The Madigans | Page 5

into a maddening din of song, excited by the rival clatter of young Madigans dining.
Protected by this shrill symphony from the sound of his daughters' voices, Madigan fed his dog, his cat, and his favorite canary, and with his head upon one hand, in token of his abiding disgust with the human, daughterful world, ate quickly with the other.
This pose was the signal that freed the feminine Madigan tongue. Usually they all broke into conversation at once; but on this evening there seemed to be some agreement which held them mute till Irene spoke.
"I am glad to see you be so patient with papa, Sissy," she said gently.
His third daughter glanced apprehensively at Madigan. But her father had retired within his shell, and nothing but a cataclysm could reach him there.
"Why--" she said, puzzled, "why--I--"
"Promise me that you'll try to stand him," urged Split, joyously.
"And that you'll help me control my temper, and not mock and aggravate me when I sulk," chanted Kate.
Sissy dropped her knife and fork, and her hands flew to her bosom, not in wrath, but in terror. The crackling testament was gone!
"Split! You--"
"Try to bear with me, won't you, Sis, even if I am a devil?" grinned Split.
"And set us a good example, Sissy," piped the twins.
Sissy gasped.
"Be a yittle muvver to Fwank," lisped the baby, prompted by a big sister.
"And don't steal candy out of my pocket, will you, Cecilia Morgan?" begged her oldest sister.
"And--"
Sissy sprang into the air, as though lifted bodily by the taunts of these ungrateful beneficiaries of her good intentions.
"Sit down, you ox!" came in thundering tones from the head of the table.
When one was called an ox among the Madigans the culprit invariably subsided, however the epithet might tend to make her sisters rejoice. But Sissy had borne too much in that one day--always keeping in mind the perfect sanctity with which she had begun it.
With an inarticulate explanation that was at once a sob, a complaint, and a trembling defiance, she pushed back her chair and fled to her room. Here she sobbed in peace and plenty; sobbed till tears became a luxury to be produced by a conscious effort of the will. It had always been a grief to Sissy that she could never cry enough. Split, now, could weep vocally and by the hour, but all too soon for Sissy the wells of her own sorrow ran dry.
Yet tears had ever a chastening effect upon the third of the Madigans. In due time she rose, washed her face, and combed back her hair and braided it in a tight plait that stuck out at an aggressive angle on the side; unaided she could never get it to depend properly from the middle. This heightened the feeling of utter peacefulness, of remorse washed clean, besides putting her upon such a spiritual elevation as enabled her to meet her world with composure, though bitter experience told her how long a joke lasted among the Madigans.
She fell upon her knees at last beside her bed. No Madigan of this generation had been taught to pray, an aggressive skepticism--the tangent of excessive youthful religiosity--having made the girls' father an outspoken foe to religious exercise. But to Sissy's emotional, self-conscious soul the necessity for worded prayer came quick now and imperative.
"O Lord," she pleaded aloud, "help me to keep 'em all--even Number 10--in spite of Split and the devil. Help--"
She heard the door open behind her.
[Illustration: "The Rest of the Madigans"]
With a bound she was in bed, fully dressed as she was; and pulling the covers tight up to her neck, she waited, to all intents and purposes fast asleep.
"You little fool!" said Madigan, with a hint of laughter in his heavy voice and laying a not ungentle hand on her blazing cheeks. "D' ye think I care if you want to kneel and kotow like other idiots? If you're that kind--and I suppose you are, being a woman--pray and be--blessed!"
It was the nearest thing to a paternal benediction that had ever come to Sissy, but she was too wary a small actress to be moved by it out of her r?le. Nor did her father wait to note the effect of his words. His heavy step passed on and out of her room into his own, and the door slammed between them.
In a moment Sissy was up; in another moment she had torn off her clothes, blown out her candle, and jumped back into bed. She was almost asleep when the twins came in, but she feigned the deepest of slumbers when Bessie pushed a crackling piece of paper under her pillow, though her fingers closed greedily about it as soon as the room was quiet again.
She knew what it was--her precious compact with herself, that loyal little Bep had recaptured