But Barney interrupted her with a sudden incredulous gesture and a big sob, "Ah, whisht, Sisther!" he said.
[ THE FLITTING OF THE OLD FOLKS ]
"Maggie! Maggie! Glory be to goodness! where in the world has that child gone off with herself to? Maggie! Sure I've been roarin' an' bawlin' for ye this half-hour. Run up this minute to Mr. Brophy's—they're afther gettin' a letther from America, an' they can't get any one to read it for them, the cratur's. Hurry now, that's a good little girl; I'm goin' up myself along wid ye. Poor Mrs. Brophy'll be nearly out of her mind."
Mrs. Kinsella caught up her baby as she spoke, gave a hasty look round to make sure that Micky and Nanny were not crawling into the fire, enjoined Mary, her "second eldest" little girl, to "have an eye to them" during her absence, and, hustling her firstborn before her, hastily left the cabin.
"What is it at all?" asked Peggy Murphy, her next-door neighbour, thrusting her head over the half-door. "What in the world has happened? Is it goin' up to Brophys' ye are? I hope herself's not sick or anything."
"Not at all; but Dan looked in on his way from town, an' says he, 'I've a letther in my pocket that the postmisthress is afther givin' me, an' it's from America,' he says, 'but I'm sure I couldn't tell ye who wrote it,' says he. 'I wisht,' he says, 'ye'd send up wan o' yer little girls to read it to us,' says he, 'for neither herself nor me is much hand at makin' out writin'.' An' here I'm afther sarchin' high an' low for Maggie, an' where was she? Up in a tree, if ye plaze. Me heart's scalded with that child. She'll break her neck on me before she's done."
Maggie jerked her flaxen locks backwards with a slightly defiant air, and inquired of her parent if she was comin' on out o' that. Mrs. Kinsella in return curtly desired her to be off with herself, an' not be standin' there givin' her impidence, an' Mrs. Brophy maybe killin' herself wonderin' what could be in the letther at all.
Thus adjured, Maggie led the way up a steep and stony path, followed by her mother, Mrs. Murphy, and sundry other of the neighbours, all agog with excitement and curiosity.
Half-way up the rocky hillside they came upon the Brophys' abode, a one-storied cabin, with a cabbage garden, a potato plot, and a scanty patch of wheat climbing up the mountain at the rear.