AN IRISH MATCHMAKING.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2461, 27 March 1909, Page 11 (Supplement)

AN IRISH MATCHMAKING.

(Elizabeth M. Moon.) “An’ ye’ll be thinkin’ it over,” said Mrs. O’Neil, “for .me an’ ould Pether have fixed it up between us, an’ it’ll be as soon as iver .Lent is come an’ gone.” “’Heed an’ I .won’t, thin,, said, her son, angrily; and to_ emphasise his words he gave the peat fire sncli a savage kick that a burning sod hopped right into the middle of the earthen floor. “Och, Hivin be good to me! Will ye be afther burnin’ the place on me?” “An’ ye might know ■ that me an’ Norali Maloney has been spakin’ this long Avhiles since; an, for why should I be afther givin’ her the go-by?” “Norah Maloney!” said his mother, shrilly. “It’s pity help me.! Is it at me buryin’ ye Avas Avantin to be ? An sure, it won’t be long if ye marry the likes of her, not that I could rest aisy in me grave if I knoAved that Norali Maloney, Avid her quare, rough Avays, and the big fate of her was travadm’ through the place, an’ riot a bit chiney would be left in a wake. No it’s not me could slape at all at all if I knew me chiney Ava-s clatterin’ through hei hands, an’ it belongin’ to me own mother’s mother—God rest her soul.” “Tho divil take the chiney—what would ye want wid it at all?” not a hit of it will ye have. Sure I’d sooner lave it to me cousin in Belfast, an” I’ll not be sure but I’ll be goin’ there meself to end me days on ye.” “Bedad, go aisy now,” said Con, scratching his curly head in much mental perturbation at the sight of his old mother’s tears. “There’s no need to be flyin’ out like an ould scoldin’ hin. Sure, a man’s got a right to be afther choosin’ his own wife.” “Troth, an’ what do ye know about tho choosin’ ? A hit of a gossoon like yeself—riddy to take the first fool that has the laugh at ye!”

“If ye’re namin’ Norah —” “An’ Avho else? A great bean pole wid the rid chakes of her and bould, black eyes rollin’ in her hid like beads on the scramble.” “Hould your tongue,” said the incensed lover, not relishing this realistic description of his lady love’s charms. “An’ hould yours,” said his equally exasperated mother. But the next moment she had put her hand Avheedlingly upon his shoulder, and the.frdwn on Con’s brow cleared

a little. “Come, now, avic, sure it s a bautimpered ould Ai-oman I am to be spak in cross to me bhoy. But ye Avon t, go to be breakin’ the illigant match I’ve been makin’ for yeself, an’ (it’s Biddy Mulrane is the purty colleen an’ ould Pather is a Avarm man, an’ achin’ to have ye for his son, an’ there’ll be sivin pigs to come wid her —not to spake of a couple of chairs and a chist of drawers that will he settin’ gran’ in that corner by the dure.” “If I marry at all—an’ what Avid the botheration of it. I’m not afther wantin’ to be married at all—it’ll be Norali Maloney.” “It’ll not,” she said Avith a firmness that more than equalled his own. An’ there’s no more to be said, for the match is made, an’ ye’ll not be bringin

the disgrace on me hid wid your nonsense.” Con fumed and stormed, and anotliei Vece of burning sod was sent flying by V? lieedless foot, but in the end circumstances were too strong for him. He gav> W ay sullenly, and sat silently smoking,>while Mrs. O’Neil, restored to good-liumov chatted contentedly about the way ho\nd Biddy Mulrane were to manage the ‘hits of things” when she was gone. \ And the next aw w hen Con went up the horreen to seewjd Mickey Doolin about a bit of fresh Etching, ho came full upon his bride, clattering down with a coupt\of cans for water —the water in the \ rre ls never being to her father’s for his “tay.” \ Con knew Biddy Mulrane as’vell as he knew his own face. They hadw n at school together, and the rough-haW and sharp-tongued little girlsheach ha\ act the best of him many a time. She was not unlike a needle, thought Con discontentedly, as he eyed her tall, slender figure, as she came down the horreen with her light, springy step. ‘‘As thin as a darnin' nadle, an’ not a bit o red in the face of her, an’ eyes too big tor - her hid,” ho went on, mentally, contrasting her with the ample charms of Norah Maloney—greatly to the latter, s advantage in every way,- . !■ When Biddy saw him she came to a full stop, and he did not complain of her want of color then, for she declared war with a red flag in .her cheeks and eyes that flashed out defiance. “What are ye afther- wantin’ ?” she. demanded. fiercely. “If it’s tneself, you’ve come the wrong road. I m not goin’ to take up wid the likes . of you, an’ so I tell you.” ~ ~ “Bedad, I’m not wantin’ ye at all, said Con, ungallantly. “It’s Micky, the thatcher I’m wantin’, not a sharptongued wan like yourself. An the road’s none of your owmn wlnn it cornea to that.”

The girl paused irresolutely, and her angry gaze travelled him over scornfully. She saw no comeliness in his tall, young figure, in tho light broAvn curls that shoAved beneath his old hat, the dark blue of his eye, or the clear broAA-n of his skin, for beauty is in the eyes of tho beholder, and Biddy had another in her mind at that moment.

“Then you haven’t been bearin’ that the ould schamers have been fixin! up a match betAvix the two of us?” “Faix, I’ve heard that-r-I’ve been havin’ a double dose of it, an’ it’s no more to me likin’ than to your own.” “Thin why don’t ye tell 'tliim so, ye big gawk, instid of takin’ it like a great shape?” “Bedod, it’s black in the face I’ve been talkin’, an’ no manner at all of good, for it AA r ould bo a dale easier to move the mountin’ than herself Avliin she’s takin’ Avid inything.” He brought out his pipe, and commenced to fill it with an air of one who has ceased to look with any enjoyment upon creature comforts. 7 “An’ me father tuk rvid the same complaint, sayin’ he’ll have his Rive-r----ence at me, an’ bringin’ the disgrace on him,” groaned the exasperated Biddy. - “Ocli, it’s wearin’ me into a faver!” She dropped her menacing air, and drew a little nearer to her companion in misfortune.

“It’s heart sore I am at it all, for I’ve been spakin’ Avid a bhoy from Ballyrane since a wake befure Christmas. «‘An’ it’s meself,” said Con, dismally, “that’s been thinkin’ of Norah Maloney longer than that.” “Norah Maloney! She’s a square, big, bouncing crathur. Well, ye’re in luck’s way, for there’s plinty of her.” “What do you mane?” demanded Con, wrathfully. “Mercy on us! Ivape your timper now. What’s ye be sayin’ in that great mountin ” . “I’ll be thankin’ ye to kape a civil tongue in your hid. There’s more thin Avan that says Norah Maloney is the finest crathur in Donegal.” ' “Do they now?” Avith a look of innocent surprise th»S raised Con to boiling point. “Thin it’s not meself that Avill say Avan Avord more, an’ it’s mesell that hopes ye’ll get her, big an , all as she is, an’ your cabin not bein’ over_ large naythur. Well, I can’t stop ay id ye, for I’m afther Avatchin’ for Larry Doherty passin’ sayin’ that he’s been Avorkin’ at the Great House, an’ I’m wearin’ for a sight of him. “Larrv. Doherty! Bedad it’s aisy to

plaze ve are wid that ntt:e quunv. Wardin’ of a tailor; sure it ’ud take sivin of the likes of him to make wan dacent size man.” Biddy’s grey eyes flashed ominously.. “I’d. a dale ravtljer have liis. little finger than iny great six-footed gawk like yourself.” _ ' u Would ye now?’ 5 * said Con, rather taken aback at such an attack upon himself. “Well, there’s iverywan to his taste, and ye’ll have to be mindin’ Larry whin ye get him, or maybe ye’ll be treadin’ on him, Bayin’ he’s bo small.” “I’ll be biddin’ ye good . evenm — I’ve no time to waste colloguin’ wid the likes of you.” ' . , “Nor meself. But the litt.c tadoi, Hivin help him, is like to have the worst of it, not that he’ll be short of nadles whin your tongue’s handy.” And with the unusual honor of tinlast word, for indignation had silenced his adversary, he went on liis way with his mind divided betw’een his own misfortunes and the. bad taste of some other people. For some time the two victims ot parental authority and matchmaking kept rigorously apart, but at last a common grievance and a desire for sympathy brought them together. Very much to his mother’s satisfaction, he took to hanging about the well at the times that Biddy came there with her cans. But he talked of little else but his own misfortunes and Norah Maloney’s cruelty, for, after rating him soundly for “givin’ in like a wake blade of grass,” she had bade him “mver show the tip of his nose widin a mile ol | her windy.” “Deed an’ I wish I could be afthei sayin’ the very same to you meself,” was Biddv’s uncomplimentary comment, twisting her pink apron round her pretty, bare arms. “It’s heart sick I am whin I see you come up the borreen, for it’s another that I’m wanting sore meself.” ' ’ “An it’s not wan fut’s pace that I’d be cornin’ if it wasn’t for herself worryin’ me,” said Con, with quite unnecessary heat. ~ \“Och, Con, dear, whin I caught sigf 0 f you settin’ here a while since mek ar f camc into me mouth, for sure you lh\ a look of Larry, in the bind of your hiW j ‘!Bedad,. an > that’s news to me,” -said Con, hating scarlet in the face. “The divil a\t 0 f me is like that tittle, mane, crowed „ | “There’s no him crool names, a\ fiyin’ .into a black timper,” said suc fi unexpected meekness and Vjp such a little catch in her breath thAr< on was disarmed and set about com\^ n g } ier . “Sorra another word niavrone,” putting his hand on\v.shoulder with an encouraging P||b.‘Anf. I’ll he doin’ iny. mortal thing ymKant. An’ if a bit of a message to the V+j c tailor .now ’ud bo doin’ ye a iny m\

ner of good, I’ll bo Ins. W to-morroM and I’ll be after steppin’ m lor .ye, “I’d take it kind of ye, Con. An ye’ll be tellin’ Him that I’ll bo tbrue ; an’ if they take me body to tke cHapek

it’s mo heart that Avill ho stoppin’ wid* himscif.” “Bedad, and will that same be a dacint thing to say?” asked Con, scratching liis head Avith a rather scandalised- air. ... -* w “It’s tjio tliruth, inyAvay. And I sind him sivin kisses —-wan for ivery day of the Avake.” “.The divil will I a bit of me!” said Con, flinging aAvay from her, and before slio could stop him he Avas half-AA’ay doAvn the borreen. But the next afternoon found him going in that direction again that they might comment upon their predicament and suggest Avild schemes to overthrow tho barriers sloAvly closing around them. For Easter Av r as only a short way off, and Mrs O’Neill had bought a purple and yelloAv shawl for tho “weddin’ ” that had set all Tullyhogan talking, and old Peter Mulrane had hung up his best coat to get out the creases of all the years it had been lying in the “chist.”

“You might bo runnin’ off to tlio States,” suggested Biddy ..clasping an elbow in each little hand, and bithrg her red nether lip ruminatingly. “Not I,” said Con, resolutely. “You Avould if you had the spirit of a bin.”

“An’ leave tho ould mother Avid no Avan to do a hand’s turn for her?”

Biddy hung her head, and picked at the moss out of the big stone on Avhich she Avas sitting.

“There’s nothin’ for it but to put up wid it,” said Con, sloAvly, “sayin’ that his Riverence is knoAvin’ about it. An I Avas thinkin’ of a mighty fine plan meself,” he went on, glibly, edging himself on the stone beside her. “I’ll be afther pretending that you are Norah Maloney!” “I’d like to see meself a great big elephan’—” “It’s pretendin’,” urged the man of ideas.

Biddy looked up at him from under her black lashes, then she looked down demurely, and the cream of her cheek was faintly tinged Avith pink.

“Och. sure, thin, Ave’ll be pretendin’ that yerself is Larry.” “Be jabbers!” said the inconsistent Con, “if you so much as name that cross-eyed little —” *'•' “If it’s Norah I am, it’s Larry you are,” said Biddy stubbornly. “Hivin be good to me! But the Avimmin is the unraisinable crathurs,” said Con, irritably. “Have, your ways thin. I’m”—with a short, angry laugh —“I am tho smallest and manest little sneak of a tailor that rrer was puttin’ a patch on. Faix, it’s the comicalist thing.” He stretched out his long and comely limbs with an air of resignation.

“An’ it's-jncself-is a great xid-faced crathur Avid a grin on me like the big cave at Ballylow.”

They regarded one another with lowering looks for an instant, then a <Lniplc made its appearance in Biddy’s cheek, and Con’s frown vanished, and be took up his position on the stone beside her again, and for the best part of an hour they alternately squabbled mildly and made it up again. .But Avhen at parting on advanced his arm half bold, half shy—about her slender waist, she pulled' away from him Avith a flush that spread from brow to throat. “HaA r e done, iioav. Who are ye huggin’, if yo plaze?” “Norah Maloney,” said Con, with commendable, promptness.

“Sure, it’s meself didn’t know you had an arm that length.’ ’ “Faix it fits her grand,” said the graceless Con, his heart- —his impressionable heart —giving a throb in his breast. He held her tightly, and bent, his head to hers, but Biddy, with a little cry thrust him from her, and fled like a hare up the borreen, and left Con staring after her in some perplexity. But after that for a while Biddy manoeuvred to keep out of his way, and it was the best part of a week before lie had a chance of speaking to. her alone, for when he went up to the cabin there was old Peter Mulrane, with his long-winded stories of the “toime when he was a bit of a gossoon,” and while Con listened with ill-concealed impatience Biddy made her escape. ■ But one morning he went up the borreen at a time when Biddy thought him at the other side of the mountain, and he came upon her full at the edge of the big hog. By the wild look in her eyes it uas seen that she meditated escape, but before she could turn and fly Con had both his arms round her and had made her prisoner. “Bedad, I’ve been huntin’ over the place till I’m near deminted.” “She’s not here,” said Biddy, raising for an instant a pair of gravely innocent eyes. “Who? Sure, haven’t I got her m me two arras?” “Norah Maloney. I saw her go by tin minutes since. If you’ll hurry you 11 be afther catchin’ her up.” ’ “The divil a stip am I goin’ afther her,” said the shameless Con. “It’s yeself that I’m wantin’, Biddy.” “Sure, I’m not a great rid-faced—” she began, falteringly. < ■ “Ye’re not, the saints be .praised !” “An’ I’ve a timper as sharp as a liadle.” “Tliim as says that don’t know a swato wan when they say it.” “An’ not a fut’e stip ud ye he com-.. in’ my road—” v '.; “Ocli, Biddy, darlin’, have doue. Wouldn’t-I be just trapesin’ from wan nJ of Donegal to the other with yom > at the end of it all! An!—an’ j if n-c Alf is not a quaro little shrimp

of a patcliin’ tailor, I’m just—” “Con,” she Avhispered, nestling up to him, and lifted her lips to meet the audacious ones that were seeking hers.