Most of the money that Larry took away with him had been put together by Mrs. Molally and Margaret. Whatever they made by their eggs and butter and so on they saved for Marg’s fortune, and added it to anything the father could lay by for the same purpose, after the rent and other debts were paid. That was little enough! But the two women would always be having something to sell. Mrs. Molally, in particular, was noted for that. It was sometimes said that all she wanted was to get Marg married and “from under her feet in the house, the way she could have the place to herself and be looking after the father and Larry, without any one else to interfere between them.” That might be; she might have felt jealous of the way the father had, of looking to Margaret for his pipe of an evening, or the clean collar for Mass on Sunday. And many a mother has to let her girl get the upper hand of her at her own fireside. But Mrs. Molally wouldn’t have that at all; why would she, a fine, able woman she was, at that time? And she never cared for Margaret a bit the way she did for Larry.
But all her plans failed with the poor woman. Her heart’s darling, Larry, went off, without even saying good-bye to her or any one in the old home ... of course, he might have been ashamed, seeing he was robbing them at the same time; and Margaret was left with her, the daughter that she would have given cheerfully, body and bones, for Larry’s little finger. And all the savings of years gone too.
With things like that, Margaret made up her mind to give no more encouragement to Ratigan, at least for a while. Still, she would scarcely have broken with him the way she did, if she had seen him soon after Larry disappeared. Her heart was very sore then, not alone the disappointment and disgrace about Larry, but the way the mother was taking it, as if she was inclined to lay blame upon Marg herself.
Ratigan had the fashion of strolling up of an evening to Molally’s, on the chance of meeting Marg out through the fields; for she used to go through them, to count the cattle, to save her father from walking all the land, when maybe he would be feeling tired. Marg did that faithfully for him, and I need not say, it came all the easier to her when Patsy Ratigan would join her and have a chat with her.
She never knew, till after Larry went, how much she used to count on seeing Ratigan; for although she had no intention of telling him, or any one else, all that had taken place, it would have cheered her to have a word with some one young like herself, and that would have been able to speak of other things. The old people could do nothing but fret.
But Ratigan never came, for over a week. It was really nothing worse than a bit of a spree that he was on, as had often occurred before, without Margaret’s knowing exactly what was going on. But to have it happen now! Margaret thought the wide world was overshadowed by their trouble, and she could not understand why Ratigan did not come to help to lighten it for her.
So she was half-wild with grief and longing and disappointment the evening that Larry did at last appear again.
“Good-evening, Marg,” he called out to her, where she was standing in a wide pasture-field; “let me get beyant them bullocks for you, and head them back.... You’re a bit late, aren’t ye?”
She was, and it was growing dusk.
“I’m obliged to ye,” said Marg, feeling her face stiffening as she spoke; “but when I want help, I’ll ask it!”