Little Jim had never been farther than General Brady's kitchen. It was a kitchen of which he approved because it had no path in it. One might go through it in a great hurry without coming to grief on some chair back, or the footboard of the mother's bed, or the rocker of the father's chair. Neither was one in danger of bringing up suddenly on the corner of the table, or against the side of the stove. The younger O'Callaghans were free from numerous bruises only because they knew their way and proceeded with caution. There was no banging the door open suddenly at the shanty, because there was always some article of furniture behind the door to catch it and bang it back sharply into a boy's face. It was upon these differences in the two kitchens that little Jim reflected when, arrayed in the new suit, he slipped around the house and was ushered in by Andy.
"What's this!" cried the General, who had caught a glimpse of the swiftly scudding little figure as it rounded the corner. "What's this!" and he stood smiling at the door that opened from the back of the hall into the kitchen. "The hero of the hour coming in by the back door. This will never do, Jim. Come with me."
Bravely little Jim went forward. He stepped into the hall close behind the General, and suddenly glanced down. He could hardly believe his ears. Was he growing deaf? There walked the General ahead of him, and little Jim could not hear a footfall, neither could he hear his own tread.
But little Jim said nothing. They were now come to the hall tree, and the General himself helped his guest off with his overcoat and hung it beside his own. And as for little Jim, he could hang up his own cap when his host showed him where.
Then in through the parlor door they went and on through the folding doors into the sitting-room where Mrs. Brady stood among her plants. She had just cut two lovely roses from the same bush, and one she pinned on her husband's coat and the other on little Jim's jacket.
"Parties is queer," thought little Jim, "but they're nice."
For Mrs. Brady, in her quiet way, was contriving to let the boy understand that she thought exceedingly well of him. It began to grow dusk, but it was not yet so dark that little Jim failed to see Pat and Mike come in and run lightly up the stairs. And then there was a tramp of feet outside, the doorbell rang, and as the electric light flooded the house, Andy opened the front door and in trooped boys and girls.
Little Jim was amazed. Not one came into the parlor, but Andy sent them all upstairs.
"Is them boys and girls the party?" he asked quickly of Mrs. Brady.
"Yes, Jim," was the kind answer. "Your party."
Little Jim reflected. "I'd best not be lickin' any of the boys then this evenin'?" And he turned inquiring eyes on Mrs. Brady.
Mrs. Brady smiled. "No, Jim," she replied. "You must try to please them in every way that you can, and make them enjoy themselves."
"Let 'em do just as they're a moind to, and not raise a fuss about it?"
"Yes."
Little Jim straightened himself. "I never seen no parties before," he said, "but I guess I can run it."
And then downstairs came the guests and into the parlor to shake hands with General and Mrs. Brady and Jim. The gay company spread themselves through the parlor and sitting-room. They chattered, they laughed, they got up from their seats and sat down again, and all the time little Jim had a keen eye upon them. He had never before seen little girls dressed so, and he noticed that every boy had a flower on his jacket.
And then little Jim bestirred himself. He was here, there, and everywhere. Did a girl suggest a game, Jim so engineered that the whole company were soon engaged in it, and he himself was the gayest player of all. Not once did he suggest anything. But often he slipped up to Mrs. Brady or the General and did what he had never done before in his life—asked advice.
"Am I runnin' it right?" he would whisper in Mrs. Brady's ear; and murmur apologetically to the General, "I never seen no parties before."
"And how do you like parties, Jim?" asked the General indulgently.
"I think there's nothin' to equal 'em," was the fervent answer. And then away went the young host.
At half-past nine Andy appeared at the hall door. Jim saw him and his heart sank. Was the party over? He feared so, since Mrs. Brady, followed by the General, went out of the room. But in a moment the General came back to the doorway. The guests seemed to understand, for a sudden hush fell on the talkative tongues. The General saw Jim's uncertain expression and beckoned to him.
"We are going out to supper," he said. "Go ask Annie Jamieson to walk out with you."
Jim obeyed promptly. All at once he remembered the cake and ice cream. His heart swelled with pride as he led the pretty little girl across the hall and into the dining-room. And there were Pat and Mike and Andy showing the guests to their places and prepared to wait upon them. And if they beamed upon little Jim, he beamed back with interest. He was supremely happy. How glad he was that Mike had taught him Mrs. Brady's way of laying the table, and how to eat properly! He thought of his mother and wished that she might see him. But she was at home caring for Barney and Tommie and Larry.
"Sure and I can't lave 'em by thimsilves in the evenin'. Something moight happen to 'em," said this faithful mother.
Such food Jim had not tasted before, but he ate sparingly. He was too happy to eat, for little Jim, although extremely fond of pudding, was no glutton. There he sat with his auburn hair on end, his blue eyes bright and shining, smiles and grave looks chasing themselves over his face till the General was prouder of him than ever.
"I'm not sure but he's the O'Callaghan," he told his wife, when the children had gone back to the parlor for a final game before the party should break up. "But it is that mother of his and his older brothers who have brought him on."
Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Pat and Mike and Andy washed the dishes and put things to rights with three hearts full of pride in little Jim.
"To think the mother was afraid he would turn out an agitator!" said Pat.
"This night settles that," responded Mike. "He's more likely to turn out a society man. He'll be a credit to us all."
At last the guests were gone. And then for the first time little Jim's eyes examined with keen scrutiny the pretty rooms, while the General and Mrs. Brady kept silence, content to observe him with affectionate interest. Finally the boy came back from things to people, and he came with a sigh.
"Have you enjoyed yourself?" asked the General, smiling.
"Yes, sir. I never had such a toime before in my loife. 'Tis parties as are the thing." He paused and then asked, "How will I be goin' at it to get me a house like this?"
And then the General looked astonished. He had not yet fully measured little Jim's ambition that stopped at nothing. Hitherto it had been that pernicious ambition that desires, and at the same time, lazily refuses to put forth the exertion necessary to attain, or it had been that other scarcely less reprehensible ambition that exerts itself simply to outshine others, and Mrs. O'Callaghan had had good cause to be anxious about Jim. Tonight it was the right sort of ambition, backed by a remarkably strong will and boundless energy. He looked up at the General with confidence and waited to be told just how he could get such a house for himself.
The General gazed down into the clear, unashamed depths of little Jim's blue eyes. The attitude of the O'Callaghan's toward him always touched him. His money had nothing to do with it, nor had his superior social position. It was he himself that the O'Callaghans respected, admired, loved and venerated, and this without in the least abating their own self-respect and independence. It was like being the head of a clan, the General told himself, and he liked it. So now he answered with his hand on little Jim's shoulder, "Work, my boy, and study, work and study."
"And is that all?" questioned Jim disappointedly. "Sure and that's like my mother tellin' me dustin' and dishwashin' was my two first steps."
"Well, they were your first steps, Jim, because they were the duties that lay nearest you. But it will take more than work and study, after all."
"I thought it would, sir. This is an awful nice house."
"Would you like to walk upstairs and look about?" asked the General.
"I would," was the eager answer.
So the General and Mrs. Brady and Jim went up.
"This is the sort of a room for my mother," declared little Jim, after he had carefully examined the large guest chamber. "Pat and Mike got her the summer kitchen, but I'll be gettin' her a whole house, so I will. Sleepin' in the kitchen will do for them that likes it. And now what's the rest of it besides work and study?"
"Have you ever seen any poor boys smoke cigars, Jim?"
"Yes, sir."
"And cigarettes?"
"Yes, sir."
"And pipes?"
"Yes, sir."
"And drink beer?"
"Yes, sir."
"And whisky?"
"Yes, sir."
"And chew tobacco?"
"Yes, sir."
"Those are the boys who, when they are men, are going to be poor. Mark that, Jim. They are going to be poor."
"They won't have any house like this?"
"Not unless somebody who has worked hard gives it to them, or unless they cheat for it, Jim."
"Huh!" said Jim. "I'm down on cheatin'. I'll lick any boy that cheats me or tries to, and I don't want nobody to give me nothin'." And with that little Jim cooled down to pursue his former train of thought.
"And if I work and study and let them things alone I can have a house like this some day?"
"Yes, Jim, if some misfortune does not befall you, like a long sickness in the family, or an accident to you."
"I'm goin' to try for it," declared Jim with decision. "Them that would rather have cigars and such than a nice house like this can have 'em, and it's little sense they've got, too. I'll take the house."
The General laughed. "You will take it, Jim, I don't doubt," he said. "Come to me whenever you wish to ask any questions, and I will answer them if I can."
"I will, sir," replied little Jim. "And when you want me to I'll wash your dishes. I said once I wouldn't, but now I will."
"Thank you, Jim," responded the General.
Peppery, headstrong little Jim went home that night walking very erect. Pat and Mike were one on each side of him, but he hardly knew it, he was so busy looking forward to the time when he should have a house like the General's, when his mother would pin a flower on his coat, and he should give parties, and as many of them as he chose.
And of all these plans his mother heard with wonder and astonishment.
"Your party's made a man of you, Jim," said the widow at last. "I'd niver have thought of a party doin' it, nayther, though I was wantin' it done bad. Your father was the man as loiked noice things, and he'd have got 'em, too, if sickness hadn't come to him."
And now little Jim's reward had come. At last his mother had said he was like his father. He was as good as Pat and Mike and Andy, and his heart swelled.
"But, Jim, dear, you'd be gettin' your house quicker if we was all to help toward it."
"And then 'twouldn't be mine," objected Jim.
"No more it wouldn't," assented Mrs. O'Callaghan, "but 'twould be better than livin' in the shanty years and years. You don't want to kape livin' here till you have a foine house loike the Gineral's, do you, Jim?"
"No," reluctantly answered the little fellow, glancing about him.
"I knowed you didn't. For sure you're not the wan to let your ambition run away with your sinse. A neat little house, now, with only two b'ys to a bedroom and wan bedroom for me—what do you say to it, Jim?"
Then and there it was settled, and that night each boy had a different dream about the neat little house to be—Jim's, of course, being the most extravagant. That week the first five dollars toward it was deposited with the General.
"And I'll be keepin' a sharp lookout on Barney and Tommie," was Jim's unasked promise to his mother. "You've no idea what little chaps smoke them cigarettes. I can fix it. I'll just be lettin' the boys know that every wan of 'em that helps Barney and Tommie to wan of them things will get a lickin' from me."
"Is that the best way, do you think, Jim?"
"Sure and I know it is. I've seen them big boys givin' 'em to the little wans, particular to them as their folks don't want to use 'em. The General's down on them things, and Barney and Tommie shan't have 'em."
"Five dollars in the bank!" exclaimed the widow. She was surrounded by her eldest four sons, for it was seven o'clock in the morning. "Two years we've been in town, and them two years has put all four of you where I'm proud of you. All four of you has sat in the father's chair for good deeds done. What I'm thinkin' is, will Barney and Tommie and Larry sit there, too, when their turn comes?"
"They will that!" declared Jim with authority.
"Of course they will, mother," encouraged Pat.
"They are father's boys, too," said Andy.
"And your boys, mother. Where else would your boys sit?" asked Mike.
And then the widow smiled. "I belave you'll ivery wan of you come to good," she said. "There's small bad ahead of b'ys that has a bit of heartsome blarney for their mother, and love in their eyes to back their words. Some has farms and money. But if any one would be tellin' of my riches, sure all they've got to say is, 'The Widow O'Callaghan's b'ys.'"
It has succeeded by its own sterling merit and without the assistance of exaggerated advertising, and a popularity of this kind is always permanent. The charm of the book lies in the human interest of the sympathetically told story; its value in the excellent lessons that are suggested to the youthful mind in the most unobtrusive manner. Nothing is so distasteful to a healthy youngster as an overdose of obvious moral suasion in his fiction.
Principal Ferris, of the Ferris Institute, Michigan, expresses somewhat the same idea in a letter to the publishers: "I bought the book and read it myself, then read it to my ten-year-old boy. He was captivated. I then tried it on my school of 600 students—relatively mature people. They were delighted. 'Widow O'Callaghan's Boys' is an exceptional book. It is entirely free from the weaknesses of the ordinary Sunday school book. The methods used by the Widow O'Callaghan in training her boys are good methods for training boys in the school room. The truth of the matter is the book contains first-class pedagogy. There are comparatively few first-class juvenile books. 'Widow O'Callaghan's Boys' is a jewel. It is worthy of being classed as first-class literature."
A.C. McCLURG & CO. PUBLISHERS
"It is a story of sturdy, level-headed effort to meet the world on its own rather severe terms, and to win from it success and progress. No strokes of miraculous good luck befall these young heroes of peace; but they deserve what they gain, and the story is told so simply, and yet with so much originality, that it is quite as interesting reading as are the tales where success is won by more sensational methods. The good sense, courage, and tact of the widow herself ought to afford inspiration to many mothers apparently more fortunately situated. It is a book to be heartily commended."—Christian Register.
"They are but simple adventures in 'The Widow O'Callaghan's Boys,' but they are pleasant to read of. The seven boys, whom the widow trains to be good and useful men, are as plucky as she; and they have a good bit of Irish loyalty as well as of the Irish brogue."—The Dial.
"The brave little Irishwoman's management and encouragement of them, amid poverty and trouble, the characters of the boys themselves, their cheerfulness, courage, and patience, and the firm grip which they take upon the lowest rounds of the ladder of success, are told simply and delightfully."—Buffalo Express.
"The smile of pleasure at the happy ending is one that will be accompanied by a dimness of vision in the eyes of many readers."—Philadelphia Press.
"There is many a quaint bit of humor, many a strong, sound lesson in manliness and womanliness which must appeal to us in the telling. The story was probably written for children, but it will interest older people as well."—The Living Church.
"The Widow O'Callaghan is the greatest philosopher since Epictetus, and as bright and glowing as a well-cut gem."—Topeka Capital.
"The refreshing thing about the book is that its dialect approximates to the real brogue, and is not disfigured by the affected misspelling of English words which are pronounced almost as correctly by the Irish as by one to the tongue born."—Detroit Journal.
"This is a story that will be enjoyed by readers of every age. It is capitally written, and deals with the struggles of a brave little Irish widow, left in poverty with seven boys, ranging in age from three to fifteen years."—Book News.
"It is one of the best books for young people which we ever have seen. It describes the mother love, the shrewd sense, and the plucky perseverance of an Irish widow with seven young children."—The Congregationalist.
The following news item from the Chicago Tribune of Nov. 7 describes a unique testimonial to the practical usefulness of a good book. "The Widow O'Callaghan's Boys," the story referred to, is now in its eighth edition, and seems to increase in popularity constantly:
"Barney Ryan, 12 years old and wearing a sweater twice his size, yesterday was sentenced by Judge Tuthill to read to his mother each night from a book designated by the court. The boy had been arrested for smashing a store window and stealing merchandise to the value of $200.
"'I'll let you go, Barney,' said Judge Tuthill, 'if your mother will buy a copy of "Mrs. O'Callaghan's Boys" and agree to make you read to her each night from it.'
"Mrs. Ryan, who lives at 139 Gault court, agreed to the stipulation."
All books are sourced from Project Gutenberg