Those present were the father, mother, son, George and daughter Esther.
Mr. McCleary was a small, quiet, pale, sleek, red-eyed, inoffensive little man, usually known as Mrs. McCleary’s husband. He seemed to feel it his bounden duty to affirm all his wife’s statements, and when asked a question had a way of casting an imploring glance at her,—as if begging her to answer for him, which she usually did,—but who, so far as known, was a kind, indulgent father to his children, and an honest and industrious neighbor. When not otherwise engaged, Mr. McCleary might be found amusing himself with a planchette. With it he talked, reasoned, and speculated upon the problem of life. Sometimes he whispered to the partner of his bosom certain wonderful secrets which he believed the planchette had imparted to him. And—they were secrets no longer.
Mrs. McCleary was a short, well-preserved woman of the “fat, fair and forty� type. She had remarkable black eyes, blue-black, waving hair, and very white, plump hands, with which she continually gesticulated to accompany the unceasing flow of words from her tongue. Her speech retained enough of the Irish brogue to make it pleasant to the ear.
Mrs. McCleary imagined herself an invalid, though no one, not even herself, could determine the nature of the malady with which she was afflicted. It seemed to be rather a delicacy of constitution than any pronounced illness. Some of her neighbors were uncharitable enough to remark that if Mrs. McCleary were to receive some shock that would rouse her from the helpless state she fancied herself to be in she would be as well and strong as any one.
George McCleary, an undergraduate from an Eastern college, was in no way remarkable, but Esther was the hundredth woman, whose influence was felt throughout the little community.
She was but a slight, delicately built girl of eighteen years, yet what a marvel of diligence and endurance.
In the McCleary family there were six children younger than herself, and upon Esther devolved almost the entire care and responsibility of the household, a responsibility which she accepted uncomplainingly and discharged faithfully.
Esther was pretty and more than pretty. She was interesting. There was in her face a sweetness and brightness of expression that charmed all who met her, and won their affection. Then, too, she was one of those to whom all turn for instruction and advice. She knew how to do things. From the fashioning of a gown to the most intricate fancywork, as well as the rarer concoctions in the culinary department, Esther was the most competent authority in the neighborhood.
Nor did her usefulness end here. In the sick room she was unequaled. “A most uncommon handy person to have around,� one of the good fathers in the community had said, and perhaps that best expressed her qualifications. God bless the “handy� person.
What if Esther’s features were slightly irregular and her figure too slight for beauty. No one thought of that after the first half hour of her acquaintance.