Frostburg mining journal. [volume] (Frostburg, Md.) 1871-1913, 1873-10-25
HLEEN-T STORY OFAN
IRISH GILL.

IhISH GIhL.
Kathleen, is it possible that you are
crying again? Did not tell you that
should discharge you if 1 found you
indulging in this foolish whimpering any
more 2"
Poor Kathleen O'Neil had been dust
ing the elegantly furnished drawing
room, and she stood before an exquisite
little painting of one OF the blue, spark
ling Irish lakes, set in gold-green shores,
with sky beyond like liquid amber
stood, with her apron to her eyes, ard
her ruddy cheeks deluged with tears.
81 couldn't help it, ma'am," she
sobbed, "but it puts me in mind of
home p
"Home" scornfully echoed Mrs.
Arnott. d" Your home! A shanty in
bog 1t isn't likely that you ever
saw such spot as that!
"'Deed did l, then, ma am" answered
Kathleen, "and many time. For we
lived beyant them same green shores,
when"
"There, then, that will do, said Mrs.
Arnott coldly. "I do not care about
any "reminiscences"
Kathleen did not understand the five
syllablcd word, but her quick nature
comprehcnded the bitter, sarcastic tone.
The tears were froze in their fount-the
scarlet spots glowed in either cheek.
"She looks down on me, as if 1 were
dog !" Kathleen thought to herself.
"And sure it's the same flesh and blood
God has given to both of us. How
would she like it, I wonder, if it WAS
her in strange land, and never kind
word spoken to her o, but if could
see the mother, and little Honora, and
Teddy, that's but baby yet ! but the
wide blue sea rolls between us, and it's
all alone l am =
Poor Kathleen the sense of dessla-
tion came upon her with sickening power
just then, as she stood before the pic
ture of the sweet Irish lake, with the
wet splashcs on her cheek, and Mrs.
Arnott's cold, hard voice yet sounding
in her ears.
Its great trial to be obliged to do
with these wild, untutored Irish"
Kathleen was just bringing up the tray,
and Mrs. Arnott's words sounded dis
tinctly in her ears, as she paused on the
top step to get breath.
"Of course, my DEAR" said Mrs.
Tudor Audor, sympathetically. They're
bad-thoroughly and Systematically bad,
the whole lot of 'em. I'd send them all
back to their native country, if it lay in
my power.
81 wish they were all at the bottom
of the sea-" said Mrs. Arnott, sharply,
and then, perhaps, We should have q
chance to employ Swedish or Chinese,
or somebody that would at least earn
their bread. Is that you, Kathleen :?
Why don't you bring the ice-water in at
once, instead of standing dawdling
there 2"
Kathleen obeyed, but the dreary,
home sick feeling that thrilled through
all her pulses can hardly be described.
eff 1 was only at homo again" she
thought, "in bonny Ireland, where the
poorest and tho meanest have kind
word for each other! They scorn and
hate me here; and sure I've tried to do
my best, but the lady has got heart OF
stone, and even the little children in the
nursery, with their French maid, make
game of Irish Kathleen"
And the lonely exile wept herself tc
sleep upon her solitary pillow that
night. 1t was mere closet of room,
without light or ventilation, that she
occupied. Mrs. Arnott thought any
place was good enough for Kathleen
O'Neil; the bed was hard and INSULT.
ciently provided with clothing, but as
Mrs. Arnott carelessly observed, it was
no doubt, great deal better than what