Part 36 (2/2)
”It is a hard case; but the truth is, I see nothing that can be done for the Daltons. To talk of putting a family, in such a state as they are now in, back again, upon such a farm, is stark nonsense--without stock or capital of any kind--the thing is ridiculous.”
”But suppose they had stock and capital?”
”Why, then, they certainly would have the best right to the farm--but where's the use of talking about stock or capital, so far as they are concerned?”
”I wish your honor would interfere for an oppressed and ill-treated family, against as great a rogue, by all accounts, as ever broke bread--I wish you would make me first sure that they'd get their farm.”
”To what purpose, I say?”
”Why, sir, for a raison I have. If your honor will make me sure that they'll get their land again, that's all I want.”'
”What is your reason? Have you capital, and are you willing to a.s.sist them?”
The pedlar shook his head. ”Is it the likes o' me, your honor? No, but maybe it might be made up for them some way.”
”I believe,” said the agent, ”that your intentions are good; only that they are altogether impracticable. However, a thought strikes me. Go to d.i.c.k o' the Grange, and lay your case before him. Ask a new lease for your friends, the Daltons--of course he won't give it; but at all events, come back to me, and let me know, as nearly in his own words as you can, what answer he will give you; go now, that is all that I can do for you in the matter.”
”Barrin' this, your honor, that set in case the poor heart-broken Daltons wor to get capital some way.”
”Perhaps,” said Travers, interrupting him, ”you can a.s.sist them.”
”Oh, if I could!--no, but that set in case, as I said, that it was to be forthcomin', you persave. Me!--oh, the Lord that _I was_ able!”
”Very well,” replied the other, anxious to rid himself of the pedlar, ”that will do, now. You are, I perceive, one of those good-natured, speculating creatures, who are anxious to give hope and comfort to every one. The world has many like you; and it often happens, that when some good fortune does throw the means of doing good into your power, you turn out to be a poor, pitiful, miserable crew, without actual heart or feeling. Goodbye, now. I have no more time to spare--try d.i.c.k o' the Grange himself, and let me know his answer.”
So saying, he rang the bell, and our friend the pedlar, by no means satisfied with the success of his interview, took his leave.
CHAPTER XXIII. -- Darby in Danger--Nature Triumphs.
The mild and gentle Mave Sullivan, with all her natural grace and un.o.btrusive modesty, was yet like many of the fair daughters of her country, possessed of qualities which frequently lie dormant in the heart until some trying calamity or startling event of more than ordinary importance, awakens them into life and action. Indeed, any one in the habit of observing the world, may have occasionally noticed, that even within the range of his own acquaintances, there has been many a quiet and apparently diffident girl, without pretence or affectation of any kind, who when some unexpected and stunning blow has fallen either upon herself or upon some one within the circle of her affections, has manifested a spirit so resolute or a devotion so heroic, that she has at once const.i.tuted herself the lofty example whom all admire and endeavor to follow. The unrecorded calamities of ordinary life, and the annals of human affection, as they occur from day to day around us, are full of such n.o.ble instances of courage and self sacrifice on the part of woman for the sake of those who are dear to her. Dear, holy, and heroic woman!
how frequently do we who too often sneer at your harmless vanities and foibles, forget the light by which your love so often dispels the darkness of our affliction, and the tenderness with which your delicious sympathy charms our sorrows and our sufferings to rest, when nothing else can succeed in giving us one moment's consolation!
The situation of the Daltons, together with the awful blow which fell upon them at a period of such unexampled misery, had now become the melancholy topic of conversation among their neighbors, most, if not all, of whom were, however, so painfully absorbed in their own individual afflictions either of death, or famine, or illness, as to be able to render them no a.s.sistance. Such as had typhus in their own families were incapable of attending to the wants or distress of others, and such as had not, acting under the general terror of contagion which prevailed, avoided the sick houses as they would a plague.
On the morning after old Dalton's removal to prison, Jerry Sullivan and his family were all a.s.sembled around a dull fire, the day being, as usual, so wet that it was impossible to go out unless upon some matter of unusual importance; there was little said, for although they had hitherto escaped the fever, still their sufferings and struggles were such as banished cheerfulness from among them. Mave appeared more pale and dejected than they had ever yet seen her, and it was noticed by one or two of the family, that she had been occasionally weeping in some remote corner of the house where she thought she might do so without being observed.
”Mave, dear,” said her father, ”what is the matter wid you? You look, darlin', to be in very low spirits to-day. Were you cryin'?”
She raised her large innocent eyes upon him, and they instantly filled with tears.
”I can't keep it back from you, father,” she replied, ”let me do as I will--an' oh, father dear, when we look out upon the world that is in it, an' when we see how the hand o' G.o.d is takin' away so many from among us, and when we see how the people everywhere is sufferin' and strugglin' wid so much--how one is here this day, and in a week to come in the presence of their Judge! Oh, surely, when we see all the doin's of death and distress about us, we ought to think that it's no time to harbor hatred or any other bad or unchristian feelin's in our hearts!”
”It is not, indeed, darlin'; an' I hope n.o.body here does.”
”No,” she replied; and as she spoke, the vibrations of sorrow and of sympathy shook her naturally sweet voice into that tender expression which touches the heart of the hearer with such singular power--”no, father,” she proceeded, ”I hope not; religion teaches us a different lesson--not only to forgive our enemies, but to return good for evil.”
”It does, _achora machree_,” replied her father, whose eyes expressed a kind of melancholy pride, as he contemplated his beautiful but sorrowful looking girl, giving utterance to truths which added an impressive and elevated character to her beauty.
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