CHAPTER IV
When Mary Foley was sixteen, she ceased to attend the local day school, being considered for her station a finished pupil. She wrote a good hand, was fairly well grounded in grammar and arithmetic, had acquired the Irish, and was an excellent needlewoman. Mary was no longer called “Foxy” or “Carrots,” for she was bewitchingly pretty, and her clouds of auburn hair shaded a radiant face. She had also what was described as “a wonderful way with her” and an extraordinary fascination for most of the boys in the barony. John Foley had been dead for some years; his death was no pecuniary loss to his widow, who had him “well insured,” but she gave up most of the land adjoining the farm, only keeping the house, garden, and the grass of a couple of cows, seeing there was, as she explained, “now but Mary and herself in it, and beasts were bothersome.” To tell the truth, Mary was not particularly partial to farm labour; indeed, plain girls, her detractors, openly declared that “there was too much of the lady about Miss Foley”; but she did her share, as her fond parent bragged, if she was not over keen with regard to the wash-tub, or scouring. She was handy with her needle, and made quite a nice lot of money, sewing for Mrs. Hogan at the Glenveigh Arms. Also she looked after the fowls and eggs, the cows and calves. “Oh, she was,” her mother declared, “a grand little girl for work.” “Aye,” agreed her enemies, “but it was all gentry’s work. Who ever saw Mary on her knees scrubbing, or washing out the pots? Whilst as for pigs, she set her face entirely against them.” She would neither be said nor led, and since poor Pat died, the stye was standing empty. Was ever the likes known?
There were two roads to the Castle from Foley’s Corner; one lay across the fields, up the boreen, and through the iron gate—this was the fine-weather approach; the other, a long round by the high road, and imposing principal entrance.
One bright September afternoon Mary was returning from Kilmoran, swinging her empty egg-basket, when in the lane she descried a handsome young gentleman in a grey tweed suit and cap, and immediately recognised Mr. Ulick. This was no great feat; she had heard up above that “the Captain” had arrived home now for a good spell, and was a really splendid-looking young officer. But Mr. Doran lacked Mary’s advantages; he had not the slightest suspicion of the identity of this pretty slim girl, in a well-fitting blue cotton dress, who was gradually approaching him from the demesne. He could not even place her. She was not the usual country type; her bones were small, her carriage erect, assured, graceful; and there was a finish about her dress that was unusual. He noticed the little bit of lace at the neck, the trim belt. However, she wore no hat, and was undoubtedly a peasant. As this girl was about to pass him, she dropped a hurried curtsey, and glanced at him timidly, with a pair of bewildering hazel eyes. Surely he had met those eyes somewhere? A sudden gleam of memory flashed into Ulick’s brain. He halted and exclaimed—
“Is it possible that you are Mary Foley?”
“Yes, your honour.” Another curtsey, and it was difficult to ignore her girlish flutter, her evident joy at seeing him again.
“I declare I scarcely recognised you. How you have grown!”
“Children mostly do,” she rejoined with composure.
“I suppose you consider yourself grown up?”
“Yes, sir, I have left the schoolin’.”
“And so your education is complete?”
“I would not say that, but,” shifting her basket to her other arm, “I learnt all they taught, so I did.”
“Reading, writing, arithmetic. The three R’s.”
“Yes, and grammar, history, and geography. I loved geography.”
“Well, it is a harmless passion. Can you tell me where Malta is?”
“Faix, unless it’s lost, sir, it should be in the Mediterranean Sea.”
“Oh, I see you cannot be puzzled, can you?”
“Oh, then indeed I can, and am, often and many a time.”
“Tell me what puzzles you.”
“No, sir, I really couldn’t make so free”; and she moved a step, as if to pass on.
Two long hours lay between him and dinner. Young Doran had nothing particular to do; his mother was irritable and continually scolding some one. It was rather pleasant, standing in this fragrant lane, talking to this pretty, shy, yet audacious colleen.
“You have been up at the Castle, I presume?” he continued.
“Yes, your honour, selling eggs to her ladyship.”
“I hope you make a good thing out of it?”
“Well,” a pause, “I just bid to take what her ladyship gives me—sixpence the dozen, and young chickens a shilling a couple.”
“A shilling—a—a—couple!” he repeated; and he felt his face becoming warm.
“Well, of course I could get more in the market, or even from the hawkers,” she continued, “but ye see we live on the land, and her ladyship has the first call, and—and—anyhow, though the price is not much, the Castle is convenient-like.”
“Do you remember the last time I saw you?” inquired her ladyship’s shamefaced son, “and the cropper I came, over in that field?” and he pointed in the direction.
“Aye, to be sure I do, sir! What would ail me that I’d forget it? Sure, weren’t you nearly killed dead?”
“Nearly, I suppose. I have not forgotten what you did for me that day.”
“Sure it was nothing, sir, I’d do as much for ye again.”
“I hope you never may have the chance! You were a kind, active little helper. How you did run about, and how you mothered me! I’ve owed you a debt ever since; I’d like to give you a souvenir of some sort even now—better late than never.”
“Thank your honour, but I have one already, and one is all I want.”
“What may it be? Not my hat—you brought that after me!”
“No, I’ve no call for hats. ’Twas the horse’s shoe I found, an elegant, bright new shoe; it was lying on the grass on the other side of the ditch. I have it nailed up, ever since, for luck.”
“Has it brought you any?”
“Well, then, I can’t say much for it so far, yer honour.”
“It may do great things yet.”
“Well, God send it. And now, if your honour pleases, I must be going on. I’m late as it is——”
“Why, where is your hurry?”
“Sure, hasn’t the cows to be milked, and the calf fed?”
“I wish I could help you—for I’m out of a job to-day.”
Mary suddenly broke into laughter and displayed a row of pretty little teeth. “You’d make a poor hand of the milking, I’m thinking,” she said.
“Anyway, I’ll walk back with you as far as the stone gap, if I may?”
“Sure, the boreen is your honour’s own land, and what’s to hinder you?”
“Old Crock na Bowl looks well this evening,” suddenly remarked the young fellow, as they turned and faced a towering purple peak, on which lay the long afternoon shadows.
“Oh, he’s there right enough,” said Mary, with indifference.
“Now you’d like to see another mountain for a change?”
“Bedad, I would so. I’m always craving to visit the grand places I read about. It’s your honour that has been round the world, and in fine countries, and foreign parts.”
“Only in Spain and Malta so far; but we are going to India the next reliefs. Ah, here is the stone gap you once pulled down for me. Allow me to help you over——”
“Is it, help me?” and she laughed derisively. “Why there is not a wall or gap in the country to stop me.”
“At least I may hold the basket?”
“No, no, sir,” and she smiled, and stood irresolute, wondering how she was to bid farewell to the young master. Should she curtsey? or would she just take herself off anyhow?
“Before you go, Mary Foley, you might tell me at least one of the things that puzzles you. I’ve nothing to do. Maybe I can guess the riddle! I’m rather good at that sort of thing.”
“Well, then, I just will, sir, since ye have axed me twice. There’s a matter that sticks in my mind, and I cannot get shut of it.”
“Yes, let us have it by all means.”
“Can you tell me,” and she paused, and looked at him steadily, “why some have every mortal blessed thing, and others—have nothing at all?”
“But how do you mean?” he asked, rather taken aback. This description of puzzle was far from what he had anticipated.
“Why look at Miss Cunninghams, and look at me!”
“Yes”; and he looked at her.
“They are ladies born, and live in a park, and wear beautiful dresses, and ride fine hunters, and eat with silver forks; they go away and see the world, with plenty of money in their pockets. And for me, I live in a little weenchie cottage, and work hard, and I will never lay an eye on any sight better than Crock na Bowl, or do anything but cook, and milk, as long as the breath is in me! And I’d just love to see life. Why were they born one way, and me another?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” he replied.
“Well, ye see, I’ve asked ye my riddle, and ye cannot answer it,” she said with a smile, “so now I’ll be going”; and without another word, Mary Foley clambered lightly over the stone gap (she still wore black stockings, and had remarkably neat ankles), and presently disappeared.