Sacramento daily record-union. [volume] (Sacramento [Calif.]) 1875-1891, 1886-03-06
LOST At THE FLAX MILL.

coast of Donegal, near Tough Swilly-the
Lake Of Shadows-liyed two poor families.
celebrated far and wide as the best neigh
bors ever known or heard of If Martin
wanted hand with his harvest, Donnelly
Was ready to give ii and ask no wages. and
the kindness was returned when the potato
digging came on. Their wives also lived
in the greatest harmony, and they were
such close neighbors that they met contin-
ually, for one roof covered the two houses.
This long cabin, or rather range of cab
ms stood on the banks of Mulrcy, IN Inlet
OF the Atlantic, so land-locked as to look
like lake. Behind lowered gigantic
heather-crowned mountains; in front lay
the high road leading from the sea to Mil
ford, the nearest market town, winding
road hard and white from limestone, now
Tipping down into valley now mounting
up sharp hill, and always keeping close
to the blue waters of Mulroy divided from
Il by shelving bank festooned with wood
blne. Mulroy was studded with many
lslands-islands sacred to the wee folks -
islands in possession of the sea-birds; isl
ands where sleepy, d-browed seals
basked on warm evenings. Beyond Null
roy rose more mountains, the nearer hills
cultivated to their SUBMITS the more dis
tant so pale and indistinct that they were
like smoke-colored phantoms against the
sky. Errigal, a cone-shaped mountain. the
last point OF Irish earth seen by the emf
grants as they sailed to America, and Muck
lsh. the pigs back, were most prominent
II the range.
Tho rtirc nj no,,,oiI,,e 1 -.
that they were looking at one of the love
lest landscapes in the world, They thought
Mulroy wild, desolate place
sometimes the deep silence of the place
was broken by the keening of mourners or
chant of priests, and then the children in
the cabins would run out to the road and
look up and down.
A long procession wound from the sea-
coast, on its way to yonder burial ground
beneath the chapel at the edge of the lake
"a holy spot, marked by forest of black
wooden crosses. The priest walked first ;
then came the coffin, followed by motley
companv-men in long, gray stockings,
knee-breeches, and bl ogues, mounted on
shaggy ponies, and women seated behind
them. dressed in homespun and scarlet
headgear. The keening woke the mount
ain echoes, the fairy glen throwing back
the sound to the flax mill that stood, gaunt
and grim, by the roadside: then the CRYING
and chanting died away and focks of cur
lew and plo9cr circling overhead sang a
shrlll requiem. Two of the children were
wont to follow the proeession-Teague
Martin and Mary Donnelly. They We're in
separable. toddling hand in hand to school,
hand and hand to chapel, playing together,
herdlDg the cows together on the knoves.
They would follow the procession as far as
the flax mill mile from their own doors.
and would stay there TO play. The gossips
OF the country remarked the tender friend
ship Of the children, and foretold that il
would end in matrimoHy.
The first separation of those little friends
took place when they were 10 wears old
and league was hired by farmer Mary
moped and fretted when he was gone
wandering sadly 70 the flax mill, their old
play-piace, and then wandering back again
with her head hanging down But she
found some consolation IN knitting his
socks, washing his clothes and carrying the
little bundle to him on a Saturday at the
farmhouse.
Things did not turn out as the neighbors
expected. The friends did not become low
ers; they remained devoted friends. but
they married strangers. Years went BY.
The old Martins and Donnellys were gath
cred to their fathers and Mary and her
husband, and league and his wife lived on
in the old cabins, in-under the roof WI
other" and the good neighborhood was the
same as ever. Time passed; they grew
middle-aged, then old the days when they
had played at the fax mill were very far
away.
One day Mary was taken very ill-so i'll
that the priest was sent for. She received
the last rites OF the church, and then she
asked for league. He was at a distance
gone TO Milford with cattle to sell-would
not return home till late Mary watched
the door so long as her sight lasted.
Is there no word of Tcague2" was her
constant question. His name was the last
upon her lips.
woeful man was league when he found
his old friend gone. He walked beside her
husband after the coffin, and saw her laid
low in the churchyard mold, and then he
came back to the cabins, the truest mournei
she had But work had to be done
though the heart was heavy, and the next
evening he took his fax to the mill.
As he logged along the limestone road in
his cart he was suddenly aware of q figure
seated beside him on the bundles of flax
How had she got there? He thrilled with
terror, and it was all he could do TO look
round and see who was his COMPANION
An old woman? Yes; and her red shawl
the gray hair, the features, the blue ewes
which had never lost their brightness. all
reminded him of Mary. He looked closer.
1t was Mary certainly, and he must con.
quer his fear and speak to her for the sake
of their lifelong friendship. Must Mary
be restless wanderer because her old com
rade failed her2 No-a thousand times no
So, with tremendous effort he conquered
his dread.
Mary, darlin IS II you2T he faltereii.
1t is, Tesgae. dear; il isu
& n what i MS-.- tlatfr ..,..-
frae yeur rest? Sure you had the priest
an he gave you the yiaticum p
The voice he knew so well answered in
accents that pierced his heart.
There's nae rest for me / flew uS ID
the gate of heaven, but / wouldna be let in
an I'm flying about the world in the cold
an the rain, or lyin aback O thon thorn
bush. Think ON me, league, in the night
time when YOU ones is comfortable by the
fireSide, an pity me an help me for tht
sake of we'er old friendship"
Help you!" cried the poor old man
sure I'd gle my hearts blood TO help You
bur how is it to be done? An WHY wady
no be let into heaven, a good liyin' woman
like your
''IiIl tell you, league, replied the spec
ter; that's what I'm here to tell YOU. It:
true that ! went about my duty regular
an knelt wi the congregation in the chape
Sunday after Sunday, an was respectit
for a good livin' woman, but in alt my
lifetime l never prayed. Ny lips would
be movin', but my thoughts would be away.
When was young girl I'd be thiEkin' Of
my sweetheart or my dress or the dance al
the fair; when was a married woman I'd
be frettin' about the childer, thinkin' ane
o. them would fall into the fire or another
would be drowned in the well when was
out, an when was old there was frets an