Whatever it used to be, the Heffernans I knew would just fasten a calf in it, maybe, or put a goose to hatch there the way her mind wouldn’t be riz, it being a very quiet corner. And it was necessary to have every such little business as that going on at the Furry Farm, if you wanted to be able even to pay the rent, let alone live yourself out of the land. For the Heffernans had to pay rent now, as well as another; and for land that was no great shakes, being very poor and thin. The best of it they never got back at all.
Betimes you’d hear it remarked in Ardenoo, how that they and their land were well matched. For if some of their bottom-land was sour, so was the Heffernan temper; and they could be as crabbed and contrary in their ways as the furze that was bristling over their own hills. And in another thing they were like their farm. Whatever treatment they got, that’s what they’d give. If you acted well by a Heffernan, they’d do the same by you; but they’d never pass over a bad turn; and, troth! there’s more than the Heffernans of the opinion that it’s only a fool that forgets! And so by their land. Hungry as it was, it would always return some sort of a crop, in proportion to the way it was tilled and manured. But it and its owners weren’t much to look at; you had to know them well, before you could find out the good there was in them.
In the course of time, there was a Heffernan in the Furry Farm, Michael by name, that was what you might call a chip of the old block. Quiet-going in himself, he was; silent and fond of industering; and a bit near about money, on the top of all. You’ll often see people like that; as if them that worked hard had no time for enjoying what they make; whereas people that are poor and through-other will spend their last penny twice as free as what one like Heffernan would spend his first. And what’s more, they’ll get far better value out of it, too.
But that was just Michael’s way of going on; he’d sooner be putting up money in the old stocking than spending it on an odd spree. And he had every right to please himself. For he had no one else, barring a sister, older than himself, and twice as curious in her ways, and she with a tongue in her head as long as to-day and to-morrow. Many’s the time she let Mickey feel the length and breadth of it, but he had the fashion of never making her an answer, no matter what. It was the best of his play to say nothing. A man scarce ever can get the better of a woman that starts to give him a tongue-thrashing. Sure they do have great practice at it; and small blame to them! isn’t it the only thing they can do, to have their say out? Heffernan held his whisht in particular, because he knew well what would happen. The sister would get that outrageous mad with him, when she couldn’t make him as angry as herself, that she’d have to quit out; go away for weeks at a time she would, to friends in Dublin. Then poor Mickey would have great ease.
As far as she was concerned, that is, for he’d have the place to himself. But he never slackened on the work, only would be at it, early and late; so much so, that the people would be wondering why he’d bother his head with it all.
“And he ’ithout one in it, only himself!” they’d cry; “and no signs of he to be looking out for a wife, either! A middling stale boy poor Mickey should be, at this present!”
That was true enough, and along with that, he was no great beauty, to look at. The sister was worse again; as ugly as if she was bespoke. Still in all, she never gave up all hopes of she getting married. But that’s the way with a-many a one, as well as Julia Heffernan.
Well, there came the day that she riz a shocking row all out with Mickey; and for what, neither man nor mortal could tell; no, nor Julia herself, let alone Mickey. Off with her, to some third or fourth cousin of theirs in England.
“Luck’s a king and Luck’s a beggar!” says she; “and a body never knows whose flure it’s waiting on, for you!”
“Sure it’s leaving it behind you, maybe, you are! going off that-a-away in such a hurry!” says Mickey.