Penelopes Irish Experiences | Page 9

Sure it's nayther bite nor
sup she's had the morn, and belike she's as impty as a quarry-hole."
When this last expression from the mother of the long weak family fell
upon Salemina's cultured ears she looked desperate.

We could not leave a fellow-countrywoman, least of all could Salemina
forsake a fellow-citizen, in such a hapless plight.
"Take one cab with Francesca and the luggage, Penelope," she
whispered. "I will bring the girl with me, put her to bed, find her
friends, and see that she starts on her journey safely; it's very awkward,
but there's nothing else to be done."
So we departed in a chorus of popular approval.
"Sure it's you that have the good hearts!"
"May the heavens be your bed!"
"May the journey thrive wid her, the crathur!"
Francesca and I arrived first at the hotel where our rooms were already
engaged, and there proved to be a comfortable little dressing, or maid's,
room just off Salemina's.
Here the Derelict was presently ensconced, and there she lay, in a sort
of profound exhaustion, all day, without once absolutely regaining her
consciousness. Instead of visiting the National Gallery as I had
intended, I returned to the dock to see if I could find the girl's luggage,
or get any further information from the stewardess before she left
Dublin.
"I'll send the doctor at once, but we must learn all possible particulars
now," I said maliciously to poor Salemina. "It would be so awkward,
you know, if you should be arrested for abduction."
The doctor thought it was probably nothing more than the complete
prostration that might follow eight days of sea-sickness, but the
patient's heart was certainly a little weak, and she needed the utmost
quiet. His fee was a guinea for the first visit, and he would drop in
again in the course of the afternoon to relieve our anxiety. We took
turns in watching by her bedside, but the two unemployed ones
lingered forlornly near, and had no heart for sightseeing. Francesca did,

however, purchase opera tickets for the evening, and secretly engaged
the housemaid to act as head nurse in our absence.
As we were dining at seven, we heard a faint voice in the little room
beyond. Salemina left her dinner and went in to find her charge slightly
better. We had been able thus far only to take off her dress, shoes, and
such garments as made her uncomfortable; Salemina now managed to
slip on a nightdress and put her under the bedcovers, returning then to
her cold mutton cutlet.
"She's an extraordinary person," she said, absently playing with her
knife and fork. "She didn't ask me where she was, or show any interest
in her surroundings; perhaps she is still too weak. She said she was
better, and when I had made her ready for bed, she whispered, 'I've got
to say my prayers'.
"'Say them by all means,' I replied.
"'But I must get up and kneel down, she said.
"I told her she must do nothing of the sort; that she was far too ill.
"'But I must,' she urged. 'I never go to bed without saying my prayers
on my knees.'
"I forbade her doing it; she closed her eyes, and I came away. Isn't she
quaint?"
At this juncture we heard the thud of a soft falling body, and rushing in
we found that the Derelict had crept from her bed to her knees, and had
probably not prayed more than two minutes before she fainted for the
fifth or sixth time in twenty-four hours. Salemina was vexed, angel and
philanthropist though she is. Francesca and I were so helpless with
laughter that we could hardly lift the too conscientious maiden into bed.
The situation may have been pathetic; to the truly pious mind it would
indeed have been indescribably touching, but for the moment the
humorous side of it was too much for our self-control. Salemina, in
rushing for stimulants and smelling salts, broke her only comfortable

eyeglasses, and this accident, coupled with her other anxieties and
responsibilities, caused her to shed tears, an occurrence so
unprecedented that Francesca and I kissed and comforted her and
tucked her up on the sofa. Then we sent for the doctor, gave our opera
tickets to the head waiter and chambermaid, and settled down to a
cheerful home evening, our first in Ireland.
"If Himself were here, we should not be in this plight," I sighed.
"I don't know how you can say that," responded Salemina, with
considerable spirit. "You know perfectly well that if your husband had
found a mother and seven children helpless and deserted on that dock,
he would have brought them all to this hotel, and then tried to find the
father and grandfather."
"And it's not Salemina's