Everything in the
house was clean; the floor swept; the ashes removed from the hearth;
the parents in their best clothes, and the daughter also in her holiday
apparel. She was a plain girl, neither remarkable for beauty, nor
otherwise. Her eyes, however, were good, so were her teeth, and an
anxious look, produced of course by an occasion so interesting to
a female, heightened her complexion to a blush that became her. The
creature had certainly made the most of her little finery. Her face
shone like that of a child after a fresh scrubbing with a strong towel;
her hair, carefully curled with the hot blade of a knife, had been
smoothed with soap until it became lustrous by repeated polishing, and
her best red ribbon was tied tightly about it in a smart knot, that
stood out on the side of her head with something of a coquettish air.
Old Donovan and his wife maintained a conversation upon some indifferent
subject, but the daughter evidently paid little attention to what they
said. It being near the hour appointed for Phelim's arrival, she sat
with an appearance of watchful trepidation, occasionally listening, and
starting at every sound that she thought bore any resemblance to a man's
voice or footstep.
At length the approach of Phelim and his father was announced by a verse
of a popular song, for singing which Phelim was famous;--
"A sailor coorted a farmer's daughter
That lived contagious to the Isle of Man,
A long time coortin', an' still discoorsin'
Of things consarnin' the ocean wide;
At linth he saize, 'My own dearest darlint,
Will you consint for to be my bride?'"
"An' so she did consint, the darlin', but what the puck would she do
else? God save the family! Paddy Donovan, how is your health? Molly,
avourneen, I'm glad to hear that you're thrivin'.
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