Omaha daily bee., 1888-02-27
1lmake myself comfortable by

wet. rlmake myself comfortable by
the door," /
The air was cold, but, worse than
that, sitting from the lack Of ventila-
tion. But even then could not help
being impressed by the simple but
superb hospitality Of the poor people.
who, amid oil their dismal
adversely, we're yet willing to share
their bed, with stranger stumbling in
on them at midnight.
The driver withdrew with another
benedictiOn, and resigned myself to a
night OF dreary waiting. felt hand
clasp my coat, and reaching down found
that it was cold, small. and hardened
with toll. II drew me gently to the side
OF the bed-a pallet of straw and moss
on low frame.
Faith don't be standin' there" said
Mrs. Mccormick in a tone of remon-
STRANGE as she pulled me along. "Git th'
bit av box be tn table an sit here, wild
yer back against tn wall. How wet v
var, sure"
I fixed up n rude seat and leaned back
The floor was of mud. There was no
fire, OF course. Such u luxury was out
of the question, for the peat must all
be sold to meet Lord Lansdowne's de-
mands. thought Of his income from
this one OF his many estates-estimated
at $50, 900 a ycar--and contrasted it with
the lives of my hosts that night. Then /
fell to analyzing my own suiferings.
found that I could keep from shivering
by n mighty effort, but there was
always penalty sooner or later in an
awful and bone-racking shudder. The
children cried at intervals and the
sound Of the chattering teeth OF the
uorpon by rpy Sidn vaS pifif,l foOk
up another analysis OF my condition ,and
was wondering what the final sensations
of a man who freezes slowly to death
were. The sharp twinging, shooting,
and cutting pains that the cold had
brought about had turned in time to a
dull ache in the legs and arms. This
had now gone, and u burning sensation
succeeded. Then came another shud-
der.
"Will it soon be day?" asked the
woman by my side, in droning voice.
mot for six hours yet. Are you
sleepy?"
"Indade I'm not. How could slape
wild what's before me?'
"You are to be turned out, I'm told"
1--WE are. TO-morra, too"
'Have you anywhere to go?"
"The bog, that's all. Our naybors
are no better than ourselves. is there
Justice on cart? Phat ave we done
sure to be SO punishcd?" Her voice
fell to a low, droning tone that was al
most in consohance with the wind that
played under the caves. "Whin this
place was SO bad that Lord Lans-
downe-may his own children rise
against him could do .nothiG>
wild it me husband, but lad thin, asked
| for plot av ground. They toll him he
10 f,,, hop I,
| an across tn bog, an that he'd have
| t. pay no rint th' Ian bein' SO bad. He
| worrucked an worrucked fer eight
years, an whin he'd get th' little farm
| goin' sure phat happened? He wus toll
| to pay five years back rint. Twas tn
| day before he married me, an full we'll
Lord Lansdowne and his agents knew
| that tn money me fadder was givin me
on me widdin day would jist pay this
rint. So we give all we had in tn wide
worruld t Lord LansdOwne on our wild
| din day an begin life widout a
| ha'penny. God knows it was hard, but
it's been harder an harder ever since.
| We carried tn stones of which TINS
cabins built on our own backs from
| th' mountain foot-an' whin it WOE done
his lordship raised th' rint agin becpse
| tn farm wuz more valybul wild q cabin
on it. Since thin for twinty long years
| have we toiled and toiled draggin' peat
into Kenmare for nincpence tn load an
walhin' sivinteen miles IA day t. do it
savin' an scrapin' an starvin', but wild
all our work gittin' II little behind each
year. l haven't tasted mate for six
| years, an on this cold night after twinty
| years of work have meal sack for a
petticoat an me ole shawl to keep me
| shoulders warrum. Phat've we dOne?''
| oh IL cd ,itn holt Nj 81 IN, h,l
IAN our lives we've toiled fur Lord
| LansdOwne, but we can't do more'n we
can do"
| Curse him!" shouted the husband in
! IL voice that came like aclap of thunder.
"May his soul go witherin' down to-
"Kuh-winkgZ, kuh-winkgz, kuh.
winkgZ," came II stifled snort and whine.
"Howly murther!' cried Mrs. McCor-
mick, 'ye've walked th' pig.'
The deuce was to pay apparently
The children set up howl, and the pig
protested eloquently and refused to be
soothed. fished out my match box and
handed it to Mccormick, who found q
dry match, struck it, and held it alOft.
There was sight for you! Why
don't some of the painters who are look
ing for subjects do this? In the middle
of the bed rose McCormick's gaunt fig
ure, holding the match above his head
and addressing words of fulsome love
and passion to his 'darlint" pig. Hi
long gray hair was dishevelled, ant
his redish beard stuck out wildly
from his chin. His rough shirt wa
open at the neck, but he was dressed
in his ordinary attire, naturally enough
of course, for the poor devil had nj
other. Hanging to the uplifted arm o
her husband was Mr.. Mccormick, call
ing upon the pig, in the name of heaven
to be a lovely thing again, and give W
its "humbuggin' jokes, while in the
far corner was the pig, on all fours, with
its snout in the air, snorting like ,
freight engine on an up grade. 1t was
a fine pinkish and clean-looking pig
too. Directly under the animal lay the
sick baby. The little thing was piping
shrilly. A miscellaneous assortment o
children lay between the father ant
the pig. Wrapped around the baby wa!
the shawl Mrs. Mccormick had spoken
of as keeping her own shoulders warm
She had taken the only garment tina
could give her bit OF comfort ant
placed it around her child, with the
| marvellous unseltishness of n mOther'.