The Argosy — page 253: what you’re looking at

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

236 Tom Conlan’s Tryste. ‘‘Weel, dear, ye hanna said the words yet,” said he, bending his handsome head to look under the hood of the cloak at her down- cast face. ‘Sure, Mary, you like me? The whole townland o’ Tamney allows that we’re sweethearts, an’ it’s true we ha’ been speaking since we were that big,” putting his hand on a level with Mary’s shoulder. ‘““Ay, Tom, dear knows I like you!” replied the maiden, glancing at him with a charming mixture of affection and coquetry in her grey eyes. She knew she was bonnie in thé estimation of the country youths, who always prefer her style of good looks, viz., red cheeks, black hair, and sturdy, well-rounded figure, to the most intellectual or refined beauty. ‘Mick Scanlon and that Duggan boy has been trying to spake to me, an’ I wouldna’ look at ane o’ them; but I’m time eneugh—sure I’m weel done for wi’ the mistress: dinna be for marrying yet, Tom.” ‘“God send me patience!” ejaculated the wooer: “that’s what you've said any time these four year, when I fleeched you to fix the day. It’s aye ‘the mistress,’ an’ ‘ ye couldna’ think on laving the mistress.” I know Mrs. McGarvey’s gude, an’ very gude, an’ we’ve a right to respect her, for she showed you great gratitude, but she wadna’ be agin your taking me at last an’ at long.” ‘No, then, that’s nae word o’ a lie,” said a cheerful voice, and Mrs, McGarvey joined them. She was a pleasant-looking middle- aged woman, whose comfortable dress told of easy circumstances. Mary had never had any other mistress, or, indeed, any other mother. Exactly eighteen years previously, the good woman, going out to her cowhouse one evening, had discovered a small bundle lying near her threshold. A pitiful wail proceeded from the bundle, which she unfolded, and saw little Mary, so enfeebled by cold and hunger that she could scarcely cry. ‘The widow carried the poor foundling into the kitchen, and fed and clothed it before her vast, warm chimney. Her youngest child was almost the same age as the stranger: she nursed them together. The child turned out grate- ful. She loved her mistress and the children dearly, and tried to serve them in every way. She worked indefatigably—milked the cows, made the butter, knitted the socks, and patched the well-worn garments of Joe and Willy, Ann and Matty. She was ten years old when Joe went to America, and Mrs. McGarvey found it necessary to hire a lad to herd, and make himself otherwise useful on the farm. Tom Conlan, then a little fellow of twelve years old, was the son of a small farmer who lived across the water, almost opposite Massmount in a straight line, but a con- siderable distance away among the hills. Tom’s father was glad to let one of his large family begin to earn wages, SO the boy became Mrs. McGarvey’s servant and Mary’s companion. A dear friend- ship arose between the two children, which gradually, as the years _ went on, ripened into something more tender than friendship. Gomicbooks.