酷兔英语

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did more than one of them.



"Dah's a ball to Miss Potts' to-night. Ye'd best come."

"Inteet, Deb, if hur'll come, hur'll hef fun," said a shrill



Welsh voice in the crowd.

Two or three dirty hands were thrust out to catch the gown of



the woman, who was groping for the latch of the door.

"No."



"No? Where's Kit Small, then?"

"Begorra! on the spools. Alleys behint, though we helped her,



we dud. An wid ye! Let Deb alone! It's ondacent frettin' a

quite body. Be the powers, an we'll have a night of it!



there'll be lashin's o' drink,--the Vargent be blessed and

praised for't!"



They went on, the mulatto inclining for a moment to show fight,

and drag the woman Wolfe off with them; but, being pacified, she



staggered away.

Deborah groped her way into the cellar, and, after considerable



stumbling, kindled a match, and lighted a tallow dip, that sent

a yellow glimmer over the room. It was low, damp,--the earthen



floor covered with a green, slimy moss,--a fetid air smothering

the breath. Old Wolfe lay asleep on a heap of straw, wrapped in



a torn horse-blanket. He was a pale, meek little man, with a

white face and red rabbit-eyes. The woman Deborah was like him;



only her face was even more ghastly, her lips bluer, her eyes

more watery. She wore a faded cotton gown and a slouching



bonnet. When she walked, one could see that she was deformed,

almost a hunchback. She trod softly, so as not to waken him,



and went through into the room beyond. There she found by the

half-extinguished fire an iron saucepan filled with cold boiled



potatoes, which she put upon a broken chair with a pint-cup of

ale. Placing the old candlestick beside this daintyrepast, she



untied her bonnet, which hung limp and wet over her face, and

prepared to eat her supper. It was the first food that had



touched her lips since morning. There was enough of it,

however: there is not always. She was hungry,--one could see



that easily enough,--and not drunk, as most of her companions

would have been found at this hour. She did not drink, this



woman,--her face told that, too,--nothing stronger than ale.

Perhaps the weak, flaccid wretch had some stimulant in her pale



life to keep her up,--some love or hope, it might be, or urgent

need. When that stimulant was gone, she would take to whiskey.



Man cannot live by work alone. While she was skinning the

potatoes, and munching them, a noise behind her made her stop.



"Janey!" she called, lifting the candle and peering into the

darkness. "Janey, are you there?"



A heap of ragged coats was heaved up, and the face of a

young,girl emerged, staring sleepily at the woman.



"Deborah," she said, at last, "I'm here the night."

"Yes, child. Hur's welcome," she said, quietly eating on.



The girl's face was haggard and sickly; her eyes were heavy with

sleep and hunger: real Milesian eyes they were, dark, delicate



blue, glooming out from black shadows with a pitiful fright.

"I was alone," she said, timidly.



"Where's the father?" asked Deborah, holding out a potato,

which the girl greedily seized.



"He's beyant,--wid Haley,--in the stone house." (Did you ever

hear the word tail from an Irish mouth?) "I came here. Hugh



told me never to stay me-lone."

"Hugh?"



"Yes."

A vexed frown crossed her face. The girl saw it, and added



quickly,--

"I have not seen Hugh the day, Deb. The old man says his watch



lasts till the mornin'."

The woman sprang up, and hastily began to arrange some bread and



flitch in a tin pail, and to pour her own measure of ale into a

bottle. Tying on her bonnet, she blew out the candle.



"Lay ye down, Janey dear," she said, gently, covering her with

the old rags. "Hur can eat the potatoes, if hur's hungry.



"Where are ye goin', Deb? The rain's sharp."

"To the mill, with Hugh's supper."



"Let him bide till th' morn. Sit ye down."

"No, no,"--sharply pushing her off. "The boy'll starve."






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