Paddy-The-Next-Best-Thing. Gertrude Page
spontaneous before, seemed to have become an effort to both of them, and for some little time neither appeared to care to accept the invitations showered upon them as usual. Later on something of their old brightness came back, and they were once more the familiar figures everywhere that they had previously been. But though their joyousness came back, there was still an indefinable change and the suggestion of something hidden which none could solve, and to every one’s surprise each “would-be” suitor was sent resolutely away. Finally, it became evident that the Misses O’Hara meant to remain the Misses O’Hara to their dying day, and live at the Parsonage as long as it was possible—the dearest little pair of old maids that ever gave their fellow-creatures cause to bless the Guiding Hand, that gave some women to one home and one family, and reserved others to belong to every one about them.
“My dear,” they said to any of the myriad nieces who plied them with wondering questions why they had never married, and whether it was that they did not believe in matrimonial happiness, “there is no happiness in the world quite like that of a happy wife and mother, but it is not given to everyone to know it, and many come to a crossway in life, where they know they must mould their future without any hope of it. But for such, the Good Father has another happiness waiting, if they will take it and trust Him, and not repine because they might not choose. It is the happiness of a life filled with serving, and rich in the love of one’s fellow-creatures of every sex and age and station. Our lives are filled to overflowing with, this happiness, and we are content to believe that what is lost to a woman in this life will be made up to her an hundredfold in some other life beyond.”
“And then there is Jack!” one of them would add softly, and the other would reply with like softness, “Yes, sister, there is Jack.”
By which one can easily gather, how, when the poor little baby at the Parsonage was left motherless at ten months old, he at once became the fortunate possessor of two new mothers, who would have gone through fire and water rather than let a hair of his sunny curls be hurt.
“We must not spoil him, sister,” Jane, the elder, had said once, as they stood gazing rapturously at their new treasure.
“No, sister,” Mary had replied, “it is only unkind mothers who spoil children, and so unfit them for the rough usage of the world and rob them of many a good friend they might afterward have won.”
“That is exactly my view, sister; we will endeavour to act up to it, and yet make him as happy as the day is long.”
Nevertheless, a more spoilt boy than little Jack O’Hara it would have been difficult to find, and, if Nature had not blessed him particularly with a nature proof against spoiling, he would probably have grown up the reverse of the adored young scamp he was. But then, possibly, it was just this that caused his aunts to swerve so widely from their fixed principle, for it would have required a heart of cast-iron to withstand such a boy as he. All his naughtiness was pure love of mischief, and he was always so genuinely sorry and penitent afterward, and so forlornly unhappy when he was in disgrace, that he made every one else in the house feel miserable until he was forgiven. No sooner was he undergoing a term of punishment than Aunt Mary would ask Aunt Jane to forgive him this once, or the cook would “make so bold” as to plead with Miss Jane, or the gardener would “mention it respectfully to ’is riverence.”
“I think, perhaps, we might let him off just this time,” one of the aunts would say, anxiously looking at her sister, and the other would reply gravely, “Yes, just this time, perhaps, but we must not do it again.”
And if there happened to be anything he particularly wanted, much the same proceeding ensued.
“I’m afraid we mustn’t let him have it sister!” Miss Mary would say wistfully. “We mustn’t spoil him, must we?”
“No, sister, we mustn’t spoil him,” would be the reply with like wistfulness.
“Or, do you think, perhaps, just this once, sister?” half timidly.
“Well, perhaps, just this once,” with a show of reluctance, “only it mustn’t happen again, must it?”
“No, certainly not, sister, another time we will be firm for his good.”
And so it went on for twenty-four years, and always “another time” was reserved for firmness on Jack’s account, until “life” took the matter into her own hands, and threw an obstacle across his easy, flower-strewn path, that even his devoted aunts could not smooth away for him, and over which he must needs prove himself a man and fight his own battle. But of that anon.
“My dears, we have had some news!” began Miss Jane, “and we think you will be pleased, so we came across at once to tell you.”
“Yes,” murmured Miss Mary, nodding her small head gravely while her sister spoke, to show that the sentiment was equally hers, “we thought you would be pleased.”
By this time, Jack and Paddy were again seated on the table, swinging their feet, in front of the two little ladies who sat side by side on the sofa looking rather like two little Dutch dolls. Eileen had returned to her window seat, where she could keep one eye and one half of her mind on the mountains, and the other eye and the other half for more mundane reflections.
“News!” exclaimed Paddy, clasping her hands ecstatically. “Oh! scrumptious; I just love news!” while Eileen and Jack looked up expectantly.
“We have heard from Mrs. Blake this morning, and they are coming back to Mourne Lodge,” continued Miss Jane, while Miss Mary, looking very pleased, murmured “Yes, coming back.”
“Hurray!” cried Paddy, “Hurray! Hurray! Just think of the dances and picnics and things. Why don’t you say you’re glad, Jack—or do something to show it?”—and before he quite realised it, she had caught him by his coat and pulled him half round the room. Roused instantly, Jack proceeded to pick her up and deposit her in the corner behind the sofa, amid frantic struggles on his victim’s part and a general flutter of the two little ladies to protect anything breakable in their vicinity. This, indeed, they did, partly from force of habit, for it was a standing joke in their circle that whenever Paddy and Jack were in the room together, Miss Jane kept her eye on one half of the room and Miss Mary on the other, and at the first symptoms of one of their customary “rough and tumbles,” one little lady fluttered off collecting breakables from one side and standing guard over them, while the other little lady did likewise on the other side.
“It’s all right!” said Jack, seeing their alert attitude, “I was only teaching her not to take liberties with my coat. Did you ever see such a scarecrow?” looking with delighted relish at Paddy’s generally dishevelled appearance as she emerged from her corner. “You’d think she ought to make a fortune with a face like that as an artist’s model for a comic paper, wouldn’t you?”
“My dear, he’s very rude,” said little Miss Mary, patting the dishevelled one’s hand.
“Yes, aunt, but he can’t help it, and we have to be kind to people’s failings, haven’t we? It is something to be thankful for that you have been able to keep him out of an asylum so long, isn’t it?” and then she ducked hastily to escape a shower of missiles, and the two little ladies flew off once more to the breakables.
Order being again restored, however, the news was further discussed, and the three young people learnt with varying degrees of eagerness that Mrs. Blake intended both her girls to “come out” the next winter, and that Lawrence Blake, the only son, was going to remain at home for a time. This last piece of information contained in a measure the gist of the whole for the young people, but they each received it differently. Eileen turned her head, and with a slight flush in her cheeks gazed steadily across the Loch. Jack looked as near being annoyed as he felt at all warrantable, or as his insistently sunny face would permit, and Paddy, screwing an imaginary eyeglass into her eye, remarked in a drawl, “Remarkable! really remarkable! You are a credit to your charming sex.”
“In whatever capacity was that?” asked Jack, as if he marvelled.
“Never mind,”