A to Z Classics: Bram Stoker: The Complete Novels

He lifted him gently as he spoke, and bending his head, said reverently: —

“God bless him. Suffer little children to come unto me, for of such is the kingdom of Heaven.”

Katey’s eyes were full of tears as she took him back, and she thanked the big man with a look too full of sacred feeling for even a smile.

Jerry stood by in silence. He felt much, although he did not know what to say.

Another knock was heard, and again Jerry’s services were required. This time there was a large influx, for three different bodies had joined just at the door. Much laughter was heard in the hall, and then they all entered. The body consisted of seven souls all told.

Place aux dames. We Irishmen must give first place always to the ladies. Of these there were four. Jerry’s mother and her assistant, Miss M’Anaspie, and Katey’s two sisters, one older and one younger than herself. The men were, Mr. Muldoon, Tom Price, and Patrick Casey.

Jerry’s mother was a quiet dignified old lady, very gentle in manner, but with a sternness of thought and purpose which shone through her gentleness and forbid any attempt at imposition, as surely as the green light marks danger at a railway crossing. She had a small haberdashery shop, by which she was reputed amongst her friends to have realised a considerable amount of money. Miss M’Anaspie was her assistant, and was asked by Katey to be present out of pure kindness. She had originally set her cap at Jerry, and had very nearly succeeded in her aim. It was no small evidence of Katey’s genuine goodness of nature and her perfect trust of her husband that she was present; for most women have a feeling of possible hostility, or, at least, maintain an armed neutrality towards the former flames of the man that they love. Miss M’Anaspie was tall and buxom, and of lively manners, quite devoid of bashfulness. It puzzled many of her friends how, with her desire to be married, she had not long ago succeeded in accomplishing her wish. Katey’s sisters were pleasant, quiet girls, both engaged to be married — Jane to Price, and Mary to Casey, the former man being a blacksmith, and the latter an umbrella-maker, both being sturdy young fellows, and looking forward to being shortly able to marry.

Mr. Muldoon was the great man of the occasion. He was a cousin of Mrs. O’Sullivan’s, and was rich.

He had a large Italian warehouse, which he managed well, and consequently was exceedingly prosperous. Personally he was not so agreeable as he might have been. He was small, and stout, and ugly, with keen eyes, a sharply-pointed nose; was habitually clean-shaven, and kept his breast stuck out like that of a pouter pigeon. He always dressed gorgeously, and on the present occasion, as he considered that he was honouring his poor relations, had got himself up to a pitch of such radiance that his old servant had commented on his appearance as he had left home. His trousers were of the lightest yellow whipcord; his coat was blue; his waistcoat was red velvet, with blue glass buttons; and in the matter of green tie, high collar, and large cuffs he excelled. His watch chain, of massive gold, with the “pint of seals” attached to the fob-chain after the manner of the bucks of the last generation was alone worthy of respect. His temper was not pleasant, for he was dictatorial to the last degree, and had a very unpleasant habit, something like Frederick the Great, of considering any difference of opinion as an insult intentionally offered to himself.

A man like this may be a pleasant enough companion so long as he goes with the tide, he thinking that it is the tide which goes with him; but when occasion of difference arises, the social horizon at once becomes overcast with angry clouds which gather quickly till the storm has burst. Oftentimes, as in nature — the great world of elements — the storm clears the air.

Mr. Muldoon had been asked as an act possibly likely to benefit the new olive branch, for the Italian grocer was unmarried, and might at some future time, so thought Jerry and Katey in their secret hearts, take in charge the destinies of the new infant to-day made John Muldoon O’ Sullivan.

When the party entered the room Mr. Muldoon had advanced to Mrs. Jerry, and, as she was a pretty little woman, had kissed her in a semi-paternal way which made Miss M’Anaspie giggle. Mr. Muldoon looked round half indignantly, for he felt that his dignity was wounded. He considered that Miss M’Anaspie, of whose very name he was ignorant, was a forward young person, and in his mind determined to let her understand so before the evening was over.

After a few minutes the introductions had all been accomplished, and everybody knew everybody else. There was great kissing of the baby, great petting of the two elder children, for whose delectation sundry sweets were produced from mysterious pockets, and much laughter and good-humoured jesting.

Mr. Muldoon prided himself upon being a good hand at saying smart things, and felt that the present occasion was not one to be thrown away. Being a bachelor, he considered that his most proper attitude was that of ignorance — utter ignorance regarding babies in general, and this one in particular. When he was shown the baby he put up his eyeglass, and said:

“What is this?”

“Oh, Mr. Muldoon,” said the mother, almost reproachfully. “Sure, don’t you know this is the new baby?”

“Oh! oh! indeed. It is very bald.”

“It won’t be long so, then,” interrupted Miss M’Anaspie pertly. You can make it your heir, if you will.” Her English method of aspiration pointed the joke.

Mr. Muldoon looked at her almost savagely, but said nothing. He did not want to commit himself to any intention of aiding the child’s career; and he was obliged to remain silent. He mentally scored another black mark against the speaker.

Presently he spoke again.

“Is it a boy or a girl?”

“A boy.”

“And are these boys or girls?” He pointed as he spoke to little Jerry and little Katey.

Miss M’Anaspie answered again — “Neither. They are half of each.”

“Dear me,” said Mr. Muldoon. “Can that be?”

“Don’t you see,” said Miss M’Anaspie in a tone which implied the addition of the words you silly old fool, “one is a boy and the other a girl.”

Mr. Muldoon made another black mark in his mental note-book, and ignoring his opponent, as he already considered Miss M’Anaspie, spoke again to Katey.

“And are these all yours? Three children; and you have been married — let me see, how long?”

“Three years and two months.”

“Why, at this rate, what will you do in twenty years. Just fancy twenty children. Really, Mrs. Katey, you should take the pledge.”

Katey did not know what to answer, and so stayed silent. Miss M’Anaspie turned away to hide an imagined blush, and Mr. Muldoon feeling that he had said something striking, began to unbend and mix with the rest of the company in a better humour than he had been in for some time.

The table was ready set with all the materials for comfort, and as the teapot was basking inside the fender beside a dish of highly buttered cake, the work of Mrs. Jerry herself, and the kettle singing songs of a bacchanalian character on the fire, promise of comfort to the foes and friends of Father Mathew was not wanting.

There was great arranging of places at the table. Jane and Mary with their sweethearts managed to monopolise one entire side, sitting alternately like the bread and ham in the pile of sandwiches before them.

Mr. Muldoon was put next to Katey, and Jerry had his mother on his right hand, she being supported on the other side by Mr. Parnell. This left Miss M’Anaspie to take her seat without choice, between the two eldest men of the party.

She did not shrink from the undertaking, however, but sat down, saying pertly to the company, but to no one in particular —