The Luck of the Bogans Page #3

"The Luck of the Bogans" is a charming story by Sarah Orne Jewett that explores themes of fortune, community, and resilience in a rural setting. Through the eyes of its characters, the narrative delves into the lives of those living in a small town, highlighting their struggles and triumphs against the backdrop of their relationships with one another and the land. Jewett's vivid descriptions and keen observations bring to life the unique culture and character of the Bogans, ultimately revealing the profound connections that shape their experiences and outlooks on life.

• Short story

								

evil repute of some shortsighted neighbors. "If I gave up all I had in
the world and went to the almshouse myself, they would still damn me
for a landlord," he said, desperately one day. "But I never thought
Mike Bogan would throw up his good chances. I suppose some worthless
fellow called him stick-in-the-mud and off he must go."

There was some unhappiness at first for the young people in America.
They went about the streets of their chosen town for a day or two,
heavy-hearted with disappointment. Their old neighbors were not housed
in palaces after all, as the letters home had suggested, and after a
few evenings of visiting and giving of messages, and a few days of
aimless straying about, Mike and Biddy hired two rooms at a large rent
up three flights of stairs, and went to housekeeping. Litte Dan rolled
down one flight the first day; no more tumbling on the green turf
among the daisies for him, poor baby boy. His father got work at the
forge of a carriage shop, having served a few months with a smith at
home, and so taking rank almost as a skilled laborer. He was a great
favorite speedily, his pay was good, at least it would have been good
if he had lived on the old place among the fields, but he and Biddy
did not know how to make the most of it here, and Dan had a baby
sister presently to keep him company, and then another and another,
and there they lived up-stairs in the heat, in the cold, in daisy time
and snow time, and Dan was put to school and came home with a
knowledge of sums in arithmetic which set his father's eyes dancing
with delight, but with a knowledge besides of foul language and a
brutal way of treating his little sisters when nobody was looking on.

Mike Bogan was young and strong when he came to America, and his good
red blood lasted well, but it was against his nature to work in a hot
half-lighted shop, and in a very few years he began to look pale about
the mouth and shaky in the shoulders, and then the enthusiastic
promises of the red-headed man on the ship, borne out, we must allow,
by Mike's own observation, inclined him and his hard earned capital to
the purchase of a tidy looking drinking shop on a side street of the
town. The owner had died and his widow wished to go West to live with
her son. She knew the Bogans and was a respectable soul in her way.
She and her husband had kept a quiet place, everybody acknowledged,
and everybody was thankful that since drinking shops must be kept, so
decent a man as Mike Bogan was taking up the business.

II.

The luck of the Bogans proved to be holding true in this generation.
Their proverbial good fortune seemed to come rather from an absence of
bad fortune than any special distinction granted the generation or two
before Mike's time. The good fellow sometimes reminded himself
gratefully of Peggy Muldoon's blessing, and once sent her a pound to
keep Christmas upon. If he had only known it, that unworthy woman
bestowed curses enough upon him because he did not repeat it the next
year, to cancel any favors that might have been anticipated. Good news
flew back to Bantry of his prosperity, and his comfortable home above
the store was a place of reception and generous assistance to all the
westward straying children of Bantry. There was a bit of garden that
belonged to the estate, the fences were trig and neat, and neither
Mike nor Biddy were persons to let things look shabby while they had
plenty of money to keep them clean and whole. It was Mike who walked
behind the priest on Sundays when the collection was taken. It was
Mike whom good Father Miles trusted more than any other member of his
flock, whom he confided in and consulted, whom perhaps his reverence
loved best of all the parish because they were both Bantry men, born
and bred. And nobody but Father Miles and Biddy and Mike Bogan knew
the full extent of the father's and mother's pride and hope in the
cleverness and beauty of their only son. Nothing was too great, and no
success seemed impossible when they tried to picture the glorious
career of little Dan.

Mike was a kind father to his little daughters, but all his hope was
for Dan. It was for Dan that he was pleased when people called him
Mr. Bogan in respectful tones, and when he was given a minor place of
trust at town elections, he thought with humble gladness that Dan
would have less cause to be ashamed of him by and by when he took his
own place as gentleman and scholar. For there was something different
about Dan from the rest of them, plain Irish folk that they were. Dan
was his father's idea of a young lord; he would have liked to show the
boy to the old squire, and see his look of surprise. Money came in at
the shop door in a steady stream, there was plenty of it put away in
the bank and Dan must wear well-made clothes and look like the best
fellows at the school. He was handsomer than any of them, he was the
best and quickest scholar of his class. The president of the great
carriage company had said that he was a very promising boy more than
once, and had put his hand on Mike's shoulder as he spoke. Mike and
Biddy, dressed in their best, went to the school examinations year
after year and heard their son do better than the rest, and saw him
noticed and admired. For Dan's sake no noisy men were allowed to stay
about the shop. Dan himself was forbidden to linger there, and so far
the boy had clear honest eyes, and an affectionate way with his father
that almost broke that honest heart with joy. They talked together
when they went to walk on Sundays, and there was a plan, increasingly
interesting to both, of going to old Bantry some summer--just for a
treat. Oh happy days! They must end as summer days do, in winter
weather.

There was an outside stair to the two upper stories where the Bogans
lived above their place of business, and late one evening, when the
shop shutters were being clasped together below, Biddy Bogan heard a
familiar heavy step and hastened to hold her brightest lamp in the
doorway.

"God save you," said his reverence Father Miles, who was coming up
slowly, and Biddy dropped a decent courtesy and devout blessing in
return. His reverence looked pale and tired, and seated himself
wearily in a chair by the window--while Biddy coasted round by a
bedroom door to "whist" at two wakeful daughters who were teasing each
other and chattering in bed.

"'T is long since we saw you here, sir," she said, respectfully. "'T
is warm weather indade for you to be about the town, and folks sick
an' dyin' and needing your help, sir. Mike'll be up now, your
reverence. I hear him below."

Biddy had grown into a stout mother of a family, red-faced and
bustling; there was little likeness left to the rose of Glengariff
with whom Mike had fallen in love at early mass in Bantry church. But
the change had been so gradual that Mike himself had never become
conscious of any damaging difference. She took a fresh loaf of bread
								Rate this book:0.0 / 0 votes