But the gifts of the gods seldom come
singly, and Kitty is well fortuned as well as beautiful; fifty
pounds, her own bedstead and its fittings, a cow, a pig, and a web
of linen are supposed to be the dazzling total, so that it is small
wonder her deluderin' ways are maddening half the boys in
Ballyfuchsia and Dooclone. She has the prettiest pair of feet in
the County Kerry, and when they are encased in a smart pair of
shoes, bought for her by Art's rival, the big constable from
Ballyfuchsia barracks, how they do twinkle and caper over that half
barn door, to be sure! Even Murty, the blind fiddler, seems
intoxicated by the plaudits of the bystanders, and he certainly
never plays so well for anybody as for Kitty of the Meadow.
Blindness is still common in Ireland, owing to the smoke in these
wretched cabins, where sometimes a hole in the roof is the only
chimney; and although the scores of blind fiddlers no longer
traverse the land, finding a welcome at all firesides, they are
still to be found in every community. Blind Murty is a favourite
guest at the Rooney's cabin, which is never so full that there is
not room for one more. There is a small wooden bed in the main
room, a settle that opens out at night, with hens in the straw
underneath, where a board keeps them safely within until they have
finished laying. There are six children besides Art, and my
ambition is to photograph, or, still better, to sketch the family
circle together; the hens cackling under the settle, the pig ('him
as pays the rint') snoring in the doorway, as a proprietor should,
while the children are picturesquely grouped about.
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