Beadle's New York Dime Library, No. 106 — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

that have been known. He lived alone in a small two-storied house, very much dilapidated and vow needing repairs, a short distance from the hamlet. Old Michael was believed to be very wealthy, and he had neither kith nor kin in the wide world. He lived in the old house with only a single servant—a middle-aged housekeeper to attend to his wants. About two years before the time at which our story opens the housekeeper died quite sud- denly, and after the funeral was over the miser astonished all the neighborhood by suddenly introducing a young snip of a girl, a stranger to all the folks around, in the housekeeper’s lace, : Naturally the appearance of the young girl produced a great deal of talk, and surmise, and suspicion, din fact so much scandal was excited by the appearance of the girl, who was both pretty and intelligent, that the parish priest, good Father Malone, at last thought it his duty to call upon the old man and speak to him in re- to the girl. It was not a pleasant task, for the old fellow was little better than a heathen, and openly scoffed at all religion. Father Malone, though, was of the stuff of which martyrs are made, and unflinchingly he performed what he regarded to be his duty. The old miser flew in a passion at first, but the priest was undaunted and stuck to his text like a hero. es ‘‘It isa shame and a disgrace, so itis!” Fa- ther Malone declared, vehemently, ‘fa man of your years to live here all alone wid that slip of a 1”—a fine, rich brogue had the father. “Tt is a disgrace to the parish, and it is my dooty, do ye mind, to see it abated.” ay plies now, hould your whist!” the old miser replied. ‘‘The gurlis me own flesh and blood, and since ye must have it, it’s me darter she is!” The priest gaped at the man in open-mouthed astonishment. Such a relationship had never occurred to him. Sheelan told his story frankly. When he was a young man on a visit to Dublin he made the acquaintance of a dashing young woman; he had fallen over head and ears in love with her, ogre as he was his own master, and the owner of a good bit of property, his suit was yer encouraged. e married the girl; but a sorry step it was for him, as he soon discovered. His wife was an arrant jade, and if report spoke true no bet- ter than she ought to be. She had set herself out to catch the country gentleman, taking him to be a flat whom she could easily twist around her finger, but the man from Connemara was made of better stuff than to tamely endure this, and the consequence was that, after a year of cat-and-dog life, the madam disappeared one fine day, without even taking the trouble to say good-by to her lord and master. Not that this annoyed Sheelan in the least, for, as he openly said, when condoled with in regard to his mishap: ‘Faix! she kin go and welkim, for all I care!” The baby-girl, which should have been a bond of union between the two, the heartless mother cruelly deserted, a fact which went far to — how utterly worthless the jade was, for he woman who is deaf to the cries of her off- spring ranks even below the beasts of the field. Sheelan, as it happened, was all alone in the world—no living relative; and as his married life had all been spent in Dublin, it was no won- ier that the news of his marriage had never reached his acquaintances in the wilds of Con- nemara, The marriage, ill-starred as if was, made a miser and a recluse of Sheelan. Even as a young man he had always been noted for being close and calculating, and when he returned to his native wilds, which he did soon after this episode, he never breathed a word in regard to it:‘to a single soul. . He had taken a dislike to the child on the mo- ther’s account; but he was man enough, miser and recluse as he was, to make suitable pro- vision for her, although he did not wish the in- oo in his sight, if it was his own flesh and But, as years passed on the old sore gradual- ly gave over rankling; and, finally, when the housekeeper died, Sheelan concluded that he might as well bring. his child home—she was a fine girl now of eighteen—as to give harborage to a stranger. This was the story that he told the priest, much to Father Malone’s amazement, and he said, in conclusion: “Ppase the pi gs, hereafter she'll stay wid me; and mind, father, what I have told you is in strict confidence, and I rely upon you asa gin- tleman and a priest not to say a word about her ace of a mother. No doubt that she died a ong time ago in some ditch where such a trol- lop should die, and there’s no need that the old sin should be thrown up in my girl’s face, for she is as dacent a lass as iver knelt in a church.” Of course the priest assured Sheelan that he might rely upon him never to mention a word a Shamus O’Brien. —— — a ee of the matter to a living soul; and he further told the father that he would exert himself to look after the girl’s welfare. And this was the way that Kitty Sheelan came to live in Geosetown; and a most decided sensalion the girl created, too, among the folks of the neighborhood, for she had been carefully educated in a convent, was as full of accom- plishments as an egg is full of meat, and yet was as high-spirited and frolicsome a girl as Connemara eyer had seen. She and young Jim O’Brien had been great friends, and all the neighborhood thought for a time that there would surely be a match between the two, but it was only pure friendship, for, long before, the dashing youn Trishman had given his heart to the beautif heiress of Killkerran. The gossips were undecided in regard to which girl would have been the richest catch for young O’Brien, for it was commonly be- lieved that old Sheelan had ‘‘lashins”’ of money, and of course at his death Kitty would inherit all that he left. There never was a miser in the world yet that his acquaintances didn’t believe to be ab- solutely rolling in wealth. The old man did die at last—die very sudden- ly, without being able to give any instructions in regard to his affairs. O’Glory, who had a keen scent after a rich property, particularly if the heir was a young unprotected girl, at once volunteered to see to Kitty’s inheritance. The miser had left a will, all duly drawn out by a Dublin lawyer and properly attested, and the gist of it was—to his daughter he bequeath- ed everything of which he died possessed. A man of course could do no more. O’Glory, anticipating that there would be fa pickings in the management of the miser’s es tate, made himself as useful as possible to the girl. He attended to all the details of the fu- neral, and had the miser carried to his long home in royal style. ‘‘Spare no expense!” he had commanded, ‘‘ and sind the bills in to me, d’ye mind! Don’t be afther troublin’ the poor, disconsolate gurl wid thim. I will attind to iverything—pay for iverything!” And the lawyer was as good as his word. He settled every bill; invited the orphan to make her home at his house, a request which she gratefully declined, for she preferred to remain in the little old house which was her own. : And now comes the astonishing part of the affair. After due time O’Glory proceeded to look into the miser’s affairs, but, to his utter amazement, he was not able to discover that Sheelan had left anything in the world, the lit- tle humble estate u ie which he lived excepted. The miser’s wealth had taken unto itself wings and flown away! In rage and mortification, for he had expend- ed a | er hundred pounds in the affair, O’Glory sought the lawyer in Galway who had drawn up the will, and that legal light, although firm in his opinion that the miser was a man of property, was utterly unable to give any infor- mation in regard to it. Never was there a man more enraged than the old lawyer. He couldn’t even bring in a bill against the orphan for the money which he had expended so freely, for he had openly bragged in the loudest and loosest manner that it was a gift, and he would not take a Poa, of it back even if the Queen herself should offer it. All this had been cunningly contrived to im- press the supposed heiress with a belief that he was really and truly her friend. The old lawyer was fairly caught, but he had no redress. The income that Kitty received for the hum- ble estate was not enough to support her; and so, with wonderful pluck, she set out to aug- ment it. She was not See ae for, out of the pocket-money that her father had given her, she had saved nearly fifty pounds, and the best part of this money she invested in a flock of geese—a flock of enormous size. Of course, all the wise-heads predicted a most complete failure, but, on the contrary, the girl succeeded beyond all expectation and she rospered so well in this strange calling that, far and near, she got the title of the Spt et By her own exertions she had made herself independent of the world! Her success was a nine days’ wonder, and the saying almost passed into a roverb in the neighborhood: ‘‘as lucky as Kitty Sheelan, the Goose-girl!” CHAPTER X. A LOVER’S CONFIDENCE. AnD now that we have told the story of the Goose-girl, no doubt the reader is anxious to become acquainted with her, personally. Go we, then, to the humble mansion of the miser’s daughter, for it really deserved the title of mansion, when compared to the other dwell- ings in the neighborhood, although only a mod- est two-story house, very much out of repair. Within the house dwelt Kitty, and for attend- ants she had a withered-up old crone and her son, a shock-headed bumpkin, as bonest as the “4 day islong, but as stupid a lout ascould be found in all Galway, The sun had just sunk to its rest behind the distant hills, and Kitty, leaning over the gate of the little garden attached to the house, was gaz- ing anxiously up and down the road, as if she e i some Te ee ood type of Iris auty was the girl with her blue-black hair, her eyes of Phas Tyg ts pure Grecian face, over which a roguish look con- tinually played. An extremely self-possessed, a rather willful young damsel was the Goose- girl. The clatter of a horse’s hoofs sounded on the road, and a bright look came over the face of the maid. “It is he,” she murmured; ‘‘my heart told me that he would come to-night.” The clatter grew louder, and then, around the turn of the road, up through the twilight, came a big white horse bearing a good-looking young man upon his back. And as he came galloping onward, upon per- ceiving the girl, the rider murmured a sentence remarkably like the one which had come from the lips of the girl: ‘“‘There she is—I knew that she would be at the gate—my heart told me so!’ course, from these two exclamations, one would naturally infer that there was a little sweethearting going on between the two, and the surmise would not be far from the truth. The rider was Tom Pepper, a lineal descend- ant of that famous family, the head of which, in the Boyne water time, recovered the family estates by the cute Irish trick—the story of which will live forever in Irish annals, and which is called the ‘‘ White Horse of the Pep- rs. True to the family tradition, Tom Pepper rode a white horse. The young man lived only a few miles away, d quite a little property, and was study- ing. for a lawyer. hance had thrown him in Kitty Sheelan’s way, and he had at once fallen captive to the charms of the Goose-girl. And although at first the girl had been in- clined to look upon the matter as a joke, for since hard fortune had come to her, she had fully experienced how hollow-hearted are the friends of this world whom wealth alone at- tracts, yet in time she grew to believe that young MGR, was really sincere in the admira- tion which he professed, and as she liked him much better than any other young man who had ever paid her any attention, she listened to him, which was much more than she did to any of the rest, for she had asharp tongue in her head, and she was not afraid to use it. Pepper rode up to the gate, dismounted, fast- ened his steed, first crouline the girl, and then sauntered up to Kitty. a A pleasant evening, Miss Sheelan,” he sai “Very,” she answered. Kitty was keen of vision and she noticed that there was a cloud upon the youn man’s brow—a look upon his face which she had never seen there before, and it amazed her, **Miss Sheelan, may I have a few minutes’ earnest conversation with you?” he asked, in a very grave tone. ** Yes, if it pleases you,” Kitty replied, with . dismal forebodin g that there was trouble rewing. ‘* Miss Sheelan, have I not alway acted to- ward you like an honest man and a gentleman?” he demanded. “In truth you have,” she answered, surprised at this eee ‘* And, when I told you that I loved you, and that I would gladly make you my wife, despite your assurance that the world would laugh at me for a fool for so doing, you did not say me nay and bid me go away.” ‘“‘Nor did I say yes, Tom Pepper, mind you that now!” she exclaimed, quickly. _* Kitty, I know very well that if you had not liked me you would have sent me to the right- about, in short order.” “Oh, be flatter yourself, Mr. Pepper!” “*No, I do not, Sen § I was always honest with you; be you now honest with me.” 77 will never be anything else, although I say it!” she replied, a flush upon her pretty ace, _ Oh, I felt sure that you would be and that is the reason why I came right to you instead of raving like a jealous fool about the matter all over the neighborhood, I said to myself, Kitty will mel peo if I ask her; she will tell me the truth; and although it may be bitter for me to hear it yet I can bear it better from her than from any other human being.” ‘Faith! I don’t know what you are talking about!” the girl cried, in astonishment. ‘Kitty, I was in the village late last night, and for a bee joke some of the boys rode my horse home for me, so that I had to foot it. It was after midnight when I came pees your kouse, and, like a love-sick fool, of course I wit ram to take a glimpse of the eld wooden casket that held my gave, Spe I stopped in the shade of the trees yonder and leaning up against one of the trunks was vainly eucgeling GOMlERDOCKS. GO