At the moment it is quiet. Then I hear the
thud-thud of hoofs. Our boy comes riding by on a little rough mountain
pony. Terence Murphy is giving him his riding lesson. He sits in the
saddle as straight as his father, although he is little more than a
baby. He will have Anthony's straight, strenuous, clean look, like a
blade or a flame.
And there comes Anthony himself with little Bawn on his shoulder. Her
golden hair falls about his white head. There is not a grey hair in his
black moustache, nor in his fine, even, black eyebrows. They go on after
the pony. Presently they will come shouting for me. They are my world;
but I have room for affections outside.
Brosna is now what it was meant to be, a stately, beautiful, well-kept
house. We are rich: the treasure made us all rich; and that is a strange
thing enough in our country, where there is no money to spare among the
gentle-folk.
And talking of wealth reminds me of Richard Dawson.
It was the week before my marriage--that was Holy Week, and I was
married on the Easter Tuesday--when I received a letter from Mrs. Dawson
of Damerstown, asking me to come and see her. The letter accompanied a
gift so beautiful and costly that if I had liked her less I should have
been inclined to return it.
Pages:
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272