The Widow OCallaghans Boys | Page 4

night; an' there's freight cars standin' about at all
toimes that you can look at, an' they've got iron ladders on the inds of
'em, but you must niver be goin' a-climbin' on top of thim cars."
At this announcement Andy and Jim looked interested, and the eyes of
Barney and Tommie fairly shone with excitement. The widow had
accomplished her object. Her boys were favorably inclined toward the
new home, and she slipped into her bedroom to shed in secret the tears
she could no longer restrain.

CHAPTER II
Sunday dawned cold and blustering--a sullen day that seemed hardly to
know which way was best to make itself disagreeable, and so tried
them all. The stock had been removed. There was no work outside for
the two oldest boys, no watching indoors by the hungry little brothers
for Pat and Mike to be through milking, and feeding, and pumping
water into the trough, so that they might all have breakfast together.
Yes, there had been a little work. The two horses which, with the
wagon, had been kindly lent them for their next day's moving were in
the barn. Mike had fed and watered them, Pat had combed them, and
both had petted them.
Many a time that day would Mrs. O'Callaghan slip out to stroke their
noses and pat their glossy necks and say in a choked voice, "Tim's
horses! Tim's horses! and we can't kape 'em!" And many a time that
day would she smooth the signs of grief from her face to go into the
house again with what cheer she could to her seven sons, who were
gathered listlessly about the kitchen stove. Many a time that day would
she tell herself stoutly, "I'll not give in! I'll not give in! I've to be brave
for eight, so I have. Brave for my b'ys, and brave for mesilf. And shall I
fret more than is good for Tim's horses whin I know it's to a kind
master they're goin', and he himsilf a helpin' us to-morrow with the

movin'? The Lord's will be done! There's thim that thinks the Lord has
no will for horses and such. And 'tis mesilf is thankful that I can't agree
with 'em."
Occasionally, as the morning passed, one of the boys stepped to the
window for a moment, for even to glance out at flying flakes and a
wintry landscape was a relief from the depression that had settled down
upon them all.
That was a neighborhood of churches. Seven or eight miles from any
town, it was remarkable to see three churches within half a mile of each
other. Small, plain buildings they were, but they represented the firm
convictions of the United Brethren, the United Presbyterians, and the
Methodists for many miles around. Now all these people, vary as they
might in church creeds, were united in a hearty admiration for plucky
little Mrs. O'Callaghan. They all knew, though the widow would not
own it, that destitution was at her door. The women feared that in
taking her boys to town she was taking them to their ruin, while the
men thought her course the only one, since a destitute woman can
hardly run a farm with only seven growing boys to help her. And for a
day or two there had been busy riding to and fro among the neighbors.
The snow fell fitfully, and the wind howled in gusts, but every farmer
hitched up and took his wife and children with him, and no family went
empty-handed. For every road to every church lay straight by the
widow's door. Short cuts there were to be used on general occasions,
but that morning there was but the one road. And so it fell out that by
ten o'clock there was a goodly procession of farm wagons, with here
and there a buggy, and presently the widow's fence was lined with
teams, and the men, women, and children were alighting and thronging
up the narrow path to Mrs. O'Callaghan's door. There was no
merriment, but there was a kindly look on every face that was beautiful
to see. And there were those between whom bitterness had been
growing that smiled upon each other to-day, as they jostled burdens on
the path; for every one carried something, even the children, who
stumbled by reason of their very importance.
The widow looked out and saw the full hands, and her heart sank. Was

she to be provided for by charity? She looked with her keen eyes into
the crowd of faces, and her heart went up into her throat. It was not
charity, but neighborliness and good will she read there.
"I'd be wan of 'em, if somebody else was me, may the Lord bless 'em,"
she said as she