But Mother Corrigan grinned like a dog.
"I haven't a pocket, my Lady's Honour. My hand's good enough; but I'll not be here when you come riding back to poor old Dublin in yer coach and six--and now for the fairy of the world!"--And she took the hand of the eldest, who was shaking like a leaf and expecting to hear of a prince and his blue ribbon at the least, and her eyes fixed on the old witch like two blue lakes with the stars dipping in them.
But she shook her head.
"A great man, but not so big a man as your sister's." (The girl looked jealous daggers at Elizabeth.) "A fine man, and the gold lace on him, and velvet and silk stockings, and gold buckles shining in the shoes of him, and a big house to live in, and fine clothes for your back, and--"
She stopped dead, like a horse pulled up on his haunches; but the young Maria twitched her by the raggedy sleeve.
"Go on. What is it? I want to hear."
"Don't ask me, and you so beautiful!"
"I do ask, and I'll have it out of you. I suppose you mean I'll get old and ugly like yourself."
"You'll never be old and ugly. Them that remembers you will remember the loveliest thing God ever made when he took clay in his two hands."
"I don't know what she means," says Maria fretfully. "But sure some women are handsome till they die. Tell us when will the luck come, and how?"