Light O The Morning

Light O' The Morning

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Light O' The Morning, by L. T.
Meade #4 in our series by L. T. Meade
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Title: Light O' The Morning
Author: L. T. Meade
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LIGHT O' THE MORNING
The Story of an Irish Girl BY
L. T. MEADE

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER
I. NORA
II. "SOME MORE OF THE LAND MUST GO"
III. THE WILD MURPHYS
IV. THE INVITATION
V. "I AM ASHAMED OF YOU"
VI. THE CAVE OF THE BANSHEE
VII. THE MURPHYS
VIII. THE SQUIRE'S TROUBLE
IX. EDUCATION AND OTHER THINGS

X. THE INVITATION
XI. THE DIAMOND CROSS
XII. A FEATHER-BED HOUSE
XIII. "THERE'S MOLLY"
XIV. BITS OF SLANG
XV. TWO LETTERS
XVI. A CHEEKY IRISH GIRL
XVII. TWO DESCRIPTIONS
XVIII. A COMPACT
XIX. "SHE WILL SOON TAME DOWN"
XX. STEPHANOTIE
XXI. THE ROSE-COLORED DRESS
XXII. LETTERS
XXIII. THE BOX OF BON-BONS
XXIV. THE TELEGRAM
XXV. THE BLOW
XXVI. TEN POUNDS
XXVII. ADVENTURES--AND HOME AGAIN
XXVIII. THE WILD IRISH
XXIX. ALTERATIONS

XXX. THE LION IN His CAGE
XXXI. RELEASE OF THE CAPTIVE
XXXII. ANDY
XXXIII. THE CABIN ON THE MOUNTAIN
XXXIV. A DARING DEED
XXXV. THE COT WHERE HE WAS BORN
XXXVI. "I'M A HAPPY MAN"

CHAPTER I
.
NORA.
"Why, then, Miss Nora--"
"Yes, Hannah?"
"You didn't see the masther going this way, miss?"
"What do you mean, Hannah? Father is never at home at this hour."
"I thought maybe--" said Hannah. She spoke in a dubious voice,
backing a little away.
Hannah was a small, squat woman, of a truly Irish type. Her nose was
celestial, her mouth wide, her eyes dark, and sparkling with fun. She
was dressed in a short, coarse serge petticoat, with what is called a
bedgown over it; the bedgown was made of striped calico, yellow and
red, and was tied in at the waist with a broad band of the same.
Hannah's hair was strongly inclined to gray, and her humorous face was
covered with a perfect network of wrinkles. She showed a gleam of
snowy teeth now, as she looked full at the young girl whom she was
addressing.
"Ah, then, Miss Nora," she said, "it's I that am sorry for yez."
Before Nora O'Shanaghgan could utter a word Hannah had turned on
her heel.

"Come back, Hannah," said Nora in an imperious voice.
"Presently, darlint; it's the childer I hear calling me. Coming, Mike
asthore, coming."
The squat little figure flew down a side walk which led to a paddock:
beyond the paddock was a turnstile, and at the farther end of an
adjacent field a cabin made of mud, with one tiny window and a
thatched roof. Hannah was making for the cabin with rapid, waddling
strides. Nora stood in the middle of the broad sweep which led up to
the front door of the old house.
Castle O'Shanaghgan was a typical Irish home of the ancient régime.
The house, a great square pile, was roomy and spacious; it had
innumerable staircases, and long passages through which the wind
shrieked on stormy nights, and a great castellated tower at its north end.
This tower was in ruins, and had been given up a long time ago to the
exclusive tenancy of the bats, the owls, and rats so large and fierce that
the very dogs were afraid of them. In the tower at night the neighbors
affirmed that they heard shrieks and ghostly noises; and Nora, whose
bedroom was nearest to it, rejoiced much in the distinction of having
twice heard the O'Shanaghgan Banshee keening outside her window.
Nora was a slender, tall, and very graceful