So Margaret gave in to what Heffernan said; and they all turned about, and went up to the Furry Farm. A fine, comfortable place it was, too, as far as sheds and hay and straw went, all very complete and plentiful.
So there was no delay in finding room for all Margaret’s belongings, and settling them in great comfort. And then Heffernan said, “If yous would step inside, I’ll be pleased to have your company to tay.”
“Troth and we will! it’s meself that’s very drouthy wid the great heat of the day.... And that God may reward ye, Mr. Heffernan, for the kind thought!” said Moll, beginning to speak very free, and then ending humbly, when she thought of herself. But any one like Moll that has to look out for themselves doesn’t like to lose the chance of a stray meal. It was different with Marg. Still, she did not wish to seem unfriendly with the man that had just been so good-natured to her; so she and Moll went into the kitchen, Mickey showing them the way.
The look of it! Everything was in a muddle; the remains of the dinner on the table; the floor not swept over; not a thing washed up, you’d think, for a month of Sundays; hens picking about, and the dog with his nose into the pig’s pot.
“Go ’long out o’ that!” said Mickey, making a whack at him with the stick. He lost his balance and down he fell, with his head into the fire, only as luck would have it, it was out.
“Och, murther! I’m kilt!” he cried.
“The Lord save us!” said Margaret; and she ran over, to pull him out of the fire, as she supposed. She had a fine strong arm; and she had him raised in no time.
“Are you much hurted?” she asked, in great concern.
“The sorra hurt,” he said; “but only for you....”
He was trembling all over. Any one on in years will feel a fall like that to be a great shock.