The Widow OCallaghans Boys | Page 9

was very tired. So she agreed to try him.
"And when will you have him come?" asked Mrs. O'Callaghan. There
was no doubt expressed on the mother's face; no fear lest her son might
not be able to please.
"At eight," responded Mrs. Brady. "I cannot be ready for him sooner."
"Then together we'll be there, you may depind."
And Mrs. Brady, on the whole dissatisfied, went on her way. "If that
boy--Pat, I think she called him--can do housework satisfactorily, he's
the only boy that I've heard of here that can," she thought.
The next morning when the two presented themselves, Mrs. Brady,
after showing Mrs. O'Callaghan where to leave her wraps, led the way
at once to her bedroom. "Perhaps you will just make my bed for me
before you go, Mrs. O'Callaghan," she insinuated. "It has been properly
aired and is ready."
"Oh, Pat will make it for you, ma'am," was the answer, and again Mrs.
Brady yielded.
"Now, Pat, on with your blouse."
The two women waited while Pat untied the bundle he carried and put

on a clean cotton blouse.
"'Twas his father's blouse, ma'am. A bit loose now, but he'll grow to it.
He's very loike his father."
Mrs. Brady looked at the tall, slender boy wearing his father's blouse
and his mother's apron, with an old straw hat on his head for a dust
protector, and then at the mother watching his every movement with
loving eyes, and only anxious that he might give satisfaction. And all
sense of incongruity vanished from her mind.
"Now, Pat, show the lady what you can do." And Pat obeyed as if he
were five instead of fifteen. The dead father had trained his sons from
their babyhood to yield implicit obedience to their mother. Deftly he set
to work. He turned the mattress; he smoothed and tucked in each sheet
and cover as he put it on; he beat up the pillows, and within ten minutes
the bed was perfectly made. There was no need for Mrs. Brady to speak.
She showed her surprise and delight in her face.
"I was thinkin' Pat could suit you, ma'am," smiled the mother. "And
now, if you've more beds, maybe Pat had better make 'em before the
dust of the swapin' is on him."
"I have no more this morning," responded Mrs. Brady courteously.
[Illustration: "Mrs. Brady looked at the tall, slender boy."]
"Then, Pat, there's the broom." Then she turned to Mrs. Brady. "Now,
ma'am, what's your ideas about swapin'? There's them that says, 'Swape
aisy and not be gettin' the wools off the carpet.' But them wools don't
many of 'em come off the carpet. There's a plinty of 'em comes on bare
floors that ain't swept regular. I says, 'A vigorous swapin' and no light
brushin' except by a lady loike yoursilf as hasn't got strength.'"
"Those are my ideas, too," said Mrs. Brady as with an air of satisfaction
she began to spread the dust covers over her bed.
All day Pat swept and dusted and wiped paint and window panes, and

at night he went home with seventy-five cents in his pocket.
The widow was getting supper, but she worked mechanically, for her
heart was in her ears, and they were listening for Pat's step. The
brothers, stowed here and there in chinks between the pieces of
furniture, watched with eager eyes their mother's movements, and
sniffed the savory odors that escaped from a perfectly clean saucepan in
capable hands. But no boy lounged on the bed, nor even leaned against
it, and no one sat in the father's chair. To sit there meant special honor
at the hands of the family.
"And it's Pat will sit in the rocking-chair and rest himsilf this avenin',"
cried Mrs. O'Callaghan, returning to her cooking from a brief trip to the
door. "It's Pat'll be bringin' home money the night; honest money that
he's earned."
The little boys appeared impressed, and on Mike's face came a look of
determination that led his mother to say, "All in good toime, Moike.
You're as willin' as Pat any day. I know that. And the way you look
after the little b'ys, your father himsilf couldn't do better."
And then Pat came stepping in.
"Did she praise you, Pat?" cried the little woman as she dished up the
supper. She was hungry for appreciation of her boy.
"She did that. She said, 'Patrick, you're elegant help, and will you come
again next Saturday?"
"And what did you tell her?"
"I told her I would, and let that Jim Barrows keep a civil tongue in his
head when he hears of it, or I'll be teaching him another lesson. He'll
not be throwin' it up to me that it's girl's work I'm doin'