She was wild when she got to the door, and out of breath, so that she had to stand a minute before she could raise the latch. And as she was shaking at it, trembling all over, heart, soul, and body, behold ye! what did she hear, only some one singing inside in the kitchen! Singing, of all things! And a queer old cracked voice it was, too, that was crooning out:
“There was a frog lived in a well,
Sing song, Kitty Katty Kimo.”
“The Lord save us! that must be Mickey I hear! that never lifted a lip to sing in his mortial life before! Gone mad on me he must be, along with all other misfortunes! But sure, what odds about that or anything else, now!” thinks Marg to herself.
And at last she got the door open, and then she nearly fell into the kitchen, being giddy as well as tired, not to speak of the fret that was on her.
What did she see then, by the light of a fine turf fire, only himself was sitting there, Mickey, in his own corner, where she imagined him as she was running home. But what she never thought to see, he had little Bride upon his knee, rocking and dandling her, as handy as you please. Marg could scarce believe her eyes. She stood there, trying to get her breath, and looking at the two there before her; and then she said, “She’s not lost, then; thank God for all!”
And still she made no attempt to interfere with Mickey; she never did; though now you could know by her that she was wild for the feel of her heart’s treasure, her cushla machree, in her own arms.
The child opened her eyes, and looked up dreaming-like at Marg; then slumbered off again, with her rosy cheek and the tumbled bush of yellow hair croodled up against Mickey’s old frieze coat, the same as a lamb with a ewe. And all the wisdom of the world couldn’t have shown her better.
A little slow blush crept up over poor Mickey’s face. It was the first time ever he balanced a child upon his knee, and he was doing it the best, though awkward-appearing, with the child’s legs and one small little arm hanging helpless, and her frock every way upon her. But he thought he was great to have Brigeen hushoed off to sleep. “See that, now,” says he, “sure a child is aisy minded, if only you go about it right. Ay, and knewn where to go look for her, too, what noan of yous knew, above on the Hill of the Rath....”
“You! you! was it yourself done that? and took that great imminse climb.” The tears began to rain down Marg’s face; a seldom thing to be seen. She went over to Heffernan and stooped down to kiss him.