Unknowing and uncaring, Dubhdara O’Malley raged on and on.
”Why could she not give me sons, Seamus? Why? I’ve gotten a
brace of healthy lads on lasses about the countryside, but my own
wife can give me nothing but girls! I wish to God she had died and
the female brat with her!”

“God forgive you, Dubhdara!” exclaimed Seamus O’Malley,
shocked to his soul.

O’Malley shrugged. “At least I might start anew, but wait and
see, Seamus! You wait! She’ll outlive me yet! No! I’ll not stop
trying. I must have a legitimate son! I must!”

“You get Peigi with child again, Dubh, and she dies, I’ll have
the Church on you! It’d be deliberate murder, for I’ve warned you
what will happen if she conceives again. The midwife said she almost
bled to death. The wee lass she’s borne is healthy and strong though,
thanks be to God.”

O’Malley made a derisive noise.

“What will we baptize her, Dubh?” encouraged the priest.

O’Malley thought a minute. “Call her Skye after the place from
which her mother came. Her oldest sister, Moire, can stand her
godmother.”

“She needs a godfather too, brother.”

“You be her godfather, Seamus. Six daughters is too many to
provide dowries for, so I intend Skye O’Malley for the Church. The
Church’ll take a smaller portion, and ‘tis fitting that the future nun’s
godfather be a priest.”

Seamus O’Malley nodded, satisfied. It was high time his brother
singled out a daughter for the Church. But then the priest looked
closely at his new niece for the first time, and was quickly certain
that this was not the daughter Dubh would send to a convent. His
five older nieces were, as their father had said, plain as pikestaffs.
With their ordinary brown hair, their pale gray eyes, they were like
little sparrows.