Ainslee's Magazine, February 1913 — page 58: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

48 not see him too soon. She looked at Bridgit’s face. “Yes, there are two more verses.” She sat down and sang them both. “When the Lord had done with making Eden with His richest bounty, Sure, it seems He fell a dreaming And He made the Kerry County. “Sure, the breath of Heaven’s in it, Green the grass and red the berry. You have never heard a linnet Till you have heard him sing in Kerry,” Celia thought that Bridgit Moreen’s face had spiritualized. “Can it be the beer she does not take, or simply the fact that my eyes are clearer?” Miss Maitland’s eyes were lovely at any time. Bridgit Moreen made her own reflec- tions about her mistress. “Shure, ye’re growin’ older, the day, miss, darlint.” “Bridgit, don’t say such a thing.” “Goin’ toward summer, we are. When, miss, darlint, summer is here, shure—and hot enough it gets—it’s yer- self will be goin’ away.” “T do not know.” “When I hear the whustles blow, I’m thinkin’ of the happy boats that go where they will, and they come, too.” Miss Maitland repeated softly: “The ships that go and come.” She was thinking of them, too. Bridgit’s point of view was cheerful, for she repeated: ‘‘The ships that come.” Celia was timid before making a con- fession to the old woman. “Bridgit, you know I am praying al- ways.” , “T know that, shure.” “How do you know it?” “Weren't you afther givin’ me your sacred word?” “Yes, of course,” said Miss Maitland. “Shure, all a Friday I seem to feel a wave so big go over me it could ride any ship to strand.” “Will a ship bring you what you want?” Miss Maitland asked. “Is it something from home—from Kerry ?” But the old woman seemed suddenly frozen, and, rising from where she sat, she went over to the window and pulled AINSLEE’S the curtain, looking out upon the river, then turning, she said to Celia rather sharply : “Never you mind; shure, isn’t it in the hands of God?” It was the sixth Friday. Her prayer for Bridgit and her prayer for herself now went side by side, and the petitions beat their wings beside heaven’s gates. Celia found that she loved with all her heart, and was no longer a saint, just a woman. She visited her poor, and, without knowing it, worked miracles, for she carried within her a fire that lighted a dozen hearths. She carried love with her, and warmed a dozen breasts. When, later in life, she could look back upon that period of her servitude, she understood why she had not worked miracles be- fore. She understood that love is the fulfilment of the law, and that without it in the human breast, no miracles whatever can be wrought. She began and ended her visits at Bridgit’s door, and the little room grew like a shrine to her; and on one of the Fridays she found herself sitting there, and, un- known to Bridgit, made her weekly prayer under the tenement roof. There, as Bridget talked, Celia bowed her beau- tiful head on her hands and sat praying. By the cupboard, Bridgit’s little plaster image of the Virgin above its holy lamp swam before Celia’s eyes. Celia had be- come mystic in these seven weeks. Alone in the world, with no intimate friend, reserved and timid by nature, she began now to feel the need of a con- fidante, and Bridgit Moreen seemed motherly to her. She began to think she could turn almost as to a mother to this worn, old-faced Irishwoman. She raised her eyes, as she prayed, to the image of the Virgin, and murmured aloud a woman’s name. Miss Maitland said: “Mary,” but Bridgit Moreen, from the other end of the room, answered: “Miss, darlint,’” and came over to her. Celia put out her hand. “I am ter- ribly unhappy.” “The day and. hour ye are!’ ex- claimed the old Irishwoman, and she touched the hands of her visitor. (E) 0)(0\0) ANC (C@