San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1891-02-23


sweetness and light about Paddy.
can what dye name be standin' there
an niver word out o. We in answer to the
! lady, We ill-mannered caubogue?' cries his
mother, deeply incensed. The laughter is
all gone from her face, and her eyes are
aflame. what brought We in at all, We ugly
spalpeen, if We came without civil tongue
in yer head%
~ came to see the baby an to get me din
ner," says the boy, with hanging head, his
silence arising more from shyneSs than SUI
lenness. The potatoes have just been lifted
from the fire by Mrs MOloney, and are
Steaming in a distant corner. Paudheen looks
wistfully toward them.
Dickens sign or taste yen get, then, il
only to tache ye betther manners. Be OIL,
now, an don't let me see We agin.P
Pm hungry" says the boy, tears coming
into his eyes
"Oh, Mrs. Daly!" says Monica, in dis
tressed tone.
"a deal O. harm it will do him to be hum
CRY, thin p says the culprits mother, with
an angry voice, but with visible signs of re-
lenting in her handsome eyes. ''Be off wild
We, now, 1 tell ye" This the last burst of
the storm. AS the urchin creeps crestfallen
toward the doorway her rage dies, its death
being as sudden as its birth. Come back
herep' she cries, inconsistency. What
dye name be takin' me at me word like
/ that! Come back, tell We, an go an ate
something, We crathur. How dare we behave
as if was bad mother to ye%'
| The boy comes back, and, raising his bon
ny head, smiles at her fondly but audacious-
ly. .--..- &c.,. .
Look at him, now, the blackguard," says
the mother, returning the smile in kind.
"Was there ever the like of him? Go an ate
yer praties now, and thank yer stars Miss
Monica was here to say good word for ye."
Paddy, glad of his rescue, casts shy
glance at Monica, and then, going over to
where his grandmother and the pot of pota-
toes rest side by side, sits down (close cud-
died up to the old dame) to fill his little
empty stomach with as many of those escu-
lent roots as he can manage, which, in truth,
is the poor child's only dinner from years
end to years end. And yet it is remarka-
BILE fact that in spite of this scanty fare, the
Irish peasant, when come to mans estate,
is ever strong and vigorous and we'll grown.
And who shall say he hasn't done his queen
good service too, on many battle field? and
even in these latter days, when sad rebel
lion racks our land, has not his name been
worthy of honorable mention on the plains
of Tel-el-Kebir?' ~ So @E'..'7'..
II don't think he looks like bad boy,
Mrs. Daily" says Monica, refectiyely gaz-
ing at the liberated Paddy T 5'aa
t'Bad, miss, is it%' says the mother, who,
having made her eldest born out villain is
now prepared to maintain he is a veritable
saint. you don't know him, fax. Sure
there niver was the like Of him yet. He Is
n fnxx hot ~ Al
light of his fathers eyes. Signs ON it, he'd
die for Dalyl There niver was SIGH love
betwixt father an son. He's the 10Y o. my
minds the pig, an the baby, an Ould granny
there, an everything. I'd be without my
right hand If lost him.
'But thought you said" begins Moni-
ca, mystified by this change from righteous
wrath to unbOunded admiration.
''Arrah, niver mind what said, acushla,"
says the younger Mrs. DAILY, with an emphat-
ic wink. "Sure twas only to keep him in
ordher bit, said it at all at all But tits
young he is yet, the crathur."
"Very young. Oh, Mrs, DAILY, look at baby
See how she is trying to get at my hairr'
Monica is beginning in delighted tone,-as
though to have ones hair pulled out by the
roots is the most enchanting sensation in
the orld,-when suddenly her voice dies
away into silence, and she herself stares
with great open violet eyes at something
that darkens the doorway and throws
shadow upon the assembled group within.
ut is Desmond! ...
"Ah come in, Msther Desmond" says
Mrs. DAILY, Hospitality. Ppm glad tits COM
pany have before we the day. Maybe twill
coax we to come again. Where have ye been
this week an more? Fax, We were so long
in comm, thought twas angry wild me We
WERE"
Nobody is ever angry with pretty wo-
man like you," says Desmond, saucily.
''Oh, now, bark to himr' says Mrs. Daily,
laughing heartily. Il wonder we aren't
ashamed of yourself. An is the Ould Squire
hearty"
Hes as we'll as even yo,C could wish
him. How dye do, Kit? Won't you come
and speak to me?'
He has been afraid to shake hands with
Monica up to this, but now she turns sud
denly toward him and holds out to him one
slender fair hand, the other being twined
round the baby. She does this musingly.
He graSpS the little snowy hand with al
most senile delight, and holds it fOr-aS long
as he dares. During this underlined period
he tells himself what perfect picture she
is, with her clear, pale, beautiful face, and
her nut-brown hair, and the tender sweet
ness of her attitude, as she bends over the
smiling baby. Could any Wanted Madonna
be half as lovely? At this moment grow
| ing contempt for all the greatest master
pieces of the greatest masters permeates his
being and renders him weak in faith.
Wont we sit down, thin%' says Mrs.
Daily. Being a woman, she grasps the situa-
| ton at a glance, and places chair for him
| close to Monica. whats the matther wild
| We to-day, Misther Desmond, that We haven't