Clay

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 the 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 to 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 walls; 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 cakeshop 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 ill 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.