The record-union., 1892-06-04
NOVEMBER 10, 1882.
An Episode in the Irish Land League
Movement.

$50 ye'll have nothin' to say to me-
Mary? Well, Pve nothin' more to saw to
ye now, except long good-by. For pll
not shtay IN this counthry to be made q
fool Of by ye any longer Shtandin' W
for livery set in the dance-house, wild me
one night, maybe, and turnin' yer back
on me the next. WaIkin' the whole road
to mass wild me on Sunda', and scarce
lookin' at me to bid me the time o. day
on Monda'. But FL stand it no longer.
20 now take me or lave me as we like.
IL san be the very next steamer for
america, and hope yen thrate the next
boy that comes coortin' ye betther nor ye
old me. Anyway, I'll not be here to see
1t. So good-by to ye now"
And so Thady Connor turned on his
heel and walked quickly away, leaving
Mary Reilly standing alone in the lane
looking after him.
'Ah, thin, go to America, and me
blessin' go wild ye,'' she cried after him.
=" \ small loss ye'd be to any one if ye
nIyer came back, "a sore -timpered crank.
Och, Thady, Thady, Thady! is 1t really
gone, ye are? Oh, wlrra, wlrra! what ii
do at all, at all?'' And Mary, hiding her
face in her apron, burst into violent fit
OF crying. But it did not last long; she
soon wiped her eyes, and, with head erect
and hrm tread, walked back to her own
cottage.
1t was a still evening about the middle
OF October There was frosty feeling
IN the air and mist was beginning to
rise IN the low ground. When Mary
reached her own door she paused min
ute to look around before she went in.
= pretty scene ii was IN the waning
nght OF the autumn evening, and wild
tor, lg1.lI
stood on the edge of cutaway bog,
which, with its piled-up stacks of turl
ana deep holes rejecting the setting sun,
looked bleak and wild enough. 1t was
surrounded on three sides by wood oi
llr and larch trees, which bounded the
view there, though far away behind the
woods rose some hills called by the ma
tives mountains" At the back Of the
cottage a rich pasture land, diversified
with oat fields and other crops, stretched
as iar as the eye could see, ending in the
woods belonging to the big house,
about two miles distant.
various cottages or novels were dotted
about here and there, all Of the same type
as Mary Reilly's, and they did not add
TO the civilized appearance of the scene.
Low matched cottages, most of them
black and dirty, with the thatch in bad
Iepair-all with the ''dunkle," heap OF
filthy refuse, in front Of The house. No
SAbbClh pG at DGdlilIl ~ ing LllGlT MONIES ndQ
peen MADE IN any one instance. Where
there was a garden there was nothing to
be seen In 1t but a few cabbageS
not flower anywhere. In all the how
els the doors stood open to let out the
thick volume of turf smoke with which
the house was filled.
Such as ii was it was Mary'S home, and
she loved it dearly. She looked all
round now with sottened expression in
her eyes; they filled with tears, which she
brushed lmpatiently away with her hand
and entered the house. Accustomed all
her life to the smoky atmosphere, she
had no difficulty in seeing the inmates.
a turf fire burned on the ground, and
seated very close to it, on sack Of chafl.
was a small, brown, dried up old woman,
with red handkerchief tied round her
mead, smoking a short pipe This was
Mary's grandmother. Her mother, a
1ne-Iooklng, middle-aged woman, stood
at the other side OF the fire, stirring up a
mess OF pigs food in a large iron pot,
which had strong but not savory
smell.
1t was from her mother Mary had in
herlted her tall stature, masses of let
black hair, and fine features. Her father
and brother were of quite another and
very inferior ype-middle-sized. with
reddish compilations and flat features
1heY had long net between them, which
they seemed to be mending.
'Och, father" said Mary, when she
saw what they were doing, ''shure ye're
not goin' out 10 night"
And why not?" said her father. "Ipll
be fine dark night, and we ought to
get good haul of rabbits in the long
wood.'
'Well, think ye might as well lave
them alone. Yell be caught some night.
and then ye'll be sorry"
"Hould yer tongue and mind yez own
4 l., Il.
Mary sat down to her knitting with a
dissatisfied expression of countenance.
She knew that her mother agreed with
her III her heart in her dislike of poach-
ing, though she did not dare to say so:
while the old woman-her fathers moth
Graded and abetted the men, to the
best Of her power, in every lawless meas
ure.
These We're bad times, the autumn of
ISS2, and poachlng and discomfort were
likely to go TO extremes undreamed of
by Mary few years ago. This she knew
well.
The night passed quietly. the Reillvs
returned unmolested with their spoil of
rabbits, and the next evening about sun
down saw Mary strolling on again to-
ward the field of oats, where she knew
Thady Connor was working,
lie soon appeared in the lane with his
reapng hook IN his hand. He started,
W
would have passed her by without speak
ing, but she placed herself in his wav i'm
the narrow lane and said:
Good evenin' to ye, Thady. Did We
take yer ticket for America yet?n
i hadn't the time to-day" he replied.
shortly; but niver fear, I'll take it soon
enough, and yen be quit of me for good
and ALL"
"Thady," as he tried to pass her
"PVe Just one word to say to We before
We go. (Whisper.) Don't take it at ali,
Thady, or else take two while yere about
it."
MARY, Mary, what do We manePu He
dropped his sickle and took her hand.
"For Gods sake, Mary, speak out; shure
ye don't mane-r
''Throth, do, Thady; and, if We 90 at
all, don't go without me-" and, as he
clasped his arms about her, she raised
her blushing face TO his, and their Iins
met in a loving kiss.
well, well, Mary" said Thady. about
half an hour afterward, Il often heerd
women were quare and Conthrairy in
their ways, but | don't believe there
could be another as quare as yerself. To
think ov the way We thrated me. am you
layin' a liSin' for me all the time! ARA,
Mary, why did ye do it at all. at all? Me
heart was nearly broke wild ye.'
All, then, Thady, II only shows what
an ould omathaunl ye are, not 10 know
that II | didn't like ye l wouldn't have
thrated We so badly.n With which purely
feminine reason Thady was obliged TO be
satisfied, though not less puzzled than be-
fore.
Well, Mary, before I go ] want to
know when l may come and ak your
father for you?''
Deed, don't know what to say to
that, Ihady. Me father and Terry are
not goln' on TO me likin' at all, out
poachln, every dark night ov their life.