“What does Scanlan mean by all this? Why not have handed me this note at once?” was Nelligan's question to himself, as he descended the stairs and gained the street. He was not sorry that Scanlan was not in sight, and hastened homeward to think over this strange communication. Joe well knew that his mother was not peculiarly endowed with worldly wisdom or acuteness; and yet such was his need of counsel at the moment, that he determined, at least in part, to lay the case before her. “She can certainly tell me,” said he, “if there be any reason why I should decline this proposal.” And with this resolve he entered the cottage.
“Don't you remember Catty Henderson, Joe?” said his mother, as he came into the room, and presenting a young girl, very plainly but neatly dressed, who arose to receive him with an air of well-bred composure,—“Catty, that used to be your playfellow long ago?”
“I didn't know you were in Ireland, Miss Henderson. I should never have recognized you,” said Nelligan, in some confusion.
“Nor was I till a few days back,” said she, in an accent very slightly tinged with a foreign pronunciation. “I came home on Tuesday.”
“Isn't she grown, joe? and such a fine girl, too. I always said she 'd be so; and when the others would have it that your nose was too long for the rest of your features, I said, 'Wait till she grows up,—wait till she 's a woman;' and see now if I 'm not right.”
It must be owned that Joe Nelligan's confusion during the delivery of this prophetic criticism was far greater than Catty's own, who received the speech with a low, gentle laugh, while Mrs. Nelligan went on: “I made her stay till you came back, Joe, for I wanted her to see what a tall creature you are, and not more than twenty,—her own age to a month; and I told her what a genius you turned out, indeed, to the surprise of us all, and myself, especially.”
“Thank you, mother,” said he, smiling.
“No, indeed, my dear, 't is your father you may thank for all your talents and abilities; a wonderful man he is, beginning the world without a sixpence; and there he is now, with I 'm sure I don't know how many hundreds a year in land,—ay, Catty, in broad acres; just like any squire in the county. Well, well, there 's many a change come over the country since you were here,—how many years is it now?”
“Upwards of twelve,” said the young girl. “Dear me, how time flies! It seems like yesterday that you and Joe had the measles together, in the yellow room up at Broom Lodge, and your poor mother was alive then, and would insist on giving you everything cool to drink, just because you liked it, though I told her that was exactly the reason it was sure to be bad for you; for there 's nothing so true in life,—that everything we wish for is wrong.”
“An unpleasant theory, certainly,” said Catty, laughing; “but I hope not of universal application, for I have been long wishing to see you again.”