Irish Americans -- Juvenile fiction; Mothers and sons -- Juvenile fiction; Poor -- Juvenile fiction; Widows -- Juvenile fiction
The little boys appeared impressed, and on Mike's face came a look of
determination that led his mother to say, "All in good toime, Moike.
You're as willin' as Pat any day. I know that. And the way you look
after the little b'ys, your father himsilf couldn't do better."
And then Pat came stepping in.
"Did she praise you, Pat?" cried the little woman as she dished up the
supper. She was hungry for appreciation of her boy.
"She did that. She said, 'Patrick, you're elegant help, and will you
come again next Saturday?"
"And what did you tell her?"
"I told her I would, and let that Jim Barrows keep a civil tongue in his
head when he hears of it, or I'll be teaching him another lesson. He'll
not be throwin' it up to me that it's girl's work I'm doin' if he knows
what's best for him."
"Listen to me, Pat," said his mother, soberly. "I'll be tellin' you now
my plans for you so you'll not be runnin' agin 'em. It's to be a
gintleman you are, and gintlemen don't fight jist because some Jim
Barrows of a fellow says tauntin' words to 'em. You had to kape him off
Andy, but moindin' his impudence to yoursilf is another thing."
For the first time in his life Pat looked unconvinced of his mother's
wisdom, and she went on soothingly, "But sure and I don't belave he'll
be sayin' a word to you, Pat. And anyway you know how many of the
blissid saints and angels was women on the earth, and how it was their
work to kape things clane and pleasant for them they loved. And that
ain't a work to be ashamed of by girl or b'y."
The little boys busily eating had seemed not to notice. Only Mike had
looked on with interest. But into all their hearts had sunk the lesson
that gentlemen did not fight.
"Are we all to be gintlemen?" asked Barney looking up when his plate was
quite empty.
"Ivery wan of you. What should your father's b'ys be but gintlemen and
him the best man as iver lived?"
It was not to be expected that in any place service such as Pat's would
be willingly done without, least of all in Wennott. The more Mrs. Brady
thought of it, the smaller and more unsatisfactory did Saturday appear,
and on Friday morning she went again to the shanty.
"And I hope you're not come to say you've changed your moind about
wantin' Pat to-morrow," said Mrs. O'Callaghan when civil greetings had
been exchanged and Mrs. Brady sat once more in the rocker.
"In one sense I have changed my mind," answered Mrs. Brady with a smile.
"I want Pat to-morrow, but I want him all the other days of the week,
too."
The widow was silent. She had not planned so far as this. What would Pat
say? Would he do it?
"I will give him his board and lodging and a dollar a week to help me
Saturday and Sunday, and before and after school the other days of the
week. Saturday he would have to work all day, of course, but Sunday he
would have almost nothing to do," said Mrs. Brady. "The washing and
ironing I put out," she added as Mrs. O'Callaghan still hesitated.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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