The Bamberg herald. [volume] (Bamberg, S.C.) 1891-1972, 1906-10-04
LOVERS
LUCK
BY Constance Darcy Mackay
Copyright, 1906. by c. II. Sutcliffe
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On a bright May morning as Barry
O'Gill was crossing the fields by we'll
worn footpath, balancing a bag Of meal
on his back, he caught sight Of MORA
Nolan washing linen in the little river
that brawled its way through the vii
lage of Ballymoran. The brook gushed
and sang over its pebbles, and Moira's
young voice sang with it as her white
arms flashed in the clear water. She
was on her knees, straight and supple
as a willow, her bare feet tucked W.
der her with only the rosy heels show
ing. The wind caught strand of her
hair and whipped it out till it shone
like beaten gold in the sun. Barry
paused, dazzled, and gazed at her, his
mouth agape, his sack Of meal forgot
ten on his back. Presently the girl
was aware Of his presence and that he
was watching her.
What are ye gaping at at all?' she
questioned.
eat the loveliest girl in all Ireland"
said Barry, never taking his eyes from
her.
Sorrow be to ye if your mother
knew it." laughed MORA, bending to
her work again. "And angry she'd be
to find ye here. Ye'd best 60 back to
her"
Barry flushed till his cheeks were
redder than his hair. "It's here that
I'll sthop," he said decidedly, dumping
down his sack and seating himself on
the grass.
AIoiras thrust had been a keen one,
for all the village knew that he lived
in fear of his mothers tongue. "Shure,
it's the sting Of wasp she has en-
toirely," was the verdict Of her neigh
bors, from whom the Widow O'Gin
held somewhat aloof, though now and
again she condescended to call on Mrs.
Terhune for "a bit Of gossip and a
dish of tay."
Barry was Mrs. O'Gil's only child
and the idol Of her heart Did he so
much as look at a girl, Mrs. O'Gill was
filled with alarm. So while the other
lads fingered about the church steps
after mass that they might see their
sweethearts. Barry was hurried off
homeward by his mother. Therefore
it was with a sense Of recklessness
and novelty that be gave himself up
to a talk with MORA. She bade him
help her wiring the clothes and then
laughed at his awkwardness and
splashed him with glittering drops.
The time went quickly. 1t was noon
before they knew 1t, and Barry sped
home to his dinner and scolding.
Yet he hardly heard the words his
mother heaped on him, so enSrossed
was he with the memory Of 'Moira's
gray eyes and the exquisite curve Of
her lips. Love comes swiftly when one
is young in Ballymoran.
He and Moira met often after that,
sometimes at the edge Of the little
river and sometimes on the roads by
which the hawthorn hedges bloomed,
a mass Of pink and green. The more
Barry thought Of Moira the more he
realized that his mother would never
consent to his marriage. Moira's
beauty was the only dowry the cir!
had. OF all the poor folk in Ballymo-
ran she was by far the poorest.
Nor was Barry much richer. 1t was
his mother who held the purse strings.
Once, in desperation, he thought Of
giving up MORA, and for three whole
days he did not see her. Then quite
by accident he met her coming across
field. She was about to pass him
with averted face.
'sMoirar' he cried brokenly.
At that she turned. She was pale
and there were deep shadows under her
eyes. All that Barry had kept pent in
his heart rushed to his lips, and MORA
listened, looking down and plucking at
a bit Of hawthorn she held in her hand,
A lark rose from the long meadow
grass near by, and soaring into the air
poured out song that seemed but an
echo Of the ecstasy that was In their
hearts. It was Moira who. made the
first return to earth.
docs your mother know Of it?' she
questioned.
"Divvle bit" said Barry cheerfully,
land where would be the good O. tell
ing her? She'd niver consent to It In
the wide woruld "ris a runaway
match We'll have to make, mavourneen.
Well be afther taking thrip to the
next parish and back some foine day"
'But where will we live at ALL Barry,
darlint?" cried Moira, still troubled.
REST aisy," said Barry; II can make
somewhat working I'm 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 ramshackle
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 a foine view We'll have
from the doorway. And If the Chin
bley is ovid and shmokey, after all,
twill be our own. Arrah, trust to luck,
nv