They promised to follow his injunction, and at length allowed him to take his departure. This he was anxious to do, as he knew that it was time to put off, to haul the nets which had been laid down in the morning.
Day after day, while the fine weather lasted and fish were to be procured, Dermot paid a visit to the castle, and each morning after breakfast was over, the young ladies insisted on giving him his reading lesson. He made rapid progress, and after a few days, they gave him a book that he might take home and study by himself.
Hitherto Lady Sophy and her friends at the castle, had not paid their promised visit to the fisherman’s cottage. At length, however, one evening just as Dermot and his mother had landed, they heard voices on the downs above their hut, and looking up Dermot espied the party from the castle. They were standing irresolute what path to take. He instantly climbed up the cliff by a pathway which speedily placed him by their side. He begged them to dismount, and undertook to conduct Lady Sophy and the little girl, whom he heard addressed as Lady Nora, down to the hut.
“I have brought the drawing as I promised,” said Lady Sophy, taking a portfolio from the groom who held their horses. “I will show it to your mother, and perhaps she will let me take hers also.”
There were other ladies and several gentlemen, and they expressed an intention of coming also down to the hut. Lady Sophy guessed that this would not be pleasant to the boy’s mother, and begged them to continue their ride along the downs, promising in a short time to rejoin them. Dermot was greatly relieved, for he knew his mother would be much annoyed at having so many visitors; at the same time he felt equally sure she would be pleased at seeing the two young ladies.
Widow O’Neil had just reached her hut with a basket of fish on her shoulders. As the young ladies entered, conducted by Dermot, she placed two three-legged stools and begged them to be seated, for there was no chair in the hut.
“You have come to honour an old fishwife with a visit, ladies,” she said; “you are welcome. If I lived in a palace you would be more welcome still. My boy has told me of your kindness to him. A mother’s heart is grateful. I can give nothing in return, but again I say, you are welcome.”
“We came to show you a drawing I made of him,” said Lady Sophy. “Here, see, do you think it like him?”
“Oh! like him!” exclaimed the widow, lifting up her hands; “indeed, like him, and far more like him who has gone—his father—whose grave lies off there in the cold dark sea. I would that I could possess that drawing, I should prize it more than pearls!”
“I will make you a copy,” said Lady Sophy, “on one condition, that you allow me to make a drawing of yourself.”