, 1896-12-12
THE GIRL EMIGRANT.

She leaned out of the carriage win
dow and saw the van door close, aud
then asked the porter if her box were
safe and sound.
Jaw. aye, said he ard s!ouched up,
wiping the wet from his hand on his
corduroys. Jaw. aye, it'll folly ye safe
to Drogheda anyhow. Goodby. an God
speed ye."
"Goodby." she said and gave him her
hand. "But aren't the rest O. ye COM
inf'' she called.
The station master came and rave
her q parting word, then two or three
town loiterers, then the station masters
wife, with a shawl over her head and
picking her way through the puddles.
Last OF all came a man-the girls ia
ther. one could see-running stifly and
glancing back often at the horse and
r standing forlorn outside the gate.
"Goodby, Mary, al God be with ye,
my girl" He held her hand for a Sec
ond OF two. and his lips kept moving,
while she answered bravely. yell
write from New York;"
II will-aw-at once"
do. Don't keep u.s." he said. then
stood back with the others and blinked
at the driving rain. She pulled a hand
kerchief from a battered brown hand
bag ard nervously wiped her lips.
"Ah," called she, 'yez all thought
yez'd see me cryin. All, l tricked yez
rightly"
"Ah. no." answered the porter. I'VE
knew ye'd be brave"
AYE, aye" assented the rest and
shifting their legs. AYE, aye"
Away ye go!' shouted the guard.
The engine shrieked. Mary shook ont
her handkerchief and called goodby;
her friends waved their arms. She had
started for the United States.
"They thought I'd cry" said she as
she sat back and fell to plucking at the
fingers of her wooden gloves. "They
thought I'd cry-och, no." She was
brave, yet her lips were quivering, and
her eyes were turned ~mournfulIy On the
fields and hedges and the cottages, hero
and there shining white through the
gray drift Of the rain. "Wc'll soon be
at it," she said presently. "Ah, Lord.
the day it ia. An the state I'm in-och,
ochF' She stopped and wrung the wa
ter from her bedraggled skirt. IAN mo
hair that tattered. Aw, it's shockin.
But I didn't cry" she said md flashed
her black eyes at me-. "Och, no.
Whisht! We're gettin neal it. Aw,
there it is. There they are. Goodby,
mother. Goodby, Patsey an Johnny an
Lizzie. Goodby, ALL"
I stood up, and over her hat caught
. glimpse of the group gathered OIL the
street before the cottage-the mother in
her nightcap, the children bare legged,
all waving their arms and caps and cry
ing their farewells.
"Goodby," cried Mary back through
the rain. "Och, %goodby."
That was the last Of them she would
see, she said, as she sat down again-ths
last, till the Lord knew when. She was
for the United States? asked some one.
All, she was; she could get work there;
she could do nothing at home. Sure, it
was better to go thar to be q burden on
them all. All, yes, she'd been out be.
fore and had come home to settle. but
but, and here the handkerchief went
fast to her lips-well, things had turn
ed out troublesome. She'd do bette. out
there. There We're too many at home,
and her mother was poorly. All, and sure
times were shocking bad.
AYE. aye" the men went in chorus,
''they wur they wur." Then looked
mournfully ut her red cheeks, and from
one to another passed the word that she
was q brave girl, SO che was-a brave
girl, and God speed her. said they as
one by one they went out clumsily at
Navan station and left Mary and me
together.
It was a fair day at Navan, therefore
did the train settle itself by tho plat
form for a long rest.
1.-THE guard mebbe's gone to see the
fair" said Mary, and 1 laughed, stamp
ed vigorously (for it was cold) across
the carriage floor, wiped the window
and looked out.
Down the farther bank of the rail
way, along a narrow path which had
started beyond the fields somewhere
neal the Boyne, was coming a little
procession of six men, bearing a coffin
ON a rough hurdle made Of ash poles.
The men were bare headed; a single
bunch of wild flowers lay atop the
streaming coffin; there were no mourn
era, nor anywhere could n see any
sign Of sorrow or curiosity. They came
ON down, the men with their pitiful
burden, crossed the track. came to q
siding, slid the coffin into a fish van,
shut the door. pulled their soft felt
hats from their pockets. mopped their
faces, then took shelter behind the a
and lit their pipes. There wanted only
a bottle to make the scene complete,
and l was confidently watching for 1t,
when right at my elbow there rose a
great sobbing.
Jaw, awl'' cried Mary. Ibid e see,
did ye sect Och, what q way to be
tr'ated. An such q day for a buryin.
All out in the wet-the wet an the
cowld. Aw, poor creature! Aw, muth-
81, muther, VEN die, yell diel I'll niv-
er zee ye ag'in, nor father. o no onei
Aw, it's cruel to Fave yel I'll 60 back,
I'll 60 baoki"
Her sobs were pitiful. Loiterers be-
gan to gather round the door. It was
only = poor girl going to America. I
explained. They would pity her. l was
sure. Oh, they would. said they. and
went, all but one, = big. sunbufned fel-
low, dressed in rough tweed, who came
forward aud asked my leave. For WHAT
Al, be knew tin girl. Came In. went
over and laid a rough hand on Mays
nknnldpr.