There chanced to be a poor widow woman living in a little bit of a house that was edged in upon the Furry Farm. She paid some small trifle of rent to Mickey for it and a garden there was to it. She had no one in this living world in it only herself and a young slip of a girl, a daughter of hers.
In a case of the kind, you’ll mostly always find there will be some one or other ready to do the lone woman a good turn, such as the lend of a hand in the getting of the turf, and the planting of the potatoes, and so and so on. And Heffernan that was always counted to be a good enough neighbour, in his own way, would say to Art of an evening, “When you have this, that, and th’other done ... the pigs fed, and the horses made up for the night, and water and turf left into the kitchen, you may’s well take and mosey off down to the Widdah Rafferty’s, and see does she want a hand with anything there.”
“All right!” Art would cry, he being, as I said, a very willing, handy boy, ready for any job as soon as he’d have the one in hand completed. So off he’d go; and Mickey would sit down in the chimney-corner, and light his pipe, and swell himself out with the satisfaction of thinking how that the poor widdah’s work was getting done, and still he to be at no loss in life about it.
This went on for some time, till Heffernan began to take notice how that Art appeared to be getting more and more anxious for his evening job.
He thought this over for a while, and then says he to Art: “You’re in a tearing hurry to-night to get all done,” he says; “and to be off from about the place,” says he; “I doubt did you take time to more than half milk them cows!” he says.
“The cows is right enough!” says Art, and he scrubbing away at himself with a lump of yellow soap, and pumping water over himself till you’d think he wanted to flood the yard.
“And where’s the sense in going to all that nicety?” says Mickey, “and you about planting praties! washing your hands and face, no less, as if it was a Sundah morning!”
Art got very red, but he made Mickey no answer, nor never did. He just put the spade on his shoulder, and h-away with him to the Widdah Rafferty’s.
When he came back that night, “I dunno in this earthly world what you do be at, at all at all,” says Mickey to him, “but it appears as if your whole illemint was for Rafferty’s and spending your time doing the work there. A body would think that the girl there should be middling sizeable and strong by this, and able to do her share of whatever small matter of business they’d have in a place of the kind, and for they to not be looking for so much assistance. It was another thing altogether, while she was a child!”
Thinks Art to himself, “It was, so!” and out loud says he, “I never do go in it, only when the day’s work here is over.”