style="font-size:15px;"> “Did you like the passage across from Ireland?”
“No, indade.”
“Were you sea-sick?”
“No, miss. But we came in the steerage; and a crowded, dirthy place it was. The dirt was not so bad, for in the ould counthree it ofttimes gets the betther o’ us; but the men were either drunk or ill-nathured, and the women quarrelled, and the young ones were aye cross or sick; and a bad time they made of it all.”
“Did you come directly here?”
“No; we stayed where we landed for seven weeks, till we got word to our cousin.”
“And since you have been here, Annorah, what have you been doing? Have you been to school?”
“No; the praste forbade.”
“Poor thing! Then you cannot read?”
“How should I know reading, I’d like to know? Who would teach me that same?”
“Many good people would like to do it, if you would like to learn.”
“I’m ower knowin’ for that, miss,” replied Annorah, with a glance which betrayed that she was rather suspicious of Annie’s good intentions. “It’s a mighty pity that readin’ was contrived at all, for it’s the books that makes the black heretics o’ us. ‘Let alone the books and the readin’,’ said Father M‘Clane to me last evening, ‘and confess to me faithfully all that ye hear in the grand Protestant family, an’ all will go well wi’ ye, Annorah,’ says he, ‘now and for evermore.’”
Annie laughed pleasantly. “And so you are to play the spy and the tattler; and however kindly we may treat you, you are to report all our sayings and doings to the priest? I don’t believe, Annorah, that you can be mean enough for that, if you try. I thought the Irish people were too generous to act so low a part.”
“An’ so we are, shure. Sorra a bit will the praste get from me about you here.”
“If he were a good man, a noble, honourable man,” said Annie, “do you think he would ask you—”
“He’s the praste!” interrupted Annorah, her eyes flashing; “the praste, is Father M‘Clane. An’ ye mind to spake well o’ him, it’s nought I’ve to say; an’ the tongue is a heretic’s that would spake ill o’ him, and he laving the ould counthree to stay for our good in this haythen land. An’ the books an’ the readin’ were for the like o’ us, would he not be the first to bid us welcome to the same? Och, it’s a good man and a holy is Father M‘Clane, say what ye will, miss.”
“I have not called him otherwise,” said Annie, much amused by the Irish girl’s warmth. “I only asked you, or tried to ask you, if he would be likely to require you to tattle and to be a tell-tale, if he were so good as you describe him?”
“It were jist putting before me eyes the maneness of the man. Is that nothing at all, and he a praste?”
“Well, well, Annorah, we will say no more about him now. I am tired, and must rest. You won’t mind being still a while?”
“Poor little thing!” said Annorah; “ye’re pale as a lily. Is there a dhrap o’ anything ye would like, and then slape a bit?”
“I will try to sleep.”
“But ye cannot kape still. The pain is shure too great. Let me carry you about a little.”
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