Morris tribune. [volume] (Morris, Minn.) 1880-2000, 1882-09-07
LARRY O'MOORE'S WHISPER.

dltllcr SNak1l TO me aSln LOT anlIlGl
whole year," cried young girl with
blushes.of mingled diflidence and anger
what are We more nor any ither girl,
that ye can niver be spoke to? An who
is afther spanking to We, at all. Not l,
can tell ye. 1t was to Whisper word
in yer ear; it's that | was afther dom"
replied Larry O'Moore.
Il wouldn't let We do that; so go away
now, We great big mon, as ought to know
bitter nor to be tain poor girl whose
mither isn't dead month, and maxim
her cry! I'll tell me grandfather ov
YEP
"Oh, doon't, doon't; Pm afeared ov
her" cried the great, stalwart fellow
struggling his shoulders in affectation of
alarm.
Thin I'll till the school-maister,' said
the young girl, wiping her eyes on her
apron.
"Rut Pm not one ov his ,b'ys, and he
knows better nor to put his hand on me.
l could square him up in me fist, Latin
and all.' cried O'Moorc. "Coom now,
will We let me just Whisper word in
yer ear?"
"'Deed an I will not, an III tell the
praast tlat We taze me, an git a pin
nance on ye."
"Arrah, now, jist dot. He's me frlnd,
an he'd till we to listen to me-" said
Larry
"ThinI wouldn't haad him, if he did.
Go home, moo, an be aisy!'
BY this time Monica had reached the
tidy little cottage of her grandfather
who was the village cobbler of Droggel-
lan,-and fled into the shop like fright
en-, q hare.
Bat indignant as she was at the young
of him to her grandfather. She said in
her heart, "He's an honest lad, an hay
in no sister to taze, what ilse can he do
but taZe the shyest girl he can find"
The winter was over, and the daisies
and shamrocks were peeping above the
ground. Children, always the first to
welcome summer, were scattered along
the roadside, and even among the crosses
and headstOnes in the church-yard, fl
ling their aprons with the treasures.
Monica was among them. They loved
her and followed her about whenever
she would allow them to do so. She,
poor child, was gathering and kissing the
feeble little flowers that were .ust peep
ing from the sod over her mothers
grave.
The little ones stood reverently by.
One was stroking her hair and whisper
ing some little word of comfort, when
they were all startled by the appear
ance of Larry OMoore, with his arms
full of garden flowers. He had come,
not knowing Monica was in the church.
yard, to lay the flowers on her mothers
grave.
The children, with an innate delicacv
which greatly distressed Monica, hurried
away as If their presence was not want
ed and Monica sprang to her feet and
turned to follow her little friends.
But Larry called after her, cam SIGH
an evil inemy that We run from your
mither's grave to be rid ov me-"
''No. Larry, yer good friend, but
but-I'm afear'd ov ye,' cfied Monica.
"Wiil We do me favor, Monte? And
thin I'll promise not to spake to We again
for a year, five say SO, said the hand
some young fellow.
"Yis, think III do it,-for We
brought the flowers to the grave of me
mither," said Monica, stopping in her
flight.
"Will, thin" he said, rising from the
mound where he had been scattering
the flowers, 1T is-tnat list wants to
whisper a word in yer ear"
At this, Monica darted off as fast as she
could run, leaving Larry to fill the place
of mOurner. as we'll as of decorator, at
the grave.
Larry folded his arms across his broad
chest, and looking after the flying little
form, SAID TO himself, 'She's a strange
cratur', that, If I'd ask her to walk round
one ov these graves, barefut an aloone
forty times at midnight, she'd do it, in
gratitude to me dead mither for what
she'd did FOR her dead mither! An yet
she'll not let me near enough her to say
a word that the whole warld mightn't
hear! But can find plinty who will
open both ears,-and their mouths, too,
to listen to the Whisper ov a lad that
can 'arn thirty shillings week at his
home and has cottage, AMI garden,
an a foine old fayther, beside. [ know
I'se taxed her dale. Now I'll let her
alone intirely, I wull, an see hoo likes
that"
The winter had come again. Monica
felt the comforting effect of time on her
heart. But she still missed her mother
Her grandmother was always busy with
her cottage work, or in looking after her
fowls. And her grandfather pounded
his lap-stone and hummed old Irish airs
all day.
When Monica had finished her task at
knitting, or sewing, she hardly knew
how to amuse herself The cottage was
poor in books and in papers and maya
zines the humble people of Ireland rare
ly get glimpse.
1t is not strange, then, that the shy,
young girl was overjoyed at an invita-
ton to wed ling. The gamekeeper's
daughter-a school-friend-was to be
married to the shepherds son. The Ia
DIV of the castle had given the wedding
gown, and consented to let her servants
join in the dance.
The school-master was the gentleman
in this stratum of society; and he was a
wag, and merry-maker withal. No fes-
tlval was Of am account which was not
planned and carried on by him.
He was an original, and prided him
self on having no two parties entertained
in the same way. The gamekeeper's
daughter had been a favorite scholar,
and he had laid himself out to make her
wedding great success.
Granny Blaney, also, laid herself out
to "dress Monica as well as one of the
serving-maids from the hall, who held
their heads so high above honest poor
folk" So she had bought her white
gown and knots of blue ribbon to pin on at
every available spot, and to show other
lovely white skin and her pink cheeks.
Her efforts were success too. AS the
old cobbler planted his wax-begrimmed
hands on his leathern apron, stood otto
yoza on Mopica no oyrlainoC