The matron had given her leave to go out as soon as the women’s tea was

over and Maria looked forward to her evening out. The kitchen was spick

and span: the cook said you could see yourself in the big copper

boilers. The fire was nice and bright and on one of the side-tables

were four very big barmbracks. These barmbracks seemed uncut; but if

you went closer you would see that they had been cut into long thick

even slices and were ready to be handed round at tea. Maria had cut

them herself.

Maria was a very, very small person indeed but she had a very long nose

and a very long chin. She talked a little through her nose, always

soothingly: _“Yes, my dear,”_ and _“No, my dear.”_ She was always sent

for when the women quarrelled over their tubs and always succeeded in

making peace. One day the matron had said to her:

“Maria, you are a veritable peace-maker!”

And the sub-matron and two of the Board ladies had heard the

compliment. And Ginger Mooney was always saying what she wouldn’t do to

the dummy who had charge of the irons if it wasn’t for Maria. Everyone

was so fond of Maria.

The women would have their tea at six o’clock and she would be able to

get away before seven. From Ballsbridge to the Pillar, twenty minutes;

from the Pillar to Drumcondra, twenty minutes; and twenty minutes to

buy the things. She would be there before eight. She took out her purse

with the silver clasps and read again the words _A Present from

Belfast_. She was very fond of that purse because Joe had brought it to

her five years before when he and Alphy had gone to Belfast on a

Whit-Monday trip. In the purse were two half-crowns and some coppers.

She would have five shillings clear after paying tram fare. What a nice

evening they would have, all the children singing! Only she hoped that

Joe wouldn’t come in drunk. He was so different when he took any drink.

Often he had wanted her to go and live with them; but she would have

felt herself in the way (though Joe’s wife was ever so nice with her)

and she had become accustomed to the life of the laundry. Joe was a

good fellow. She had nursed him and Alphy too; and Joe used often say:

“Mamma is mamma but Maria is my proper mother.”

After the break-up at home the boys had got her that position in the

_Dublin by Lamplight_ laundry, and she liked it. She used to have such

a bad opinion of Protestants but now she thought they were very nice

people, a little quiet and serious, but still very nice people to live

with. Then she had her plants in the conservatory and she liked looking

after them. She had lovely ferns and wax-plants and, whenever anyone

came to visit her, she always gave the visitor one or two slips from

her conservatory. There was one thing she didn’t like and that was the

tracts on the walks; but the matron was such a nice person to deal

with, so genteel.

When the cook told her everything was ready she went into the women’s

room and began to pull the big bell. In a few minutes the women began

to come in by twos and threes, wiping their steaming hands in their

petticoats and pulling down the sleeves of their blouses over their red

steaming arms. They settled down before their huge mugs which the cook

and the dummy filled up with hot tea, already mixed with milk and sugar

in huge tin cans. Maria superintended the distribution of the barmbrack

and saw that every woman got her four slices. There was a great deal of

laughing and joking during the meal. Lizzie Fleming said Maria was sure

to get the ring and, though Fleming had said that for so many Hallow

Eves, Maria had to laugh and say she didn’t want any ring or man

either; and when she laughed her grey-green eyes sparkled with

disappointed shyness and the tip of her nose nearly met the tip of her

chin. Then Ginger Mooney lifted up her mug of tea and proposed Maria’s

health while all the other women clattered with their mugs on the

table, and said she was sorry she hadn’t a sup of porter to drink it

in. And Maria laughed again till the tip of her nose nearly met the tip

of her chin and till her minute body nearly shook itself asunder

because she knew that Mooney meant well though, of course, she had the

notions of a common woman.

But wasn’t Maria glad when the women had finished their tea and the

cook and the dummy had begun to clear away the tea-things! She went

into her little bedroom and, remembering that the next morning was a

mass morning, changed the hand of the alarm from seven to six. Then she

took off her working skirt and her house-boots and laid her best skirt

out on the bed and her tiny dress-boots beside the foot of the bed. She

changed her blouse too and, as she stood before the mirror, she thought

of how she used to dress for mass on Sunday morning when she was a

young girl; and she looked with quaint affection at the diminutive body

which she had so often adorned. In spite of its years she found it a

nice tidy little body.

When she got outside the streets were shining with rain and she was

glad of her old brown waterproof. The tram was full and she had to sit

on the little stool at the end of the car, facing all the people, with

her toes barely touching the floor. She arranged in her mind all she

was going to do and thought how much better it was to be independent

and to have your own money in your pocket. She hoped they would have a

nice evening. She was sure they would but she could not help thinking

what a pity it was Alphy and Joe were not speaking. They were always

falling out now but when they were boys together they used to be the

best of friends: but such was life.

She got out of her tram at the Pillar and ferreted her way quickly

among the crowds. She went into Downes’s cake-shop but the shop was so

full of people that it was a long time before she could get herself

attended to. She bought a dozen of mixed penny cakes, and at last came

out of the shop laden with a big bag. Then she thought what else would

she buy: she wanted to buy something really nice. They would be sure to

have plenty of apples and nuts. It was hard to know what to buy and all

she could think of was cake. She decided to buy some plumcake but

Downes’s plumcake had not enough almond icing on top of it so she went

over to a shop in Henry Street. Here she was a long time in suiting

herself and the stylish young lady behind the counter, who was

evidently a little annoyed by her, asked her was it wedding-cake she

wanted to buy. That made Maria blush and smile at the young lady; but

the young lady took it all very seriously and finally cut a thick slice

of plumcake, parcelled it up and said:

“Two-and-four, please.”

She thought she would have to stand in the Drumcondra tram because none

of the young men seemed to notice her but an elderly gentleman made

room for her. He was a stout gentleman and he wore a brown hard hat; he

had a square red face and a greyish moustache. Maria thought he was a

colonel-looking gentleman and she reflected how much more polite he was

than the young men who simply stared straight before them. The

gentleman began to chat with her about Hallow Eve and the rainy

weather. He supposed the bag was full of good things for the little

ones and said it was only right that the youngsters should enjoy

themselves while they were young. Maria agreed with him and favoured

him with demure nods and hems. He was very nice with her, and when she

was getting out at the Canal Bridge she thanked him and bowed, and he

bowed to her and raised his hat and smiled agreeably, and while she was

going up along the terrace, bending her tiny head under the rain, she

thought how easy it was to know a gentleman even when he has a drop

taken.

Everybody said: _“O, here’s Maria!”_ when she came to Joe’s house. Joe

was there, having come home from business, and all the children had

their Sunday dresses on. There were two big girls in from next door and

games were going on. Maria gave the bag of cakes to the eldest boy,

Alphy, to divide and Mrs Donnelly said it was too good of her to bring

such a big bag of cakes and made all the children say:

“Thanks, Maria.”

But Maria said she had brought something special for papa and mamma,

something they would be sure to like, and she began to look for her

plumcake. She tried in Downes’s bag and then in the pockets of her

waterproof and then on the hallstand but nowhere could she find it.

Then she asked all the children had any of them eaten it—by mistake, of

course—but the children all said no and looked as if they did not like

to eat cakes if they were to be accused of stealing. Everybody had a

solution for the mystery and Mrs Donnelly said it was plain that Maria

had left it behind her in the tram. Maria, remembering how confused the

gentleman with the greyish moustache had made her, coloured with shame

and vexation and disappointment. At the thought of the failure of her

little surprise and of the two and fourpence she had thrown away for

nothing she nearly cried outright.

But Joe said it didn’t matter and made her sit down by the fire. He was

very nice with her. He told her all that went on in his office,

repeating for her a smart answer which he had made to the manager.

Maria did not understand why Joe laughed so much over the answer he had

made but she said that the manager must have been a very overbearing

person to deal with. Joe said he wasn’t so bad when you knew how to

take him, that he was a decent sort so long as you didn’t rub him the

wrong way. Mrs Donnelly played the piano for the children and they

danced and sang. Then the two next-door girls handed round the nuts.

Nobody could find the nutcrackers and Joe was nearly getting cross over

it and asked how did they expect Maria to crack nuts without a

nutcracker. But Maria said she didn’t like nuts and that they weren’t

to bother about her. Then Joe asked would she take a bottle of stout

and Mrs Donnelly said there was port wine too in the house if she would

prefer that. Maria said she would rather they didn’t ask her to take

anything: but Joe insisted.

So Maria let him have his way and they sat by the fire talking over old

times and Maria thought she would put in a good word for Alphy. But Joe

cried that God might strike him stone dead if ever he spoke a word to

his brother again and Maria said she was sorry she had mentioned the

matter. Mrs Donnelly told her husband it was a great shame for him to

speak that way of his own flesh and blood but Joe said that Alphy was

no brother of his and there was nearly being a row on the head of it.

But Joe said he would not lose his temper on account of the night it

was and asked his wife to open some more stout. The two next-door girls

had arranged some Hallow Eve games and soon everything was merry again.

Maria was delighted to see the children so merry and Joe and his wife

in such good spirits. The next-door girls put some saucers on the table

and then led the children up to the table, blindfold. One got the

prayer-book and the other three got the water; and when one of the

next-door girls got the ring Mrs Donnelly shook her finger at the

blushing girl as much as to say: _O, I know all about it!_ They

insisted then on blindfolding Maria and leading her up to the table to

see what she would get; and, while they were putting on the bandage,

Maria laughed and laughed again till the tip of her nose nearly met the

tip of her chin.

They led her up to the table amid laughing and joking and she put her

hand out in the air as she was told to do. She moved her hand about

here and there in the air and descended on one of the saucers. She felt

a soft wet substance with her fingers and was surprised that nobody

spoke or took off her bandage. There was a pause for a few seconds; and

then a great deal of scuffling and whispering. Somebody said something

about the garden, and at last Mrs Donnelly said something very cross to

one of the next-door girls and told her to throw it out at once: that

was no play. Maria understood that it was wrong that time and so she

had to do it over again: and this time she got the prayer-book.

After that Mrs Donnelly played Miss McCloud’s Reel for the children and

Joe made Maria take a glass of wine. Soon they were all quite merry

again and Mrs Donnelly said Maria would enter a convent before the year

was out because she had got the prayer-book. Maria had never seen Joe

so nice to her as he was that night, so full of pleasant talk and

reminiscences. She said they were all very good to her.

At last the children grew tired and sleepy and Joe asked Maria would

she not sing some little song before she went, one of the old songs.

Mrs Donnelly said _“Do, please, Maria!”_ and so Maria had to get up and

stand beside the piano. Mrs Donnelly bade the children be quiet and

listen to Maria’s song. Then she played the prelude and said _“Now,

Maria!”_ and Maria, blushing very much began to sing in a tiny

quavering voice. She sang _I Dreamt that I Dwelt_, and when she came to

the second verse she sang again:

     _I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls

         With vassals and serfs at my side

     And of all who assembled within those walls

         That I was the hope and the pride.

     I had riches too great to count, could boast

         Of a high ancestral name,

     But I also dreamt, which pleased me most,

         That you loved me still the same._

But no one tried to show her her mistake; and when she had ended her

song Joe was very much moved. He said that there was no time like the

long ago and no music for him like poor old Balfe, whatever other

people might say; and his eyes filled up so much with tears that he

could not find what he was looking for and in the end he had to ask his

wife to tell him where the corkscrew was.