Читать книгу The Daughter of a Soldier: A Colleen of South Ireland онлайн

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The two trustees certainly did manage to meet Mr. O'Brien. He took a circuitous drive to Moresland in order to avoid the steepest of the hills; thus he had to pass through the World's End. The smell of the drying fish was very distinct, and Dominic found himself sniffing somewhat disdainfully, whereupon his father said, "Why now, my brave avick, whatever are you turning up your nose for?"

"I'm sorry, pater; but I must say it's a nasty smell," said the boy. "The place looks so terribly dirty, and all those fish hanging out to dry give me an uncomfortable feeling."

"Ah, laddie, it's plain to be seen, you don't know your Ireland as you ought. Now, listen. I can tell you a hit of a yarn. It's as true as you are sitting by my side. There was a farmer man, O'Donovan by name, who owned a biteen of land, no bigger than a quarter of an acre, just beyond the Beyonds, and he took it into his numbskull, after making his fortune by that fish that you despise, to visit London town and see the world. He was taken ill there, and not all the sights of great London could cure him—not the King's Palace, nor the Crystal Palace, nor the two great cathedrals (Westminster and St. Paul's), nor the Picture Galleries. He looked at them all, forsooth, but not a word did he utter, and he grew weaker and weaker until at last he wouldn't go out at all, and he lay on his bed moaning just piteous to hear. Well, avick, what do you think? He had made his home with a sister of his who was accustomed to the place, and she had a family of children and a husband, and she was shrewd enough to guess what ailed him, and she also knew what would cure him, so she sent very privately to her brother, who was still curing fish at the World's End, and one morning what should arrive but a little parcel by post. It was packed up very shabby, and the postman didn't seem to think much of it; but she sprang on it, and told the postman to be off and about his business, for she had got something that would cure her brother. She opened the parcel just under the sick man's nose. He was nearly gone by then, but when he smelt the fish—the dear little bit of dried fish, which the shabby little parcel contained, he raised himself upright in bed and cried aloud with a great strong voice, 'My native air, my native air,' and he hugged the fish to him and kept sniffing and sniffing; and the sister, being a knowing body, packed him back to his native air, and he's as well as ever now. Why, talk of angels, O'Donovan, there you are yourself. The blessings of the morning on you; and how are you finding yourself this beautiful day?"