Under the Hawthorn Tree by Marita Conlon-Mckenna Page B

stables and a closed-up general store – and then beside it they noticed a house with a small bay window. The paint was peeling and the doorway was dirty. It could have been a shop!
    Eily went to knock at the door and was surprised when it opened. They edged their way into a gloomy room, divided by a wooden counter. On a shelf behind, dusty rows of jams and preserves stood to attention. This couldn’t be the place, thought Eily. Not the clean busy shop, packed with customers on market day. A wave of disappointment rushed over her.
    Peggy’s eyes were popping out of her head as she looked around. ‘There’s no cakes or pies here. Where are they?’
    Eily tried to shush her. An old woman appeared from behind a heavy drape at the far side of the counter. She was stooped and moved slowly. Her white hair was tied up in a neat bun. She blessed herself when she saw the children.
    ‘Ye poor starved craters, I’ve nothing for you here. Go up the town and you might have a better chance of a bit of help,’ she said kindly. ‘Where areyour mother and father to be letting you roam around all alone?’
    ‘Auntie Lena,’ said Eily, her voice trembling.
    The old woman stopped. She stared at the children. Walking skeletons, not a pick on any of them. The boy was filthy and the little one looked as if a puff of wind would nearly knock her over. And the older girl, she looked worn-out. The old lady shook her head. Imagine having to live through these desperate times.
    ‘Auntie Lena,’ repeated Eily, ‘you’re our grandaunt. We’re Margaret and John O’Driscoll’s children. I’m Eily and this is Michael and this is our little sister Peggy.’
    The old lady stood staring at them open-mouthed. She pulled up a chair and sat down. She gazed at them. The older girl was like Margaret, her mother. But they looked like beggars, or children from the workhouse.
    ‘I am Lena Murphy,’ she answered.
    ‘Where’s the other one?’ piped up Peggy.
    ‘Oh, do you mean my sister Nano? She’s up in bed. She’s not very strong and has to rest a lot.’
    Peggy edged her way forward and handed the drooping dirty bunch of flowers to her grandaunt. Lena could not help smiling.
    ‘I’ve never had a cake with icing on the top andsugar violets,’ confided Peggy.
    The old lady looked at them. It was just unbelievable that these urchins were related to her. They looked famished and exhausted. They must have walked a very long way.
    She brought them through to the kitchen and sat them down. She set the kettle to boil and got out fresh soda bread and a jar of her best plum jam. There would be time enough for the story of what had happened, and where Margaret and John were, but the first thing was to get a bit inside them before they passed out. From upstairs came a knocking on the floor.
    That sister of mine, Nano, is always looking for something, thought Lena to herself. Well, Nano Murphy, you are in for a shock when you find out just who is sitting in our back kitchen, and the story they have to tell!
    Eily looked around her. The place was old and could do with a lick of paint, but it was clean and neat. One shelf held a row of fine delph, another, various sizes of jars and baking dishes. They were with family – that was the most important thing. She hoped above all hopes that they could stay. An angry stomping could be heard upstairs, followed by a thumping noise coming down the wooden stairs. A large round-faced woman, her grey curls hangingloose to her shoulders, stood at the bottom in a blue flannel nightgown and a grey shawl. Total disbelief came over her face when she saw the children.
    ‘Have you lost your senses, Lena? Letting a crowd of beggars into our kitchen, and Lord knows we’ve little enough – next thing we’ll be getting the fever. Go away out of it you young pups and don’t be taking advantage of an old woman’s soft heart.’ Nano had said her piece.
    ‘Will you whisht, Nano, and calm down. These are Margaret’s