Our Little Irish Cousin Part 3

Mrs. O'Neil smiled her happiest smile. She loved to hear her country praised.

"Ah! Ireland was a great place once," she cried. "But times have changed, and many of the days have been sad ones since the rule of our own kings. Did ye ever hear tell of the famine?" she asked.

"Yes, indeed," said one of the gentlemen, as Mrs. O'Neil bustled about the table. "I shall never forget a story I read at the time. I was a little boy in school. It was about a family who were suffering terribly from the famine. Their supply of potatoes had come to an end and the new crop was killed by the blight. There was no money to pay the rent, and the poor little children with their parents were turned out of their home by the hard-hearted landlord.

"But at this dreadful moment, help came from a kind friend in America, and they were saved from further suffering."

When he had finished speaking, Mrs. O'Neil told of the suffering people who became homeless and starving, and who died before help reached them.

Norah crept close to her mother's side as she listened to the story. Her big blue eyes were full of tears.

This dreadful famine happened before Mrs. O'Neil was born, for Norah's grandmother was herself a child at the time.

The potato crop had been poor for several years, and many were the families who were obliged to beg from those who were a little better off than themselves. But at last there came a season when all the crops failed. It was the dreadful year of 1847, when the blight fell upon every part of Ireland.

Stop for a minute and think of the thousands of little children who lived almost entirely on potatoes up to this time. Some of them, it is true, had bread every day, and meat once or twice a week.

But there were many many homes where the only food of the family was potatoes. Then you can picture what happened when there were no more potatoes.

The smiles soon gave place to tears. The roses faded away from the cheeks. The bright eyes grew dull and heavy.

Poor little children of Ireland! Think what became of them when the last piece of furniture had been sold to buy bread!

Alas! many of them were soon without even shelter. For they were driven with their parents out of their small homes, because there was no possible way of paying the rent.

Then what? Fever and sickness travelled from place to place. Death followed in their pathway. There were many days of cruel suffering before the rest of the world waked up and sent help to the sick and the starving in Ireland.

America showed herself a kind friend in that sad time. It was some of the very food she sent to Ireland that saved the life of Norah's grandmother. She and her brothers were nearly starving when the help came. They lived on the seash.o.r.e and had been trying to keep themselves alive by eating seaweed and moss. Those were dreadful times, indeed.

Mrs. O'Neil stopped to pat Norah's head, which was in her ap.r.o.n. The child was crying softly.

"There, there, those hard days are over now, my child," said her mother, tenderly. "The sky is brighter for Ireland than it has been these many years. You must not let this fine lady see you cry. Enough water has fallen outside to-day without our adding to the shower."

[Ill.u.s.tration: NORAH'S HOME.]

Norah began to laugh, while she wiped away the tears with her mother's ap.r.o.n.

The visitors once more rose to go. At the same time one of the gentlemen stepped to Mrs. O'Neil's side and said in a low tone, "We would not think of offering pay for your kindness to us this afternoon, but it will give me a great deal of pleasure if you will take this and buy a little kid with it for Norah."

He pressed some money into the good woman's hands.

"But we have one goat now, as you must have seen," she said.

"Two goats will give the children twice as much milk as one," he answered, with a laugh. "And, besides, I want Norah to have the new goat for her very own."

Mrs. O'Neil could not refuse such a kind offer. "Thank ye entirely, and may Hiven send its blessing on ye all."

By this time the driver had brought the horse and the jaunting-car from the little shed, and the party drove off in the direction of Killarney.

CHAPTER III.

ST. PATRICK

"SURE and it's Father Tom himself," said Norah's mother. She was in the midst of the family was.h.i.+ng. Katie was rocking baby Patsy, and Norah was brus.h.i.+ng up the rough mud floor. Every one stopped work at once and ran out of the cabin, the mother wiping her hands on her ap.r.o.n, and Norah lifting Patsy and carrying him along in her strong young arms.

The whole village had by this time turned out into the lane and gathered around the kind fat priest, who had a smile for each and all.

There were old people hobbling along with the help of sticks, men who had stopped work for the sake of a blessing from the priest, mothers with babies in their arms, and children big and little.

It was a glad day when Father Tom came to the village to see how all were getting along. There were so few people that the village had no church of its own. They went four miles every Sunday to the nearest service. Almost every one had to walk, for there were only two or three donkeys and one or two rough carts in the whole place. A visit from the priest was a great honour, a very great honour. The children knelt in his pathway that he might lay his hands on them and bless them. The men took off their hats and bowed their heads low as he pa.s.sed by. The old women made as good curtsys as their stiff backs would let them.

Norah put little Patsy down on the ground, whispering, "Patsy, dear, touch the good man's robe with your little hands. It will make ye a better boy."

Father Tom must have heard the whisper. He turned around and placed his hands on the baby's curly head. Then he made a short prayer and blessed him.

"I will take a sup of tea with you, Mrs. O'Neil," he said to Norah's mother. "I am quite tired, for I have walked all the way from my home this morning."

Mrs. O'Neil was much pleased. She hurried home, while the priest and children followed her more slowly.

As she hung the kettle over the fire and set the table for the priest's lunch, he gathered the children around him and told them stories of St.

Patrick, the dearest of all saints to the Irish people.

It was a long, long time ago that the King of Ireland was holding a festival in the Hall of Tara.

"Put out all the fires," he had commanded his people. "Let no light be seen till a blaze bursts forth from the hill of Tara."

Not one of his subjects would have dared to disobey the king's command.

You may judge, therefore, how surprised he was when he looked out into the darkness and saw a light. It grew stronger and stronger every moment. A great fire was blazing near by on the top of a hill!

Who could have dared to disobey the king? What was the meaning of the fire? The Druid priest for whom the king sent in haste said:

"O king, if that fire is not put out to-night, it will never die in this country."

Now it happened that the festival which the king and his people were celebrating was held on the night before Easter Sunday. Few people of Erin had at that time heard of Easter Sunday. They knew nothing of the life of the Christ Child. They were Druids, and had a strange belief of their own.

Their chief priests dwelt in the dark forests of oak-trees, and taught their followers to wors.h.i.+p fire as the symbol of the sun.

But a new teacher had come into their country. He had a message to the people. He wished to tell them of the Christian religion and of Jesus, who had lived and suffered and died to help all mankind.

The name of the new teacher was Patrick, and Scotland was his early home. When he was sixteen years old, he was surprised by a band of robbers. They made him their prisoner and took him with them to Ireland.

After he had been with them six months, he managed to get free and went back to Scotland.

But he was carried off a second time, and again he escaped. After he reached his own home once more, he said to himself, "I should like to help the people of Ireland. I should like to tell them of Jesus and his religion."