PEGGY BRADY'S BOYS

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXXII, Issue 35, 1 September 1904, Page 23

PEGGY BRADY'S BOYS

It happened through the home-coming of Owen Ward in the spring — young Owen from Ardclogjher, he used to be called— w no had go m e over the sea to push hie fortune in bad times ; and returned, after years of absence, rich and portly, but at heart as much a child of that kindly Irish valley as ever. An 4 the welcome he received ! It was enough to bring uhe grateful tears into his eyes as the soft, sweet Gaelic tongue greeted him, recalling memories of hours when he had lain in the long grass by the side of Finn Water, listening to the tales the old schoolmaster loved to tell about his bardic ancestors who had harped to O'Donnell in the far-off days of romance and bravery. He had never forgotten those wonderful stories in all his wanderings; but now it was his turn to narrate, instead, wonderful adventures, as curious to the homely people who had rarely cared to travel beyond their native environment.

Around Peter McGrath's hospitable hearth the talkregarding the rich Irish-American ran freely ; and when Owen walked in one night there was a general request that he would give them full particulars of his experiences since he had left the valley. They were ho sincere in their admiration of his prosperity, handling his watch and thick gold chain without a trace of jealousy in their look or tone, and feeling with careful fingers the texture of the fine blacK broadcloth that wrinkled, in true Yankee style, across his stalwart shoulders. Only too glad to gratify them, he began at the beginning, telling all the details of his penniless landing in Nevr York, and the days of misery and starvation that followed.

*• But 1 found a good friend in time to save me dying of hunger, and that was James Brady. You all remember the Brady boys— Jim and Pat — I'm sure. — Their father was Hugh, and their mother Peggy Magee. %o her own name. Well, Jim is a great man now in New York. He has a dry-goods store of his own, and Pat h,as a big hotel out in 'Frisco. Guess they have made a pile, both of them ; but they're just the best fellows you ever met, and the humblest-hearted ; though Jinv's American wiie wants to make a gxand gentleman of him.— at; if he wasn't that by nature already. I saw the familiar name over his place one morning wheft I was nearly giving up the struggle altogether, and went in to ask for a job. By good Luck Jim was standing near and heard me appeal to a consequential clerk. He came over at once ; and when he heard that I had just arrived from Donegal, he grasped my two hands before them all and wrung them long and silently. I couldn't speak with joy at having met a friena in that big, noisy city at last ; and he couldn't speak either, because of the gladness he felt- at the sight of his own people. He took me into his employment, fed and clothed me, and got me comfortable lodgings until I was able to pay my way ; and all these years he has been my friend and benefactor indeed. Everything he touches turns to gold ; and 'tis himself deserves the good luck, fine fellow that he is.' *»W|ll,' said Molsiiie.l 'sudden* anger 'blazing 1 in «her usually cheery face, ' 'tis little he deserves the like in my opinion, leaving his uoor old mother to beg her bit around the country ; and only that the Careys took her in she'd be in the ooorhouse by now.'

'Oh. it can't be the same Bradys !' replied Owen. ' Jim and Pat broke their hearts over their mother's death year.s ago. She died the year they left, and theyVe never ceased sorrowing. They wrote to tho parish priest about it, too ; and he wrote back that Peggy Brady had left the place and he had never heard more about her. Many a time Jim told me how much he had meant to do" for his mother, and how his wealth didn't bring him half the pleasure it would have done had she been alive to share it.' ' Bjit I'm telling you, man, that she is alive and well,' cried Molshie ; ■' waiting day after day fo*r the letter those hoys promised to write her, and fretiting all these years for them. 'She's poor and dependent on the strangers, but she's their mother all the same. The Careys'll be coming this way next week, so you can see her and judge for yourself.' Surely this was startling information. But all doubt vanished from Owen's mind when he came face to face with Peggy, and saw in her old worn features a steong, unmistakable likeness to his friend Jim. She was considerably puzzled when the handsome, well-dressed gentleman shook her hand so warmly, saying over and over again : -' Thank God, thank God, I've found you ! '-

' What is it, ma'am ? ' she asked, turning to Mpl-

■> 'Tis good neiws for) you, Peggy de£.r, tihat he',s after bringing— the best of good news—aye, better than any letter ! He's come to take you out to your boys.'

The joy that chased the dimness of years from thosje sad old eyes, the rapture that made her hands tremble as she raised them to heaven in thanksgiving, were so holy ttfiat all near gazed in wonder at her transfigured countenance.

By degrees the silence of her sons was- explained, a,n'd then she would brocA no delay in setting out. 'ihe best homespun dress and cloak to be had in Ballyboiey came to her from Owen Ward ; and never were s-uch snowy, befrillod caps seen as Molshie's deft fingere fasjiioned for the traveller, nor such warm stockings as sorrowful Mrs. Bill Carey knitted after her hard day's work. A,s for Bill and JShaun, ttfiey were ' neither to hold nor to bind ' at the prospect of losing Peggy, and glared at Owen defiaoitly for a ' meddling interloper.' That was before they understood the comfort she was going to. Then, good, unselfish souls, their hurry to get Her off was even gTeater than hers to go.

Ward had written to Jim apprising him of their coming ; and great were the lamentations in the valley when Peggy siuarted on her journey— dressed in all her homely finery, and clung to by the three little Carey children, whom she clasped and kissed over and over again, crying bitterly t'hiough her teajrs : ' Maybe it's coming back I'll be soon, darlings ; and ihcnFll bring ye toys the like of which were never seen before in these parts ! ' The traia and its rapid moticn caused her great uneasiness, but tine sea voyage thoroughly prostrated her; so that her delight on landing in New York, after the wearisome experience of weeks, was pleasant to behold. Then the meeting between herself and son as he held her in his arm's and kissed the beaming old face, from' which the repressed mother. love of years shone oat like a glory, was touching in its pathos. She could only si I, holding his hand in hers and stroking it as she used to do when he and Pat were twin babies long ago. One regret she gave utterance to, and it made her listener catch his breath :

1 It'll be terrible lonesome for yer poor father, now that we're all over the sea away from him >; won't it, darling ? There'll be nobody to look after his 1 grave, nor cut the clover when it gets too high. And he alwaysi wanted me to He beside him When my time comes to go. How'll we do then, my boy ) I'd like best to be with my own people in the valley ; but if it would give trouble to you and Pat, why then I'll stay here, and God's holy will be done.'

The grandeur of Jim's New York mansion took her completely toy surprise, but the stately lady who held out a white, heavily-ringed hand, and greeted her in a chill, riatronisilng voice, was her first real trouble. She had no idea but that her boy's wife would be glad to welcome her ; and the sudden disappointment, as she heard the calm, well-bftred accents, made her heart grow fainjti* Then her grandchildren c'aune in — dainty ( people, who spoKe in clear, staccato tones, and looked over her inquisitively 'before acceding to her petition for < aJ kiss. She tried to draw one little brown head down to, her bosbm, half fancying for a moment that she had Jiro in her arms a baby again ; but the child sprang away disdainfully, striking at the hand that woiuld have held him.

For the first few days the wonder lasted, then she began to feel the strangeness of the place. The sparkling dinner table frightened her airod made her nervous. Jim — brave, true-hearted Jim — noticed her embarrassment, and, under the contemptuous gaze of his wife, came to her assistance, ami gently told her to eat the dinner in her own way. She complied gratefully, but after that the mistress of the house said it would be impossible to dme at the table with his mother. Her faux pas were quite too many, and would set a bad examnle to the children. The difficulty was solved by Peggy herself begging that her meals might be served in her own room. ' I'd only affront you, dear,' sihe told her son : ' and I'd be more comfortable to think there was nobody looking at me.' She could never ,be convinced that San Francisco wis a long way off from New York ; and the desire to see Pat once more grew and grew in her affectionate heart until it found vent one day in an expression that proved to Jim how futile his efforts to enlighten her haid been. ' Isn't it strange, alanna, that there's no word reaching us from Pat ? Do you think there'd be any chance of him running ovet to 1 spernd the Sunday ?' ' Oh, no, mother dear ! ' he replied soothingly. 'He's too far avvay for that. It would take him about a fortnight's travelling, and he could hardly spare the time. The hotel needs a lot of looking after, he slays.' ' Well, is he nearer Ireland, then, darling ? If I knew for certain that he was I'd go back and be there

to nseti him whenever he'd have time for a run to see us.'

The American wife, in her dignified way, immensely ttn joyed these speeches of Peggy. She guessed that her husband, fond as he undoubtedly was of her, winced frequently at his mother's unsophisticated ejaculations of piety and wonder, which sounded so out of place in the fashionable atmosphere of their daily life. Still there was no touch of impatience in his manner towards her nor any feeling but tenderness evident in the kindly attentions he paid her so willingly. His sole wish was to make her happy and content, surrounded by love and comfort such as he and his brother had dreamed of for her in the distant days of their boyhood. Surely his children ought to be more with her ; their bright, winning talk should keep her from brooding ,too much over bygone memories ; and there were many small services that young hands could render to one whose feeble steps were already nearing the borderland.

With this thought in his mind, one day he entered the nursery, where he found a noisy group wildly enccited over a new and most interesting gam.c. In an armchair sat the youngest daughter, decked out in a figured counterpane, with a handkerchief round her hpad and knotted under her small chin, while an apron— borrowed from one of the maids, no doubt, and much too big for its present wearer — enveloped her tiny form. She seemed to be the central character oT the play, and was addressing the others in a peculiar voice whioh caused them all to shriek with laughter, throwing up her ha.nds with 1 Well, now, glory be to God ! ' and ' Who ever heard the Ifrkes of that before ? '

' What new game is this, children ? ' said the father, as he stepped in smilingly.

They all flushed red with embarrassment, and made no reply. 'Is it a secret ? ' he. asked again. INo ;• it's grannie we're playing, father,' said one, hesitatingly—' grannie, you l^now, that's down stairs — the funny old woman that talks so queer. Well, we're playing her.' 1 Who gave you leave to do this ? ' he queried, sternly. 1 Mother,' came in a hasty chorus, afraid of reproof. and ready to lay the blame on shoulders better fitted to bear it. '< Mother said we could make any game we liked of that old woman.'

The speech was so unexpected and cruel, issuing from those careless lips, that he had no word to say as he turned and left\the room. They had their mother's permission to do this thing,, and it was his mother they were caricaturing — his little children to whom he thotught she would be so welcome, with her gentle ways and stores of wondrous tales from far Donegal ! How did the hours pass for her during his absence at business ? It struck him now that she must often be lonely and sorrowful ; fcr a smile of relief would break like sunshine over her dear face* at sight of him in the evenings. And his wife had casually remarked that the Irish, as a race, were gifted with a scanty supply of self-con-trol. That was when they had returned once from dining oiut, to find her seated in the grand wainscoted hall, with the wrinkled hands folded patiently in her lap, waiting to say ' Good night 'to her son. She had started up and thrown her arms round his neck, kissing his bearded cheek, with all the fervor of a great gladness, and crying in her soft accents :

', You've come back, ?sthore machree, God be thanked ! I got frightened to think of them wicked streets, and you out so late. 'Tis worse than the road through the Gap at night— and that's a fearsome enough place, as many a one can tell. Don't go out any more so late, my boy ; for it makes me very uneasy, and I can't sleep for thinking.' He noticed a smile passing quickly between the black footmen who stood like ebon statues on each Bide of the hall ; and his wife's French maid tossed her head in flippant disgust as she followed her indignant mistress up the stairs. His blood boiled in rage at their open contempt of the anxious tendorness that had never learned to restrain itself, but had been fostereti and deepened in the distant northern valley during the long years she had spent in waiting for news of her wanderers. Clearly liis hopes of cheering Iher 'declining days were doomed to failure. Better, far better, that she had never crossed the seas to share his wealth, as if scorn and dislike from her nearest alnd dearest were to be her daily portion. No blame could be attached to her, anyhow. She had striven so perseveringly to ingratiate herself with his boys and girls, making shadow-rabbits on the wall to amuse them, and fashioning little limp men-dolls out of her cotton handkerchiefs. They would have none of he*r, those cute New World youngsters. She was a ' greenhorn,' and they ' didn't believe she was

father's mother at all,' though she begged them to- call her ' grannie,' as the children she had left behind in Donegal had done.

When Jim asked her once if she felt lonely in his house, she gave him an answer so clearly evasive that he knew his surmise had been true :

1 Ah, no, darling, not lonely, so to say, when I have you and the thought of seeing Pat some day to keep my heart up ! But Ido be wishing often to see a sight of the neighbors that used to come into Molshie's on the winter nights ; and the Careys and the wee childer I nursed. No, not lonely, my boy, but homesick ; maybe that's the better word.'

. 11. Every comfort that affection could suggest Jim showered upon his mother. A black silk dress stiff with richness*, and a snowy silk shawl that rivalled in hjue the borders of her cap, made her look like a pijbture, he tolid her lovingly. Then from Pat, im fat California, came a draft sufficient to place her above want for the rest of her days. She was grateful, poor Peggy—pathetically so ; and would raise Jim's hand, filled with manyi brave gifts, to her trembling lips in a gusli of passionate motherliness. Yet he felt there was something wanting—something the longing for which weakened her visibly and gave to her dim old eyes a dreamy look, as if she were gazing through the distance to a dear and unattainable goal. Perhaps in those moments of intense desire her soul's eyes saw the sunshine in the vtalley and the rugged blue mountain < peaks of her own dark Donegal.

She had brought with her a bundle of fine homespun wool as a present to Jim's wife ; and when her gift was calmly set aside without a word of tihanks-, she took to knitting for her ' boys ' in the solitary hours that were so weary in passing. Even the saucy lady's mfaid grew to pity the lonely old woman ; but the American wife saw mo thing to justify herself in giving up the least every-day pleasures. She was too worldly and selfish to note the sorrow in the worn face, or the tears that fell and wovo themselves into the knitting.

Jim's anxiety at her changed looks made him beg his mother to tell if she were ill or merely unhappy.

1 'Tis the heart hunger, that's on me, alanna,' she replied— ' not vhe sickness at all, glory be tp God ! And in the night I think I hear your father calling me from his green grave to come home. Maybe he has more r\eed of me than you and Pat ; though there are some would say the souls above are too happy to think of us. But I'm sure the Almighty never meant the love that was between my husband and me to die out in heaven, when it lasted throiugh such trouble and poverty on earth. J'm always grieving for him day and night, and remembering how proud he was when Pat and yoU were bom. Yg)u were the image of me, everyone said ; and Pat the dead moral of him. Ah, but the cruel fever robbed me of the putee of my heart, and the sunlight was never so warm nor so golden since ! So you'll let me go back, my son, to my own people, where I'll be offending nobody, nor be in the way any more.'

But while Jim was distressed between the pain of parting and the fear that the oppressive heat of New York might prove too enervating for her enfeebled frame, unexpected and gladsome news arrived from California. It was from Pat, setting out on the lowg journey to see his mother. How quietly thankful she was thrbugh those weary days of waiting ! And when she held her long-lost twin son in her arms, Peggy's cup of ioy was filled to the brim. As she stroked his dear brown head, the silver threads shining there hurt her like a sword-thrust. She understood then that his prosperity, like Jim's, had brought many a pang, as well as many blessing, in its train.

To his offer of a quiet home In San Francisco she gave the same reply as to his brother :

< I'm more thankful tnan I can tell you, Pat. But you have your wife and little childer out there to keep your ilfe sweet and happy, and I'd only be in the way. And it's your mother's right to have the courage to do it, whether it's hard for herself or not. There's -a corner waiting for me in Molshie McGrath'e, and ' the Careys will be coming back and forth. So have no fears for me, my darlings'; for God'll be store to take good care of me. He helped me throuck the cold and hunger many a time, and He'll not desert me now. But I'm not making little of all you offer. I'm proud and grateful to you both, that were not ashamed to own your poor old ignoran,t mother that came over the broad sea to find you.'

Burning tears stood in the blue and brown eyes rontemtplating her, grand in her unselfish love for which alrealdy there was a reward in store. Pat — busy, hardworking Pat,— -whose time was more preciofus than pold to him, volunteered to see her safely bajsk in the valley

of Finn Water. Her delight when he told her of his plan was his compensation. ' I'm thinking, mother, of taking a trip across to the old country, jusit to see if everything is still the same, and I couldn't do better than go with you now. Jim means to come as well, but I guess you'll be as safe as a bird in a nest when I take you in charge. And,, then, I'll see if you are the 'great traveller you've been pretending to be, and hear all the tales you 11 be weaving to the neighbors. So we can start any minute for Ireland and home.'

On the evening of their departure Jim's 1 wife addressed him affably from the head of the dinner table. There was a cold smile of trwmiph in her steel-grey eye. ' That was a gohd riddance, James,' she said. ' What was ?' he asked, absently. , *• Getting the old lady to take herself of! so quietly.' Her husband looked at her doubtingly. For a second he had no comprehension of her meaning ; then in a flash he understood. He rose ujp in his place like an avenger, >while the blood forsook his cheek, and his lips grew strained and white as he strove .to speak. Was» that his voice issuing from between those white lips '.'

"My God, woman, do you know of whom you speak ? lt is my mother,— my own oM mother, with her p,u(r(e,v honest soul and all her simple, loving homeliness, as different from your artificial existence as heaven is from) earth ! And you to torture her. day after day with your cold superiority, training my little children to scorn and motk at her who gave their father life and taught him all he knows of faith and truth ! You ha«ve driven her away from me, when together we might have made her last years happy. May God forgive you, for I cannot ! ' He could say no moie ; the bitterness of those months, in which he had learned to know the hidden character of the wife he had loved and treasured, rose in, a flood that almost stopped his breathing, as he hurriedly left the table. The well-bred lady smiled indulgently, with an unlifting. of her arched eyebrows towards her eldest daughter. 'He will get over it, my dear, and be just the same as ever in a little while. It was a hard fight to get rid of that old nuisance'; but the deed is done now,, and our friends shall not have the power to stab me again by asking me why my husband's mother does not lunch or dine witii us, and is she in any way objectionable. She has gone back now to her pigs and potatoes, that she should never have been taken from. Come, dear, the carriage is waiting, and we will forget all this trouble in Bernhardt's acting to>-night.' Had she only opened the door of her husband's 'study, as she swept by in her silken draperies, she might not have been so assured of the completeness of her triumph. He knelt, shaken with sobs, before the chair in which his mother used to sit while he wrote ihis letters at the desk beside her. lie thought of the sad old face as he had seen it last, looking at him from the dejek of the steamer, full of yeairning love and self-re-njunjeiation. From that hour of supreme sorrow and regret the image of the dear one, strangely found and as strangely lost again, took a place in the heart's core Df heir son, where the love of wife and child was never strong enough to penetrate and disturb her sanctuary.

111. All day the September sun had smiled down on the gathering in of the harvest in the valley ; and now, as the twilight's grey, misity veil over the mountain tops, he withdrew himself into a rosy radiance, that fell upon the fruitful earth like a farewell benediction. The harvesters had departed to their homes and to Hie hard-earned supper that awaited them. Peace brooded over the fields, whore the corn sitood slacked about the grajves of dead poppies ; and on the uplands, where the hayricks gleamed like little hillocks of gold.on the fresh green grass. Lt was the loveliest scene in the world, Hugh Dievor thought,, as he contentedly smoked his pipe in a corner of tlhe settle tlhat filled 'up his wide Vdtchen window. Aye, and he was lucky enough, thank God, that he could hold his bit of land through the bad times until ,the change for the better came. There was something worth counting hi the old stocking now— something that would help to settle his little Madgie in a home of her own some 'day— ihere his reflections were rudely broken in upon upon the approach of young, bare-legsred Patsy Doherty at breakneck speed down the learning., He rushed, panting, into the kitchen, arid cried out in a tone of imperious importance : • Ye're to hurry up at once to MeGratlh's, Hugh— yotu and Mary— for old Peggy Br'ady's come back and I'm to warn the neighbors.'

Before the astonished Hugh could remove his jripe to make a single comment, the boy had departed as quickly ,as he came.

' Hear that now ! ' said Mary, throwing up her hands in amazement. ' Peggy left her gran<l sons and come back to us again ! I'll never believe &uch a miracle till I see it.'

it was only too true, as the excited neighbors found out in time ; for there she sat, travel-stained but happy with her boy, by Molshie's fireside. Such a cead mile failte as there was for her ! ' Why, it seemed as if the whole country had turned out to pay her honor. They never do things by halves in ' Dark Donegal.' When Pat saw how contented and safe sihe was he had less reluctance in leaving her, promising to return the following spring. How she cried over him in that farewell, and blessed him, not in the stranger's speech, but in the tongue that was • your father's before you, and is the sweetest and most loving in the world ! And may you carry my blessing to the end of your days, and may it help to open the gates of heaven to you when your hour has come, my boluchal bragjh !' Then she settled down to her new existence as a rich woman in the valley. On Sundays she would dress hers/elf in the black silk gown, covering it carefully with her best checker apron, pinning across her slender, bent shoulders the little white shawl that was one of Jim's first gift's. Her finest cap with woiiked borders, and, oh, so snowy, and a gorgeous binder that rivalled all the colors of the rainbow, added dignity to her appearance.

So attired, after Mass she would sit in Molshie's armchair in the parlor, receiving visits from* her friends, and never weary of relating her adventures beyond the .-.cap. Pat's purse of sovereigns was always kept in her bosom ; and on important occasions, especially when any doubt as to her wealth was hinted at — there were some mot above teasing the poor soul, in a harmless way— she would display the purse with great pride, and even go. to the extent of allowing a favored one to handle the precious gold.

She was generous to a fault, now that she had a ctoance of repaying a little of the kindness shown her in her years of want and wandering. The little Careys appeared that winter in new and comfortable attire ; which they, wore with an ill-at-ease though proud air,; and their boastings of Granny's possessions gave them an unwonted importance among their playmates. Molshie was Peggy's almoner, and to her good sense much of Peggy's discretion in helping the needy might be traced. And there was no want of appreciation ; for the talk went on everywhere, as talk will :

' Well, I'm saying 'tis little thanks one meets with in tihisi world ;' but sure poor Peggy's the one that remembers. And it wasn't mtfch that she got fsom ajiy one : only the shelter ami the bit— poor enough, God knows ; but it brought the good luck to boUh them and her in the end '

Of the years she lived with her friends in the valley, much might be written. Her last (days were peaceful and happy ; and when, one summer night, the great angel, sweeping, silently into Molshie's, laild Jiis hand on a feebly-beating heart, that still guarded its precious wealth of faith and hqpe and love, there rose a bursit of grief as profound as it was sincere. And in time, when the grass had grown green over her grave, when greater dead would have been forgotten, she was still remembered and regretted, in virtue of her truUh and tenderness, the holiness of her blameleiss life and patient dying.—' Aye Maria.'

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