“Why it’s Kitty Harrigan’s old mother, who has just come over from Ireland,” said Dick, in a low voice. “Don’t you remember, fellows, how we laughed when Mr. Hollis told us about her the other night? He said, you know, that the poor old lady had been quite a village belle in her young days, and now, in her age, she imagines herself back in her girlhood. Look at her now.”
Indeed, the old lady was a study, for no sooner did her old eyes fall on Bert’s handsome face as he spoke to her, than tears were brushed hastily aside, and with a coquettish glance from her brown eyes that, despite the years, were still bright, she made him so deep a curtsey that her long black coat swept the ground.
She had eluded all watchful eyes, and slipped off by herself for a walk, and when she wished to return, had taken the wrong direction, and was walking away from home instead of toward it. She had enjoyed herself immensely at first, making the most of her seldom-obtained freedom, but now her old feet were very tired and the old limbs that had carried her sturdily for nearly ninety years were growing weak at last, and, after such unusual exertion, were trembling beneath her.
At the boys’ proposal to take her into the car and give her an automobile ride, the tired old face broke into a smile, and, as the boys settled her in the most comfortable seat in the tonneau, she leaned back luxuriously, and, clasping her old hands, said in ecstasy, “Did annybody iver see the loike of Biddy Harrigan ridin’ in an artymobile, no less.” She beamed upon the boys, she patted the hands and shoulders of all of them within her reach, and in her rich Irish brogue showered compliments upon them; for a very demonstrative creature was old Biddy Harrigan. She did not notice that mischievous Bert, whom she had called a “rale foine gintleman,” took advantage of her flow of talk to sing in a very low tone, “‘H-a-double r-i-g-a-n spells Harrigan’,” but the boys found it very hard to keep their faces straight.
On Fred’s account, poor Fred, who had, perhaps, shown more courage than anyone else in that day’s ordeal, for not one word of complaint had he uttered through all his pain, the boys felt that they must go on to the camp where he could get the rest and attention he so sadly needed. They did not know that what was causing him keener anguish than the physical pain was the fear that he would be unable to be on hand on that day of days which he, like every other fellow in camp, had thought of every waking moment, dreamed of every night and looked forward to with daily-increasing impatience—the day of the race between their adored “Red Scout” and the challenged “Gray Ghost.” To miss seeing the “Red Scout” come in gloriously victorious (not a single doubt of her victory entered any boy’s mind), what was the pain of a broken leg to the misery of that possibility! But they did know that he needed care, so they carried Biddy Harrigan with them. As supper was ready when they reached camp, they placed Biddy in the seat of honor and regaled her with the best of the camp fare.
Never had an old women enjoyed herself so much. She could not get over the fact that the delicious supper had been cooked by boys. “If Oi hadnt of seen it and tashted it, Oi niver, niver would have belaved,” she said over and over again.
After supper they hurried the old woman, gesturing and exclaiming at the delight of another “artymobile” ride, into the auto and soon had her home.
Irish Kitty, who washed for the camp, was overjoyed at her old mother’s safe return and overwhelmed them with gratitude.
The boys last view of Biddy was a grateful, curtseying, waving, delighted old woman who repeated over and over again, “O’ll not forgit yez, B’ys, O’ll not forgit yez. Yez’ll hear from old Biddy agin,” and they did.