper hand in the house. And good +right, too; she being a very understanding person, and considered to be +a good adviser of a woman all over Ardenoo. Michael was slow, but he was +wise enough to give in to the wife. So now when she showed no wish for +any of the things he was so made upon, he said no more about them; only +after a while says he, "I believe it's what I'll take a streel off to +see is the cow all right in the stable below...." + +But what he really wanted was, to get away from the queer, unhappy feel +of the silent kitchen. He thought, too, he'd like another sight of the +dressed-out stable and the big Candle he had lit there. He meant to stop +a bit with those Christmas signs, and the ass, and the munch, munch of +the cow, filling the place with her fragrant breath. + +Wasn't it a pity of the world that Herself was having none of the +pleasure? If only he could tell her what he had been doing! If only he +could get her to come too, and see how lovely the stable looked! + +As he passed out on the door, the Vanithee looked after him. A kind of +pity rose warm in her heart, as she saw the fretted appearance was upon +the big man, like a cowed dog, with his tail drooping between his legs. + +All the bygone Christmas Eves they had put in there together! Kind, +pleasant times, with little old nonsense and laughing, that no one +understood, only themselves! Art had been there, to be sure! He had been +the delight of the first of their Christmases, and the same always, till +he went off. But was it Michael's fault that the son wasn't there yet? +Sure poor Michael had done nothing to fret her! It wasn't he had +neglected to write! And wasn't it full as bad for him, Michael, that had +always been the fond father to Art! and had never rightly overed the +boy's quitting off the way he did! Oh, if only they had Art there again! +To have him going off with the father of a morning, cutting turf, or +making hay, or doing a bit of ploughing! and the two of them in to their +dinners and off again!... Why, to have that good time back, she'd even +welcome the poor-lookin' little scollop of a thing, and give her share +of the old home!... + +Poor Michael! He that loved the Christmas! Like a child, he was! Most +men are, if they have any good in them; and God help them if they get a +woman that doesn't understand that, and can't make allowances when they +don't grow up! + +Mrs. Moloney was as quick as Michael was slow. So, while he'd be +thinking about it, she had a stool over at the dresser and was up on it, +feeling for the Crib on the top shelf. + +It was there, safe enough, and it wrapped in a newspaper. A small little +contraption of a thing it was, that she had bought off Tommy the Crab, +the peddling man, years before. Paid sixpence for it, too; and cheap he +told her it was at that money. + +To see it first, it was no more than a middling sizeable Christmas card. +But it was really in three, or maybe four, halves that drew out like a +telescope. The first part showed the Kings kneeling with their offerings +and crowns upon their heads; then you could see the Shepherds, with +their crooks and they kneeling too; and in the middle of them all, the +Mother herself, with the Holy Child upon her knee. St. Joseph was at one +side, and the ox and the ass at the other; all complete, even to a grand +Star of silver paper, shining on the top of it all. + +Mrs. Moloney put the Crib into one of the small square windows and drew +it out. Then she went back to the dresser for the candles to light it up +with. It looked nothing wanting them. + +Not common candles she was going to use, but what had been blessed at +Candlemas, and that she had kept put by very carefully. + +"I mustn't take them all," she thought, "the way, if one of us was to +take and die sudden, there would be a Candle ready to put into the dying +hand, to light the soul on its way! But there's a good few, and so ..." + +Four she took for the four evangelists, and was just lighting them up, +when suddenly the door burst open, and with a rush and a laugh in came +... Art! + +[Illustration: THE MOTHER WITH HER CHILD LYING VERY STILL] + +"Mother!" he said; and in a moment had his arms round her, and was +kissing her lips. + +"Oh, Art! so you did come, after all!" says she, with a catch in her +breath and a gush of joy to her heart. She had her son, her own son +again! And for a minute she forgot everything else--the missed letter, +Art's wife.... + +"Come? And why wouldn't I come? What else? Och, but it's grand, the +smell of the turf! And the Crib the same as ever! Och, mother, mother! +But where's Delia? Some tricks you and her is up to! Has them hid 'on' +me? Delia! Delia! where at all are you?" + +At that the mother drew a piece away from him. Her face that had been +smiling and rosy even, like a girl's face, grew stiff and white. + +"Delia! Delia! he can think of nothing else," she thought. It all came +back upon her, like a bad dream. Her son had a wife now! And she had +held out her hand to them, and they had slighted it! + +What did Art mean, coming in like a strong wind? Gay and pleasant as +summer air at first, but his face changed and became black and stormy +and his voice was a strange, fierce voice, asking again, "Where's +Delia?" + +"I know nothing about her! How could I?" + +"Sure she was to be here ..." + +"We got no word ..." + +"No word! Is it that no one met them at the train? My God! what has +become of her and the child? And the night it was!" + +The child? What child? the mother was trying to ask, but the words were +stopped on her lips, and Art was stopped at the door, in his mad rush +forth to look for his wife and baby, by the appearance before them of +Michael. Stopped them both, I say, but without a word being spoken. It +was just the look in the old man's face that made them both fall back a +step and stand still, looking at Michael in a sort of wonder and fright. +His eyes were shining, as if he had been in another world, and had +scarcely got back to earth again. He stood facing them for a minute with +the same far-away look; then he took each of them by the hand, and just +breathed out, "Come! come with me and see what's in the stable ..." + +They went. The wind had fallen and the rain had ceased. A beautiful moon +had risen, and was shining, but you could not see her, only the light +she shed down from her throne on high through the soft white mist that +had risen from the wet ground and was wavering and dancing solemnly to +and fro, filling the space between heaven and earth, as if to veil the +sacred sights of the Holy Eve from mortal eyes. The father and mother +and son moved silently through the misty, gleaming silence, till they +reached the stable, where the Candle was burning steadily, and sending +forth its pure white light into the moonlit vapour. + +Michael stepped on and was at the door first. He put his great arm +across, as if to ensure caution and reverence. + +"Go easy, go easy, the both of yous! but sure, they might be gone back +already, and no one to have seen them, only meself!" he said in the same +awed whisper. + +They peered in, for beyond the Candle were dusky spaces; yet its light +was enough to show them two figures there; a girl-mother with her child, +lying very still. + +Was she asleep, or.... She was so white and small! The long dark hair +had been loosened and fell about her like a soft mantle; and close, +close to her heart lay the little child. + +"Delia, Delia!" said Art. + +"The Child!" said his mother. + +Delia unclosed her eyes and looked up with a little smile. "I have him +here, safe!" she said. + +And Michael, only half comprehending, fell on his knees and sobbed +aloud. + + + THE END + + + _Printed by_ R. & R. Clark, Limited, _Edinburgh_. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Candle and Crib, by K. F. Purdon + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CANDLE AND CRIB *** + +***** This file should be named 24310-8.txt or 24310-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/3/1/24310/ + +Produced by K. 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Purdon + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .center {text-align: center;} + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> + +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Candle and Crib, by K. F. Purdon + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Candle and Crib + +Author: K. F. Purdon + +Illustrator: Beatrice Elvery + +Release Date: January 15, 2008 [EBook #24310] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CANDLE AND CRIB *** + + + + +Produced by K. Nordquist, Ronnie Sahlberg and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 357px;"> +<img src="images/frontc.jpg" width="357" height="600" +alt="Front cover" +title="Front cover" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h1>CANDLE AND CRIB</h1> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 250px;"> +<img src="images/001.jpg" width="250" height="340" +alt="Illustration" +title="Illustration" /> +</div> + +<h1>By K. F. PURDON.</h1> + +<h2>Illustrated by BEATRICE ELVERY.</h2> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><br /></p> + +<h3><a name="BY_THE_SAME_AUTHOR" id="BY_THE_SAME_AUTHOR"></a><i>BY THE SAME AUTHOR</i></h3> + +<h3>THE FOLK OF FURRY FARM</h3> + +<p><br /></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/006.jpg" width="400" height="573" +alt="Crying woman" +title="Crying woman" /> +</div> + +<p class="center">"AS SOON AS HE WAS GONE, DIDN'T THE WOMAN +THROW DOWN HER KNITTING, AND LAID HER HEAD +UPON HER KNEES, AND CRIED"</p> + +<p><br /><br /></p> + +<h3>MAUNSEL & COMPANY, LTD.</h3> +<h3>DUBLIN AND LONDON · 1914</h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<h2><a name="TOC" id="TOC"></a><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> + +<table class="figcenter" summary="CONTENTS"> + +<tr><th></th><th style="text-align: left;">CHAP.</th><th><span style="margin-left: 10em;"> </span></th><th style="text-align: right;">PAGE</th></tr> + +<tr><td style="text-align: right;"><a href='#CHAPTER_I'>I.</a></td><td style="text-align: left;"><span class="smcap">Moloney's</span></td><td></td><td style="text-align: right;"><a href='#Page_001'>1</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td style="text-align: right;"><a href='#CHAPTER_II'>II.</a></td><td style="text-align: left;"><span class="smcap">The Stable</span></td><td></td><td style="text-align: right;"><a href='#Page_010'>10</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td style="text-align: right;"><a href='#CHAPTER_III'>III.</a></td><td style="text-align: left;"><span class="smcap">The Letter</span></td><td></td><td style="text-align: right;"><a href='#Page_018'>18</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td style="text-align: right;"><a href='#CHAPTER_IV'>IV.</a></td><td style="text-align: left;"><span class="smcap">The Crib</span></td><td></td><td style="text-align: right;"><a href='#Page_034'>34</a></td></tr> + +</table> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_001" id="Page_001"></a><a href="#TOC">[1]</a></span></p> + +<h1><a name="CANDLE_AND_CRIB" id="CANDLE_AND_CRIB"></a>CANDLE AND CRIB</h1> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3>MOLONEY'S</h3> + + +<p>It would be hard to find a pleasanter, more +friendly-looking place in all Ardenoo than +Moloney's of the Crooked Boreen, where +Big Michael and the wife lived, a piece up +from the high-road. And well might you +call the little causey "crooked" that led +to their door! for rough and stony that +<i>boreen</i> was, twisting and winding along by +the bog-side, this way and that way, the +same as if it couldn't rightly make up its +mind where it wanted to bring you. So +it was all the more of a surprise when you +did get to Moloney's, to find a house with +such an appearance of comfort upon it, +in such a place.</p> + +<p>Long and low that house was, and very +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_002" id="Page_002"></a><a href="#TOC">[2]</a></span> +old. You could tell the great age of it by +the thickness of the thatch, as well as by +seeing, when you were standing inside upon +the kitchen floor and looking up, that that +same thatch was resting, not upon common +planks, sawn with the grain and against +the grain and every way, but upon the real +boughs themselves, put there by them +that had to choose carefully what would be +suitable for their purpose, because there +were few tools then for shaping timber. So +that's how the branches were there yet, the +same as ever, bark and twigs and all; ay, +and as sound as the day they were put +there, two hundred years before.</p> + +<p>As for the walls at Moloney's ... mud, +I'm not denying it! but the thickness of +them! and the way they were kept white-washed, +inside and out! They'd dazzle +you, to look at them; especially in the +kitchen of an evening, when the fire would +be strong. And that was a thing that +occurred mostly always at Moloney's. For +Herself was a most notorious Vanithee; +and there's no better sign of good housekeeping +than a clean, blazing hearth. Sure +isn't that, as a body might say, the heart of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_003" id="Page_003"></a><a href="#TOC">[3]</a></span> +the whole house? Heart or hearth, isn't +it all the one thing, nearly? For if warmth +and comfort for the body come from the +one, doesn't love and pleasant kindness +come from the other? Ay, indeed!</p> + +<p>And now, here was the Christmas Eve +come round again, when every one puts the +best foot foremost, whether they can or +not. And so by Moloney's. The darkness +had fallen, and a wild, wet night it was, as +ever came out of the heavens. But that +only made the light seem the brighter and +more coaxing that the fire was sending out +over the half-door, and through the little, +twinkling bulls'-eyes windows, as if it +was trying to say, "Come along in, whoever +you are that's outside in the cold and +the rain! Look at the way the Woman +has the floor swept, till there isn't a speck +upon it! and the tables and stools scoured +like the snow, and the big old pewter +plates and dishes upon the dresser polished +till they're shining like a goat's eyes from +under a bed! Come in! Sure every one +is welcome here to-night, whether they come +or not!"</p> + +<p>And still in all...! +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_004" id="Page_004"></a><a href="#TOC">[4]</a></span></p> + +<p>Well, one look round would tell you, +with half an eye, that something was wrong +at Moloney's, Christmas Eve and all as it +was. For Big Michael himself was standing +there in the kitchen, cracking his red, +wet fingers one after the other, and looking +most uncomfortable. The wet was running +down from his big frieze coat, but it wasn't +that he minded. He was too well used to +soft weather to care about wet clothes. +Beside him upon the floor was the big +market-basket, with all manner of paper +parcels, blue and brown, sticking out from +under the lid that wouldn't shut down, he +had brought home so much from Melia's +shop. But that basket had a forgotten look +about it, because there beside it stood Herself, +and she not asking to unpack it or do +a thing with it. She was a little bit of a +woman, that you'd think you could blow off +the palm of your hand with one puff of +your breath. As thin as a whip she was, +and as straight as a rush; and she was +looking up now at Michael with flaming +cheeks and eyes like troubled waters.</p> + +<p>"No letter!" she was saying; "and is +it that you brought home no letter, after +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_005" id="Page_005"></a><a href="#TOC">[5]</a></span> +you being to the post! Sure it can't be +but they wrote to say were they coming +or not, after they being asked here for +the Christmas! Sure I thought you'd +surely have word to say when to expect +them; and was thinking even that they +might be coming with yourself! Only I +suppose the little ass and dray wouldn't +be grand enough for the wife! Of coorse +I didn't think of <i>her</i> writing; she may +know no better, and isn't to be blemt if +she has no manners; she can't help the way +she was brought up! But Art! Sure +there must be a letter from him...!"</p> + +<p>"Wait and I'll try again!" said Big +Michael slowly; and then he took to feel +through his pockets again for the letter +their son was to have sent them. But +when he had done this, he could only shake +his head, so that the rain-drops fell from +his hair and beard—turning brackety grey, +they were, Michael being on in years.</p> + +<p>"No, in trath! not as much as one letter +have I this night!" he said slowly.</p> + +<p>At this the Woman began to laugh, in +spite of the great annoyance that was on +her. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_006" id="Page_006"></a><a href="#TOC">[6]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Sure," she said, "if Mrs. Melia had a +letter for us, wouldn't she have given it to +you? What use would <i>she</i> have for it? +And if she hadn't, and told you so, where's +the sense in you feeling your pockets over +and over? A body'd think you expected +letters to grow there, the same as American +apples in barrels! How could you have +there what you didn't put there? But let +you go on off ou'er this now! Look at the +state you have the clean floor in, with the +rain dreeping from your <i>cota-mor</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Coming down it is, like as if it was out +of a sieve!" said Michael; "and wasn't +it God that done it, that I took the notion +to cut the holly'n'ivy while the day was +someways fine, afore I started off to the +shop! Has it safe below ... so I'll just +go for it now, the way we can be settling +out the Crib and all ..."</p> + +<p>"There'll no holly'n'ivy go up on these +walls to-night, if I'm to be let have a say +in the business!" said Mrs. Moloney. "Sich +trash and nonsense! making mess and +trouble for them that has plenty to do +without that! And as for the Crib, let it +stop where it is ..." +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_007" id="Page_007"></a><a href="#TOC">[7]</a></span></p> + +<p>On the word she went back to her stool +in the chimney-corner, where she always +sat bolt upright, and took up her knitting, +the same as if it wasn't the Christmas Eve +at all. For Art, their only child, that +stocking was meant. But her hands were +shaking so much that she dropped more +stitches off the needles than she made, and +still she persevered. Big Michael looked +at her for a bit, very pitiful; even opened +his mouth once, as if he wanted to say +something; a nice, silent person he was, +very even-going in himself. But he must +have thought better of it, for he only shook +his head again, and turned and went off out +of the door into the wild storm and darkness, +with the wind howling and threatening +all about the bog and country-side, the +shockingest ever you knew.</p> + +<p>And as soon as he was gone, didn't the +Woman throw down her knitting, and laid +her head upon her knees, and cried and +cried, till her blue checky apron was like +as if it was after being wrung out of a tub +of suds.</p> + +<p>"Och, Art!" she'd cry, "isn't this the +queer way for you to be going on! To say +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_008" id="Page_008"></a><a href="#TOC">[8]</a></span> +you never answered the letter that was wrote +to you! This very day five-and-twenty +years you came here to us! as lovely as a +little angel you were! The grand big blue +eyes of you! and the way you'd laugh up +at me and put out the little hand...! +And you the only one ever God sent us! +And never a word between us, only when +you took the notion to go off to Dublin; sure +it near broke our hearts, but what could we +do, only give you our blessing! And ... +and then hearing the good accounts of the +way you were going on.... But it's +the wife that done it all, and has him that +changed...! Too grand she is, no doubt, +for the likes of us! Och, grand how-are-ye! +no, but not half good enough for Art! +He that was always counted a choice boy +by all that knew him! And any word +them that saw the wife beyant in Dublin +with him brought back, was no great +things. A poor-looking little scollop of a +thing, they tell me she is; and like as if +she'd have about as much iday of taking +butter off a churn, or spinning a hank of +yarn, as a pig would have of a holiday! +What opinion could any sensible body have +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_009" id="Page_009"></a><a href="#TOC">[9]</a></span> +of that kind of a wedding, without even a +match-maker to inquire into the thing, +to see was it anyways suitable or not! +Och, Art! Art! it's little I thought, this +day five-and-twenty years, the way the +thing would be now!" +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_010" id="Page_010"></a><a href="#TOC">[10]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>THE STABLE</h3> + + +<p>While poor Mrs. Moloney was fretting like +this, and it Christmas Eve and all, Big +Michael was making his way through +the wind and the sleety rain to where he +had his stable, a piece off from the house. +It was pitch-dark, so that he couldn't +see his hand before his eyes, if he held it +up; but he had his lantern, and anyway +he knew his way about blindfold. But +even in daylight you might pass by that +stable ready, unless you knew it was there. +For it was very little, and being roofed with +heather it looked only like a bit of the bog +that had humped itself up a bit higher than +the rest.</p> + +<p>Poor-looking and small as it was, Big +Michael was very proud of that stable. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_011" id="Page_011"></a><a href="#TOC">[11]</a></span> +He and Art had built it together, just before +Art leaving home. It was wanted to keep +the little wad of hay or straw safe from +the weather, as well as to shelter the cow +of a hard night. And after Art had +gone off to the Big Smoke, and for no +other reason only getting restless, as young +hearts often do, many and many a time +Michael would slope off to the stable, and +sit down there to take a draw of the pipe +and to wish he had his pleasant, active +young boy back at home again. He missed +Art full as much as the mother, and maybe +more.</p> + +<p>In fact, it was getting into a habit with +Michael to go off to the stable. He had +the best of a wife, but still there were +times when he'd wish to be with himself +somewhere, so that he could take his +ease, and still not be feeling himself an +annoyance to a busy woman. Big Michael +himself, the people said, always looked as +if he thought to-morrow would do. But +the Woman that owned him was of a +different way of thinking, always going at +something. So he got the fashion of keeping +out of her way. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_012" id="Page_012"></a><a href="#TOC">[12]</a></span></p> + +<p>When he got to the stable this night, a +bit out of breath with the great wind, he +took notice first of the cow, and he saw +that she was comfortable, plenty of straw +to lie upon, and plenty of fodder before +her. So then he bethought him of the +little ass that was outside under the dray +yet.</p> + +<p>"I'll put her in too!" he thought. +"Destroyed she is and quite weakly with +the wet, like all donkeys, God help them! +let alone the mud and gutter she's after +travelling through, all that long ways from +the shop! And carrit the things we were +in need of, too! I'll let her stand here near +the cow. A good dry bed I'll put under +her, and give her a grain of oats to pet her +heart. It'll not go astray with her, and +she has it well earned, the creature!"</p> + +<p>So he unyoked the ass and led her into +the stable, and rubbed down her shaggy +coat, all dripping like his own clothes, and +fed her, and watched with a curious satisfaction +the nice way, like a lady, that she +took the feed he put before her.</p> + +<p>"Poor Winny!" he said, rubbing a +finger up and down her soft ears; "many's +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_013" id="Page_013"></a><a href="#TOC">[13]</a></span> +the time Art laughed at you, and said it +was only one remove from a wheel-barra +to be driving you! Ling-gerin' Death is +what he used to call you! But sure you +do your best! and if you were the fastest +horse ever won the Grand National, you +could do no more!"</p> + +<p>He looked round then, with a very satisfied +feeling. There he had them, the two +poor animals that depended out of him, +but that served him and his so well, too; +had them safe and warm from the storm and +rain outside. He swung the lantern to +and fro, so that he could see everything +that was in the stable. One end of it was +filled with hay and straw. The light +gleamed here, gleamed there upon the kind, +homely plenty he had stored. Then it fell +upon a heap of something else; something +that glistened from many points, green and +cheerful.</p> + +<p>"The holly'n'ivy," Big Michael thought, +"that I cut this morning, and has it here, +the way it would be handy to do out the +place in greenery against Art and the wife +would be here! Well, well! I wouldn't +wish to go against Herself, and she so +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_014" id="Page_014"></a><a href="#TOC">[14]</a></span> +fretted; but sure I might as well not have +cut it at all!"</p> + +<p>He stood and stared at it, very mournful +in himself. For the best part of the Christmas +to Michael was not the good feeding +Herself always provided, though he could +take his share of that, as well as another; +no, but the holly and ivy and the Candle +and the Crib; and now she had set her +face against them all. And it wouldn't be +Christmas at all, he thought, without them!</p> + +<p>A sudden thought came into his mind.</p> + +<p>"Why can't I have it Christmas here," +he said to himself, "and not be letting all +these beautiful green branches go to waste! +That's what I'll do!"</p> + +<p>And with that, he laid down the lantern, +and began to decorate the little stable. +He moved slowly, but the work grew under +his hands. He put the bright, glistening +holly in the rack that the cow fed from, +and over the door. And he flung the long +curving trails of ivy over the rafters, so +that they hung down, and the whole place +became the most loveliest bower of green +that you might ask to see.</p> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/014.jpg" width="400" height="555" +alt="Big Michael" +title="Big Michael" /> +</div> + +<p class="center">"BIG MICHAEL CONTRIVED TO LIGHT THE CANDLE"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_015" id="Page_015"></a><a href="#TOC">[15]</a></span> +He had just put up the last of his green +stuff, when the lantern flickered up and +then quenched; it was burnt out.</p> + +<p>"Dear, dear!" thought Michael; "a pity +it is to say there's no light to see it by; +even if there's no one to look at it, itself!"</p> + +<p>He stood still a bit. It always took +Michael a good while even to think. Then +he said to himself, "Wait a bit! go aisy, +now, will ye!" as if the wife was there to +be prodding him on. And then he began +slowly to unbutton his coat, and then +another under that, and another, and so on, +much like peeling skins off an onion, till at +last he came to something that he drew out +very carefully; something long and slim, +and that gleamed white in the light of a +match he struck against the wall.</p> + +<p>"<i>There's</i> a Christmas Candle for ye!" +he said, looking admiringly at it; "two +foot long if it's an inch! Mrs. Melia does +the thing right, if she goes to do it at all, +the decent nice poor woman that she is! +Gave me that Candle in a Christmas present; +her Christmas box she said it was, and says +she, 'It'll do to welcome Art and the young +wife home!' says she. And so of course +it would, if only it was a thing that they +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_016" id="Page_016"></a><a href="#TOC">[16]</a></span> +were coming.... But sure, God knows +what happened to stop them.... But I +thought it as good say nothing about the +Candle, foreninst Herself, to be making +her worse, when I seen the way she was +about the Crib itself! It's a pity she not +to see it ..."</p> + +<p>Slowly and awkwardly Big Michael contrived +to light the Candle and to set it up +in a bucket that was there handy. He +steadied it there by melting some of the +grease around it, and made it firm so that +it could not upset to do damage to the +stable. Then when it was burning well he +went off, turning when he got out into the +storm and darkness outside to look again +at the Candle that was shedding a ray of +lovely light far into the night.</p> + +<p>"Ay, indeed!" thought he to himself, +with great satisfaction, "it is a grand fine +Christmas Candle, sure enough! And it +would be noways right for us, even if we +are only with ourselves to-night, not to +have one lit, the same as every other house +in Ardenoo has, the way if any poor woman +with a child in her arms was wandering by, +far from her own place, she'd see the light +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_017" id="Page_017"></a><a href="#TOC">[17]</a></span> +and know there was room and a welcome +waiting there for them both! Ay, indeed! +a great Candle that is, and will last well and +shine across the whole bog! But I wish +Mrs. Melia had given me the letter as well!" +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_018" id="Page_018"></a><a href="#TOC">[18]</a></span></p> + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3>THE LETTER</h3> + + +<p>The queer thing is that Big Michael, slow +and all as he was, happened to be right +about the letter from Art. It had been +written, and, moreover, it had reached +Ardenoo post-office. But no one knew +that for certain, or what became of it, only +a small little pup of a terrier dog belonging +to one of the Melia boys. This pup was +just of an age that it was a great comfort +to his mouth to have something he could +chew. He was lying taking his ease, just +under the counter where the letters got +sorted. And when, as luck would have it, +Art's letter slipped down, of all others! +from the big heap of papers and all sorts +that came very plenty at that Christmas +season, this little dog had no delay, only +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_019" id="Page_019"></a><a href="#TOC">[19]</a></span> +begin on the letter. In two minutes he +had "little dan" made of it!—nothing left +of it only a couple or three little wet rags +that got swep' out the next morning, and +never were heard of again. Sure, why +would they, when only the pup knew +anything about them? And he couldn't +explain the thing, even if he had wanted +to. He escaped a few kicks by that. Still, +dogs often get into trouble the same way, +God help them! without having earned +it at all.</p> + +<p>Yes, the invitation for the Christmas +was answered. The wife, Delia her name +was, had said nothing at first when it came. +To tell the truth, she was well satisfied +where she was, with Art and the child all to +herself, in their one room in a back street. +Up a lot of stairs it was, too, and the other +people in the house not to say too tasty in +their way of going on. But poor Delia +thought it was all grand, with the little +bits of furniture herself and Art would buy +according as they could manage it, and the +cradle in the corner by the fire.</p> + +<p>Poor Art would smother there betimes, +nigh-hand, when he'd think of the Crooked +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_020" id="Page_020"></a><a href="#TOC">[20]</a></span> +Boreen, and the wide silence of the bog, +with the soft sweet wind blowing across it, +and the cows and all, and the neighbours +to pass the time of day with, let alone the +smell of the turf-fire of an evening! Homesick +the poor boy was, and didn't know it.</p> + +<p>The way it came about that Art left +home was, he got tired of things there, +the very things he wanted now. And +there was some said, the mother was too +good and fond with him. She'd lay the +two hands under his feet any hour of the +day or night; thought the sun shone out +of him, so she did. And Art was always +good and biddable with her; never gave +any back-talk, or was contrary. But all +the time he wanted to be himself. He +was much like a colt kept in a stall, well +fed and minded, but he wants to get out to +stretch his legs in a long gallop all the time.</p> + +<p>So there's why Art went off from Ardenoo +to the Big Smoke, and got on the best ever +you knew. He was very apprehensive +about machinery, could understand it well, +and got took on by a great high-up doctor +to mind his motor for him. The old people +were that proud when they heard of it. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_021" id="Page_021"></a><a href="#TOC">[21]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Sure it's on the Pig's Back Art is now, +whatever!" they said, "with his good-lookin' +pound a week!"</p> + +<p>Wealth that sounded, away off in Ardenoo. +But the sorra much spending there is in it +in a city, where you're paying out for everything +you want. Delia did the best she could +with it, but it wouldn't do all she wanted.</p> + +<p>Still, she pleased Art. Small and white +in the face she was, as Mrs. Moloney +had imagined her. Sewing she used +to be, a bad life for a girl to be at it +all day. But she flourished up well after +getting married. And what Art had looked +into, when he was courting, was the big, +longing-looking dark eyes of her, and the +gentle voice and ways, and the clouds of +soft brown hair ... well, sure every eye +forms a beauty of its own. But Art might +have done worse nor to marry Delia Fogarty +that never asked to differ from a word he +said, till the notion came up of they going +to Ardenoo for the Christmas. When the +letter asking them came, he near riz the +roof off the house, the shout he gave, he +was that delighted in himself to be going +back home. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_022" id="Page_022"></a><a href="#TOC">[22]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But what's a trouble to you, Delia?" he +says, when he had time to take notice that +she wasn't looking as rejoiced as he expected, +only sitting there with her eyes +upon the child in her arms; "a body'd +think you didn't care about going at all!" +he says, half vexed.</p> + +<p>"I ... I'd like to go, Art," says Delia, +"only I don't know do I want to go or not.... +I ... do you see ..."</p> + +<p>"Well ... what?"</p> + +<p>"Sure ... maybe ... how do I know +will they like me or not! And me coat all +wore ... and ... and, moreover, I never +got to get a right sort of a hood for the +child ... or a cloak...."</p> + +<p>"Och, what at all, girl dear!" says Art, +that was so excited at the thoughts of getting +home that nothing was a trouble to him; +"not like you! What else would they do! +And the child ... well, now, isn't it well +we told them nothing about him, the way +he'll be a surprise to them now? The fine +big fellah that he is! Sure it would be a +sin to go put any clothes on him at all, +hiding the brave big legs of him!"</p> + +<p>Delia had to laugh at that; and then Art +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_023" id="Page_023"></a><a href="#TOC">[23]</a></span> +went out and bought a grand sheet of note-paper +with robins and red berries and +"The Season's Compliments" at the top +of it. And Delia wrote the letter upon +this, because she could write real neat +and nice. Art told her every word to say.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p> +<span class="smcap">Dear Father and Mother</span>, it began, +"I have pleasure in taking up my pen to +rite yous those few lines hopping they find +yous in good health as they leave us at this +present thank you and God. I would wish +my love and best wishes to..." and +there were so many to be remembered +that Art told Delia to put in "all inquiring +friends," and even shortened like that, the +list hardly left room for saying, "and we +will go home for the Christmas and is +obliged for the kindness of asking and we +will go by the last train Christmas Eve and +let yous meet that with Ling-gerin' Death +and the cart and we're bringing a Christmas +box wid us that yous will be rejoiced to +see so I will end those few lines from your +</p> + +<p style="text-align: right;"><span class="smcap">"Son and New Daughter."</span></p> +</blockquote> + +<p>When that letter was finished and posted, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_024" id="Page_024"></a><a href="#TOC">[24]</a></span> +Delia made no more of an objection to going, +only did the best she could, washing and +mending her own little things and the +baby's. But let her do her best and they +were poor-looking little bits of duds! +And many's the time, when Art was away, +that she'd cry, and wish to herself that +there was no such a place as Ardenoo on +the face of this earthly world. But what +could she do, only please Art!</p> + +<p>Well, the very evening before they were +to start for Ardenoo, didn't Art come home +to her in great humour. "Look at here, +Delia!" says he, with a big laugh; "see +the fine handful of money," and he held it +out to her, "that Himself is after giving me +in a Christmas box! Now we'll do the +thing in real style! Come along out now, +before the shops shut, and we'll buy all +before us!"</p> + +<p>Well, if you were to see the two of them +that night! the three, indeed, for Delia +wouldn't ever leave the child, only took +him with her. To see them looking in at +the grand bright windows full of things! +and going in, Delia half afraid, but Art as +loud and outspoken as a lord, spending +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_025" id="Page_025"></a><a href="#TOC">[25]</a></span> +free as long as it lasted! To see him then +going home with her and the child, and he +all loaded down with parcels! and opened +them all out, the minute they got back! +All the things they bought out of that +money! A pipe and tobacco for Michael; +a lovely cake with "Merry Christmas" in +pink sugar upon it, for Herself; the grandest +of brown shoes and a hat and feather for +Delia, and as for the baby!... Delia +could scarce believe her eyes, all they had +got for him, things she had been wanting....</p> + +<p>Art made her fit them all on, and when +she held up the child to be admired, with +the loveliest of a soft white shawl rolled +round him, "He becomes it well," says +Art; "and I suppose you think to make +him look better nor he is, by all that +finery!"</p> + +<p>"Your mother'll think him terrible +small," said Delia, looking very fretted +again; but she kissed the baby, as much +as to say, "Little I care what she thinks!"</p> + +<p>She said nothing about that part of it, +though, only looked up at Art with the +beseeching eyes I mentioned before.</p> + +<p>"Let that go round!" says Art; and he +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_026" id="Page_026"></a><a href="#TOC">[26]</a></span> +lifted the two of them in his arms and +kissed them both; and then when he had +let Delia go, says he, "Me mother is the +smallest little crathureen herself, that ever +you saw! So she needn't talk! And sure +what can you expect from a child not a +month old yet! And there's an ould saying +and a true one, in Ardenoo, 'It's not always +the big people that reaps the harvest!' and +so by this boy of ours! We won't feel till +he'll be working!"</p> + +<p>"Working!" said Delia. And she unclasped +the baby's fingers and kissed the +tiny hands inside, that were as soft and +pink as rose-leaves, first one hand and then +the other. She never thought that every +hand, no matter how rough and strong, +begins by being a baby's hand like the one +she was after kissing.</p> + +<p>"Ay, work!" says Art, very determined; +"it would amaze you or any one that didn't +know, the way the children grow up and get +sense at Ardenoo! the way if the old people +seemed wishful for us to stop at home with +them, this little fellah of ours would soon +... but whisht!" before poor Delia had +time to say a word one way or other about +this iday, "whisht! what's this at all! A +telegram! for me!"</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/026.jpg" width="400" height="552" +alt="He kissed them both" +title="He kissed them both" /> +</div> + +<p class="center">HE KISSED THEM BOTH</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_027" id="Page_027"></a><a href="#TOC">[27]</a></span></p> + +<p>A telegram! Poor Delia turned gashly +pale at the word, and hugged the child +closer to her, as if she thought that little +bit of an orange-coloured envelope might +be going to do some destruction on her +treasure.</p> + +<p>Art read it slowly to himself, while his +face grew as long as to-day and to-morrow; +and says he, "Well, it can't be helped! +The Master that's after getting a hurried +call to the country and will want me to +drive him ... so I'll not be at read'ness +to go...." He looked anxiously at +Delia.</p> + +<p>Not go to Ardenoo! Delia's heart leaped +up.</p> + +<p>"Sure, can't we stop where we are?" +says she, with dancing eyes.</p> + +<p>"Och, not at all!" says Art; "it +wouldn't answer at all to be disappointing +them. And besides, it's down that side +he wants to go ... some sick child ... +the Master I mean ... I'll likely be at +Ardenoo before you!"</p> + +<p>"But, Art! ... is it go wid meself? +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_028" id="Page_028"></a><a href="#TOC">[28]</a></span> +What will I do at all at all?" and Delia +begins to cry.</p> + +<p>"See here now," says Art, "don't be +taking on, that way! You wouldn't have +me disappoint the Master ... after he +being so good to us, too! The fine grand +little clothes we're after getting!... +You'll be as right as rain! Just wait till +you're at Ardenoo, where every one knows +me! Why, you'll be with friends, that very +minute! And you wrote it in the letter +yourself, what train to meet you at.... +You wouldn't be fretting me mother and +she thinking to have us for the Christmas +... to make no mention of the child at +all!"</p> + +<p>"To be sure not!" says Delia. And +she dried her eyes and said no more, only +got ready and went off the next day with +the little child, as smiling and gay as she +could appear, waving her hand to Art that +saw her off at the Broadstone station, and +did all he could to put her in heart. But +it's a long, long ways from the Big Smoke +to Ardenoo. Hours and hours it took +that wet, wild day to get there. And +Delia wasn't too well accustomed to trains +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_029" id="Page_029"></a><a href="#TOC">[29]</a></span> +and going about. She managed to keep +the child warm and comforted all through, +but when the train stopped at Ardenoo +she was that tired and giddy herself, that +she scarcely knew what she was doing or +where she was to go.</p> + +<p>She stood a minute on the platform, with +the wind and rain beating down upon her, +till it had her even more confused. And the +day was nearly done, and no lamps lit yet. +But she made out a porter and asked him, +as Art had bid her, for Mr. Moloney's ass-cart.</p> + +<p>"Moloney's ass and dray? Ay," says +the man, "Big Michael was in the Town +to-day at Melia's, and buying all before +him, by what I hear. And not too long +ago it was ..."</p> + +<p>"Would I ... could I find him ... +where's that place you're after mentioning?"</p> + +<p>And Delia took a grip of the big hat, +that the wind was getting at.</p> + +<p>"Melia's shop? You can't miss it! +There's ne'er another.... He should +have left it by now ... but let you go on +along that road ..." and he showed her +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_030" id="Page_030"></a><a href="#TOC">[30]</a></span> +where it lay, stretching off into the darkness, +"and you'll overtake him, ready! +That ass is middling slow!"</p> + +<p>The man guessed who this was speaking +to him, for they all had heard about +Art and the wife being expected for the +Christmas. And he had no call to tell her +to go off like that. Big Michael was nigh-hand +at home again by then. But he had +a sup taken at that present, as often +happens at Christmas. Only he was a bit +"on," he'd never have put such an iday +into Delia's head. To think of letting her +start after Michael like that!</p> + +<p>But poor Delia knew no better than to +follow fool's advice; how could she? So +she just asked some directions about the +road, and then she changed the child from +one arm to the other and faced out in the +night and rain, and a wind that would blow +the horns off a goose to overtake the ass-cart. +Little she thought that it was back +at the Crooked Boreen by then, near five +good miles away!</p> + +<p>For a while, she wasn't in too bad a +heart at all. She was glad to be out of the +train, and she was expecting every step to +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_031" id="Page_031"></a><a href="#TOC">[31]</a></span> +get some signs of Michael on in front. But +the little light there was went altogether +before long; quenched, like, by the great +rain and the heavy clouds that hung low +and dark in the skies. Delia began to feel +it very lonesome! But she kept going on; +what else could she do?</p> + +<p>At this time, what she thought worst of +was, that the wet was spoiling her good hat, +after Art spending his money upon it, the +way she could make some kind of appearance +foreninst his mother and the neighbours. +But what could she do to save it?</p> + +<p>"The cut I'll be!" she thought; "all +dreeped with rain!" And indeed the hat, +with its grand feather all broken and +draggled, was a poor-looking thing enough +before she was half-ways to the Crooked +Boreen. As for the grand shoes with the +high heels, they were like sponges upon her +feet, and she slipping in them as she stumbled +along through mud and gutter to her ankles.</p> + +<p>But she kept going on! The baby lay +warm and snug upon her heart. She +managed to keep him sheltered, anyway! +Now and then she'd stop and put her face +down to his, to feel his sweet warm breath +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_032" id="Page_032"></a><a href="#TOC">[32]</a></span> +upon her cheek. Then she'd go on again. +That ass-cart! If only she could catch +it! Wouldn't it be Heaven to be taken +off her aching feet and be carried along, +herself and the child, with some one that +knew the way, and not to be feeling lost, +as she did now.</p> + +<p>For by degrees that's what Delia had to +think; she was lost. Still she struggled on, +the poor little bet-down thing that she was; +so tired that she only kept moving at all by +clenching her teeth hard and saying out loud, +"I must! I must! A nice thing it would +be for Art to not find me when he gets +home! I must keep going on! The baby +would die if I was to lie down ..." for +that is what she was more inclined for than +anything else.</p> + +<p>The wind was coming in great gusts now, +hindering her far worse than the rain. +It caught her skirts like the sails of a ship; +it snatched at her hat. She tried to hold +it on, but a sudden strong blast came, just +as she was shifting the child again in her +arms. Like a spiteful hand, it tore the +hat from her head and furled it away; +and what could be done, to get it again, in +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_033" id="Page_033"></a><a href="#TOC">[33]</a></span> +the storm and darkness? Delia cried at +first, thinking of the loss it was. But she +minded nothing long, only the tiredness +and that still she must keep going on.</p> + +<p>Suddenly she began to sing to the child:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I laid my love in a cradley-bed,</span> +<span class="i0" style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Lu lu lu lu la lay</i>.</span> +<span class="i0">Little white love with a soft round head,</span> +<span class="i0" style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Lu lu lu lu la lay</i>.</span> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Before she had it done, she thought to +see a light a piece off from her. She made +towards it. Out upon the bog itself she +was now; and them that saw her tracks +after, said one of the holy Angels must have +been guiding her then, that she wasn't +drownded, herself and the child, in a bog-hole. +She slipped here and she fell there +on the wet, rough ground; but she kept +on till she reached the light. It was the +Christmas Candle, in Michael's stable, burning +there, mild and watchful. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_034" id="Page_034"></a><a href="#TOC">[34]</a></span></p> + + + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>THE CRIB</h3> + + +<p>While all this was going on, Big Michael +was sitting, snug and comfortable, in the +chimney-corner, opposite the wife, and she +knitting, knitting away still. Not a word +was passing. She had Michael's supper +ready for him, hot and tasty, the same +as ever. But he had no <i>goo</i> for it. What +did he care was it good or bad! How +could he feel gay and riz up in himself, +the way a body should at the Christmas, +when he knew well Herself had been +crying away while he had been down at +the stable?</p> + +<p>If only she'd cheer up! If only she'd +agree to have the place dressed out, and +the Crib and all the other little things done +the same as ever! It would do herself +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_035" id="Page_035"></a><a href="#TOC">[35]</a></span> +good, and they might be having a happy +Christmas after all, even if there was only +the two of them there with themselves! +But he said nothing. Big as Michael was, +and little as the Woman was that owned +him, it was she had the upper hand in the +house. And good right, too; she being a +very understanding person, and considered +to be a good adviser of a woman all over +Ardenoo. Michael was slow, but he was +wise enough to give in to the wife. So now +when she showed no wish for any of the +things he was so made upon, he said no +more about them; only after a while +says he, "I believe it's what I'll take a +streel off to see is the cow all right in the +stable below...."</p> + +<p>But what he really wanted was, to get +away from the queer, unhappy feel of the +silent kitchen. He thought, too, he'd like +another sight of the dressed-out stable +and the big Candle he had lit there. He +meant to stop a bit with those Christmas +signs, and the ass, and the munch, munch +of the cow, filling the place with her fragrant +breath.</p> + +<p>Wasn't it a pity of the world that Herself +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_036" id="Page_036"></a><a href="#TOC">[36]</a></span> +was having none of the pleasure? If only +he could tell her what he had been doing! +If only he could get her to come too, and +see how lovely the stable looked!</p> + +<p>As he passed out on the door, the Vanithee +looked after him. A kind of pity rose +warm in her heart, as she saw the fretted +appearance was upon the big man, like a +cowed dog, with his tail drooping between +his legs.</p> + +<p>All the bygone Christmas Eves they had +put in there together! Kind, pleasant +times, with little old nonsense and laughing, +that no one understood, only themselves! +Art had been there, to be sure! He had +been the delight of the first of their Christmases, +and the same always, till he went off. +But was it Michael's fault that the son +wasn't there yet? Sure poor Michael had +done nothing to fret her! It wasn't he had +neglected to write! And wasn't it full as +bad for him, Michael, that had always been +the fond father to Art! and had never +rightly overed the boy's quitting off the +way he did! Oh, if only they had Art there +again! To have him going off with the +father of a morning, cutting turf, or making +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_037" id="Page_037"></a><a href="#TOC">[37]</a></span> +hay, or doing a bit of ploughing! and the +two of them in to their dinners and off +again!... Why, to have that good +time back, she'd even welcome the poor-lookin' +little scollop of a thing, and give +her share of the old home!...</p> + +<p>Poor Michael! He that loved the +Christmas! Like a child, he was! Most +men are, if they have any good in them; and +God help them if they get a woman that +doesn't understand that, and can't make +allowances when they don't grow up!</p> + +<p>Mrs. Moloney was as quick as Michael +was slow. So, while he'd be thinking about +it, she had a stool over at the dresser and +was up on it, feeling for the Crib on the top +shelf.</p> + +<p>It was there, safe enough, and it wrapped +in a newspaper. A small little contraption +of a thing it was, that she had bought off +Tommy the Crab, the peddling man, years +before. Paid sixpence for it, too; and +cheap he told her it was at that money.</p> + +<p>To see it first, it was no more than a +middling sizeable Christmas card. But it +was really in three, or maybe four, halves +that drew out like a telescope. The first +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_038" id="Page_038"></a><a href="#TOC">[38]</a></span> +part showed the Kings kneeling with their +offerings and crowns upon their heads; then +you could see the Shepherds, with their +crooks and they kneeling too; and in the +middle of them all, the Mother herself, +with the Holy Child upon her knee. St. +Joseph was at one side, and the ox and the +ass at the other; all complete, even to a +grand Star of silver paper, shining on the +top of it all.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Moloney put the Crib into one of the +small square windows and drew it out. +Then she went back to the dresser for the +candles to light it up with. It looked +nothing wanting them.</p> + +<p>Not common candles she was going to +use, but what had been blessed at Candlemas, +and that she had kept put by very +carefully.</p> + +<p>"I mustn't take them all," she thought, +"the way, if one of us was to take and die +sudden, there would be a Candle ready to +put into the dying hand, to light the soul +on its way! But there's a good few, and +so ..."</p> + +<p>Four she took for the four evangelists, +and was just lighting them up, when suddenly +the door burst open, and with a +rush and a laugh in came ... Art!</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/038.jpg" width="400" height="571" +alt="The mother with her child" +title="The mother with her child" /> +</div> +<p class="center">THE MOTHER WITH HER CHILD LYING VERY STILL</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_039" id="Page_039"></a><a href="#TOC">[39]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Mother!" he said; and in a moment +had his arms round her, and was kissing +her lips.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Art! so you did come, after all!" +says she, with a catch in her breath and a +gush of joy to her heart. She had her son, +her own son again! And for a minute +she forgot everything else—the missed +letter, Art's wife....</p> + +<p>"Come? And why wouldn't I come? +What else? Och, but it's grand, the smell +of the turf! And the Crib the same as +ever! Och, mother, mother! But where's +Delia? Some tricks you and her is up to! +Has them hid 'on' me? Delia! Delia! +where at all are you?"</p> + +<p>At that the mother drew a piece away +from him. Her face that had been smiling +and rosy even, like a girl's face, grew stiff +and white.</p> + +<p>"Delia! Delia! he can think of nothing +else," she thought. It all came back upon +her, like a bad dream. Her son had a wife +now! And she had held out her hand to +them, and they had slighted it! +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_040" id="Page_040"></a><a href="#TOC">[40]</a></span></p> + +<p>What did Art mean, coming in like a +strong wind? Gay and pleasant as summer +air at first, but his face changed and became +black and stormy and his voice was a +strange, fierce voice, asking again, "Where's +Delia?"</p> + +<p>"I know nothing about her! How +could I?"</p> + +<p>"Sure she was to be here ..."</p> + +<p>"We got no word ..."</p> + +<p>"No word! Is it that no one met them +at the train? My God! what has become of +her and the child? And the night it was!"</p> + +<p>The child? What child? the mother +was trying to ask, but the words were +stopped on her lips, and Art was stopped at +the door, in his mad rush forth to look for +his wife and baby, by the appearance before +them of Michael. Stopped them both, I +say, but without a word being spoken. +It was just the look in the old man's face +that made them both fall back a step +and stand still, looking at Michael in a sort +of wonder and fright. His eyes were +shining, as if he had been in another world, +and had scarcely got back to earth again. +He stood facing them for a minute with the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_041" id="Page_041"></a><a href="#TOC">[41]</a></span> +same far-away look; then he took each of +them by the hand, and just breathed out, +"Come! come with me and see what's in +the stable ..."</p> + +<p>They went. The wind had fallen and +the rain had ceased. A beautiful moon +had risen, and was shining, but you could +not see her, only the light she shed down +from her throne on high through the soft +white mist that had risen from the wet +ground and was wavering and dancing +solemnly to and fro, filling the space +between heaven and earth, as if to veil the +sacred sights of the Holy Eve from mortal +eyes. The father and mother and son moved +silently through the misty, gleaming silence, +till they reached the stable, where the +Candle was burning steadily, and sending +forth its pure white light into the moonlit +vapour.</p> + +<p>Michael stepped on and was at the door +first. He put his great arm across, as if +to ensure caution and reverence.</p> + +<p>"Go easy, go easy, the both of yous! but +sure, they might be gone back already, and +no one to have seen them, only meself!" +he said in the same awed whisper. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_042" id="Page_042"></a><a href="#TOC">[42]</a></span></p> + +<p>They peered in, for beyond the Candle +were dusky spaces; yet its light was +enough to show them two figures there; +a girl-mother with her child, lying very +still.</p> + +<p>Was she asleep, or.... She was so +white and small! The long dark hair had +been loosened and fell about her like a +soft mantle; and close, close to her heart +lay the little child.</p> + +<p>"Delia, Delia!" said Art.</p> + +<p>"The Child!" said his mother.</p> + +<p>Delia unclosed her eyes and looked up +with a little smile. "I have him here, +safe!" she said.</p> + +<p>And Michael, only half comprehending, +fell on his knees and sobbed aloud.</p> + +<p><br /><br /></p> +<p class="center">THE END</p> + +<p><br /></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Printed by</i> <span class="smcap">R. & R. Clark, Limited</span>, <i>Edinburgh</i>.</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Candle and Crib, by K. F. Purdon + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CANDLE AND CRIB *** + +***** This file should be named 24310-h.htm or 24310-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/3/1/24310/ + +Produced by K. 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F. Purdon + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Candle and Crib + +Author: K. F. Purdon + +Illustrator: Beatrice Elvery + +Release Date: January 15, 2008 [EBook #24310] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CANDLE AND CRIB *** + + + + +Produced by K. Nordquist, Ronnie Sahlberg and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + + + + + CANDLE AND CRIB + + [Illustration] + + By K. F. PURDON. + + Illustrated by BEATRICE ELVERY. + + + + + _BY THE SAME AUTHOR_ + + THE FOLK OF FURRY FARM + + + [Illustration: "AS SOON AS HE WAS GONE, + DIDN'T THE WOMAN THROW DOWN HER KNITTING, + AND LAID HER HEAD UPON HER KNEES, AND CRIED"] + + MAUNSEL & COMPANY, LTD. + + DUBLIN AND LONDON . 1914 + + + + + CONTENTS + + CHAP. PAGE + + I. MOLONEY'S 1 + + II. THE STABLE 10 + + III. THE LETTER 18 + + IV. THE CRIB 34 + + + + + CANDLE AND CRIB + + + + + CHAPTER I + + MOLONEY'S + + +It would be hard to find a pleasanter, more friendly-looking place in +all Ardenoo than Moloney's of the Crooked Boreen, where Big Michael and +the wife lived, a piece up from the high-road. And well might you call +the little causey "crooked" that led to their door! for rough and stony +that _boreen_ was, twisting and winding along by the bog-side, this way +and that way, the same as if it couldn't rightly make up its mind where +it wanted to bring you. So it was all the more of a surprise when you +did get to Moloney's, to find a house with such an appearance of comfort +upon it, in such a place. + +Long and low that house was, and very old. You could tell the great age +of it by the thickness of the thatch, as well as by seeing, when you +were standing inside upon the kitchen floor and looking up, that that +same thatch was resting, not upon common planks, sawn with the grain and +against the grain and every way, but upon the real boughs themselves, +put there by them that had to choose carefully what would be suitable +for their purpose, because there were few tools then for shaping timber. +So that's how the branches were there yet, the same as ever, bark and +twigs and all; ay, and as sound as the day they were put there, two +hundred years before. + +As for the walls at Moloney's ... mud, I'm not denying it! but the +thickness of them! and the way they were kept white-washed, inside and +out! They'd dazzle you, to look at them; especially in the kitchen of an +evening, when the fire would be strong. And that was a thing that +occurred mostly always at Moloney's. For Herself was a most notorious +Vanithee; and there's no better sign of good housekeeping than a clean, +blazing hearth. Sure isn't that, as a body might say, the heart of the +whole house? Heart or hearth, isn't it all the one thing, nearly? For if +warmth and comfort for the body come from the one, doesn't love and +pleasant kindness come from the other? Ay, indeed! + +And now, here was the Christmas Eve come round again, when every one +puts the best foot foremost, whether they can or not. And so by +Moloney's. The darkness had fallen, and a wild, wet night it was, as +ever came out of the heavens. But that only made the light seem the +brighter and more coaxing that the fire was sending out over the +half-door, and through the little, twinkling bulls'-eyes windows, as if +it was trying to say, "Come along in, whoever you are that's outside in +the cold and the rain! Look at the way the Woman has the floor swept, +till there isn't a speck upon it! and the tables and stools scoured like +the snow, and the big old pewter plates and dishes upon the dresser +polished till they're shining like a goat's eyes from under a bed! Come +in! Sure every one is welcome here to-night, whether they come or not!" + +And still in all...! + +Well, one look round would tell you, with half an eye, that something +was wrong at Moloney's, Christmas Eve and all as it was. For Big Michael +himself was standing there in the kitchen, cracking his red, wet fingers +one after the other, and looking most uncomfortable. The wet was running +down from his big frieze coat, but it wasn't that he minded. He was too +well used to soft weather to care about wet clothes. Beside him upon the +floor was the big market-basket, with all manner of paper parcels, blue +and brown, sticking out from under the lid that wouldn't shut down, he +had brought home so much from Melia's shop. But that basket had a +forgotten look about it, because there beside it stood Herself, and she +not asking to unpack it or do a thing with it. She was a little bit of a +woman, that you'd think you could blow off the palm of your hand with +one puff of your breath. As thin as a whip she was, and as straight as a +rush; and she was looking up now at Michael with flaming cheeks and eyes +like troubled waters. + +"No letter!" she was saying; "and is it that you brought home no letter, +after you being to the post! Sure it can't be but they wrote to say were +they coming or not, after they being asked here for the Christmas! Sure +I thought you'd surely have word to say when to expect them; and was +thinking even that they might be coming with yourself! Only I suppose +the little ass and dray wouldn't be grand enough for the wife! Of coorse +I didn't think of _her_ writing; she may know no better, and isn't to be +blemt if she has no manners; she can't help the way she was brought up! +But Art! Sure there must be a letter from him...!" + +"Wait and I'll try again!" said Big Michael slowly; and then he took to +feel through his pockets again for the letter their son was to have sent +them. But when he had done this, he could only shake his head, so that +the rain-drops fell from his hair and beard--turning brackety grey, they +were, Michael being on in years. + +"No, in trath! not as much as one letter have I this night!" he said +slowly. + +At this the Woman began to laugh, in spite of the great annoyance that +was on her. + +"Sure," she said, "if Mrs. Melia had a letter for us, wouldn't she have +given it to you? What use would _she_ have for it? And if she hadn't, +and told you so, where's the sense in you feeling your pockets over and +over? A body'd think you expected letters to grow there, the same as +American apples in barrels! How could you have there what you didn't put +there? But let you go on off ou'er this now! Look at the state you have +the clean floor in, with the rain dreeping from your _cota-mor_!" + +"Coming down it is, like as if it was out of a sieve!" said Michael; +"and wasn't it God that done it, that I took the notion to cut the +holly'n'ivy while the day was someways fine, afore I started off to the +shop! Has it safe below ... so I'll just go for it now, the way we can +be settling out the Crib and all ..." + +"There'll no holly'n'ivy go up on these walls to-night, if I'm to be let +have a say in the business!" said Mrs. Moloney. "Sich trash and +nonsense! making mess and trouble for them that has plenty to do without +that! And as for the Crib, let it stop where it is ..." + +On the word she went back to her stool in the chimney-corner, where she +always sat bolt upright, and took up her knitting, the same as if it +wasn't the Christmas Eve at all. For Art, their only child, that +stocking was meant. But her hands were shaking so much that she dropped +more stitches off the needles than she made, and still she persevered. +Big Michael looked at her for a bit, very pitiful; even opened his mouth +once, as if he wanted to say something; a nice, silent person he was, +very even-going in himself. But he must have thought better of it, for +he only shook his head again, and turned and went off out of the door +into the wild storm and darkness, with the wind howling and threatening +all about the bog and country-side, the shockingest ever you knew. + +And as soon as he was gone, didn't the Woman throw down her knitting, +and laid her head upon her knees, and cried and cried, till her blue +checky apron was like as if it was after being wrung out of a tub of +suds. + +"Och, Art!" she'd cry, "isn't this the queer way for you to be going on! +To say you never answered the letter that was wrote to you! This very +day five-and-twenty years you came here to us! as lovely as a little +angel you were! The grand big blue eyes of you! and the way you'd laugh +up at me and put out the little hand...! And you the only one ever God +sent us! And never a word between us, only when you took the notion to +go off to Dublin; sure it near broke our hearts, but what could we do, +only give you our blessing! And ... and then hearing the good accounts +of the way you were going on.... But it's the wife that done it all, and +has him that changed...! Too grand she is, no doubt, for the likes of +us! Och, grand how-are-ye! no, but not half good enough for Art! He that +was always counted a choice boy by all that knew him! And any word them +that saw the wife beyant in Dublin with him brought back, was no great +things. A poor-looking little scollop of a thing, they tell me she is; +and like as if she'd have about as much iday of taking butter off a +churn, or spinning a hank of yarn, as a pig would have of a holiday! +What opinion could any sensible body have of that kind of a wedding, +without even a match-maker to inquire into the thing, to see was it +anyways suitable or not! Och, Art! Art! it's little I thought, this day +five-and-twenty years, the way the thing would be now!" + + + + + CHAPTER II + + THE STABLE + + +While poor Mrs. Moloney was fretting like this, and it Christmas Eve and +all, Big Michael was making his way through the wind and the sleety rain +to where he had his stable, a piece off from the house. It was +pitch-dark, so that he couldn't see his hand before his eyes, if he held +it up; but he had his lantern, and anyway he knew his way about +blindfold. But even in daylight you might pass by that stable ready, +unless you knew it was there. For it was very little, and being roofed +with heather it looked only like a bit of the bog that had humped itself +up a bit higher than the rest. + +Poor-looking and small as it was, Big Michael was very proud of that +stable. He and Art had built it together, just before Art leaving home. +It was wanted to keep the little wad of hay or straw safe from the +weather, as well as to shelter the cow of a hard night. And after Art +had gone off to the Big Smoke, and for no other reason only getting +restless, as young hearts often do, many and many a time Michael would +slope off to the stable, and sit down there to take a draw of the pipe +and to wish he had his pleasant, active young boy back at home again. He +missed Art full as much as the mother, and maybe more. + +In fact, it was getting into a habit with Michael to go off to the +stable. He had the best of a wife, but still there were times when he'd +wish to be with himself somewhere, so that he could take his ease, and +still not be feeling himself an annoyance to a busy woman. Big Michael +himself, the people said, always looked as if he thought to-morrow would +do. But the Woman that owned him was of a different way of thinking, +always going at something. So he got the fashion of keeping out of her +way. + +When he got to the stable this night, a bit out of breath with the great +wind, he took notice first of the cow, and he saw that she was +comfortable, plenty of straw to lie upon, and plenty of fodder before +her. So then he bethought him of the little ass that was outside under +the dray yet. + +"I'll put her in too!" he thought. "Destroyed she is and quite weakly +with the wet, like all donkeys, God help them! let alone the mud and +gutter she's after travelling through, all that long ways from the shop! +And carrit the things we were in need of, too! I'll let her stand here +near the cow. A good dry bed I'll put under her, and give her a grain of +oats to pet her heart. It'll not go astray with her, and she has it well +earned, the creature!" + +So he unyoked the ass and led her into the stable, and rubbed down her +shaggy coat, all dripping like his own clothes, and fed her, and watched +with a curious satisfaction the nice way, like a lady, that she took the +feed he put before her. + +"Poor Winny!" he said, rubbing a finger up and down her soft ears; +"many's the time Art laughed at you, and said it was only one remove +from a wheel-barra to be driving you! Ling-gerin' Death is what he used +to call you! But sure you do your best! and if you were the fastest +horse ever won the Grand National, you could do no more!" + +He looked round then, with a very satisfied feeling. There he had them, +the two poor animals that depended out of him, but that served him and +his so well, too; had them safe and warm from the storm and rain +outside. He swung the lantern to and fro, so that he could see +everything that was in the stable. One end of it was filled with hay and +straw. The light gleamed here, gleamed there upon the kind, homely +plenty he had stored. Then it fell upon a heap of something else; +something that glistened from many points, green and cheerful. + +"The holly'n'ivy," Big Michael thought, "that I cut this morning, and +has it here, the way it would be handy to do out the place in greenery +against Art and the wife would be here! Well, well! I wouldn't wish to +go against Herself, and she so fretted; but sure I might as well not +have cut it at all!" + +He stood and stared at it, very mournful in himself. For the best part +of the Christmas to Michael was not the good feeding Herself always +provided, though he could take his share of that, as well as another; +no, but the holly and ivy and the Candle and the Crib; and now she had +set her face against them all. And it wouldn't be Christmas at all, he +thought, without them! + +A sudden thought came into his mind. + +"Why can't I have it Christmas here," he said to himself, "and not be +letting all these beautiful green branches go to waste! That's what I'll +do!" + +And with that, he laid down the lantern, and began to decorate the +little stable. He moved slowly, but the work grew under his hands. He +put the bright, glistening holly in the rack that the cow fed from, and +over the door. And he flung the long curving trails of ivy over the +rafters, so that they hung down, and the whole place became the most +loveliest bower of green that you might ask to see. + +He had just put up the last of his green stuff, when the lantern +flickered up and then quenched; it was burnt out. + +[Illustration: "BIG MICHAEL CONTRIVED TO LIGHT THE CANDLE"] + +"Dear, dear!" thought Michael; "a pity it is to say there's no light to +see it by; even if there's no one to look at it, itself!" + +He stood still a bit. It always took Michael a good while even to think. +Then he said to himself, "Wait a bit! go aisy, now, will ye!" as if the +wife was there to be prodding him on. And then he began slowly to +unbutton his coat, and then another under that, and another, and so on, +much like peeling skins off an onion, till at last he came to something +that he drew out very carefully; something long and slim, and that +gleamed white in the light of a match he struck against the wall. + +"_There's_ a Christmas Candle for ye!" he said, looking admiringly at +it; "two foot long if it's an inch! Mrs. Melia does the thing right, if +she goes to do it at all, the decent nice poor woman that she is! Gave +me that Candle in a Christmas present; her Christmas box she said it +was, and says she, 'It'll do to welcome Art and the young wife home!' +says she. And so of course it would, if only it was a thing that they +were coming.... But sure, God knows what happened to stop them.... But I +thought it as good say nothing about the Candle, foreninst Herself, to +be making her worse, when I seen the way she was about the Crib itself! +It's a pity she not to see it ..." + +Slowly and awkwardly Big Michael contrived to light the Candle and to +set it up in a bucket that was there handy. He steadied it there by +melting some of the grease around it, and made it firm so that it could +not upset to do damage to the stable. Then when it was burning well he +went off, turning when he got out into the storm and darkness outside to +look again at the Candle that was shedding a ray of lovely light far +into the night. + +"Ay, indeed!" thought he to himself, with great satisfaction, "it is a +grand fine Christmas Candle, sure enough! And it would be noways right +for us, even if we are only with ourselves to-night, not to have one +lit, the same as every other house in Ardenoo has, the way if any poor +woman with a child in her arms was wandering by, far from her own place, +she'd see the light and know there was room and a welcome waiting there +for them both! Ay, indeed! a great Candle that is, and will last well +and shine across the whole bog! But I wish Mrs. Melia had given me the +letter as well!" + + + + + CHAPTER III + + THE LETTER + + +The queer thing is that Big Michael, slow and all as he was, happened to +be right about the letter from Art. It had been written, and, moreover, +it had reached Ardenoo post-office. But no one knew that for certain, or +what became of it, only a small little pup of a terrier dog belonging to +one of the Melia boys. This pup was just of an age that it was a great +comfort to his mouth to have something he could chew. He was lying +taking his ease, just under the counter where the letters got sorted. +And when, as luck would have it, Art's letter slipped down, of all +others! from the big heap of papers and all sorts that came very plenty +at that Christmas season, this little dog had no delay, only begin on +the letter. In two minutes he had "little dan" made of it!--nothing left +of it only a couple or three little wet rags that got swep' out the next +morning, and never were heard of again. Sure, why would they, when only +the pup knew anything about them? And he couldn't explain the thing, +even if he had wanted to. He escaped a few kicks by that. Still, dogs +often get into trouble the same way, God help them! without having +earned it at all. + +Yes, the invitation for the Christmas was answered. The wife, Delia her +name was, had said nothing at first when it came. To tell the truth, she +was well satisfied where she was, with Art and the child all to herself, +in their one room in a back street. Up a lot of stairs it was, too, and +the other people in the house not to say too tasty in their way of going +on. But poor Delia thought it was all grand, with the little bits of +furniture herself and Art would buy according as they could manage it, +and the cradle in the corner by the fire. + +Poor Art would smother there betimes, nigh-hand, when he'd think of the +Crooked Boreen, and the wide silence of the bog, with the soft sweet +wind blowing across it, and the cows and all, and the neighbours to pass +the time of day with, let alone the smell of the turf-fire of an +evening! Homesick the poor boy was, and didn't know it. + +The way it came about that Art left home was, he got tired of things +there, the very things he wanted now. And there was some said, the +mother was too good and fond with him. She'd lay the two hands under his +feet any hour of the day or night; thought the sun shone out of him, so +she did. And Art was always good and biddable with her; never gave any +back-talk, or was contrary. But all the time he wanted to be himself. He +was much like a colt kept in a stall, well fed and minded, but he wants +to get out to stretch his legs in a long gallop all the time. + +So there's why Art went off from Ardenoo to the Big Smoke, and got on +the best ever you knew. He was very apprehensive about machinery, could +understand it well, and got took on by a great high-up doctor to mind +his motor for him. The old people were that proud when they heard of it. + +"Sure it's on the Pig's Back Art is now, whatever!" they said, "with his +good-lookin' pound a week!" + +Wealth that sounded, away off in Ardenoo. But the sorra much spending +there is in it in a city, where you're paying out for everything you +want. Delia did the best she could with it, but it wouldn't do all she +wanted. + +Still, she pleased Art. Small and white in the face she was, as Mrs. +Moloney had imagined her. Sewing she used to be, a bad life for a girl +to be at it all day. But she flourished up well after getting married. +And what Art had looked into, when he was courting, was the big, +longing-looking dark eyes of her, and the gentle voice and ways, and the +clouds of soft brown hair ... well, sure every eye forms a beauty of its +own. But Art might have done worse nor to marry Delia Fogarty that never +asked to differ from a word he said, till the notion came up of they +going to Ardenoo for the Christmas. When the letter asking them came, he +near riz the roof off the house, the shout he gave, he was that +delighted in himself to be going back home. + +"But what's a trouble to you, Delia?" he says, when he had time to take +notice that she wasn't looking as rejoiced as he expected, only sitting +there with her eyes upon the child in her arms; "a body'd think you +didn't care about going at all!" he says, half vexed. + +"I ... I'd like to go, Art," says Delia, "only I don't know do I want to +go or not.... I ... do you see ..." + +"Well ... what?" + +"Sure ... maybe ... how do I know will they like me or not! And me coat +all wore ... and ... and, moreover, I never got to get a right sort of a +hood for the child ... or a cloak...." + +"Och, what at all, girl dear!" says Art, that was so excited at the +thoughts of getting home that nothing was a trouble to him; "not like +you! What else would they do! And the child ... well, now, isn't it well +we told them nothing about him, the way he'll be a surprise to them now? +The fine big fellah that he is! Sure it would be a sin to go put any +clothes on him at all, hiding the brave big legs of him!" + +Delia had to laugh at that; and then Art went out and bought a grand +sheet of note-paper with robins and red berries and "The Season's +Compliments" at the top of it. And Delia wrote the letter upon this, +because she could write real neat and nice. Art told her every word to +say. + + "DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER," it began, "I have pleasure in taking up + my pen to rite yous those few lines hopping they find yous in good + health as they leave us at this present thank you and God. I would + wish my love and best wishes to ..." and there were so many to be + remembered that Art told Delia to put in "all inquiring friends," + and even shortened like that, the list hardly left room for saying, + "and we will go home for the Christmas and is obliged for the + kindness of asking and we will go by the last train Christmas Eve + and let yous meet that with Ling-gerin' Death and the cart and + we're bringing a Christmas box wid us that yous will be rejoiced to + see so I will end those few lines from your + + "SON AND NEW DAUGHTER." + +When that letter was finished and posted, Delia made no more of an +objection to going, only did the best she could, washing and mending her +own little things and the baby's. But let her do her best and they were +poor-looking little bits of duds! And many's the time, when Art was +away, that she'd cry, and wish to herself that there was no such a place +as Ardenoo on the face of this earthly world. But what could she do, +only please Art! + +Well, the very evening before they were to start for Ardenoo, didn't Art +come home to her in great humour. "Look at here, Delia!" says he, with a +big laugh; "see the fine handful of money," and he held it out to her, +"that Himself is after giving me in a Christmas box! Now we'll do the +thing in real style! Come along out now, before the shops shut, and +we'll buy all before us!" + +Well, if you were to see the two of them that night! the three, indeed, +for Delia wouldn't ever leave the child, only took him with her. To see +them looking in at the grand bright windows full of things! and going +in, Delia half afraid, but Art as loud and outspoken as a lord, spending +free as long as it lasted! To see him then going home with her and the +child, and he all loaded down with parcels! and opened them all out, the +minute they got back! All the things they bought out of that money! A +pipe and tobacco for Michael; a lovely cake with "Merry Christmas" in +pink sugar upon it, for Herself; the grandest of brown shoes and a hat +and feather for Delia, and as for the baby!... Delia could scarce +believe her eyes, all they had got for him, things she had been +wanting.... + +Art made her fit them all on, and when she held up the child to be +admired, with the loveliest of a soft white shawl rolled round him, "He +becomes it well," says Art; "and I suppose you think to make him look +better nor he is, by all that finery!" + +"Your mother'll think him terrible small," said Delia, looking very +fretted again; but she kissed the baby, as much as to say, "Little I +care what she thinks!" + +She said nothing about that part of it, though, only looked up at Art +with the beseeching eyes I mentioned before. + +"Let that go round!" says Art; and he lifted the two of them in his arms +and kissed them both; and then when he had let Delia go, says he, "Me +mother is the smallest little crathureen herself, that ever you saw! So +she needn't talk! And sure what can you expect from a child not a month +old yet! And there's an ould saying and a true one, in Ardenoo, 'It's +not always the big people that reaps the harvest!' and so by this boy of +ours! We won't feel till he'll be working!" + +"Working!" said Delia. And she unclasped the baby's fingers and kissed +the tiny hands inside, that were as soft and pink as rose-leaves, first +one hand and then the other. She never thought that every hand, no +matter how rough and strong, begins by being a baby's hand like the one +she was after kissing. + +"Ay, work!" says Art, very determined; "it would amaze you or any one +that didn't know, the way the children grow up and get sense at Ardenoo! +the way if the old people seemed wishful for us to stop at home with +them, this little fellah of ours would soon ... but whisht!" before poor +Delia had time to say a word one way or other about this iday, "whisht! +what's this at all! A telegram! for me!" + +[Illustration: HE KISSED THEM BOTH] + +A telegram! Poor Delia turned gashly pale at the word, and hugged the +child closer to her, as if she thought that little bit of an +orange-coloured envelope might be going to do some destruction on her +treasure. + +Art read it slowly to himself, while his face grew as long as to-day and +to-morrow; and says he, "Well, it can't be helped! The Master that's +after getting a hurried call to the country and will want me to drive +him ... so I'll not be at read'ness to go...." He looked anxiously at +Delia. + +Not go to Ardenoo! Delia's heart leaped up. + +"Sure, can't we stop where we are?" says she, with dancing eyes. + +"Och, not at all!" says Art; "it wouldn't answer at all to be +disappointing them. And besides, it's down that side he wants to go ... +some sick child ... the Master I mean ... I'll likely be at Ardenoo +before you!" + +"But, Art! ... is it go wid meself? What will I do at all at all?" and +Delia begins to cry. + +"See here now," says Art, "don't be taking on, that way! You wouldn't +have me disappoint the Master ... after he being so good to us, too! The +fine grand little clothes we're after getting!... You'll be as right as +rain! Just wait till you're at Ardenoo, where every one knows me! Why, +you'll be with friends, that very minute! And you wrote it in the letter +yourself, what train to meet you at.... You wouldn't be fretting me +mother and she thinking to have us for the Christmas ... to make no +mention of the child at all!" + +"To be sure not!" says Delia. And she dried her eyes and said no more, +only got ready and went off the next day with the little child, as +smiling and gay as she could appear, waving her hand to Art that saw her +off at the Broadstone station, and did all he could to put her in heart. +But it's a long, long ways from the Big Smoke to Ardenoo. Hours and +hours it took that wet, wild day to get there. And Delia wasn't too well +accustomed to trains and going about. She managed to keep the child warm +and comforted all through, but when the train stopped at Ardenoo she was +that tired and giddy herself, that she scarcely knew what she was doing +or where she was to go. + +She stood a minute on the platform, with the wind and rain beating down +upon her, till it had her even more confused. And the day was nearly +done, and no lamps lit yet. But she made out a porter and asked him, as +Art had bid her, for Mr. Moloney's ass-cart. + +"Moloney's ass and dray? Ay," says the man, "Big Michael was in the Town +to-day at Melia's, and buying all before him, by what I hear. And not +too long ago it was ..." + +"Would I ... could I find him ... where's that place you're after +mentioning?" + +And Delia took a grip of the big hat, that the wind was getting at. + +"Melia's shop? You can't miss it! There's ne'er another.... He should +have left it by now ... but let you go on along that road ..." and he +showed her where it lay, stretching off into the darkness, "and you'll +overtake him, ready! That ass is middling slow!" + +The man guessed who this was speaking to him, for they all had heard +about Art and the wife being expected for the Christmas. And he had no +call to tell her to go off like that. Big Michael was nigh-hand at home +again by then. But he had a sup taken at that present, as often happens +at Christmas. Only he was a bit "on," he'd never have put such an iday +into Delia's head. To think of letting her start after Michael like +that! + +But poor Delia knew no better than to follow fool's advice; how could +she? So she just asked some directions about the road, and then she +changed the child from one arm to the other and faced out in the night +and rain, and a wind that would blow the horns off a goose to overtake +the ass-cart. Little she thought that it was back at the Crooked Boreen +by then, near five good miles away! + +For a while, she wasn't in too bad a heart at all. She was glad to be +out of the train, and she was expecting every step to get some signs of +Michael on in front. But the little light there was went altogether +before long; quenched, like, by the great rain and the heavy clouds that +hung low and dark in the skies. Delia began to feel it very lonesome! +But she kept going on; what else could she do? + +At this time, what she thought worst of was, that the wet was spoiling +her good hat, after Art spending his money upon it, the way she could +make some kind of appearance foreninst his mother and the neighbours. +But what could she do to save it? + +"The cut I'll be!" she thought; "all dreeped with rain!" And indeed the +hat, with its grand feather all broken and draggled, was a poor-looking +thing enough before she was half-ways to the Crooked Boreen. As for the +grand shoes with the high heels, they were like sponges upon her feet, +and she slipping in them as she stumbled along through mud and gutter to +her ankles. + +But she kept going on! The baby lay warm and snug upon her heart. She +managed to keep him sheltered, anyway! Now and then she'd stop and put +her face down to his, to feel his sweet warm breath upon her cheek. Then +she'd go on again. That ass-cart! If only she could catch it! Wouldn't +it be Heaven to be taken off her aching feet and be carried along, +herself and the child, with some one that knew the way, and not to be +feeling lost, as she did now. + +For by degrees that's what Delia had to think; she was lost. Still she +struggled on, the poor little bet-down thing that she was; so tired that +she only kept moving at all by clenching her teeth hard and saying out +loud, "I must! I must! A nice thing it would be for Art to not find me +when he gets home! I must keep going on! The baby would die if I was to +lie down..." for that is what she was more inclined for than anything +else. + +The wind was coming in great gusts now, hindering her far worse than the +rain. It caught her skirts like the sails of a ship; it snatched at her +hat. She tried to hold it on, but a sudden strong blast came, just as +she was shifting the child again in her arms. Like a spiteful hand, it +tore the hat from her head and furled it away; and what could be done, +to get it again, in the storm and darkness? Delia cried at first, +thinking of the loss it was. But she minded nothing long, only the +tiredness and that still she must keep going on. + +Suddenly she began to sing to the child: + + I laid my love in a cradley-bed, + _Lu lu lu lu la lay_. + Little white love with a soft round head, + _Lu lu lu lu la lay_. + +Before she had it done, she thought to see a light a piece off from her. +She made towards it. Out upon the bog itself she was now; and them that +saw her tracks after, said one of the holy Angels must have been guiding +her then, that she wasn't drownded, herself and the child, in a +bog-hole. She slipped here and she fell there on the wet, rough ground; +but she kept on till she reached the light. It was the Christmas Candle, +in Michael's stable, burning there, mild and watchful. + + + + + CHAPTER IV + + THE CRIB + + +While all this was going on, Big Michael was sitting, snug and +comfortable, in the chimney-corner, opposite the wife, and she knitting, +knitting away still. Not a word was passing. She had Michael's supper +ready for him, hot and tasty, the same as ever. But he had no _goo_ for +it. What did he care was it good or bad! How could he feel gay and riz +up in himself, the way a body should at the Christmas, when he knew well +Herself had been crying away while he had been down at the stable? + +If only she'd cheer up! If only she'd agree to have the place dressed +out, and the Crib and all the other little things done the same as ever! +It would do herself good, and they might be having a happy Christmas +after all, even if there was only the two of them there with themselves! +But he said nothing. Big as Michael was, and little as the Woman was +that owned him, it was she had the upper hand in the house. And good +right, too; she being a very understanding person, and considered to be +a good adviser of a woman all over Ardenoo. Michael was slow, but he was +wise enough to give in to the wife. So now when she showed no wish for +any of the things he was so made upon, he said no more about them; only +after a while says he, "I believe it's what I'll take a streel off to +see is the cow all right in the stable below...." + +But what he really wanted was, to get away from the queer, unhappy feel +of the silent kitchen. He thought, too, he'd like another sight of the +dressed-out stable and the big Candle he had lit there. He meant to stop +a bit with those Christmas signs, and the ass, and the munch, munch of +the cow, filling the place with her fragrant breath. + +Wasn't it a pity of the world that Herself was having none of the +pleasure? If only he could tell her what he had been doing! If only he +could get her to come too, and see how lovely the stable looked! + +As he passed out on the door, the Vanithee looked after him. A kind of +pity rose warm in her heart, as she saw the fretted appearance was upon +the big man, like a cowed dog, with his tail drooping between his legs. + +All the bygone Christmas Eves they had put in there together! Kind, +pleasant times, with little old nonsense and laughing, that no one +understood, only themselves! Art had been there, to be sure! He had been +the delight of the first of their Christmases, and the same always, till +he went off. But was it Michael's fault that the son wasn't there yet? +Sure poor Michael had done nothing to fret her! It wasn't he had +neglected to write! And wasn't it full as bad for him, Michael, that had +always been the fond father to Art! and had never rightly overed the +boy's quitting off the way he did! Oh, if only they had Art there again! +To have him going off with the father of a morning, cutting turf, or +making hay, or doing a bit of ploughing! and the two of them in to their +dinners and off again!... Why, to have that good time back, she'd even +welcome the poor-lookin' little scollop of a thing, and give her share +of the old home!... + +Poor Michael! He that loved the Christmas! Like a child, he was! Most +men are, if they have any good in them; and God help them if they get a +woman that doesn't understand that, and can't make allowances when they +don't grow up! + +Mrs. Moloney was as quick as Michael was slow. So, while he'd be +thinking about it, she had a stool over at the dresser and was up on it, +feeling for the Crib on the top shelf. + +It was there, safe enough, and it wrapped in a newspaper. A small little +contraption of a thing it was, that she had bought off Tommy the Crab, +the peddling man, years before. Paid sixpence for it, too; and cheap he +told her it was at that money. + +To see it first, it was no more than a middling sizeable Christmas card. +But it was really in three, or maybe four, halves that drew out like a +telescope. The first part showed the Kings kneeling with their offerings +and crowns upon their heads; then you could see the Shepherds, with +their crooks and they kneeling too; and in the middle of them all, the +Mother herself, with the Holy Child upon her knee. St. Joseph was at one +side, and the ox and the ass at the other; all complete, even to a grand +Star of silver paper, shining on the top of it all. + +Mrs. Moloney put the Crib into one of the small square windows and drew +it out. Then she went back to the dresser for the candles to light it up +with. It looked nothing wanting them. + +Not common candles she was going to use, but what had been blessed at +Candlemas, and that she had kept put by very carefully. + +"I mustn't take them all," she thought, "the way, if one of us was to +take and die sudden, there would be a Candle ready to put into the dying +hand, to light the soul on its way! But there's a good few, and so ..." + +Four she took for the four evangelists, and was just lighting them up, +when suddenly the door burst open, and with a rush and a laugh in came +... Art! + +[Illustration: THE MOTHER WITH HER CHILD LYING VERY STILL] + +"Mother!" he said; and in a moment had his arms round her, and was +kissing her lips. + +"Oh, Art! so you did come, after all!" says she, with a catch in her +breath and a gush of joy to her heart. She had her son, her own son +again! And for a minute she forgot everything else--the missed letter, +Art's wife.... + +"Come? And why wouldn't I come? What else? Och, but it's grand, the +smell of the turf! And the Crib the same as ever! Och, mother, mother! +But where's Delia? Some tricks you and her is up to! Has them hid 'on' +me? Delia! Delia! where at all are you?" + +At that the mother drew a piece away from him. Her face that had been +smiling and rosy even, like a girl's face, grew stiff and white. + +"Delia! Delia! he can think of nothing else," she thought. It all came +back upon her, like a bad dream. Her son had a wife now! And she had +held out her hand to them, and they had slighted it! + +What did Art mean, coming in like a strong wind? Gay and pleasant as +summer air at first, but his face changed and became black and stormy +and his voice was a strange, fierce voice, asking again, "Where's +Delia?" + +"I know nothing about her! How could I?" + +"Sure she was to be here ..." + +"We got no word ..." + +"No word! Is it that no one met them at the train? My God! what has +become of her and the child? And the night it was!" + +The child? What child? the mother was trying to ask, but the words were +stopped on her lips, and Art was stopped at the door, in his mad rush +forth to look for his wife and baby, by the appearance before them of +Michael. Stopped them both, I say, but without a word being spoken. It +was just the look in the old man's face that made them both fall back a +step and stand still, looking at Michael in a sort of wonder and fright. +His eyes were shining, as if he had been in another world, and had +scarcely got back to earth again. He stood facing them for a minute with +the same far-away look; then he took each of them by the hand, and just +breathed out, "Come! come with me and see what's in the stable ..." + +They went. The wind had fallen and the rain had ceased. A beautiful moon +had risen, and was shining, but you could not see her, only the light +she shed down from her throne on high through the soft white mist that +had risen from the wet ground and was wavering and dancing solemnly to +and fro, filling the space between heaven and earth, as if to veil the +sacred sights of the Holy Eve from mortal eyes. The father and mother +and son moved silently through the misty, gleaming silence, till they +reached the stable, where the Candle was burning steadily, and sending +forth its pure white light into the moonlit vapour. + +Michael stepped on and was at the door first. He put his great arm +across, as if to ensure caution and reverence. + +"Go easy, go easy, the both of yous! but sure, they might be gone back +already, and no one to have seen them, only meself!" he said in the same +awed whisper. + +They peered in, for beyond the Candle were dusky spaces; yet its light +was enough to show them two figures there; a girl-mother with her child, +lying very still. + +Was she asleep, or.... She was so white and small! The long dark hair +had been loosened and fell about her like a soft mantle; and close, +close to her heart lay the little child. + +"Delia, Delia!" said Art. + +"The Child!" said his mother. + +Delia unclosed her eyes and looked up with a little smile. "I have him +here, safe!" she said. + +And Michael, only half comprehending, fell on his knees and sobbed +aloud. + + + THE END + + + _Printed by_ R. & R. Clark, Limited, _Edinburgh_. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Candle and Crib, by K. F. Purdon + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CANDLE AND CRIB *** + +***** This file should be named 24310.txt or 24310.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/3/1/24310/ + +Produced by K. 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