“God save yourself, kindly, Moll,” said Marg, getting up to bring the blind woman in; “but, sure, there’s no one here now with me, only meself; and not long I’m to be left here, either, by all I hear!”
Her tears began to flow down again as she said this.
“I got a slight knowledge of that,” said Moll, when she got herself settled on the stool by the fire, that Marg led her to; “just a whimper of it that is going about through the people. But it’s hard-set a poor blind body does be, to get at the rights of a story. Ay, acushla! it’s easy to deceive Dark Moll! But what I understand is,” she went on, “that you’ll have to quit out of this; and, moreover, they are all on the same word about it, that it’s bad treatment for your poor father’s child! Ay, indeed!”
“Sure, who ever heard of a girl being a herd over a farm!” said Margaret.
That was the means of living the Molallys had had. The father was herd on a small holding of land. He was a weakly, delicate man, that was seldom able for a whole day’s work, though willing always to do his best. But he was a nice, respectable person, that could be depended on, and he had the good word of all that knew him.
“A girl made herd?” said Moll; “well, I dunno! and still they all tell me that it was yourself did the weight of the work here, instead of the poor father, those years past!”
“There was no one else,” said Margaret.
“Wasn’t there Larry, your brother?” said Moll; “and he had a right to have stopped at home here, to help them that reared him, and only the two of you in it; instead of galloping off to America, the way he did, and leaving all to you to do....”
“That’s all gone by now,” said Marg. She didn’t want to hear Larry blamed; though it was his fault that she was left now poor and alone.
The name Larry Molally had in Ardenoo was, that he was “a bad bird, as ever flew! an arch-thief, mixing himself up in every mischief about the place, ever since he could mitch from school.”