We had an old nurse in our family
who came from Irish hills, faithful and kind to us both. There came a
change over Edward. He appeared not to take the same interest in his
sports. One day he came to me, looking a bit pale, and said: 'Galt, I
think I should like to study for the Church.' I laughed at it, yet it
troubled me in a way, for I saw he was not well. I told Martha, the
nurse. She shook her head sadly, and said: 'Edward is not for the Church,
but you, my lad. He is for heaven.'
"'For heaven, Martha?' laughed I.
"'In truth for heaven,' she replied, 'and that soon. The look of his eye
is doom. I've seen it since I swaddled him, and he will go suddenly.'
"I was angry, and I said to her,--though she thought she spoke the
truth,--'This is only Irish croaking. We'll have the banshee next.'
"She got up from her chair and answered me solemnly: 'Galt Roscoe, I HAVE
heard the banshee wail, and sorrow falls upon your home. And don't you be
so hard with me that have loved you, and who suffers for the lad that
often and often lay upon my breast. Don't be so hard; for your day of
trouble comes too.
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