The Catholic bulletin. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1911-1995, 1921-06-18
A TRUE-nEARTED COLLEEN.

received for a clay pipe; then, leaning
her elbows on the counter of her moth
er's little store, she resumed her
dreaming. An unusually loud boom of
the surf as it broke over Travilahawk
claimed her vague attention for mo-
ment, but her father was, she we'll
knew, far out on the open sea and
unthreatened by the inshore blow and
the heavy ground swell. Irene was
not interested or impressed. 1t was
monotonously bad weather, the drab
gray of sea and sky relieved only by
here and there foaming white capped
breaker rushing with futile fury on
the rocky Irish coast. 1t was just the
kind of day the one previous had
been. For Irene it meant but round
of small sales and household routine
1t typified exactly many days to come.
And so her life would browse along
until the budding beauty of spring,
with it's longing for the mate that
came not; and through the lowered
grandeur of summer, with it's sug-
gestion of love poisoning into mari
tai content. And then would come the
mellow ripeness of autumn when one
should pluck the golden fruit for ones
lively dropped her face between her
palms, though there was none to see;
it was unmaidenly to long for such
happiness.
Outside in the village street some
one, was tuning up a violin. Irene
strolled out from behind the counter
and stood at the half door, listening
indifferently to the preliminary twang-
ing and twisting of the little, wizened,
old fiddler. The ragged musician
swung into an Irish air, favorite of
by gone days still very popular with
the country folk. He played with sur
prising technique and feeling, so that
Irene was thrilled in spite of her in
difference. Her eyes Frightened a
trifle at the Tilt of "ODonnelt Abu, "
and the jigs and reels sent the blood
coursing a wee bit faster to her heart
that was weary; oh, so weary with
longing, with hope deferred
Soon the cheeriness died out of the
violin's voice. 1t took up a melan-
choly wall as of a lonely spirit on a
desert shore. The soul saddening
moan Of the "Coolun," that lone sonata
Of ancient Gael, resounded gently in
the ears and thrillingly in the heart
of the listening colleen. 1t was the
absent ones favorite, that tune so
pregnant with anguish bringing mem
cries of the wonderful days long gone.
A choking sob rose in Irene's throat;
her eyes filled with scalding tears.
Well-nigh hopeless love swelled her
aching heart, and black despair threat
ened. No longer could she bear to
stand in the door and simulate indif-
ference to that sweet-and awful
melody. She stumbled blindly behind
the counter and to the curtained off
recess near the window where she
once more leaned on the little desk
and sobbed generously and unre-
strained.
After short space the wall died
away and the shuffling steps of the old
musician sounded on the crisp earth
He was coming in to seek his meager
reward. Hastily drying her eyes,
Irene drew open the cash drawer and
picked up a half-penny the usual
dole for a wandering musician-then
changed her mind and added a few
more small copper coins. He was such
a good musician, such a truth teller;
had not the wall of his violin re-echoed
the cry of her heart?
Thank We, miss" The old man
raised his caubeen deferentially. Then
placing the coins in his tattered peck
ct he continued, peering as does one
whose sight is failing him: "Tis q
fine, generous heart We have, miss, the
like Of which tits seldom I meet"
Irene frowned slightly, unwilling tt
| encourage wayfarer who, more thar
likely, was planning to take advantage
| of the generosity he so highly praised
Thank you kindly" she said briefly
II saw the beautiful eyes of We wher
I struck up the 'Coolun' a while ago,
he went on. "Belike we have fancy
for the tune. Maybe ye'd like me tt
play it over for ye?"
No, thank you. She did not wish tt
be moved again. Mother might dis
cover and chide as she always did
when Irene cried for no apparent rea
son. Mother knew and sympathized
but mistrusted the wisdom Of sooth
| ing words.
The old man turned away and shut
fled to the door. Uncertainty he stop
ped; turned and shuffled back again
his head on one side, an ingratiatins
smile cleaning through his heavy
beard.
Maybe then, miss, ye'd like to have
yeer fortune told? IT'S often the way
with young colleens."
Irene's blue eyes surveyed him doubt
fully; his ragged brown suit, faded and
impregnated with dust of many 3
weary mile of road; his shapeless eau
been damned carelessly on his I'M
kempt locks, his wrinkled, hairy count
enance; his pleading gray eyes, bril-
liant despite Of their age, and his eye
brows remarkably fine for his years
Should this wayfarer tell her for
| fnna9 Che xyoc MOI - ~ -