Shepherdstown register. [volume] (Shepherdstown, Va. [W. Va.]) 1849-1955, 1906-06-07

make somewhat working in the bogs,
and that will give us bite and sup.
And there's ovid McShane's cabin
that's been desarted ever since he
went to America. Troth, it's a RAM
shackle place. and there's no denying
it. The roof lakes, but | can mend
it with fresh turf. And though the
room is as small as a nut, what fine
view we'll have from the doorway.
And if the chimbley is ovid and
smoky, afther all, twill be our own.
Arrah, trust to luck, Moira, achree
And lovers luck, shure, it's the best
of all -
"True for ye, Barry" agreed Moira,
and, happy and imprOvident, they
drifted back into their lovers para
disc, and one morning before the first
birds were astir and Ballymoran lay
in the cool grayness OF the dawn they
slipped away to the next parish. By
the middle of the afternoon they were
back again and all the village knew
of their romance.
Mrs. Terhune hastened to bring
the news to Mrs. O'Gill, but the lat.
ter, pushing forward chair, did not
wait for her to speak.
Have you seen ought Of my boy,
Barry?" she demanded. "The lazy
gossoon Gone since morning and
not bit of work has he done the
day, bad cess to him !"
1t was fine opening for Mrs. Ter.
hume, and, sitting on the opposite side
of the hearth, she told her story, Mrs.
O'Gill interrupting from time to time
with passionate calculations. "The
curse of all the crows upon him !
And sorrow to me for having bowld
decaitful son murthering my heart
with his cruel actions. May he niver
cross my threshold again 'Tis a SER
pint's tooth, he is, serpiDt's tooth T.
Mrs. Terhune wagged her head
wisely.
"He is co." she agreed, with relish,
"he is SO The most good-for- nothing
lad in the parish, and he marrying
the poorest gurl Of it ! There's not a
boy for miles around but what would
have more sensel My children, now,
they're foine, clever lads, and och !
woman dear, it's often I've said to
myself l pitied ye having such a great,
awkward, shtupid galloot for a son J.
But Mrs. Terhune had ventured too
far. While she was speaking Mrs.
O'Gill's face had flushed and then
paled again. After all, Barry was
her own son, blood of her blood and
flesh of her flesh, and the mother in
her rose, armed. Eyes and voice
ablaze, she turned on Mrs. Terhune.
"Spare your pity" she cried breath
lessly "spare your pity My boy
has married where his heart led him,
and if the gurl is poor, so much the
better. He is not like some know,
who spend their days hanging after
the rich. Aye, ye may vince, Brid-
get Terhune. for ye know what l
mean. Clever children, indaid f! 1t
is myself that's thankful to heavin'
that my Barry is not like your jsb.
bering, knockkneed omathOns 1t
was like you to come here with your
spiteful words. And now, if you've
had your say, ye may take yourself
off I"
But Mrs. Terhune had already
gathered herself together and was
stumbling down the road, muttering
as she went. On the way she passed
Barry and his bride, walking hand in
hand toward the forlorn, tumbled-
down cabin they meant to make their
home. She went by them tapping
like wet hen, and they failed to
recognize in her their saving angel.
Instead they looked fearfully ahead
to where Barry saw familiar figure
approaching over the crest of the
hill-s spare, keen.eyed woman with
a red shawl about her shoulders.
Mrs. O'Gill faced the culprits grim
ly.
"'Tis foine hour for ye to be com.
ing home" she cried sharply. "The
supper has been set for both of yez
this long time, and twill be ruined
entoirely."
She gave Moira piercing glance.
The last light of the afterglow touched
the girls face with pale glory.
"Tis slim creature ye are. said
Mrs. O'Gill, her voice softening.
"When l was a girl had bright
| eyes, too, and the same color o hair.
All. heaven be with them ovid times.