Light O' the Morning: The Story of an Irish Girl by L. T. Meade (best chinese ebook reader .TXT) 📕

roar of the waves came up to their ears, and the breath of the salt breeze, the freshest and most invigorating in the world, fanned their cheeks. Even Mrs. O'Shanaghgan felt her heart beating less wildly, and ventured to put a question or two to Nora with regard to the clucking hen, Mrs. Perch.

“I have not forgotten the basket, mammy,” said the girl; “and Hannah will put the eggs under the hen tonight.”

“I am quite certain that Hannah mismanaged the last brood,” said Mrs. O'Shanaghgan; “but everything goes wrong at the Castle just now.”

“Oh, mother, hush! he will hear,” said Nora.

“It is just like you, Nora; you wish to keep——”

“Oh, come, now,” said the Squire; “I hear the grumbles beginning. No grumbles when we are having our ride—eh, Ellen? I want you to come back with a hearty appetite for dinner, and a hearty inclination to sleep tonight.”

They drove faster and faster. Occasionally Nora touched the mare the faintest little flick with the end of her long whip. The creature responded to her touch as though girl and horse were one.

At last they drew up outside a dilapidated gate, one hinge of which was off. The Squire jumped down from his seat, came round, and held the horse's head.

“Whoa! whoa!” he said. “Hullo, you, Mike! Why aren't you in your place? Come and open the gate this minute, lad.”

A small boy, with bare feet and ragged trousers, came hurrying, head over heels, down the road. Mrs. O'Shanaghgan shuddered and shut her eyes. The gate was swung open. Nora led the mare skillfully round a somewhat sharp corner, and the next instant they were dashing with headlong speed up a steep avenue. It was neglected; weeds grew all over it, and the adjacent meadows were scarcely distinguishable from the avenue itself.

The Squire ran after the dog-cart, and leaped up while the mare was going at full speed.

“Well done, father!” called back Nora.

“Heaven preserve us!” thought Mrs. O'Shanaghgan, who still sat speechless, and as if made of iron.

At last they reached a long, rambling old house, with many small windows, interspersed with a few of enormous dimensions. These were called parliament windows, and had been put into many houses of that period in order to avoid the window-tax. Most of the windows were open, and out of some of them ragged towels were drying in the evening breeze. About half a dozen dogs, most of which were of mongrel breed, rushed forward at the sound of the wheels, barking vociferously. Nora, with a dexterous touch of her hand, drew the mare up just in front of the mansion, and then sprang lightly to her feet.'

“Now, mother, shall I help you down?”

“You had better find out first if Mrs. Murphy is in,” said the Squire's wife.

A ragged urchin, such as seemed to abound like mushrooms in the place, came and held the reins close to the horse's mouth. The creature stood trembling from the violence of her exertions, and pouring down moisture at every pore. “She wants to be well rubbed down,” said the Squire. “She doesn't get half exercise enough; this will never do. What if I have to make money on her, and she is spoiled?”

The low words which came to his lips were not heard by anyone; there was a frown, very like Nora's own, between his brows. The next moment a small man, with reddish hair, in a very shabby suit of half-worn tweed, appeared on the steps of the front door.

“Hullo, O'Shanaghgan, is that yourself?” he called out. “How are you, Mrs. O'Shanaghgan? Right glad to see you. You'll step inside—won't you? I believe the wife is somewhere round. Neil, my man, go and look for the missus. Tell her that Madam O'Shanaghgan is here, and the Squire. Well, Nora, I suppose you are wanting a chat with Bridget? You won't find her indoors this fine evening.”

“Where is she, Mr. Murphy?” asked the girl. “I do want to have a talk with her.”

“Ah! what's the basket for?”

“I want her to give me some of the pretty brown eggs.”

“Well, go right down there by the sea-path, and you'll find her, as likely as not.”

“Very well,” answered Nora. Slinging her basket on her arm, she started for her walk. As soon as she was out of sight she began to run. Presently she stopped and began whistling “The Wearing of the Green,” which was responded to in a moment by another voice, sweet as that of a blackbird. She looked to right and left, and presently saw a pair of laughing black eyes looking down at her from beneath the shelter of a huge oak tree.

“Here I am. Will you climb up?” said the voice of Bridget Murphy.

“Give me a hand, and I'll be up with you in a moment,” said Nora. She tossed her basket on the ground; a very firm, little brown hand was extended; and the next moment the girls were seated side by side on a stout branch of the tree.

“Well, and what has brought you along here?” said Bridget.

“I came with father and mother in the dog-cart,” replied Nora. “Father let me drive Black Bess. I had a jolly time; but she did pull a bit—my wrists are quite stiff.”

“I am glad you have come,” said the other girl. “I was having a concert all by myself. I can imitate the thrush, the blackbird, and most of the birds round here. Shall I do the thrush for you?”

Before Nora could speak she began imitating the full liquid notes of the bird to perfection.

“I declare you have a genius for it,” said Nora. “But how are you yourself, Biddy?”

“What should ail me?” replied Biddy. “I never had a care nor a worry nor a trouble yet; the day is long, and my heart is light. I am at peace, and I never had an ache in my body yet. But what is up with you, Nora alannah?”

“It's that mortgage, you know,” said Nora, dropping her voice. “What is your father going to do?”

“Oh, the mortgage,” said Bridget. “Mr. Morgan came down from Dublin yesterday; he and father had a long talk. I don't know. I believe there's worry in the air, and when there is I always steer clear of it.”

“Your father, you mean?”

“I can't tell you; don't question me. I am glad you have come. Can't you stay for the night?”

“No, I can't. I must go back with father and mother. The fact is this, Bridget, I believe your father would do anything in the world for you.”

“I suppose he would. What do you want to coax out of me now? Oh, Nora alannah! don't let us talk of worries. Come down to the sea with me—won't