San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1890-11-25
A MODERN EVANGELINE.

She was only an awkward, homely Irish
girl, but called her Evangeline, for in the
heart throbbing under the coarse checked
kerchief there lived the same fidelity and
devotion we find so touching in the beauti-
full Acadian maid. But in this story of my
Evangeline there is little of the poetical or
picturesque, only stern and bitter reality.
For to begin with her name was Mary
Anne Kelley, and she was plain, almost
pathetically so, with thin, colorless face,
but out of this looked pair of honest
gray eyes, which appealed to you to be
gentle with her, because of the very pa
ticnce and meexness with which she was
prepared TO receive harshness and hard
ship. 1t was the same look you often see
in the eyes of a homeless dog, to whose
share have fallen only life's blows and its
barest bones. She was lame, too, this poor
heroine of mine, and altogether very for
lorn and pitiful looking object as she came
limping slowly and painfully up my gar
den walk one hot August afternoon and
tapped on the swinging door of the kitchen,
where fretted and fumed over currant
jelly that would not jell.
"If ye phase. num-" said voice tim
idly.
looked around impatiently, but the in
truder was too humble and forlorn for me
to frown at her long, so ! tried to ask
pleasantly, what do you want"
IF We phase. mum, might We have need
of a gyurl?"
/ had desperate need of one, but the one
before me was so unpromising, viewed in
the light of n prospective servant, that
hesitated. However, as | have said, my
need was desperate, so with heartfelt
sigh over MY lost Norah, whom the milk
man had lured from my kitchen to install
her mistress over his own the week before,
I turned TO Mary Anne and told her she
might come for day or two at least,
when, if ] found she suited me and she
liked the place, we would make new ar
rangements. She was so grateful for my
grudging consent that really felt ashamed
of my ungraciousness. and only for a re-
mote experience with a young woman
had taken on trust, and who in return had
taken my new winter wrap, | would have
left the question of reference unbroached,
but when | asked her for them the girl
said:
"If ut's character, mum, that We names,
| haven't wan: but if We wull thrust me
now"---
L
her away, so visibly weakening, | inquired:
How long have you been in this coun-
try?"
"a year, mum, last All Saints day"
NEARLY two, then. What have you
been doing all this time| Have you never
been out to service before?"
"Oh, Wis, mum: but niver fer long at a
tonne" Then noting, | suppose, that her
statement had made a bad impression, she
added, with a flush staining her thin cheek
for a brief moment: "'ve been a thramp-
ing of ut most of the tonne. I've been a
lukin' for some IN, mum"
would like to have asked her who this
some one was, but had more urgent work
than the gratifying of my idle curiosity
just then for her to do, so it was not until
some days later that heard the story of
Mary Anne Kelley's "thramp." While
| ignorant of many of the simplest house
hold duties, she had proven herself so
ready to learn, so docile and anxious TO
please that after her days of trials were
over had been glad to keep her, and we
were deep in basket of peas, Smelling
them while we talked, when Mary Anne
opened her heart to me. 1t was homely
and a commonplace story enough, but the
girl told it with so much unconscious
pathos in her voice and face that felt my
eyes grow misty at times, and real re-
spect sprung up in my heart for the simple,
ignorant creature, with her earnest face
bent over her work and her roughened
fingers busy with the shiny pea pods.
Mary Anne Kelley and Patrick Donahue
had been raised within stones throw of
each other in could Oireland," and sure
he was just the handsomest bravest lad in
the whole county, and Mary Anne had
given her heart to him while vet they
played together about their cabins; but
the girls had run after Patrick so that the
lad was fairly bewildered with it, and he
had been too busy with others to discover
the faithful heart beating so near him.
But one day it happened that in crossing
the river, swollen by the winters rains,
with the 'squires cart, Patrick had been
swept away by the raging water, and, be-
coming entangled in the reins, would have
drowned had not Mary Anne who saw it
from the bank, thrown him the end of her
long peasants cloak and drawn him in
In order TO reach him, though, she had
been obliged to wade out into the stream
some distance, and the horse, struggling
to regain his footing, had broken her ankle
by kick of his leg.
After that Patrick had come daily to ask
of her how was her health, and to say over
and over again his thanks to her till he
grew to love her back again. and Mary
Anne had welcomed the lameness which
had won her the man she loved. Then had
come few days of paradise till her lover,
listening to the stories of an American,
who, sight seeing in the country, had en-