Paupers Graveyard Read Online Free PDF Page A

I can do to help, I’d be glad to.’
    â€˜Help! Is it possible to help someone who finds himself in hell?’
    â€˜I can understand how this place must seem to you, my lord. There’s very little to do. Sure if it wasn’t for the odd game of cards, we’d all go mad.’ Black Jack could see the gleam of interest in the master’s eyes.
    â€˜What’s your name?’
    â€˜Jack Carey, my lord. I’m head groom here. I’ve been here since I was ten years old. I served your late brother well and I hope I can do the same for you.’
    â€˜You may well be of service to me, Carey. Now tell me about these card games.’
    Timmy watched as the two men drew closer, but try as he might, he could not hear what they were saying. Whatever it was improved Black Jack’s humour and he even allowed Timmy to finish a whole hour early.

THREE
    â€˜Timmy!’ His brothers and sister came running to meet him, and threw their arms around him.
    â€˜Let me breathe,’ the twelve-year-old laughed, untangling the numerous arms and trying to answer their questions.
    â€˜Why are you so early?’ Peter wanted to know from his older brother. ‘You didn’t lose your position, did you?’
    He looked down at the three little faces.
    â€˜No, indeed, I didn’t.’
    They smiled with relief and he hoisted Rose, baby of the family at two, into his arms. Balancing her on his hip, he took six-year-old Tom by the hand, and they walked indoors.
    Even in summer the cabin was cold. Built of stone, with two rooms and an old thatched roof, it retained very little warmth. The crude wooden table that stood in the centre of the room had a bench on both sides of it and a wooden chair at the head.
    A small cupboard, placed as near to the fire as possible, protected their food from the damp. Two rickety armchairs stood on either side of the large open fire. His mother and father sat there each night, weary after working hard in the fields. Over the fire hung a long black arm with two hooks; these held the cooking utensils, a large black pot and a kettle. A flat griddle pan lay beside the hearth.
    After sending Peter to fetch water from the well, Timmy set about preparing the supper. Half-filling the pot with water he carefully counted in the potatoes, six for his father and three for his mother and two for each of the children. He quickly got the turf and sticks to catch fire, and swung the heavy pot over the flame.
    Next he set the table with three chipped cups and three small wooden bowls to hold the buttermilk for the younger children. Since starting work he was considered a man and was allowed to use a cup. Three plates, in much the same condition as the cups, followed, with a small bowl of salt. Two bent forks and two knifes, their blades worn away to an arch from constant sharpening, completed the table setting.
    Timmy then sat in his mother’s chair with Rose on his lap and with his brothers sitting on the floor beside him, he recounted stories about fairies, goblins and wicked witches. They listened in wide-eyed wonder as he told of Tir na nÓg, a magical land where a person never grew old, where there was plenty of food to be had, fish and meat every day if you wanted it, clothes made of gold and silver, and real shoes for your feet. They shook their heads in awe, imagining not having to go barefoot.
    The pot was bubbling cheerfully when the door opened. Timmy beamed with pride when his tired mother gazed around the room, taking in the table and the pot on the fire. Then he glanced past her to his father, who was glaring back at him.
    â€˜What are you doing home at this time, lad?’ Without waiting for an answer, he reached for the stick that was always kept handy in a corner and turned back to Timmy with his hand raised, ready to strike.
    â€˜For the love and honour of God, Pat,’ his mother stood in front of Timmy, ‘let the lad