The folk of Furry Farm

by K. F. Purdon

“That’s only foolishness!” says Rosy.

Still, the notion started her off to laugh, and that was what Art wanted. But sure, when people is young, it’s easy diverting their minds from whatever has them annoyed. So Rosy and Art began talking and going on, and before very long they had clean forgotten old Heffernan and everything else, only theirselves.

That was all well enough, for that turn. But soon it became well known to them both, that it was apt to turn out no laughing matter for them. For, as Rosy had said, they were all against Art and for Heffernan. And the mother, in particular, gave Rosy neither ease nor rest, morning, noon, and night, only fighting the girl to take a man that, as she said, had a good means, and could keep her like a Princess.

A woman like the Widdah Rafferty is not to be blamed for doing the like of that. She couldn’t but be a bit cowardly in herself, and she left the way she was, without one to come between her and the world. Gay and pleasant as she was mostly, she knew enough of hardship to think a power of the offer Heffernan was after making, saying he would do for her as well as for Rosy. And the thoughts of the Furry Farm! All the stock upon it, and the kitchen with full and plenty in it; sides of bacon, and lashins and lavins of milk and turf and praties and meal ... well, sure she couldn’t but be tempted with all that, for herself as well as for Rosy. Indeed she was of the opinion that she was doing the best she could for her child, as often as she’d begin argufying with her; abusing poor Art, and puffing up Heffernan.

But all she done by that was, to make poor Rosy fret; and what else did she expect?

Through it, not a word ever passed between the two men upon the business. Heffernan, as I said, was always a good warrant to hold his tongue. He thought now he had the thing so sure that he need only wait a bit. He knew how poor the Raffertys were. He didn’t want any upset or unpleasantness with Art, that maybe the boy would take and quit off, and leave him there wid himself, and not as much as one about the place to do a hand’s turn there.

Heffernan was a slow-going sort of a man. The people all had it that he was a bit thick. But, anyway, he knew well enough what he was able for, and what he ought to let alone. He had no wish in life for getting shut of Art, till he’d have some one in his place, in on the ways of the Furry Farm. And he wanted to make sure of Rosy and the mother there, afore his own sister would be maybe hearing about it, and he knew her to be that conthrary, that he wouldn’t put it past her to come off home at once, to spoil all his plans. He scarce ever heard a word from her, only there was a sketch going round Ardenoo of some talk of a match being made for her, what Rosy had mentioned to Art. Mickey was beginning to have good hopes out of that, thinking she might get some man to marry her there that wouldn’t know the differ. So he was doing his endeavours to hurry the thing up with Rosy, or at least with the mother; and sorra word out of his head to Art; and Art the same with him.

But Art would be nigh-hand mad betimes, with the way old Heffernan would look at him, as much as to say, “I have ye now, me boyo!” But he never axed to pass any remarks, good or bad. Why would he? He was sure of Rosy, so there would be neither use nor sense in having words with Mickey, that could do you a bad turn, as soon as look at you. And Art then took the notion that the Widdah Rafferty wasn’t all out as agreeable and pleasant-spoken to him as she had a right to be; not that she was to be blemt in that! So he and Rosy took to meeting with one another outside the house; at the well, maybe, or gathering sprigs for the fire, or the like of that; and it wasn’t their fault if they did it secretly.

It was in this way that Rosy was coming from the Chapel one evening, when Art met up with her, by the purest of accidents, of course. They had plenty to talk about, as is always the way with the likes of them. And if it was mostly about themselves, sure, that’s what most of us finds very interesting and agreeable.

“I’m in dread,” says Rosy, “this while back, that it’s what Mr. Heffernan has some iday of coming at me mother soon now for the rent....”