The Martins Of Cro' Martin, Vol. II (of II)Lever, Charles
History
The Martins Of Cro' Martin, Vol. II (of II)
Lever, Charles
Ireland -- History -- 1800-1837 -- Fiction; Ireland -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
“You told him that!” cried several together. “I did, sir; and I believe
for a minute he meant to strike me; he got pale with passion, and then
he got red--blood red; and, in that thick way he has when he 's angry,
he said, 'Whatever may be my hopes of the Bench, I'll not win my way
to it by ever again undertaking the cause of a ruffian!' 'Do you mean
_me?_' said I,--'do you mean _me?_' But he turned away into the house,
and I never saw him since. If it had n't been for Father Neal there, I
'd have had him out for it, sir!”
“We've other work before us than quarrelling amongst ourselves,” said
the bland voice of Father Rafferty; “and now for your toast, Tom, for I
'm dry waiting for it.”
“Here it is, then,” cried Magennis. “A speedy downfall to the Martins!”
“A speedy downfall to the Martins!” was repeated solemnly in chorus;
while old Hayes interposed, “Barring the niece,--barring Miss Mary.”
“I won't except one,” cried Magennis. “My august leader remarked,
'It was false pity for individuals destroyed the great revolution of
France.' It was--” Mary did not wait for more, but, turning her horse's
head, moved slowly around towards the back of the house.
Through a wide space, of which the rickety broken gate hung by a single
hinge, Mary entered a large yard, a court littered with disabled carts,
harrows, and other field implements, all equally unserviceable. Beneath
a low shed along one of the walls stood three or four horses, with
harness on them, evidently belonging to the guests assembled within. All
these details were plainly visible by the glare of an immense fire which
blazed on the kitchen hearth, and threw its light more than half-way
across the yard. Having disposed of her horse at one end of the shed,
Mary stealthily drew nigh the kitchen window, and looked in. An old,
very old woman, in the meanest attire, sat crouching beside the fire;
and although she held a huge wooden ladle in her hand, seemed, by her
drooped head and bent-down attitude, either moping or asleep. Various
cooking utensils were on the fire, and two or three joints of meat hung
roasting before it, while the hearth was strewn with dishes, awaiting
the savory fare that was to fill them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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