Phelim Otoole's Courtship and Other Stories Part 7

"Why, from the youthful sprig that fell in love wid me. Sure we're to be 'called' in the Chapel on Sunday next."

"Why thin now, Phelim! An' who is the young crathur? for in throth she must be young to go to give the money beforehand!"

"Murdher!" exclaimed Phelim, "what's this for! Was ever any one done as I am? Who is she! Why she's--oh, murdher, oh!--she's no other than--hem--divil a one else than Father O'Hara's housekeeper, ould Biddy Doran!"

The mirth of the old couple was excessive. The father laughed till he fell off his stool, and the mother till the tears ran down her cheeks.

"Death alive; ould man! but you're very merry," said Phelim. "If you wor my age, an' in such an' amplush, you'd laugh on the wrong side o' your mouth. Maybe you'll tarn your tune when you hear that she has a hundhre and twenty guineas."

"An' you'll be rich, too," said the father. "The sprig an' you will be rich!--ha, ha, ha!"

"An' the family they'll have!" said the mother, in convulsions.

"Why, in regard o' that," said Phelim, rather nettled, "if all fails us, sure we can do as my father and you did: kiss the Lucky Stone, an' make a Station."

"Phelim, aroon," said the mother, seriously, "put it out o' your head.

Sure you wouldn't go to bring me a daughter-in-law oulder nor myself?"

"I'd as soon go over," (* be transported) said Phelim; "or swing itself, before I'd marry sich a piece o' desate. Hard feelin' to her! how she did me to my face!"

Phelim then entered into a long-visaged detail of the scene at Father O'Hara's, dwelling bitterly on the alacrity with which the old housekeeper ensnared him in his own mesh.

"However," he concluded, "she'd be a sharp one if she'd do me altogether. We're not married yet; an' I've a consate of my own, that she's done for the ten guineas, any how!"

A family council was immediately held upon Phelim's matrimonial prospects. On coming close to the speculation of Miss Patterson, it was somehow voted, notwithstanding Phelim's powers of attraction, to be rather a discouraging one. Gracey Dalton was also given up. The matter was now serious, the time short, and Phelim's bounces touching his own fascinations with the s.e.x in general, were considerably abated. It was therefore resolved that he ought to avail himself of Sam Appleton's clothes, until his own could be made. Sam, he said, would not press him for them immediately, inasmuch as he was under obligations to Phelim's silence upon some midnight excursions that he had made.

"Not," added Phelim, "but I'm as much, an' maybe more in his power, than he is in mine."

When breakfast was over, Phelim and the father, after having determined to "drink a bottle" that night in the family of an humble young woman, named Donovan, who, they all agreed, would make an excellent wife for him, rested upon their oars until evening. In the meantime, Phelim sauntered about the village, as he was in the habit of doing, whilst the father kept the day as a holiday. We have never told our readers that Phelim was in love, because in fact we know not whether he was or not.

Be this as it may, we simply inform them, that in a little shed in the lower end of the village, lived a person with whom Phelim was very intimate, called Foodie Flattery. He was, indeed, a man after Phelim's own heart, and Phelim was a boy after his. He maintained himself by riding country races; by handing, breeding, and feeding c.o.c.ks; by fis.h.i.+ng, poaching, and serving processes; and finally, by his knowledge as a cow-doctor and farrier--into the two last of which he had given Phelim some insight. We say the two last, for in most of the other accomplishments Phelim was fully his equal. Phelim frequently envied him his life. It was an idle, amusing, vagabond kind of existence, just such a one as he felt a relish for. This man had a daughter, rather well-looking; and it so happened, that he and Phelim had frequently spent whole nights out together, no one knew on what employment. Into Flattery's house did Phelim saunter with something like an inclination to lay the events of the day before him, and to ask his advice upon his future prospects. On entering the cabin he was much surprised to find the daughter in a very melancholy mood; a circ.u.mstance which puzzled him not a little, as he knew that they lived very harmoniously together.

Sally had been very useful to her father; and, if fame did not belie her, was sometimes worthy Foodie's a.s.sistant in his nocturnal exploits.

She was certainly reputed to be "light-handed;" an imputation which caused the young men of her acquaintance to avoid, in their casual conversations with her, any allusion to matrimony.

"Sally, achora," said Phelim, when he saw her in distress, "what's the fun? Where's your father?"

"Oh, Phelim," she replied, bursting into tears, "long runs the fox, but he's cotch at last. My father's in gaol."

Phelim's jaw dropped. "In gaol! _Chorp an diouol_, no!"

"It's thruth, Phelim. Curse upon this Whiteboy business, I wish it never had come into the counthry at all."

"Sally, I must see him; you know I must. But tell me how it happened?

Was it at home he was taken?"

"No; he was taken this mornin' in the market. I was wid him sellin' some chickens. What'll you and Sam Appleton do, Phelim?"

"Uz! Why, what danger is there to either Sim or me, you darlin'?"

"I'm sure, Phelim, I don't know; but he tould me, that if I was provided for, he'd be firm, an' take chance of his thrial. But, he says, poor man, that it 'ud break his heart to be thransported, lavin' me behind him wid' n.o.body to take care o' me.--He says, too, if anything 'ud make him stag, it's fear of the thrial goin' against himself; for, as he said to me, what 'ud become of you, Sally, if anything happened me?"

A fresh flood of tears followed this disclosure, and Phelim's face, which was certainly destined to undergo on that day many variations of aspect, became remarkably blank.

"Sally, you insinivator, I'll hould a thousand guineas you'd never guess what brought me here to-day?"

"Arrah, how could I, Phelim? To plan some thin' wid my fadher, maybe."

"No, but to plan somethin' wid yourself, you coaxin' jewel you. Now tell me this--Would you marry a certain gay, roguish, well-built young fellow, they call Bouncin' Phelim?"

"Phelim, don't be gettin' an wid your fun now, an' me in affliction.

Sure, I know well you wouldn't throw yourself away upon a poor girl like me, that has nothin' but a good pair of hands to live by."

"Be me sowl, an' you live by them. Well, but set in case--supposin'--that same Bouncin' Phelim was willing to make you mistress of the Half Acre, what 'ud you be sayin'?"

"Phelim, if a body thought you worn't jokin' them--ah, the d.i.c.kens go wid you, Phelim--this is more o' your thricks--but if it was thruth you wor spakin', Phelim?"

"It is thruth," said Phelim; "be the vestment, it's nothin' else. Now, say yes or no; for if it's a thing that it's to be a match, you must go an' tell him that I'll marry you, an' he must be as firm as a rock. But see, Sally, by thim five cra.s.ses it's not bekase your father's in I'm marryin' you at all. Sure I'm in love wid you, acushla! Divil a lie in it. Now, yes or no?"

"Well--throth--to be sure--the sorra one, Phelim, but you have quare ways wid you. Now are you downright in airnest?"

"Be the stool I'm sittin' on!"

"Well, in the name o' Goodness, I'll go to my father, an' let him know it. Poor man, it'll take the fear out of his heart. Now can he depind on you, Phelim?"

"Why, all I can say is, that we'll get ourselves called on Sunday next.

Let himself, sure, send some one to autorise the priest to call us.

An' now that's all settled, don't I desarve somethin'? Oh, be gorra, surely."

"Behave, Phelim--oh--oh--Phelim, now--there you've tuck it--och, the curse o' the crows on you, see the way you have my hair down! There now, you broke my comb, too. Troth, you're a wild slip, Phelim. I hope you won't be goin' on this way wid the girls, when you get married."

"Is it me you coaxer? No, faith, I'll wear a pair of winkers, for fraid o' lookin' at them at all! Oh be gorra, no, bally, I'll lave that to the great people. Sure, they say, the divil a differ they make at all."

"Go off now, Phelim, till I get ready, an' set out to my father. But, Phelim, never breathe a word about him bein' in goal. No one knows it but ourselves--that is, none o' the neighbors."

"I'll sing dumb," said Phelim. "Well, _binaght lath, a rogarah!_* Tell him the thruth--to be game, an' he'll find you an' me sweeled together whin he comes out, plase Goodness."

* My blessing be with you, you rogue!

Phelim was but a few minutes gone, when the old military cap of Fool Art projected from the little bed-room, which a wicker wall, plastered with mud, divided from the other part of the cabin.

"Is he gone?" said Art.

"You may come out, Art," said she, "he's gone."

"Ha!" said Art, triumphantly, "I often tould him, when he vexed me an'

pelted me wid snow-b.a.l.l.s, that I'd come along sides wid him yet. An'

it's not over aither. Fool Art can snore when he's not asleep, an' see wid his eyes shut. Wherroo for Art!"

"But, Art, maybe he intinds to marry the housekeeper afther all?"