The Indiana State sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis) 1868-1895, 1894-04-25

as not a stones throw from the village
street If you stood AT the door of
Patrick Casey's general shop. you
.0ofEld see the boats. fastened to the
BLACK stakes that leaned in the sloping
shingle. rising and falling TO the music
of the tiny waves that dlunmed against
their bows. At low tide they lie still,
lolling on the golden sand with its patch
aes of red1brown gravel showing here
and there; and the long damp seaweeyis.
Nhat seem 70 stretch their brown and am
her arms in longing to the receding
ocean. make all the air pungent and
Rreshing. IL is a little place-Gurtheen-
STANDING, as il were, with its feet in the
water; little place that holds many
idriend Of mine-men, ay, and women.
roo. of no high rank. but with simple.
Kindly, human hearts 7 was the son of
THE doctor who served the tumbe-down
'dispensary. with its{ green bull's-eye win
Ndow-panes and 1yttle red blinds. 1t was
whitewashed Within and without. and Its
low window-SyIl made a comfortable
SbaslIing-place for the loiterers, for it oc-
cupied a prominent place in the village.
between C;Lseys general stores" and
dIenessey's public house. 1 can remem-
Der nothing Of my mother but the soft,
cool touch of her hand on my head once
when I was a child and very i'll. Some
times ] fancy that I remember her voice.
but Iiithink it is only a voice heard in
some dreams that / cannot remember.
Yet perhaps it is hers all the same They
SAY my father never was quite the same
after my mother died He devoted his
whole lie to the healing of his sick, and
helping every one he could. except me,
keeper and the village schoOlmaster.
And so l grew up. the pore doctheT's
gossoOn," pitied and made much of by
the warmthearted peasants. 1 shared
their sorrows with them. and they strove
10 share their joys with me. with a re-
Spect ana tacit delicacy that kept the
social inequality well defined; for my
sather was of good family. and / al
ways had my rights as wan az the ould
SitOck."
Now. as I sit by my cosey fire Of an
evening, with the curtains drawn to
keep out the London fog. nothing rests
me so much after the long day of Office
work as the memories Of that little cor
Her in Ireland where my childhood and
bOyhoOd We're spent. Gazing into the
glowing c1lals. I let my pipe go out. and
once more stand. IN fancy on the top
of Fit. CsTrin. which rises behind the vii
1agc- Looking ao.rhward away from the
Sea, there is The 0OE-.he bog of Tinni-
nuCl-strctChing away. away in the sun
set till the land grows green again. and
The furzeCiGd hedges and Sray-stOne
walls that sharply 0cfine the green fall
low and brown ploug,lland make the dis
Vant slopes look like some huge chess
board. Behind all the hills Of Kerry
Mangerton and The Paps-are a darker
blue agaip5t the glorious blue of heaven
And thare. tOO-there. still more
faint and blurred-is the jagged summit
Of the Devils Punch-bcwl. How beauti-
IL il al is, How the amber beams Of
the dying sunlight blend with the rich
tones Of the vast stretch Of brown, Here
and there the ricks of turf stand black
hy the black pools. and vith the great
PITCHES Of rich dark brown show in bold
7fficf against the tan. where the ground
Is dTier: ard. lest the picture may be too
s, lnber. the FURNISHED gorse and purple
u Gather have come to dwell on the little
htloCks that raise their heads. high and
d y. above the damp peat As the pale
= Us slant athwart the brown. a purple
n axe hangs over all. but it does
n II conceal the tiny dots Of scarlet that
Y owe below. where some thrifty peasant
has pinned up her skirt before she fills
q creel with the rough sods.
Then I turn 10 look seward. out
yer the chimneys almost hidden by
t1eir SOFT blue smoke. where the houses
uddle together down below. The vast
j. lain of water. violet-hued in the dark
nG hight OF evening, is deserted, save
)r a brown sail o. two where a fisher
Arom Berehaven or Bantry creeps along
j. ONE. How costly the village nestles a t
Ehe margin of its haven. Mt. COrTin, on
hiCh ] stand. towers at its back. while
ho the right and left the hills of COrri-
cen and COrrigmOre rear their great
h rOwp braCkeD-cOvered bulwarks that
shelter both the village and its little har-
b or There lie the fishing feet almost
"a their owners doors; not much Of
81 Get Observation-Disclosures clumsy black
j. oats. two punts and Doolan's cutter.
The last sOmber marine antiquity,
vas the chief source of income to her
uwner. She made sluggish expeditions.
10 Berehaven or Bantry. coming back
with q. cargo Of slate. -four or artificial
manure. to be retailed by Patrick Casey
When fully manned, her crew consisted
o. Mike DOOlan. master and owner: Mrs
J. oolan, his wife: Mickey Doolan. his
s)n, aged fourteen; and Boxer"
u ickey's dog, an INSCRIPTIONS yellow
terrier with ears that didn't match, and
only half an inch of tail. That dog al
wa vs. sneaked about II he were
wanted and kept his wretched little
Rppendange tucked tightly down. as If
he feared that such a strongly marked
feature would Identity him and lead TO
lis arrest Mike DOOlan was a little
man with one eye-he lost his eve when
he got the cutter-but there is story
about IT,
I remember him a wiry young fellow
with black hair and two piercing black
indeed. he still liyes-.half-way up the hill
OF COrrigeen the west side of the
haven. and there he managed to support
himself and his old mother by working
as a day labOrer here and there and
keeping "A few sheep on his bit of land.
Then Mike fell in love. and loved Moran
DAILY with all the intensity and jealousy
II his Celtic temperament But big
odurty Muligan loved her too. with equal
intensity AMI more jealousy. They had
been sworn friends, these two who now
were rivals. Together they had plodded
barefoot TO the low, whitewashed ma
fiOnal school q the east end Of the viii
1age, and together they had protected
and made much of little Norrie DAILY.
their schOOlfellOw, who trOtted between
them in the whitest Of pinafores and a
little scarlet cloak. But it was the raw
love OF bOyho0d then. now IL was the
mature love o. manhood. with its wild
longing for sole possession.
Norah lived in tiny cottage on the
hillside about two miles from Gurtheen.
where she kept house for Owen DAILY
her grand asher. an old man bedridden
by age and rheumatism. They were very
poor. FOR there was one TO dig the
bit OF land. and labor was dear But
the work was we'll done nevertheless.
Old Days potatoes We're never "A day
later than those Of his nefghbOrs and
mis- oats were always threshed and stored
Before the weather broke.