We Are Seven

To its undying shame the small Irish village of Doon contained one family that shouldn't have existed at all—the seven delightful children of unmarried Bridget Monaghan. Except for one brief period, Bridget had spent all her life in Doon, and her charming brood ranged in age from 16-year-old Mary to baby Pius with wide gray eyes. It was too much to be borne, especially for the various fathers of the children and their legal wives. Mrs. Bates called it "a crying scandal," and she meant every word of it. She was the mother of three sets of twins. The only other twins in town were Monaghans. Bridget was so quiet, so unassuming, so—in every other way—respectable. The priest couldn't make her reform. The Justice of the Children's Court cheerfully pronounced her a good mother. So the town seethed (and wondered) for Bridget's youngest had still to emerge from babyhood and proclaim by his features—as the infuriating Monaghans always did—the secret of his paternity. The suspense was unbearable, especially for the wives of gray-eyed men.