FullReads

Andy stood still for some moments, trying in a dumb way to think what to do or say; then he helplessly opened the door and went out.

III.

The next Thursday evening Andy did not come, and Margaret felt sorry, she could not tell why. But Sylvia came down into the lower hall, peered through the glass of the kitchen door, and, finding the maid sitting alone by the range, entered as of old. And to her Maggie Byrne, sore pressed for sympathy, told of her last talk with the comely young man.

“You see, miss, it would be too mean for me to take Dora’s b’y away from her, fer he’s the finest-lookin’ and altogether the nicest young man anywhere about Drogheda; and Dora, she’s always used to havin’ the best of everything, and she always took anything that was mine, thinkin’ she’d a right to it, and, bein’ a weak and purty young thing, I s’pose she had, now, miss.”

“I think she’s mean, Maggie, and you’re foolish if you don’t take your own lover back again.”

“And she on the other sides of the say, miss? And my own little sister that I packed around in me arms? She’s full of tricks, but then she’s purty, and she’s always been used to havin’ my things. At any rate, ’tain’t meself as’ll be takin’ away what’s hers, and she’s trusted him to me, and she’s away on the other sides of the water. At least not if I can help it, miss. And I pray fer help all the time. Besides, do you think I’d have Andy Doyle afther what’s happened, even if Dora was out of the way?”

“I know you would,” said Sylvia.

“I believe I would, miss, I’m such a fool. But then sometimes I despise him. If it wasn’t fer me dear old mother, that maybe I’ll never see again,” and Maggie wiped her eyes with her apron, “I’d join the Sisters. I think maybe I have got a vocation, as they call it.”

It was the very next evening after this interview that Bridget Monahan, the downstairs girl, gave Margaret a little advice.

“He’s a foine young feller, now, Mag, but don’t you be in no hurry to git married. You’re afther havin’ a nice face–a kind o’ saint’s face, on’y it’s a thrifle too solemn to win the men. But if Andy should lave, ye might be afther doin’ better, and ye might be afther doin’ worruss now, Mag. But don’t ye git married till ye’ve got enough to buy a brocade shawl. Ef ye don’t git a brocade shawl afore you’re married, niver a bit of a one’ll ye be afther gittin’ aftherwards. Girls like us don’t git no money afther they are married, and it’s best to lay by enough to git a shawl beforehand now, Mag. That’s me own plan.”

A few weeks later Maggie was thrown into grief by hearing of the death of her mother. Of course she received sympathy from Sylvia. Andy, also having received a letter from Dora, ventured to call on Maggie to express in his sincerely simple way his sympathy for her grief, and to discuss with her what was now to be done for the homeless girl in the old country.

“We must bring her over, Andy.”

“I know that,” said the young man. “I’ll draw all my money out of the Shamrock Savings Bank to-morry and send her a ticket. But I’ll tell you what, Mag, after I went away from here the last time I felt sure I’d never marry Dora Byrne. But maybe I was wrong. Poor thing! I’m sorry fer her, all alone.”

“Sure, now, Andy, you must ‘a’ made a mistake,” said Maggie. “It’s myself as may’ve given Dora rason to think I’d got a young man down at Larne. I don’t know as she meant to desave you. She needn’t, fer you know I don’t keer fer men, neither you nor anybody. I’m goin’ into the Sisters, now my mother’s dead. I’ve spoken to Sister Agnes about it.”