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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of North, South and Over the Sea
+by M.E. Francis (Mrs. Francis Blundell)
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: North, South and Over the Sea
+
+Author: M.E. Francis (Mrs. Francis Blundell)
+
+Release Date: April 25, 2004 [EBook #12150]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NORTH, SOUTH AND OVER THE SEA ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Dave Morgan, Beth Trapaga and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team.
+
+
+
+
+
+_"COUNTRY LIFE"
+Library of Fiction._
+
+
+NORTH, SOUTH
+AND
+OVER THE SEA.
+
+
+By
+M.E. FRANCIS
+(Mrs. Francis Blundell.)
+
+_with Illustrations by H.M. BROCK._
+
+
+1902.
+
+
+NOTE
+
+_Some of these stories have already appeared in "The Cornhill Magazine,"
+"Longmans' Magazine," and "Country Life," and are reprinted by kind
+permission of the Editors of these periodicals._
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+NORTH
+
+GOLDEN SALLY
+"TH' OWDEST MEMBER"
+THE CONQUEST OF RADICAL TED
+HEATHER IN HOLBORN
+SENTIMENT AND "FEELIN'"
+
+
+SOUTH
+
+THE ROMANCE OF BROTHER JOHN
+GILES IN LUCK
+"THE WOLD LOVE AND THE NOO"
+BLACKBIRD'S INSPIRATION
+THE GIRL HE LEFT BEHIND HIM
+
+
+OVER THE SEA
+
+ELLENEY
+IN ST. PATRICK'S WARD
+THE FLITTING OF THE OLD FOLKS
+"THE SPIDER AND THE GOUT"
+ROSEEN
+
+
+
+
+GOLDEN SALLY
+
+The long warm day was drawing to its close; over the sandhills yonder
+the sun was sinking in a great glory of scarlet and purple and gold.
+The air was warm still, and yet full of those myriad indescribable
+essences that betoken the falling of the dew; and mingling with, yet
+without dominating them, was the sweet penetrating odour of newly-cut
+hay.
+
+John Dickinson walked moodily along the lane that led first to his
+uncle's wheat-field, and then to the sandhills. He was a tall,
+strapping young fellow, broad of shoulder and sturdy of limb, with
+nevertheless something about him which betokened that he was not
+country bred. His face was not brown enough, his hands were not rough
+enough, the shirt sleeves, rolled up above his elbow, were not only
+cleaner than those of the ordinary rustic after a hard day, but
+displayed arms whereof the tell-tale whiteness proclaimed that they
+were little used to such exposure. These arms ached sorely now; all
+day long had John been assisting in "carrying," and the hours spent in
+forking the hay from the ground to the cart had put his new-found
+ardour for a country life to a severe test.
+
+John had been born and brought up in Liverpool, having since he left
+school acted as assistant in his father's shop. But on the latter's
+death, his affairs were found to be so hopelessly involved that it was
+impossible for his family to carry on the business. Mrs. Wilson and
+her daughters had obtained employment in "town," and John had
+announced his intention of taking to farming. Having been more or less
+master in his father's small establishment he could not brook the idea
+of accepting a subordinate post in the same way of business; and,
+indeed, as his mother's brother, burly old Richard Waring of
+Thornleigh, had offered to take him into his household and teach him
+his work, there seemed to be no reason why he should not adopt the
+career which was more to his mind.
+
+John had frequently made expeditions into the country before, and had
+spent many pleasant hours in the company of his aunt and uncle, and
+their buxom daughter Jinny; but he found a vast difference between
+these pleasure excursions and the steady routine to which he was now
+subjected. All the household were abed at nine, an arrangement to
+which John objected. As his aunt opined that it was "a sin an' a shame
+to burn good lamps i' summer time when days was long enough for
+onybody as was reasonable," he bought a supply of candles out of his
+own meagre store, and, being fond of reading, spent an hour or two
+with book or paper before retiring to rest. But the worst of this
+arrangement was that when, as it appeared to him, he had just settled
+comfortably to his first sleep, it was time to be astir again. His
+uncle thumped at his door, his aunt, from the bottom of the stairs,
+called out shrilly that if he wanted any breakfast he had best make
+haste, for she was "goin' to side the things in a twothree minutes."
+Jinny made sarcastic comments on his tardy appearance, and laughed at
+his heavy eyes. That was the worst of it--Jinny was always laughing at
+him; she "made little" of him on every possible occasion. His "town"
+speech, his "finicky" ways, his state of collapse at the end of the
+day, his awkwardness in handling unaccustomed tools, were to her
+never-failing sources of amusement. John set his teeth and made no
+sign of being wounded or annoyed, the sturdy spirit inherited from his
+mother's people forbidding him to cry out when he was hurt; but his
+spirits were at a low ebb, and to-day he had walked forth after tea
+with a heart as sore and heavy as those over-strained arms of his.
+Jinny had come out to the field with the "drinkin's," and her face
+looked so bewitching under the sun-bonnet, and her waist so tempting
+and trim beneath the crisp folds of her clean bed-gown, that John had
+made bold in cousinly fashion to encircle it with his arm, whereupon
+she had freed herself with an impatient twirl, remarking that she
+didn't want no counter-jumpers to be measurin' of her--a sally which
+had been regarded as exquisitely humorous by the bystanders. John's
+cheeks burned as he thought of it.
+
+"She needn't be afraid--I'll not come nigh her again," he muttered
+vengefully.
+
+He was skirting the wheat-field now, the tall, green ears stirring
+with a pleasant rustling sound; in some distant reeds a bunting was
+warbling, a belated lark was circling slowly downwards over his head.
+From the village yonder voices and laughter fell faintly on his ear,
+and all these mingled sounds served but to accentuate the prevailing
+impression of peace and stillness; as John strolled onwards, his heavy
+steps crushing out the aromatic perfume of the thyme which grew
+profusely along the path, he was insensibly soothed and calmed by the
+evening quietude.
+
+Over the wooden railings now, and across the dewy pasture and up the
+tallest sandhill, from the top of which he could, as he knew, look
+down upon the sea. The waters would be ruddy and golden at this hour,
+but by day ran brown and sluggish enough over the mud banks of the
+Alt. On the other side of the shining expanse the houses of New
+Brighton would stand forth all flecked with gold, and farther still
+the very smoke of Liverpool would appear as a luminous yellow haze,
+and the masts and riggings of the ships lying at anchor would be
+turned into bars of gold. John knew these things by heart, but was
+never tired of gazing upon them, and as he climbed the hill his heart
+grew lighter and lighter; the salt, tart breeze that lifted his hair
+as he topped it gave new vigour to his tired limbs, and a sudden sense
+of exhilaration to his whole being. He stood at last with folded arms
+on the summit letting it sing past him, and gazing about him in vague
+delight. A golden world indeed; just what he had expected to find. A
+golden sea, a golden sky, the very sand and grasses at his feet
+appeared to be golden too.
+
+Now, what was that? About twenty paces beneath him, on the seaward
+side of the dune, he caught a glimpse of another golden object, an
+unusual object, the nature of which he did not at once identify. He
+shaded his eyes with his hand, and presently began to laugh softly.
+That golden thing which had caught his eye was the uncovered head of a
+girl. She was seated in a hollow of the hill, and the tall star-grass
+and blossoming ragwort grew so freely at this spot that only her head
+was visible. All at once a hand was thrust out from behind the screen,
+and a sudden shower of gold fell downwards from that glittering crown.
+John laughed again as the girl began very composedly to comb her hair.
+
+He came down the hill, stepping as lightly as he could, and paused in
+front of her quaint 'tiring-room. She looked up as his shadow fell
+across her, paused a moment with the comb poised in mid-air, and then
+calmly drew it through her yellow locks. What hair it was! It fell
+round her like a veil as she sat: it would reach almost to her knees,
+John thought, if she were standing. He looked at her with a kind of
+awe; for a moment the strange tales he had so often heard of mermaids
+and witches recurring to his mind. But he was reassured on a closer
+inspection of the girl and her attire. She wore a bed-gown and apron
+like Jinny's, but not, alas! so neat or clean; her stuff petticoat,
+too, was ragged and old, and the feet, which were stretched forth from
+under its folds, were brown and bare as the hands which so deftly
+wielded the comb.
+
+John's eyes rested with intense disapproval on these shapely feet, and
+travelled slowly backwards over the ragged petticoat and the pink
+cotton jacket--which, instead of being neatly buttoned over at the
+neck, fell loosely open, disclosing the girl's throat, firm and round
+as a pillar--and so on till they reached her face; then suddenly
+drooped before the disconcerting gaze of another pair of eyes, very
+large and bright.
+
+"I hope ye'll know me again," said the girl.
+
+John looked up with a grin. "It'll be hard work if you keep your face
+covered up with all that hair," he said.
+
+She gathered together the heavy yellow masses with both hands, twisted
+them up with astonishing speed and deftness, and let her arms fall
+upon her lap.
+
+"Theer!" she said.
+
+It was not a pretty face John at first decided; tanned as it was to
+the colour of ripe corn, and the eyes, such a light blue and with such
+blue whites, looking so strange in this setting. The cheeks, moreover,
+were not rosy like those of his cousin Jinny, nor rounded in their
+contours--the chin was too pointed; yet even as John looked a sudden
+dimple flashed there, and a smile, swift and mischievous, lit up the
+whole face. Then he did not feel quite so sure.
+
+[Illustration: GOLDEN SALLY
+"I hope ye'll know me again," said the girl]
+
+"What in the name of fortune are you doing here?" he asked abruptly,
+almost roughly, for the smile nettled him. "Can't you find some better
+place than this to do your dressing in?"
+
+"If I didn't comb my hair i' th' sandhills I wouldn't comb it at all,"
+she returned. "It's the on'y place I have to do onythin' in. Mony a
+time when th' owd lad is fuddled, me an' my Aunt Nancy sleep on 'em."
+
+"Sleep out o' doors!" ejaculated John, much scandalised.
+
+"Aye, oftener than not, I can tell you. Tisn't so very coomfortable
+when theer's snow about--though we mak' up a bit o' fire an' that; but
+it's reet enough this time o' year. Aye, I like to lay awake lookin'
+up at the stars, an' listenin' to the wayter yon. The rabbits coom
+dancin' round us, an' th' birds fly ower we'r 'eads when the leet
+cooms. It's gradely."
+
+John slowly lowered himself down on the sand beside her, as if to
+endeavour to look on this strange aspect of life from her level. His
+respectable commercial soul was shocked, but he was nevertheless
+interested.
+
+"My word!" he ejaculated; and then, after a pause, "What's your name,
+if I may ask?"
+
+"Sally."
+
+"Sally? It's a good enough name. What's th' other one?"
+
+"I haven't got no other one as I ever heerd on. My uncle's Jim
+Whiteside, an' soom folks call'n me Sally Whiteside, an' then he gets
+mad an' says 'tisn't none o' my name. An' soom folks call'n me 'Cockle
+Sally.' Aye, that's what they call'n me mostly."
+
+Dickinson looked at her disapprovingly. He had heard of the wild,
+disreputable "Cockle Folk" who roamed about the sandhills; who were
+worse than tramps in the opinion of respectable people, and who had,
+many of them, no fixed abode of any kind.
+
+"Well," he remarked, "it's a pity. I could ha' wished ye'd ha'
+belonged to different folks. I don't hold with these cocklers. They're
+a rough lot, ar'n't they?"
+
+The girl laughed.
+
+"My Aunt Nancy says I'm as rough as ony mysel'. Would ye like soom
+cockles?" she asked, breaking off suddenly. "I'd fetch ye soom
+to-morrow if I've ony luck. They're chep enough--an' big ones. Wheer
+do ye live?"
+
+"At Mr. Waring's farm," responded John, distantly; adding, more
+truthfully than politely, "I doubt you'd best keep away though. My
+aunt 'll be none too pleased if you come yonder."
+
+"Aye, I knows her. Hoo buys mony a quart of me, an' then hoo chivies
+me out o' th' road. I'll coom. If you're not there, I'll coom to the
+field."
+
+"Well, you might do that," agreed John, accommodatingly. "Some o' th'
+other chaps 'ud be glad enough to take a few of these cockles off you.
+'Twould be a bit of a change wi' th' bread and cheese. We're goin' to
+cut the big meadow to the right as you go to the village. Come to the
+top of the hill, and I'll show it you."
+
+"Nay, I'll not go near field if they're all theer. I went once, an'
+farmer he said he'd set dog at me; an' th' lads began o' jokin' an'
+laughin' at me. Aye, I get mad wi' nobbut thinkin' on't."
+
+She coloured as she spoke, and John's face clouded over, as though her
+indignation had infected him. In fact, he had too recently suffered
+from the rude jests and laughter of his fellow-labourers not to
+sympathise with Sally.
+
+"I know them," he said bitterly, "and a rough lot they are. They leave
+me no peace; they give me plenty of their impudence too, if it's any
+comfort to you, Sally, to know that."
+
+"Eh dear!" cried Sally in amazement. "Why, whatever can they find
+amiss wi' you?"
+
+The blue eyes were upturned with such genuine and admiring
+astonishment that John could not but be touched and flattered. In this
+actual mood, moreover, when his spirit was still smarting from the
+remembrance of the manner in which scornful Jinny had turned him into
+a laughing-stock, Sally's respectful appreciation was doubly sweet to
+him.
+
+"I'll bring ye th' cockles if ye'll coom up th' lane at dinner-time,"
+she went on. "I'll stand near the white gate. Coom, I'll show ye."
+
+She sprang up and began quickly to ascend the hill. Her figure had the
+erectness common to those accustomed to carry burdens on their heads,
+and also a grace and freedom of movement which impressed John with
+vague astonishment. As she turned upon the summit to point out the
+place of meeting, her face sparkling with animation, her eyes alight
+and eager, the golden coronet of hair radiant in the mellow glow, he
+gave a little gasp of amazement. The girl was beautiful! What a pity
+she should lead such a life!
+
+"Yonder, see," she continued. "Aye--why do ye stare at me that way?"
+
+"Sally," said practical, plain--spoken John, "I'm lookin' at you
+because I think you're real handsome, an' I think it's a terrible pity
+for ye to be traipsin' about like this. Why don't you leave your uncle
+and aunt and go to live with decent people--and put on shoes and
+stockings?" he added severely.
+
+The girl gazed at him in amazement.
+
+"Whatever put that i' your 'ead? Decent folks wouldn't have nought to
+say to me. I'd as soon go cocklin' as do onythin' else--an' I couldn't
+do wi' shoes an' stockin's."
+
+"Didn't you ever go to school?"
+
+"Nay, scarce at all. We was wonderful clever 'bout that. We shifted
+an' shifted an' gi'ed 'em all th' slip."
+
+"Don't you go to church on Sundays?"
+
+"Eh dear! I wonder what they'd say if me an' Aunt Nancy an' Uncle Jim
+was to go paddlin' in among all the fine folks--wi' bare feet an'
+all."
+
+She laughed grimly.
+
+"Will yo' coom yonder for the cockles?" she inquired presently.
+
+John nodded, and, turning, she ran down the hill, fleet as a hare, and
+disappeared round its curved base.
+
+John walked homewards thoughtfully, his own troubles quite forgotten
+in the consideration of Sally's lot. All that evening, and even during
+his work on the following morning, he pondered over it, and it was
+with a portentous face that he betook himself at noon to the
+trysting-place. So punctual was he that he stood there for some
+minutes before a musical cry of "Cockles! fine cockles!" came ringing
+down the lane, and presently Sally appeared, the basket poised upon
+her head throwing a deep shadow over her face, but the curves of her
+figure strongly defined by the brilliant summer sunlight. Halting by
+the gate she balanced her basket on the upper bar, and immediately
+measured out a quart by way of greeting.
+
+"How much?" inquired business-like John.
+
+"Ye may have 'em for nought; I've got plenty, see. They're fine ones,
+ar'n't they?"
+
+"I'd sooner pay you for them. You want the money perhaps."
+
+"Well, then," said Sally, and thrust out her brown palm.
+
+"Sally," said John, seriously, "I've been thinking a deal about you. I
+think it is somethin' dreadful the way you are livin'--you so comely
+an' all. It's an awful thing to think you don't know anythin' and
+never go to church or that. Do you never say your prayers?"
+
+Sally looked at him, and twisted open a cockle before replying.
+
+"Nay, I dunnot. Aunt Nancy doesn't neither."
+
+"Do you know who made you, Sally?"
+
+"I larned at school, the on'y time I went, but I forget now."
+
+"Well, Sally, I've been thinkin'--somebody ought to teach you. I could
+teach you myself of an evening if you'd come yonder to the big
+sandhill."
+
+Sally looked reflective, but presently nodded.
+
+"I will while I'm here," she said; "but we's be shiftin' afore aught's
+along--we're allus shiftin'. We have to be terrible careful not to get
+cotched for sleeping out. They're that sharp wi' us they won't let a
+body do naught, so we dursen't stay too long i' one place. But I'll
+coom, an' ye can teach me if ye've a mind. If ye dunnot see me when ye
+coom to th' top o' hill, jest call out 'Cockle Sally! Cockle Sally!'
+an' I'll coom."
+
+"No; that's an ugly name," said John, who had been idly watching the
+play of the sunbeams on the little curling strands of hair which were
+lightly lifted by the summer breeze. "I could find you a better name
+than that, I think. You look like--"
+
+He paused.
+
+"What do I look like?" inquired Sally.
+
+John's glance once more travelled over her whole figure. The faded
+buff jacket, the not altogether immaculate apron of unbleached calico,
+were transfigured by the all-pervading sunshine; golden lights
+outlined the tanned face and hands; as for the hair, it was at that
+moment a very glory.
+
+"I reckon I'd call you Golden Sally," he said with a laugh. "You look
+as if you were made of gold this morning, and I'll engage you're as
+good as gold," he added gallantly.
+
+"Coom, that's too fine a name for me," cried Sally, well pleased,
+nevertheless, and smiling broadly.
+
+"I'll christen you by it all the same," replied John, smiling too.
+"You must be good and mind what I tell you," he added with mock
+severity. "If you don't, I must find some other name for you."
+
+Sally's long eyelashes suddenly drooped, and she drummed on the gate
+nervously.
+
+"I'll do my best to please ye," she said. "I'll coom when ye call,"
+she added after a pause.
+
+Lifting up her basket, and balancing it once more on her head, she
+raised her downcast lids, and flashed a farewell smile at John as she
+turned away. In another moment she was speeding in the opposite
+direction.
+
+John was vexed and disappointed that she should terminate the meeting
+so abruptly, but consoled himself with the reflection that he was free
+to assume the office of instructor that very evening if he chose.
+
+The long, toilsome day seemed slow of passing, the company of the
+farmer and his men more tedious even than usual, but by way of
+compensation Jinny's sallies seemed to have lost their power to wound
+him. It was late when, the last waggon-load having been conveyed from
+the field and the evening meal disposed of, he found himself free to
+attend to Sally's education. He strode along the sandy lane and across
+the field at a very different pace to that of the previous evening,
+and was almost breathless when he found himself on the top of the tall
+dune, gazing about with anxious eyes. No golden head was to be seen
+amid the star-grass and ragwort this time; no graceful girl's figure
+was outlined against the evening sky. His heart sank, and it was in a
+disconsolate, uncertain voice that he called aloud:
+
+"Golden Sally! Golden Sally!"
+
+Then, starting up, as if by magic, from some unsuspected place of
+ambush, she came quickly towards him. Her face was blushing and eager,
+her hands outstretched; and John was somehow so glad to see her after
+the chill disappointment of the moment before, that he not only
+grasped the hands, but kissed the glowing cheek.
+
+It would be difficult to say how much Sally learnt from her zealous
+young instructor--for zealous he was, sincere and earnest in his
+desire to improve her mind. But he taught her one thing very rapidly
+and completely--to love himself with all her undisciplined heart.
+After a time she made no secret of this devotion, and John was oddly
+abashed and disconcerted by her occasional outbursts of affection. He
+was much interested in Sally, very much attracted by her. Her worship
+of him was distinctly pleasant, if a little too demonstrative. Now and
+then he himself could not refrain from a tender word or a caress; but
+he was thoroughly convinced of her inferiority, and nothing could have
+been further from his thoughts than the wish to marry her.
+
+Sally sometimes made him presents: bags of cockles, which, on leaving
+her, he not infrequently dropped into a ditch; a few flowers, procured
+he knew not how; and once she astonished him by producing, carefully
+wrapped up in paper, a very handsome silk handkerchief, with a curious
+pattern of sprigs and flowers.
+
+"Why, Sally," he cried, "I scarcely like to take this. It's worth a
+deal of money I'm sure."
+
+"It is," said Sally, with an odd look. "Aye, I am fain that ye like
+it. I wish I could find summat better to give ye. Theer's nought too
+good for ye."
+
+John, much flattered, and moreover sufficiently of a dandy to rejoice
+in the possession of a handsome and unusual article of wearing
+apparel, thanked her warmly, and assured her that he would value it
+all the days of his life.
+
+On the following Sunday he was tempted to wear it, and came down to
+breakfast much pleased with his appearance; but he was both astonished
+and alarmed at his aunt's demeanour on beholding it.
+
+"Lor', John, wheerever did ye get yon 'andkerchief? Dear, now, I could
+swear it's the same as the one Mr. Lambert, of Saltfield, lost a five
+or six week ago. Mrs. Lambert towd me 'bout it when we drove yon on
+neighbourin' day. Eh, hoo was in a way! It's been i' th' family for
+years an' years; and hoo'd weshed it hersel' an' put it on th' hedge
+to dry, an' soombry coom an' whipped it off. Eh, I mind it well. Hoo'd
+often showed it me. Hoo thought a dale of it."
+
+John coloured up to his temples, a horrible suspicion darting through
+his mind; but he was nevertheless determined to carry off the
+situation in a high-handed manner.
+
+"This can't be hers, anyhow," he returned angrily, "seein' it's mine."
+
+"Well, I could ha' sworn it were the same," retorted his aunt. "Such
+an old-fashioned thing too. It's strange ye should get one of the same
+pattern. How long have ye had it, John? Happen them as stole it sold
+it again."
+
+John hated telling a lie, but conceived it advisable to tell one now.
+
+"I've had this years an' years. My father gave it to me."
+
+"Well, if he gave it you so long ago as that it can't be the same, I
+suppose, but it's wonderful like it. I wonder wheer he got it. It's a
+pity we can't ask him, but he's dead, as how 'tis, poor fellow! Coom,
+pull up an' tak' your breakfast."
+
+John dutifully drew his chair to the table, but he felt as though
+every morsel choked him. His own falsehood, to begin with, stuck in
+his throat, while the thought of Sally's possible perfidy seemed to
+turn the wholesome farmhouse bread to sand in his mouth. Was it
+possible, could it be possible, that this love-token of hers was
+stolen? Had she dared to offer him that which it was a disgrace to
+possess If such were the case, of what avail was all his teaching? To
+what purpose had he stooped to associate so constantly with one so
+much beneath him?
+
+Meanwhile the eyes of all the Waring family were fixed upon his
+luckless neckerchief in a manner which made him feel more and more
+uncomfortable; and he was fairly beside himself when, after church,
+his aunt informed him that she was thinking of axin' Margery Formby,
+who was Mrs. Lambert's sister, to step round after dinner and have a
+look at it, "It's so amazin' like the one Mr. Lambert lost, I reckon
+it 'ud be a kind o' comfort if hoo could tell Mrs. Lambert hoo needn't
+set sich store by it, as sich things is easy to be got."
+
+"Well, aunt, I'm not goin' to stop in to have Margery Formby pokin'
+and pryin' at my things. I never see such queer folk in my life.
+'Tisn't thought manners in other places to be passin' remarks an'
+askin' questions about a fellow's clothes."
+
+"Well I never!" ejaculated Mrs. Waring, scarlet with indignation.
+"Upon my word, John, if it's thought manners in town to be givin'
+impudence to your own aunt ye'd best go back theer. It's not thought
+manners here, and what's more, we won't put up with it. Your uncle'll
+ha' summat to say, I'll warrant."
+
+John heard no more, for, seeing that the good woman was working
+herself up into a most unchristian fury, and being, moreover, in no
+mood to meet the astonished queries of Margery Formby, he went quickly
+out of the room and out of the house, resolved to extract an
+explanation from Sally without delay.
+
+Very bitter and angry was his mood, far more bitter and angry than on
+the evening when he had first beheld her. That which he had originally
+dismissed as an unjust suspicion had now grown to be almost certainty;
+and he waited doggedly the word which must confirm it. His blood
+boiled within him as he thought of Sally's effrontery. It was an
+insult, an unpardonable impertinence; one which he was, indeed,
+resolved never to pardon. He would make her confess, and then he would
+have done with her for ever.
+
+Had his temper been less wrathful he might have been touched at the
+joyful alacrity with which she sprang to meet him. It had needed no
+call to bring her to his side; some instinct seemed to have warned her
+of his coming, and she had caught sight of him while still a long way
+off and hastened towards him as he approached. She uttered a little
+cry of joy as her eyes fell upon her gift.
+
+"Eh! ye've got it on! It looks gradely."
+
+"It looks gradely, does it?" returned John grimly. "I've a word or two
+to say to you about this, Sally? Where did you get this? Is this the
+handkerchief that was stolen from Mr. Lambert of Saltfield?"
+
+Sally looked back at him quite unabashed, and began to laugh.
+
+"Think o' your guessin'!" she cried. "Well, doesn't it suit ye a dale
+better nor yon ugly owd chap?"
+
+John turned quite pale; then, with an oath and a sudden fierce
+gesture, tore the handkerchief from his neck and threw it on the
+ground.
+
+"How dare you?" he cried, turning on Sally with flashing eyes. "How
+dare you look me in the face after treating me like this? Insultin'
+me--makin' a laughin' stock of me--"
+
+He stopped, stammering with rage. The angry colour had now returned to
+his face; it was Sally who was pale. She stared at him aghast, and
+presently began to sob like a frightened child.
+
+"I'm sure I dunno whatever I've done to mak' ye so mad," she cried
+brokenly. "I did but look to please ye."
+
+"Please me!" cried John, stamping his foot. "How could it please me
+for you to give me a thing that no respectable man ought to touch--a
+thing as was stolen? I was a fool to think it could have been honestly
+come by; but when you gave it me, looking so innocent, I never guessed
+you'd gone and picked it off a hedge."
+
+"I didna," sobbed Sally. "I took it out of Aunt Nancy's bundle. Hoo'll
+be soom mad when hoo finds out, and hoo'll thrash me for 't. Hoo
+reckoned to pop it as soon as we'd getten a bit further away fro'
+Saltfield."
+
+John turned quite sick. This gift of Sally's had, then, been doubly
+stolen. He had been wearing an adornment which had been stolen from a
+thief! Words failed him, but he looked at Sally as though he could
+slay her.
+
+"Dunnot be so mad," she pleaded, laying her hand upon his arm. "I
+didn't think to vex ye. I nobbut looked about for the best I could
+find. They flowers ye didn't seem to set mich store by, and I could
+on'y get a twothree now and again when theer was nobry about."
+
+He shook her off with an angry laugh. "So the flowers were stolen,
+too! Now, look you, Sally, I'm goin' to have an end o' this. You may
+pick up yon handkerchief and take yourself off. I'll have no more to
+say to you after this. I'll have nothing to say to a thief. Don't you
+ever think to come botherin' me again, for I'll have no more to do wi'
+you."
+
+She stood looking at him stupidly for a minute or two, and then, to
+his great annoyance and discomfiture, flung her arms round his neck,
+sobbing out inarticulate words of entreaty and remonstrance. She
+didn't think to vex him, she didn't think it was any harm.
+
+He shook her off roughly and impatiently. Sally had evidently no sense
+of decency or even decorum. "Get out of my sight," he cried fiercely,
+"or if it comes to that I can go myself. I've done with you, I tell
+you--ye needn't come after me no more."
+
+She had been looking at him piteously, the big tears standing in those
+strange blue eyes of hers, and on her tanned cheeks; but now a curious
+sullen expression came over her face. Stooping and picking up the
+handkerchief, she tore at it fiercely, first with her hands and
+subsequently with her teeth. A kind of angry curiosity caused John to
+delay his departure.
+
+"You've no right to make away with Mr. Lambert's handkerchief," he
+cried. "If I did what was right I'd give notice to the police."
+
+"Well, why dunnot ye?" she retorted with a fierceness which startled
+him. "Ye can if ye've a mind."
+
+And she walked away slowly, still plucking at the handkerchief.
+
+*       *       *       *       *
+
+A year later, on just such another Sunday afternoon, John stood on the
+same spot with a woman by his side--the woman was Jinny, and Jinny was
+his wife. Many things had happened since John had parted in wrath and
+bitterness from the girl whom he had once called "Golden Sally." His
+demeanour towards his aunt on the momentous morning alluded to had led
+to a violent quarrel with her and her husband, which had had
+unexpected results, for Jinny had taken his part--Jinny who was the
+idol of her parents and the pivot on which the whole establishment
+turned. John's whilom indifference had led first to pique on Jinny's
+part and then to interest. John, perturbed of spirit and sore of
+heart, had been grateful for her favour. The attachment which poor
+Sally had for a time diverted was soon re-established, and before six
+months had passed the young couple were courting in due form.
+
+Farmer Waring was at first a little annoyed, but consoled himself with
+the reflection that blood was thicker than water. He had no son of his
+own; it would be pleasant to keep Jinny still at the farm with a
+husband whom he could "gaffer" and break in to his own ways; so, by
+and by, consent was given, and John Dickinson was treated with great
+respect by all at the farm, and already assumed the airs of a master.
+As for Sally, he had never set eyes on her since the moment of their
+parting. It had once come to his ears that she and her aunt were in
+prison for sleeping out of doors, and, shortly after their release,
+she had apparently "shifted" with the rest of her family. John thought
+of her as little as possible, for the mere recollection of the manner
+in which he had been duped, and, as he conceived it, disgraced, filled
+him with disgust.
+
+There was certainly no memory of her in his mind now as he climbed the
+hill with Jinny on his arm. They had only been married a few days, and
+his attitude towards her was still that of a lover. They sat down on
+the summit of the hill, and John put his arm round Jinny's waist.
+After the manner of their kind they did not talk much, but were
+vaguely content with one another and their surroundings. Jinny had
+some sweets in her pocket, and crunched one occasionally. John did not
+care for sweets, but was thinking of having a pipe by and bye. The
+larks were singing, and the little sandpipers fluttering about them,
+uttering their curious call.
+
+"Here's soombry comin'," remarked Jinny all at once, between two sucks
+of a lemon drop.
+
+John looked round without removing his arm. He gave a start, however,
+as his eyes fell on the figure which was rapidly advancing towards
+them along the irregular crest of the hill. Half unconsciously he
+released Jinny, and turned over a little on the sand to avoid meeting
+the direct gaze of the new-comer.
+
+"It's nobbut wan o' they cocklers. You've no need to mind," remarked
+Jinny a little petulantly. She had thought John's arm in the right
+place.
+
+John made no answer. He did not dare to raise his eyes, but his ears
+were strained to catch the swift patter of the approaching bare feet.
+If Sally should recognise him--_if_, of course she must--if she should
+speak, what irreparable mischief might not be made in a few moments!
+
+The steps came nearer; there was a pause, Dickinson's heart beating so
+loudly that he feared his wife must hear it. He did not raise his
+eyes, but from beneath their drooped lids he caught sight of Sally's
+well-known skirt. He made no sign, however, and after what seemed an
+interminable time the skirt brushed past, actually touching him, and
+the soft _pat pat_ sounded a little farther off. Even then John did
+not raise his eyes, but continued to draw patterns on the sand with
+his forefinger. The silence seemed to him unbearable, and yet he did
+not dare to break it. He could hear Jinny crunching her sugar-plums
+with irritating persistency. Why did she not speak?
+
+At last she edged round on the sand, and he felt that she was looking
+at him.
+
+"What's the matter wi' you?" she cried peevishly. "You're as dull as
+dull. Can't you say summat?"
+
+John rolled round, squinting up at the pouting, blooming face.
+"There's not much to say, is there? What's the good of talkin' if
+you're 'appy?"
+
+"I'm glad to hear you're 'appy, I'm sure," retorted Jinny somewhat
+mollified. "I can't say as you look it, though," she added.
+
+Words did not readily occur to John, but he made the best answer that
+was possible under the circumstances. Throwing out his arm he drew
+Jinny's face down to his and kissed it.
+
+"Now do you believe I'm 'appy," he said.
+
+"Well, if you ar'n't you ought to be," said Jinny coquettishly. "Did
+you see that cocklin' wench, Jack?"
+
+"Her as went by just now?" inquired John indifferently. "Nay, I didn't
+take much notice."
+
+"Hoo was a funny-lookin' lass," pursued Jinny. "A bit silly, I think.
+Hoo stood an' hoo stared at us same as if we was wild beasts or
+summat."
+
+"Perhaps she wanted us to buy some of her cockles," remarked John,
+hurriedly volunteering the first explanation that came into his head.
+
+"Eh! very like hoo did. My word, I wish I'd thought on axin' her to
+let us 'ave a quart--I'm rale fond o' cockles. Could we run arter her,
+think ye, Jack?"
+
+This was the very last thing which John wished to do, and in order to
+divert Jinny's mind, he hastily proposed that they should hunt for
+cockles themselves.
+
+"Nay," she returned, "I'll not go seechin' for cockles--I've got my
+weddin' dress on, see, an' my new boots an' all."
+
+"Well, then, I will," cried John eagerly. "I need but to kick off my
+boots an' socks, an' turn up my trousers, an' paddle down yon by the
+river; there are plenty hereabouts, I know."
+
+"Tide's comin' in--you'd best be careful," screamed Jinny as he
+bounded barefoot down the slope; but he was already out of earshot.
+
+There sat Jinny on the sunny, wind-swept hill-top; her silk skirt
+carefully tucked up, and the embroidered frill of her starched white
+petticoat just resting on her sturdy, well-shod feet. One plump hand,
+in its tight kid glove, toying with her posy of roses and "old man,"
+the other absently tapping John's discarded foot-gear. Her eyes
+followed the movements of the lithe young form that wandered hither
+and thither on the sandy expanse below; her lips were parted in a
+smile of idle content. All at once a shadow fell across her, and,
+looking up, she beheld the strange cockle girl standing beside her
+with folded arms. Jinny stared at her for a moment in astonishment
+from under the brim of her fine befeathered hat:
+
+"Have ye got any cockles to-day?" she inquired at length.
+
+"Nay, I haven't," responded the girl rudely; "an' if I had you
+shouldn't ha' none."
+
+"My word!" exclaimed Jinny angrily, "ye might as well keep a civil
+tongue i' your 'ead. I don't want none o' your cockles, as it jest
+falls out--my 'usband's gone to get me some."
+
+"Your 'usband," repeated the girl, clapping her hands together in what
+Jinny thought a very odd and uncalled-for way. "Your 'usband!"
+
+Jinny felt very uncomfortable; the girl's demeanour was so strange
+that she began to think she had been drinking. Hastily collecting
+John's socks and boots she scrambled to her feet.
+
+"He's gone cocklin', has he?" inquired Sally, fixing those queer blue
+eyes of hers on the wife's face with an extraordinary expression; "an'
+you're takkin' care o's shoon till he cooms back? Ha! ha!--happen
+he'll ne'er coom back."
+
+Jinny turned very red and walked indignantly away; most certainly the
+girl was either mad or drunk. "Happen he'll ne'er coom back," indeed!
+Such impudence! Jinny did not quite like being left alone with her in
+that solitary place, and partly on this account, partly to disprove
+her ridiculous assertion, bent her steps towards the shore, calling
+loudly to her husband to return.
+
+But a fresh breeze was blowing, and the waves were leaping shoreward
+with unusual haste and energy; her voice did not reach him, and he
+wandered still further away from her, stooping ever and anon to
+examine the sand. He had crossed the river some time before, and was
+now pacing the opposite shore. The muddy waters of this little tidal
+river had been shallow enough for him to wade through not half-an-hour
+previously, but were now rising rapidly. He would find his return
+difficult if not dangerous, and the difficulty and danger were
+increasing every moment. When Jinny realised this, which she did
+suddenly, she forgot all about her silk dress and her new boots, and
+ran frantically towards the water's edge, screaming with all her
+might; and at last John heard, and began to walk placidly towards the
+spot where he had originally crossed. The mud banks were out of sight
+now, and a broad belt of water was spreading rapidly on the other
+side. It was advancing rapidly also at his rear; soon the stretch of
+shore, half sand, half mud, on which he stood, would be entirely
+submerged.
+
+"John! John! coom ower at once!" screamed Jinny, as he paused, looking
+about him.
+
+"I'm in a fix," he called out. The breeze, which had baffled her
+endeavours to make herself heard, bore, nevertheless, his words to
+her. She beckoned and gesticulated, continuing her useless entreaties
+the while. John laid down his handkerchief full of cockles and began
+to roll up his trousers higher. Jinny fairly danced with impatience.
+He made a step or two forward--the water was up to his knees; he
+walked on, plunging deeper at every step.
+
+Suddenly Jinny uttered an even wilder and more piercing scream--John
+had disappeared from her sight, and, for a moment, the only trace of
+him which was evident was his hat rolling and tossing on the brown
+wavelets. But, before she had time to reiterate the anguished cry, he
+reappeared, pale and drenched, on the opposite bank.
+
+"Run lass," he cried, "run quick an' fetch a rope, else I'll be
+drowned. I can't get across the river--the water's nigh ower my head
+as 'tis, an' my feet keep sinkin' into the mud."
+
+Almost before he had ceased speaking Jinny had turned and was
+staggering with trembling limbs towards the sandhills. How should she
+get help in time? There was no habitation within a mile at least, and
+the water was rising moment by moment. It would be better for him to
+make a bold dash for safety now. Surely he could get across where he
+had crossed before, by those brown stepping-stones.
+
+What Jinny took for stepping-stones were in reality the remains of a
+submerged forest, and no doubt, if John could have discovered their
+whereabouts, would have afforded him a tolerably secure footing, but
+they were indistinguishable now beneath the brown, swirling waters.
+Oh! he would be drowned!--he would be drowned! The yielding sand
+crumbling beneath Jinny's feet rendered her faltering progress even
+more slow. She paused hesitating, ran distractedly backwards a few
+paces; then, as John imperatively waved his arms, plunged forward
+again and toiled up the slope. All at once her distracted eyes met
+those of the girl from whom she had fled a little while before, the
+cockling girl, who was seated very composedly on an out-jutting point
+of the sandhill, whence she must have had a good view of John and his
+recent struggle. Jinny, panting upwards, cast a desperate glance upon
+her.
+
+"For God's sake help me! My 'usband 'll be drowned before my e'en.
+Wheer can we get help? Will ye run one way an' I'll tak' t' other?"
+
+Sally looked down at the convulsed face. "I'm not goin' to run
+noways," she retorted. "Run yoursel'; I'm not goin' to be sent o' your
+arrands."
+
+"But he'll be drowned!" gasped poor Jinny.
+
+"He'll be a fool if he drowns then," retorted the girl with a sneer.
+"He can get across easy enough if he finds th' reet place."
+
+"Oh, thank God for that!" cried Jinny with momentary hope. "Will ye
+show me wheer's th' reet place, quick, for the wayter's coomin' in
+awful fast. It's down by th' steppin'-stones yon, isn't it?"
+
+"Aye," replied the girl, 'it's down theer; ye'd best go an' look for
+'em."
+
+"Eh dear! won't ye show me?" cried Jinny wringing her hands. "I'll
+gi'e you all as I 'ave i' th' world. My watch, see--an' I've money i'
+th' box a' whoam--I'll gi'e you everythin'. Eh, do run down wi' me
+now, else it'll be too late."
+
+"I want noan o' your brass an' stuff," cried Sally violently. "He's
+nought to me--let him drown if he can't save hissel'. He's yourn an'
+not mine. Ye'd best see to him."
+
+"Eh, you wicked, wicked wench!" sobbed Jinny. "'Owever can ye find it
+i' your 'eart--but I'll waste no more time on you."
+
+She clambered on, and soon was flying down the slope on the farther
+side. How long she ran she could not tell--it seemed to her a century
+since she had left the shore behind. Her brain reeled, her heart
+throbbed to suffocation--the terrible thought was ever present to her
+mind: "At this moment perhaps he is drowning--I may find him dead when
+I go back." Her very desperation lent her speed, and, moreover,
+fortune favoured her quest, for it was in reality only a very few
+minutes after her parting with Sally that she came upon a loving
+couple seated by the road-side. The man was a fisherman well known to
+Jinny. How she explained and what she promised she never quite knew,
+but, in an inconceivably short space of time they were speeding back
+together, the man preceding her with long, swinging strides. There was
+no time to lose in looking for a rope--he thought he knew a place
+where he could get Mr. Dickinson across; if not available, he himself
+could swim.
+
+But, lo and behold! when they reached the summit of the hill and were
+about to plunge downwards to the shore, an unlooked-for sight met
+their eyes. There, on the hither side of the river stood John, alive
+and well, though plastered with mud from head to foot, and by his side
+was Sally, with her drenched raiment clinging to her, and the water
+dripping from the loosened strands of her long hair.
+
+"Seems soombry else has had the savin' of him," cried the fisherman,
+astonished and perhaps a little disappointed; Mrs. Dickinson had
+promised such wonderful things.
+
+Jinny, speechless with joy, ran down the slope and flung herself upon
+her husband. His face was pale and all astir with emotion.
+
+"Jinny," he said, when at length she allowed him to speak--"Jinny,
+_she_ saved me."
+
+Jinny turned to Sally. "Eh, how can I ever thank you," she cried
+brokenly. "You saved my 'usband arter all. I don't know how to thank
+you."
+
+Sally looked round with a fierce light in her eyes. "Ye needn't thank
+me--I didn't save him for you."
+
+"I'm sure," said John, in a voice husky with emotion, "I don't know
+what to say mysel'--it is more than I could have expected, that you
+should risk your life for my sake."
+
+"'Twasn't for your sake neither then," said Sally still fiercely.
+
+"Then, in the name of fortune! why did you do it?" he ejaculated.
+
+"I did it--for mysel'," said Sally.
+
+She turned away, the water dripping from her at every step, and
+bounded up the slope with the erect carriage and springing gait which
+John remembered of old.
+
+The fisherman retired somewhat disconsolately, and husband and wife,
+still palpitating, walked slowly away together; while "Golden Sally,"
+once more standing aloft on her sandy pinnacle, wrung the moisture out
+of her yellow hair.
+
+
+
+
+"TH' OWDEST MEMBER"
+
+
+Doctor Craddock rode slowly along the grassy track which led from
+Thornleigh to Little Upton, and as he rode he smiled to himself.
+Though he had been settled for more than a dozen years in this quiet
+corner of Lancashire, his Southern mind had not yet become accustomed
+to the idiosyncrasies of his North Country patients. He had just been
+to see old Robert Wainwright, who was suffering from an acute attack
+of gout in his right foot, and who was, in consequence, unapproachable
+in every sense of the word, answering the Doctor's questions only by
+an unintelligible growl or an impatient jerk of the head. Moreover, on
+being informed that he must not expect to set foot to the ground for
+several days more, he had emitted a kind of incredulous roar, and had
+announced his opinion that his medical adviser was a gradely fool.
+Poor Mrs. Wainwright had subsequently apologised for her lord's
+shortness of temper, explaining in deprecating tones that he was apt
+to be took that way sometimes; adding that he had been moiderin ever
+sin' mornin' about Club Day.
+
+"He reckons he's th' owdest member, ye know. Him an' Martin Tyrer, of
+Little Upton, is mich of an age, an' they'n walked same number of
+times--they're a bit jealous one o' th' t'other an' our Gaffer reckons
+if he bides awhoam, owd Martin 'ull be castin' up at him, an' sayin'
+he's beat him."
+
+"There'll be no Club meeting for Tyrer, either, to-morrow," Doctor
+Craddock said; "he's laid up with a bad attack of bronchitis."
+
+"Eh, is he?" exclaimed Mrs. Wainwright, with such visible satisfaction
+that the Doctor smiled now as he recalled it; she had barely patience
+to escort him to the door, and before he mounted his horse, he heard
+her joyfully informing her Gaffer that owd Martin Tyrer had getten th'
+'titus, and she hoped that now he'd be satisfied and give ower
+frettin' hissel'.
+
+"I shall have an equally warm reception here, I suppose," said the
+Doctor to himself, as he dismounted before Tyrer's door, "but,
+whatever happens, the old man must not think of going out to-morrow.
+It would be serious if he caught fresh cold."
+
+Martin Tyrer was sitting, almost upright, in his bed, supported by
+many pillows, for when he lay down, as his wife explained to the
+Doctor, he fair choked. He was an immensely tall and stout man, with a
+large red face, and a stolid lack-lustre eye, which he brought
+solemnly to bear upon the Doctor as he entered the room.
+
+"Well," said Craddock, "how are you to-day, Tyrer? Better, I hope."
+
+Tyrer rolled his eyes in the direction of his wife, apparently as an
+intimation that she was to answer for him.
+
+"Noan so well," said Mrs. Tyrer lugubriously, proceeding thereupon to
+give accurate, not to say harrowing, particulars of her master's
+symptoms; Tyrer, meanwhile, suffering his glance to wander from one to
+the other, and occasionally nodding or shaking his head. It was not
+until she paused from want of breath that he put in his word.
+
+"I mun get up to-morrow," he remarked, apparently addressing no one in
+particular.
+
+"If you do you'll make an end of yourself, my friend," returned the
+Doctor decidedly. "You stay where you are, and go on with your gruel
+and poultices--by-the-bye you needn't make those poultices quite so
+thick, Mrs. Tyrer--and I'll come and see you on Wednesday. You mustn't
+think of getting up. If you go out in this east wind, it will be the
+death of you. Really you people are mad about your Club Day--you
+should have seen old Robert Wainwright, when I told him just now that
+it would be quite impossible for him to go out."
+
+"He's not goin' to walk!" cried husband and wife together, their faces
+lighting up much as Mrs. Wainwright's had done.
+
+"He'd be very much astonished if he were to try," said Doctor
+Craddock; "he can't so much as put his foot to the ground."
+
+[Illustration: THE OWDEST MEMBER
+"I mun get up to-morrow," he remarked]
+
+"Coom," said Mrs. Tyrer, looking encouragingly at her spouse, "that's
+one thing as should mak' thee feel a bit 'appier. He were takkin' on
+terrible, ye know," she explained, "thinkin' Robert 'ud be crowin'
+ower him at not bein' able to walk. He's allus agate o' saucin our
+mester is yon--he reckons he's th' owdest member o' th' Club, an' my
+'usband he's turned seventy, an' he's walked fifty-two times. Ah,
+fifty-two times it were last Club Day, weren't it, Martin?"
+
+"It were," agreed Martin, endorsing the statement with a nod; "but
+Robert, he says he's walked fifty-two times, too, an' he's seventy-one
+last Lady-day, an' so he reckons _he's_ th' owdest member, an' he's
+ever an' allus throwin' it i' my face."
+
+"Eh, sich a to-do as he mak's about it you'd never believe," put in
+the wife, "he'll never let our Gaffer tak' a bit o' credit to
+hissel'--eh, it's terrible how he goes on! I b'lieve if he were fair
+deein' he'd get up an' walk sooner nor let poor Martin ha' th'
+satisfaction o' sayin' he'd walked once oftener nor him. An' th' folks
+has getten to laugh at 'em both, an' to set 'em on, one agin th'
+t'other. At th' dinner yonder, at th' Thornleigh Arms, soombry 'll
+allus get up an' call for th' 'ealth o' th' owdest member, an' then
+th' two owd lads 'ull get agate o' bargin' one another, an' Upton
+folks 'ull be backin' up Martin, an' th' Thornleigh folks 'ull be
+backin' up Robert, an' they mak' sich a din, they say as nobry can
+hear theirsel's speak."
+
+The Doctor laughed loud and long. "Well, it must be a drawn battle
+this year," he said; "certainly Wainwright will not be able to go to
+the Club meeting unless he hops on one leg."
+
+With a cheery nod he withdrew, chuckling all the way downstairs; Mrs.
+Tyrer duly escorted him to the door, and then climbed slowly up again,
+every step creaking beneath her weight. When she entered the sick room
+she found her husband drumming on the sheets with his fingers, and
+staring in front of him with a somewhat peculiar expression.
+
+"Well," she cried, letting her ponderous person sink into the
+old-fashioned elbow chair that stood by the bedside, "owd Robert, yon,
+'ull ha' to keep quiet for once! He'll noan be castin' up at thee this
+year as how 'tis."
+
+Martin rolled his head from side to side, but said nothing.
+
+"Ye'll be able to start fresh next Club Day," resumed his spouse
+cheerily. "Happen th' gout 'ull mak' an end on poor owd Robert first,
+though."
+
+Martin looked at her with a startled air. "Happen it will," he
+assented doubtfully; "ah, it 'ud ha' been a fine thing if I could ha'
+stolen a march on th' owd lad this time! I never got the chance
+before, but theer he lays yon, fast by the leg! If I could ha' made
+shift to walk this year he could never ha' cotched me up--eh, I'd ha'
+had a gradely laugh at him."
+
+"Well, well, ye'll happen ha' th' best on't another time," said Mrs.
+Tyrer soothingly. "Happen he'll noan be able to walk no more next year
+nor this--happen he'll noan be here! Dunnot thou go frettin' thysel'
+this road; nobry knows what's goin' to come about i' this world."
+
+Martin's eyes travelled slowly from the ceiling to her face with a
+puzzled, discontented gaze.
+
+"If th' owd lad dees afore next year it 'ull spile
+everything--'twouldn't be no satisfaction to walk oftener nor him if
+he were dead."
+
+"Well, dunnot thou go frettin' thysel' as how 'tis," repeated his
+missus with a vague attempt at consolation.
+
+Meanwhile old Wainwright had somewhat calmed down since his wife had
+imparted to him the welcome tidings that his rival had unwillingly
+"paired" with him for the morrow's festivities. He ceased roaring at
+his sons and daughters and throwing his bandages at his wife's head;
+it must be stated that he never employed any more dangerous missile
+even in moments of supreme irritation. Robert Wainwright's bark was on
+all occasions worse than his bite, and though recently his bark had
+been very loud indeed, no one in the little household was in the least
+scared by it. This evening, however, "our Tom" and "our Bob," who had
+of late satisfied themselves with screwing their bullet heads and a
+small portion of their persons round the angle of the door, walked
+boldly in, and cheerfully inquired how feyther felt hissel'; while
+"our Annie" and "our Polly" actually helped their mother to
+"straighten" the bed, and ventured to draw the sheet lightly over
+feyther's afflicted toe. The Gaffer, moreover, consented to swallow a
+basin of gruel with just a dash of spirits in it to take away the
+sickliness of it. Doctor Craddock had forbidden all stimulants, but,
+as Mrs. Wainwright remarked, "a little taste like that, just to make
+the gruel slip down, couldn't coom amiss." It certainly did not seem
+to come amiss to Robert, who grew quite jovial as he scraped the
+basin, and commiserated "owd Martin Tyrer, yon," with genuine
+sympathy.
+
+"Poor owd lad! To think of his being laid up just when Club Day cooms!
+Eh, he will be takken to. Ye mind how he allus got agate o' boastin'
+about bein' th' owdest member o' th' Club? an' he nobbut seventy! Eh,
+I 'ad to get vexed wi' him soomtimes--he would have 't ye know, as
+'twere him as were th' owdest, an' he'd get up, when th' folks had
+called for me--eh, I could scarce stand it!"
+
+"He'll be soom mad," cried our Tom, chuckling.
+
+"Nay, thou munnot mak' game o' th' poor owd chap's misfortun'," said
+his father with a tolerant air as he handed the empty basin to Annie.
+"It's bad enough for him to be layin' theer wi'out havin' folks
+crowin' ower him."
+
+Tom, much abashed, grinned sheepishly, and old Robert continued, after
+a pause, still evidently in high good-humour:--
+
+"Well, wheer's thy cornet? Thou should be practisin' i'stead o'
+standin' about findin' fault wi' thy neighbours."
+
+Tom, who was a member of the Thornleigh band, had secretly resolved to
+retire presently to the cartshed that he might prepare for the labours
+of the morrow without being overheard. He was rejoiced, however, to
+find that he might pursue his musical avocations in the house without
+causing the old father chagrin or irritation.
+
+"Mun I practise a bit i' th' kitchen?" he inquired joyfully.
+
+Old Wainwright consented, and presently the somewhat husky tones of
+Tom's cornet resounded through the house.
+
+The next morning dawned bright and sunny, though the unseasonable east
+wind still blew pitilessly keen. The Wainwright's house was only
+divided from the main road by a little patch of garden, and old
+Robert's bedroom window looked out upon the street. Beside this window
+he insisted on establishing himself, being half carried thither by his
+two stalwart sons, whose stout necks he encircled with either arm,
+while he hopped with his sound leg across the floor; Mrs. Wainwright
+supported the injured limb in front and Annie and Polly brought up the
+rear carrying pillows and blankets. Thus, by the united exertions of
+the whole family, old Bob was safely deposited in his straight-backed
+arm-chair, a good deal redder in the face and shorter in the temper
+than before the transit, but otherwise none the worse. Polly pushed
+forward a chair under the limb which her mother was still embracing.
+The pillows were put at feyther's back, the blankets over his knee,
+his pipe and screw of 'baccy being placed handy on the window-sill;
+then Tom and Bob withdrew to assume their Sunday suits in preparation
+for the day, while Mrs. Wainwright and her daughters made the bed and
+tidied the room. Presently the girls slipped away, and, after pausing
+for a moment, hands on hips to make sure that her Gaffer was
+coomfortable, Mrs. Wainwright remarked that she'd better be seeing to
+things downstairs a bit, for they lasses 'ud be sure to be off arter
+the Club as soon as her back was turned.
+
+"If thou wants me, thou'll shout for me, wunnot thou?" she asked,
+turning just at the door.
+
+"I'll not want for aught," returned Bob gruffly. "I don't want no
+doin' for, I'm out o' th' road up here, an' ye're fain enough, all on
+ye'! Thou can be off arter th' Club thysel' if thou's a mind to."
+
+With many protests Mrs. Wainwright withdrew, and her husband, left to
+himself, proceeded to relieve his feelings by tossing his pillows over
+the back of the chair, and extricating his suffering limb from the
+blankets.
+
+"I'm welly smoored," he remarked indignantly, half aloud, "welly
+smoored I am. They reckon I'm a babby to be croodled and cossetted
+this gate. I'll be that nesh afore they'n done, I'll be fit for nought
+when I get about again."
+
+Leaning forward, and supporting himself on one leg, he threw open the
+window. The air, fresh and invigorating if keen as a knife, circled
+round the room, lifting his thick white hair, and making the prints on
+the wall flap and rustle.
+
+"That wakkens me up a bit," cried Bob; "does me good, that does. Our
+missus may barge as hoo likes, I'll keep it oppen."
+
+He could hear voices and hurrying feet in the road below; people were
+beginning to assemble at the church; by-and-by the whole procession,
+headed by the band, would go marching down the street and in at the
+park gates to be refreshed and complimented at Thornleigh Hall; then
+it would take its way across the fields to Upton, turning the big
+banner so that the arms of the Squire of that place would be most _en
+evidence_ when they halted for similar entertainment before the door
+of _his_ mansion. Thence, through Upton village along the lane to the
+Thornleigh Arms; then the dinner--mirth and jollity lasting till
+evening. Old Bob, with knotted hands clasping the wooden arms of his
+high-backed chair, saw it all in fancy, his memory conjuring up each
+detail of the well-known scenes. He could see the grassy fields and
+the hedges white with bloom; he could smell the fragrance of the
+trampled earth; he could feel the sunshine and the brisk air; and then
+the warmth, the brightness, the good cheer at the Thornleigh Arms--his
+mouth watered at the thought of them. Would any one miss the oldest
+member, and drink his health? Well, this time at least, old Martin
+would not be there to dispute the honour.... Now he could hear the
+gate of his little garden swing open and then bang; the lads were
+starting. Bob, leaning on his elbow, craned his neck forward to see
+them. A certain expression of gratified parental pride stole over his
+face as he took note of the brave appearance presented by young Bob,
+who with his be-ribboned hat placed a little aslant on his curly
+locks, his Sunday suit brushed till not a speck of dust rested on its
+glossy surface, and his white staff held jauntily in his sunburnt
+hand, was indeed the picture of a comely young holiday-maker. When the
+father glanced at "our Tom," however, his face darkened. There was Tom
+with his ill-fastened shoelaces trailing, his smart bandsman's coat
+buttoned awry over a pair of trousers which were neither his Sunday
+best, nor the white-piped blue ones which formed part of his uniform
+as musician--these were a shabby, shiny, pair of worn broad-cloth
+usually kept for wet Sundays and Saturday expeditions to town; a suit,
+in fact, which had long been considered by no means presentable.
+
+"Slovenly chap," growled the father with great irritation, "my word,
+if I were near enough I'd larn thee to put on the reet mak' o' clooes
+of a Club Day! I'd holler now, an' mak' thee coom back an' change 'em,
+if our missus wasna so nigh, but if hoo chanced to look an' see me at
+th' window, hoo'd be bargin' me for opening it.... Ha, th' owd lass
+has called him back hersel'. Reet! hoo'll noan let him mak' sich a
+boggart of hissel'--hoo'll fettle him up afore he goes."
+
+He chuckled to himself, as Tom was hauled back, sheepish and sulky,
+and pushed into the house by the womankind; presently emerging in full
+bandsman's dress, tied shoe-laces--in every way as spick and span as
+father or mother could desire. Brandishing his instrument, he ran
+clattering down the street to overtake his brother, only just in time
+apparently, for, a minute or two after he had disappeared, the distant
+sounds of music could be heard.
+
+"They're coomin'," said Bob, drawing a long breath, and rubbing his
+withered hands together. His eyes grew suddenly very round and red,
+and he felt a queer choking in his throat. Yes, they were coming; he
+could distinguish the tune now, and the _tramp, tramp_ of many feet.
+Bob again leaned forward, thrusting his head almost through the window
+in his anxiety to see and hear. The missus and the lasses standing at
+the gate were too intent on watching and listening to notice him. Now
+they were rounding the corner--a brave sight; the big banner with its
+gay streamers held well aloft, the stewards with their white wands
+also decorated with ribbon; the fine old Thornleigh Arms were to the
+front this time, and the Thornleigh folk too--there they came rolling
+along, every man happy and merry, and here was "th' owdest member,"
+who had walked his fifty-two times, laid by the heels in his solitary
+upper chamber! His big, old, gnarled hands shook as they rested on the
+sill, his underlip trembled and drooped like a child's, babyish tears
+gathered in his eyes.
+
+But what was this? The lads were pulling up, the big banner halted
+right opposite his door, just as if it had been the Squire's--with a
+sudden crash the band stopped short, and somebody called out loudly:--
+
+"Three cheers for th' owdest member!" And thereupon ensued lusty "Hip,
+hip, hurras," long kept up with vigour and enthusiasm by the
+Thornleigh members, while the Upton folk, standing aloof and silent,
+eyed each other askance and seemed rather glum.
+
+Poor old Bob! His wrinkled rubicund face was a study as he leaned
+forth, nodding to his cronies, and shouting at intervals, "Thank'ee
+lads, thank'ee."
+
+Mrs. Wainwright was too proud and jubilant to scold him for his
+temerity, and stood smiling at her gate, calling to the neighbours to
+"Jest see our Gaffer! Theer, he's gone an' oppened window all hissel',
+an's lookin' out same's ony on us."
+
+At last the procession moved on again, the band--at least that portion
+of it which hailed from Thornleigh playing "He's a Jolly Good Fellow,"
+while the Upton musicians tried to drown the efforts of their comrades
+by striking up "See the Conquering Hero Comes."
+
+The meaning of this last was presently made clear to Old Bob
+Wainwright, whose triumph was of but short duration, for lo! beneath
+his window, the second part of the procession suddenly halted, and
+there in the middle of the Upton folk, stood his rival, Martin Tyrer!
+Much enveloped, indeed, in wraps and comforters, rather pale as to
+complexion, very hoarse as to voice, but nevertheless no other than
+Martin Tyrer himself. Bob's face fell, and he stared vacantly forth
+without attempting to move.
+
+"Well," cried Tyrer huskily, but triumphantly, "thou'rt theer, art
+thou, owd brid? I'm fain th' lads gave thee a cheer to keep thy
+sperrits up--we'se drink thy health jest now. I've cotched thee at
+last thou sees! This here's fifty-three times as I've walked.
+Fifty-three times!" raising his voice to a bellow--"I'm th' owdest
+member, now, as how 'tis. Good-day to thee, Robert, I hope thou'lt be
+about wick an' hearty this time next year--thou'lt be _second_ owdest
+member, an' we'se be fain to see thee among us."
+
+With a cheer and a roar of laughter the party moved on, Martin,
+turning after a few steps, to hold up all five fingers of one hand,
+and three of the other, intending thereby, according to an
+arithmetical system of his own, to denote the number of fifty-three.
+Bob quite understood the exasperating allusion, and grew, if possible,
+redder in the face than before, though, for the moment, his surprise,
+anger, and humiliation left him absolutely dumb.
+
+His family had a bad time of it during all the remainder of that day:
+bandages were flying, pillows were pitched aside, food was spurned and
+upset, and plates were broken. The choice language, however, which
+usually accompanied these tokens of displeasure was not heard to-day.
+Since the insult which had followed so close upon the heels of the old
+man's triumph, he had continued vengefully mute.
+
+The lads came home at nightfall, not quite perhaps as hilarious as
+usual after a Club Day dinner, but with their tongues sufficiently
+loosened by Jack Orme's good beer to make them less cautious and more
+garrulous than was their custom when within earshot of their father.
+Old Bob, sitting up in bed and clutching wrathfully at the blankets,
+heard them relate how they had been told that Martin Tyrer was that
+set on walking that day, that though his missus had locked up his hat
+and boots, he had managed to give her the slip, and had run across the
+road and had got Tom Lupton's Sunday hat off him and also his best
+boots. Mrs. Tyrer was in an awful to-do, and had come to fetch him at
+the Thornleigh Arms. The doctor said it would be the death of her
+Gaffer, she declared--but old Martin wouldn't go. He had stayed till
+the very end, drinking healths with everybody, and boasting and
+bragging he had beaten Bob Wainwright, and _he_ was th' owdest member
+now. At this point of the narrative Bob senior overturned his
+gruel--which till now he had respected on account of the
+flavouring--and kicked so hard at the bed-clothes that he hurt his
+gouty foot, and uttered a roar of rage and pain which caused his sons
+to lower their voices to a discreet whisper.
+
+Next morning news came that Martin Tyrer had been taken very bad, and
+that the doctor had a poor opinion of him. When Doctor Craddock,
+indeed, called later in the day to see Bob Wainwright, he confirmed
+the report with a sigh and a shake of the head:
+
+"I am afraid the poor old fellow has done for himself," he said
+gravely. "It is astonishing how obstinate some of these people are. I
+am glad that you at least have had more sense, Wainwright"--turning
+with a smile to Bob.
+
+"I sh'd ha' gone if I could ha' getten foot to th' ground," returned
+Bob, glowering at him.
+
+"Well, well, luckily for you you couldn't, though it might not have
+been quite so serious with you. But Tyrer was very ill indeed when he
+went, and now naturally he is very much worse."
+
+"Raly, it looks like a judgment," observed Mrs. Wainwright, with an
+air of pious regret, "soom people might say it was, ye know, Doctor.
+Martin, he's been goin' on awful to my husband--that set up he were--"
+
+"Howd thy din!" interposed Bob, wrathfully; whereupon Mrs. Wainwright
+retired outside the door, waiting to pursue the conversation till the
+doctor should be ready to go downstairs.
+
+When, a day or two after, Martin Tyrer died, Mrs. Wainwright received
+the tidings with the same mournful satisfaction. It was what she had
+looked for, she remarked; she "couldn't but feel that Martin was
+callin' down a judgment on hissel! Well, it was to be 'oped that th'
+A'mighty wouldn't be 'ard with him, not but what he was 'ard enough,
+Martin was, wi' other folks. A body would ha' thought that when he see
+the Gaffer laid up in's chamber on Club Day he wouldn't 'ave 'ad it
+in's 'eart to go castin' up at him, same's he did." But Mrs.
+Wainwright would say no more, Martin Tyrer was gone, poor man, an' it
+did not become her to judge him. Upon which she proceeded to say a
+great deal more, in exactly the same strain, until her Gaffer hammered
+on the floor with his stick, and requested her to stop that.
+
+The whole family were much astonished on receiving invitations to
+Martin Tyrer's funeral. They had, indeed, heard that Mrs. Tyrer was
+going to give him a very nice burying--that all Upton folks were going
+and a good many from Thornleigh too--it was to be "summat gradely"
+every one said. It was the kind of festivity which, as a rule, the
+Wainwrights much appreciated, but on this occasion they were rather
+affronted at being bidden to assist, and both the young men declared
+stoutly that they'd noan go if they knew it.
+
+"Why not?" growled feyther from his big chair in the corner. (He was
+now well enough to hobble down stairs.) "You yoong chaps thinks too
+mich o' yoursels--_I'm_ goin' as how 'tis."
+
+Mrs. Wainwright positively gasped. "Gaffer, thou'll noan think o' sich
+a thing--thou as couldn't so mich as walk on Tuesday! I'm sure thou
+needn't be puttin' thysel' out for Martin Tyrer!"
+
+"I'm goin' as how 'tis," repeated Bob gloomily; he had been very
+gloomy all these days. "I'm goin' to foller Martin Tyrer to his long
+home, if I ha' to hop," he added sternly. "Him an' me has walked
+together for fifty-two year, an' I'll walk at Martin Tyrer's buryin'!
+Theer now, my mind's made up."
+
+Young Bob and Tom stared at each other, then they remarked,
+unwillingly, that if he went of course they would go too; upon which
+old Bob returned that they might please theirsel's--_he_ was going.
+
+When Doctor Craddock was told of this decision, he said that now
+Robert was so much better it might not do him any harm, adding that he
+thought it showed very good feeling on his part. Mrs. Wainwright was
+much elated at the compliment, but Robert himself received it in stony
+silence. When the report circulated round the village every one was
+touched and edified. Wasn't it beautiful, people said, and who'd have
+thought Robert Wainwright had that much feeling! He had a wonderful
+good heart, Robert had--he wasn't one to say much, but he felt the
+more. Mrs. Wainwright went about shaking her head and casting up her
+eyes. She had begun by being exasperated at this sudden determination,
+but finding how very much other folks admired and respected her Robert
+for it, she had gradually become infected by the general enthusiasm;
+and, indeed, when she hunted out and carefully brushed her husband's
+Sunday clothes, she murmured tearfully to her daughters that "Feyther
+was a'most too good for this warld," and that "it 'ud be mich"--with a
+sniff--"if they weren't gettin' ready blacks to weer for him next!"
+
+"It mak's me go all of a shake," the good woman added. "Eh, I cannot
+tell ye! It seems onnatural-like. Yer Feyther's noan like 'issel'. To
+think of his takkin' on that gate about owd Martin Tyrer; mony a one
+'ud be fain enough as he were out o' the road!"
+
+Meanwhile Robert himself certainly did not say much, as the neighbours
+observed; in fact, he said nothing at all. When his friends came and
+stared at him after the manner of their kind, and made remarks to each
+other or to Mrs. Wainwright about how strange it was that he should be
+that taken to about Martin Tyrer--though some of them added,
+sympathetically, that he _would_ be like to miss him, he _would_, when
+all was said and done; him and Martin had walked together such a many
+years--"rale cronies ye know for all their fallin's out"--Robert would
+stare at them and heave a deep sigh; occasionally he would take his
+pipe out of his mouth as though about to make a remark, but invariably
+put it in again without uttering a syllable. Then his friends would go
+away, shaking their heads and sighing, after pausing to impart to Mrs.
+Wainwright their conviction that her Gaffer was failing.
+
+When the day of Martin's funeral came Robert was, with the assistance
+of his wife and daughters, attired in his best "blacks"; he himself
+saw to his foot-gear, having possessed himself of a pair of shears
+with which he cut a large piece out of the top of one boot. Mrs.
+Wainwright had been tearful enough with sentimental foreboding all the
+morning, and, when she saw the irreparable damage wrought by Feyther's
+ruthless hands, she began to cry in good earnest.
+
+"I knowed as summat was boun' to happen," she groaned; "dear o' me,
+seventeen-an'-six, no less--an' the soles scarce soiled! Eh,
+Gaffer!--it's downright flyin' i' th' face o' Providence to be so
+wasteful."
+
+Gaffer, meanwhile, purple in the face with suppressed anguish, had
+forced his foot into the mutilated boot, and now silently and
+frowningly pointed to his hat.
+
+The Wainwrights started early, for, though many neighbours had offered
+to give Bob a lift, the old man had insisted on walking all the way.
+It was a very painful pilgrimage, but he set his teeth and leaned hard
+on his stick, and hobbled along dauntlessly, though every now and then
+his injured foot would give a twinge which made him snarl to himself
+and stagger.
+
+They arrived just as the mourning procession was setting forth from
+the widow's door. Bob had counted upon being refreshed by a short rest
+and a glass of "summat"; but there was no time for that now, so he
+merely wiped his face, drew a deep breath, and fell into line. The
+Upton folk were surprised and gratified by his presence; many of them
+nodded to him in a friendly way, and a few came up and spoke to him.
+One or two told him they considered it "rale 'andsome" of him to come.
+Bob nodded back, and said nothing.
+
+He stood by, solemnly, while the final sad rites were being performed,
+and lingered even after all was over. At last, however, he heaved a
+deep sigh and turned to go. Mrs. Wainwright tenderly supported his
+left elbow and cast a tragic glance round.
+
+"I doubt it's been too mich for him," she sobbed--she always sobbed at
+funerals, being a very feeling woman, but on this occasion she
+surpassed herself, some of the Upton folk indeed thought it was scarce
+decent. Young Bob and Tom began to blubber too; Polly remarked to
+Annie that "Feyther'd go next for sure." Friends and neighbours
+gathered round with long faces and sympathetic murmurs. Robert
+Wainwright, however, pushed them aside and hobbled forward a few paces
+without speaking; then he suddenly halted and jerked his thumb over
+his shoulder.
+
+"Well," he said with a chuckle, "_he_ walked on Club Day--ah, he
+did--but I've walked to his buryin', so I reckon I've cotched him up.
+I wonder who's th' owdest member now!"
+
+
+
+
+THE CONQUEST OF RADICAL TED
+
+
+It was Saturday afternoon, and Ted Wharton and Joe Lovelady had left
+off work early, as was their custom on that day of the week. They were
+now betaking themselves with solemn satisfaction to the "Thornleigh
+Arms," where a certain portion of their weekly wage would presently
+transfer itself from their own pockets to that of its jovial landlord.
+Joe Lovelady was a great, soft, lumbering fellow, who was considered
+rather a nonentity in Thornleigh; but Ted Wharton was a very different
+person. He was the village Radical--an adventurous spirit who, not
+content with spelling out his newspaper conscientiously on Sunday, was
+wont to produce, even on week-day afternoons, sundry small,
+ill-printed sheets, from which he would read out revolutionary
+sentiments the like of which had never before been heard in
+Thornleigh. For the most part his neighbours considered it extremely
+foolish of Ted to be "weerin' his brass on sich like," when a ha'porth
+of twist would have been so much more satisfactory. They cared nothing
+at all about Home Rule, and did not see that the labour question in
+any way bore upon their own case. What they wanted to know was when
+Government was going to raise the price of wheat, and what was the use
+of growing 'taters when it wasn't worth while carting them to
+Liverpool?
+
+But Ted was not only the village Radical: he was also the village wag,
+with a reputation for humour which rendered him enormously popular. He
+was about thirty-five years old; a small man with sandy hair, a
+serious, not to say solemn, expression of countenance, and twinkling
+light grey eyes, which he had a trick of blinking when about to
+perpetrate a joke. His trousers were a little too short, his
+coat-sleeves--when he wore a coat--a little too long. On ordinary
+occasions his hat was tilted to the back of his head, and when in a
+jocular humour he cocked it knowingly over one eye. Probably these
+peculiarities, coupled with a certain dry method of enunciating, added
+largely to Ted's renown.
+
+As they walked briskly along this hot summer's afternoon, the two men
+did not take the trouble to converse with each other. Joe, indeed, was
+at all times a taciturn person, and Ted was probably reserving himself
+for the delectation of the cronies whom he expected to meet at the
+"Thornleigh Arms." When he had caught up Joe on the road he had
+volunteered that he was steppin' up yonder, and Joe had replied that
+that was reet, jerking his head forward at the same time as an
+indication that he was steppin' up yonder too; thenceforth they had,
+as a matter of course, proceeded together, Ted walking a pace or two
+in advance and whistling to himself.
+
+The village was now left behind, and on one side of the road, behind
+the dusty hedge, some colts were keeping step with them, occasionally
+starting and floundering forward after the manner of their kind, and
+then wheeling and coming slowly back with foolish heads extended and
+ears pricked, all ready for another bounce if either of the
+pedestrians raised his hand or kicked a stone out of his path. To
+their left the corn stood tall and yellow, almost ready for the
+harvest. Now they approached some woods, familiarly known as "the
+Mosses," from the peaty nature of the soil. A few weeks before the
+thick undergrowth of rhododendrons had been ablaze with clustering
+purple blossoms, and many wild flowers grew now on the borders of the
+deep ditch which surrounded them. These woods lay cornerwise with the
+main road, a sandy lane following the angle they described. On the
+grassy border of this lane a flock of geese were tranquilly basking,
+and, as Ted approached, a vigilant and pugnacious gander rushed
+towards him, flapping its wings and extending its long neck with
+portentous hisses. Ted had been carrying his coat over his arm for the
+sake of coolness, and now, whether because he thought it would be a
+humorous thing to do, or because he was secretly a little terrified at
+the rapid advance of the bellicose gander, he struck with it at the
+luckless bird with such force that he stretched it on the sod.
+
+"Hello!" cried Ted, stopping short, astonished and perturbed at his
+sudden victory, "I b'lieve I've done for th' owd chap."
+
+"My word," commented Joe, "if thou has thou'll be like to hear on it!
+That theer's Margaret Hep.'s gander; hoo thinks the world on't, hoo
+does."
+
+Ted was meanwhile bending over his prostrate foe, which, to his
+relief, was not absolutely dead, though it was gasping and turning up
+its eyes in rather a ghastly manner. He took it up in his arms, still
+enfolded in his coat.
+
+"It's wick still, as how 'tis," he remarked. "Eh! how it's kickin' out
+with they ugly yaller legs! Now then, owd lad, what mun we do wi'it,
+think'st thou? Mun I finish it off an' carry it wi' me to Jack Orme's
+for a marlock? Eh! the lads 'ud laugh if they see me coomin' in wi'
+it! I'll tell 'em I'd brought 'em a Crestmas dinner in July. My word,
+it's tough enough! I reckon it 'ud want keepin'; it wouldn't be ready
+mich afore Crestmas!"
+
+Joe's wits, at no time very nimble, required some time to take in this
+audacious proposal, and he was just beginning the preliminary
+deprecating roll of the head, which he intended to precede a remark to
+the effect that Margaret 'ud happen have summat to say about that,
+when the angular figure of Miss Heptonstall herself appeared at the
+corner of the lane. She paused a moment aghast at the sight of the
+struggling gander, still enveloped in Ted's coat, and then, with
+extended hands and wildly-flapping drapery, hastened towards him--her
+aspect being not unlike that assumed by the unfortunate biped in
+question when he had first advanced to the attack.
+
+"Victoria!" she gasped, when she at last halted beside the men. "Eh!
+whatever's getten Victoria?"
+
+"Do ye mean this 'ere?" questioned Ted, hoisting the gander a little
+higher up under his arm. "Well, I cannot think whatever coom to the
+poor thing. Joe and me was goin' our ways along to Orme's when we
+heerd it give a kind of skrike out, and we looked round, and it were
+staggerin' along same as if it were fuddled, ye know, and all at once
+it give another skrike an' tumbled down aside o' th' road. Didn't it,
+Joe?"
+
+Joe again rolled a deprecatory eye at his crony and cleared his
+throat, but did not otherwise commit himself.
+
+"It mun ha' been a fit or soom sich thing," continued Ted, cocking his
+hat over his eye and glancing waggishly at Lovelady. "When Joe see it,
+says he, 'My word, there'll be a pretty to do! This is Margaret Hep.'s
+gander,' says Joe--no, I think he said, 'Miss Heptonstall's gander.'
+Didn't thou, Joe? Joe's allus so respectful and civil-spoke,
+pertic'larly when it's a lady as he's a-talking about."
+
+Joe grinned and began to look jocular too. His friend's last assertion
+pleased him better than the wild flights of a little time before.
+
+"That's it," said Joe. "Ho, ho! Reet!"
+
+"He'd never go for to call ony lady out o' their name," pursued Ted,
+placing his hat yet a little more aslant; "never did that in's life.
+He's quite a lady's mon, Joe is. Haw! haw!"
+
+"Coom!" said Joe, grinning still more broadly.
+
+At this juncture the invalid gander made a frantic struggle, and,
+freeing one wing from Ted's encircling coat, began to flap it wildly.
+
+"Ye've no need to stan' grinnin' an' makkin' merry theer when th' poor
+dumb thing's goin' to dee, as like as not," cried Margaret
+indignantly. "Hand him over to me this minute--theer, my beauty,
+theer--missus'll see to thee."
+
+"Well, an' ye ought to be very thankful to me," asserted Ted; "didn't
+I pick him out o' th' road, an' put my own coat o'er him an' fondle
+him mich same's if he was a babby? Why, he 'ud noan be wick now if it
+hadn't ha' been for me. Theer, my boy, howd up! Theer, we'se tuck in
+thy wing for thee, and cover thee up warm an' gradely--'tisn't
+everybody as 'ud be dressin' up a gander i' their own clooes. Do you
+know what 'ud do this 'ere bird rale good? Just a drop o' sperrits to
+warm his in'ards for him--that's what he wants. See here, I'll carry
+him awhoam for ye, and ye mun jest fotch him a glass o' whisky, and in
+a two three minutes he'll be as merry as a layrock."
+
+Margaret looked doubtfully at him.
+
+"Do ye raly think it 'ud do the poor thing good?" she asked dolefully.
+
+"I'm sure on't," returned Ted, firmly pinioning the gander's
+struggling legs, and setting off at a brisk pace towards Margaret's
+cottage. "Theer's nought as is wick as wouldn't feel the benefit of a
+drop o' sperrits now an' again."
+
+Joe considered this a very proper sentiment, and gave a grunt by way
+of endorsing it; he, too, followed Ted and the gander, being as much
+amused at the transaction as it was in his nature to be at anything.
+
+Margaret kept pace with Ted, every now and then uttering lamentations
+over her favourite.
+
+"He were as good a gander as a body need wish for; wonderful good
+breed he were, an' as knowin'! Eh, dear, I never wanted for coompany
+when Victoria were theer."
+
+"Victoria!" ejaculated Ted, stopping short and facing her; "why,
+that's a female name!"
+
+"It's the Queen's name," rejoined Margaret, with a certain melancholy
+triumph.
+
+"I thought it had been a gander; it _is_ a gander, surely?"
+
+"Oh, it's a gander reet 'nough. But I thought it were a goose to begin
+wi'. It were the biggest o' th' clutch, an' the prattiest, an' so I
+called it Victoria, an' it geet to know th' name, an' to coom when I
+called it--eh, it 'ud coom runnin' up an' croodle down aside o' me,
+turnin' its yead o' one side that knowin'! Eh, dear, theer never was
+sich a bird. An' when it were upgrown, an' turned out to be a gander,
+I 'adn't it i' my 'eart to change th' name, seein' as it had getten to
+know it so well, an' arter all, seein' as it's th' head of all th'
+fowls i' my place, it doesn't seem to coom amiss. Canon, he wanted me
+to call it Prince Consort, or else Albert Edward, but it didn't seem
+natural like, an' I've allus been used to call my white drake Albert
+Edward; and Prince Consort, he's th' owd rooster."
+
+"Well," said Ted, hoisting up the gander again under his arm, and
+chuckling as he walked forward, "well, that beats all! I never heerd
+sich a tale i' my life. Coom, Victoria, howd up, owd lad; we'se soon
+be theer now. An' so th' owd rooster is Prince Consort? An' the
+drake's th' Prince o' Wales? Ho, ho! Have ye getten any more royalties
+yonder?"
+
+"I've used up pretty near all th' royal fam'ly," replied Margaret,
+with a recurrence of her former dolorous pride; "it's the only mark o'
+respect as I can show my sovering. Every time Her Gracious Majesty
+gets a new grandchild or great-grandchild, Canon, he cooms an' says,
+'Margaret, have you any more chickens as wants names?' An' soomtimes
+the one christening 'ull do for a whole brood; they royal childer has
+sich a mony names, ye know."
+
+Ted sneered and looked immensely superior; the loyalty of this
+benighted woman filled his Radical mind with as much contempt as
+amusement. He was about to utter some scathing remark, when his
+attention was diverted by their arrival at Margaret's cottage.
+
+Throwing open the little wicket-gate which divided her premises from
+the lane, she pressed forward, and unlocked her door. Ted followed her
+into the kitchen, while Joe stood without, craning forward his neck to
+see what was going on in the interior of the cottage, and drawing the
+back of his hand across his lips when he saw Miss Heptonstall produce
+a small bottle of whisky.
+
+"He looks a dale livelier now," remarked Ted, uncloaking the gander
+and setting it on its legs on Margaret's immaculate table. "Whoa,
+steady theer," as the bird began to struggle in his grasp, flapping
+uneasy wings, and making a sickly attempt at a hiss.
+
+Margaret, who had been about to uncork the bottle, paused, surveying
+Victoria with her head on one side.
+
+"Theer dunnot seem to be mich amiss, do theer?" she remarked; "it
+seems a'most a pity to be givin' it sperrits. It'll upset it again as
+like as not."
+
+"Theer mun ha' been summat amiss i' th' first place, though," returned
+Wharton, with a judicial air, "else it wouldn't ha' been took bad same
+as it were. If I was you, Miss Heptonstall, I'd give it a drop to
+strengthen its in'ards a bit."
+
+"Ah," agreed Joe from the doorway.
+
+Ted fumbled in his pocket and produced a large red cotton
+handkerchief, which he carefully spread on the table beneath the
+gander.
+
+"It 'ud be a pity to let this here table get dirty," he observed,
+looking admiringly at its spotless surface. Margaret eyed him with
+more favour than she had hitherto displayed; then, smiling sourly,
+began to pour out the contents of her little black bottle.
+
+"Fill up, Miss Heptonstall, fill up!" cried Ted, energetically; "eh,
+if you dunnot gi' it no more nor that, Victoria met jest as well be a
+bantam. He'll noan as mich as wet that great yaller beak of his wi'
+that drop."
+
+Margaret smiled no more, but she filled up the glass. Joe, in the
+doorway, cleared his throat reflectively. Ted, again encircling the
+gander with his arm, forced open its beak.
+
+"Now then," he whispered eagerly, "fotch a spoon, Miss Hep. Coom, owd
+bird, this'll fettle thee up, an' no mistake."
+
+But whether Victoria's struggles were more lively than he had
+anticipated, or whether Ted purposely relaxed his hold, certain it was
+that the gander, with a scream of fury, backed out of his grasp and
+fluttered on to the floor; proceeding to waddle with great speed and
+evident indignation across the kitchen into the yard without.
+
+"He's teetotal," said Ted, gazing at Margaret with a twinkle in his
+eye. "I met ha' knowed he'd be, seein' as he's bin brought up so
+careful, an' took to water nateral fro' th' first."
+
+Miss Heptonstall had been about to restore the liquor to its bottle,
+but she now hesitated, looking towards Ted with a grim smile; his
+style of humour tickled her. Seized with a sudden fit of generosity,
+she extended the glass to him.
+
+"You're noan teetotal, I'll be bound," she observed. "Theer! Sup it
+up."
+
+"Your 'ealth!" said Ted, nodding towards her, much elated. Joe again
+cleared his throat tentatively, but Margaret ruthlessly corked the
+bottle, and, assuming her usual frosty air, remarked with somewhat
+scant politeness that it was time for her to be setting about her
+business, and there was no need for other folks to be waiting.
+
+Thereupon the "other folks" were constrained to depart, Ted being
+still jubilant and Joe very glum.
+
+"Well," began the former, as soon as they had advanced some paces, "t'
+folks up yon 'ull laugh fit to split when they hear this tale! Th' owd
+lady is a dacent sort o' body when all's said an' done. Hoo behaved
+uncommon 'andsome to me."
+
+"Ah," returned Joe with surly sarcasm, "uncommon 'andsome. Hoo gave
+thee th' gander's leavin's, didn't hoo? Ho, ho! gander's leavin's."
+
+Joe so seldom made a joke that he was quite astonished at himself, and
+after three or four repetitions of the same, with much wagging of the
+head, and a few knowing jerks of his thumb over his shoulder,
+apparently to accentuate the point of the jest, he became quite
+good-humoured again, and the pair walked on in amicable silence, each
+preparing to astonish his cronies with the recital of his own prowess.
+
+The Thornleigh Arms was a snug old-fashioned hostelry standing a
+little back from the high-road. An air of homely jollity and comfort
+seemed to pervade the place; the ruddy afternoon sun lit up the
+small-paned windows with as cheerful a glow as that which in winter
+was reflected from the roaring fire piled by old Jack half up the wide
+chimney; the very Thornleigh lion of the imposing sign seemed to lean
+confidentially on his toe and to grin affably, as though to assure the
+passers-by of the good cheer within.
+
+Ted and Joe found the usual Saturday customers already there, and
+presently shouts of laughter made the very rafters ring as he
+recounted his adventures with Margaret Heptonstall and her gander; his
+companion meanwhile sipping his beer with an air of suppressed
+importance. By-and-by he, too, would add his quota to the evening's
+entertainment, but he would wait till the culminating point of Ted's
+story was reached, and the company was, so to speak, ripe for it.
+
+"Me an' Miss Hep. is meeterly thick now, I tell ye," summed up Ted at
+the conclusion of his tale. "Hoo thinks a dale o' me, if hoo doesn't
+think mich o' menfolk in general."
+
+"Hoo gived Ted the gander's leavin's," put in Joe, seizing his
+opportunity, and bringing out his joke with a great shout and a
+vigorous nudge to his nearest neighbour. "Th' owd lad needn't be that
+set up--hoo give him nought but the gander's leavin's, when all's said
+an' done."
+
+"Hoo didn't give _thee_ a drop as how 'tis," retorted Ted. "Poor Joe
+were stood i' th' doorway, ye know, an' he sighed an' licked his lips,
+th' poor chap, but he didn't get nought. Miss Hep. didn't fancy nobody
+but me."
+
+"Thou'll be for coortin' her next," suggested somebody humorously.
+
+"Nay, nay," said an odd little short man with comically uplifted
+eyebrows. "'T wouldn't be no use coortin' Margaret Heptonstall. Eh, I
+remember when our missus reckoned hoo were deein' an' took a notion to
+mak' up a match between Margaret an' me--"
+
+The rest of his narrative was drowned in a roar of laughter. Every one
+knew that story.
+
+"Hoo wouldn't ha' noan o' thee, would hoo Tom?" cried one.
+
+"Thy missus couldn't bear the notion of havin' all they dumb things
+about as Margaret sets sich store by?" queried another.
+
+"Nay, 'twas me as couldn't bear the notion of her," rejoined Tom
+stoutly. "I'd be hard put-to to do wi' onybody at arter our Betty.
+Hoo's wick an' 'earty, an' I dunnot want nobry; but if I did have to
+pick a second missus, it shouldn't be Margaret Hep."
+
+"Hoo's reg'lar set in her ways, isn't hoo?" put in old Jack. "Ah,
+hoo's reg'lar cut out for a single life, Marg'ret is. I reckon
+nobody'll want to coort her at this time o' day, an' if onybody did,
+hoo'd send him packin'."
+
+"I haven't tried my hand yet, ye see," remarked Ted, looking round for
+applause. "If I was to get agate o' coortin' Margaret Hep., hoo'd be
+fain enough."
+
+There was general laughter at this statement, which nearly every one
+present hastened to deny. All agreed that were Ted to urge his
+pretensions he would be very soon sent to the right-about.
+
+"Well, then," cried Ted when the uproar had somewhat subsided, "I'll
+bet you a nine-gallon cask of owd Jack's best to a five-shillin' bit
+that Margaret Hep. an' me 'ull be shouted before the month's out."
+
+The din at this point reached such a height that Mrs. Jack hastened in
+from the back premises to inquire what was to-do, and Ted himself was
+obliged to hammer on the table with his knuckles before he could make
+himself heard.
+
+"Well," he resumed, "I've said it, an' I'll stick to it. You'll see,
+Margaret an' me 'ull be keeping coompany afore aught's long, an' Canon
+'ull be shoutin' us at th' end o' th' month."
+
+"Mon, you're noan goin' to wed sich an owd, tough, dried-up body as
+yon, for sure?" cried comfortable Mrs. Orme incredulously. "Ye mun be
+a good ten or fifteen year younger nor her."
+
+"I didn't say we'd go as fur as wedlock," explained Ted, with a wicked
+leer. "I said we'd be shouted. Eh, theer's mony a slip 'twixt cup an'
+lip, ye know. Margaret an' me 'ull happen fall out afore weddin' day
+cooms; but once Canon shouts us ye mun down wi' your five shillin's."
+
+"Ah, th' marlock 'ull be cheap enough at five shillin'," cried some
+jovial spirit. "My word, I would laugh to hear the names called! I
+reckon Canon hisself 'ud scarce keep a straight face."
+
+"Nay, but think of th' poor wench," cried Jack, with an explosion of
+mirth. "Ted, it's rale cruel o' thee to play an innicent trustin' lass
+sich a trick."
+
+"I reckon Margaret Hep. can take care of herself," put in Mrs. Jack.
+"Hoo can keep her e'en oppen as weel's onybody. I don't know but what
+it 'ull be Ted as 'ull ha' to pay for th' nine-gallon cask. Ye'd best
+be savin' up your brass, Ted, for we wunnot give no credit for 't."
+
+With this professional sally she retired. Thomas Alty, remarking in an
+undertone that his Betty would be coming to look for him if he didn't
+make haste home, withdrew also, after a good-humoured nod to the
+friend who had treated him; for, as Mrs. Alty invariably impounded
+Tom's wage, it was only when he met with a crony in a generous humour
+that he visited the Thornleigh Arms.
+
+It was not till considerably later that Ted betook himself homewards;
+the plan which he had at first proposed out of a mere spirit of
+bravado having now, owing to the gibes of Jack and the rest, become a
+fixed resolution.
+
+On the following afternoon, just at the time when young Thornleigh
+went a-coortin', and elderly Thornleigh took off its boots and coat,
+or put a clean white handkerchief over its cap, the better to enjoy
+its Sabbath snooze in the ingle-nook, Ted Wharton cocked his hat over
+his eye, put a posy in his coat, and set off to call on Margaret
+Heptonstall. He found that damsel engaged in neither of the avocations
+already stated, but, with her Sunday gown pinned behind her, and her
+week-day sun-bonnet hanging limply over her face, feeding her numerous
+family in the middle of her yard.
+
+"Good day to ye, Miss Heptonstall," remarked Ted, approaching with a
+jaunty air, "I thought I'd just call round to ax how Victoria finds
+hissel this morning."
+
+"Mich the same as us'al, thank ye," replied Miss Hep. with a starched
+air. "Get out o' the road, Alice," addressing an adventurous pullet.
+"Thou'rt allus runnin' under a body's feet. Chuck! chuck! chuck! Coom
+G'arge, coom Adylaide, coom Maud! Now then, Alexandra! Chuck! chuck!
+coom lovies! That theer vicious Frederick has been a-chivying of you
+till you're freetened to death, you are."
+
+Ted stood by with his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets, smiling to
+himself.
+
+"Yon's gradely chickens," he remarked presently. "Ye never eat 'em do
+ye? 'Twouldn't be respectful, I shouldn't think."
+
+[Illustration: THE CONQUEST OF RADICAL TED
+"Yon's gradely chickens," he remarked]
+
+Margaret vouchsafed no reply. Ted resumed, with bitter sarcasm.
+
+"H'm, mich the same as their r'yal namesakes, I reckon--kept for show
+an' no manner o' use to nobry."
+
+Margaret hastily scattered the remainder of the grain in her apron,
+and whisked round.
+
+"Howd your din," she cried angrily, "or else tak' yoursel' off. I'll
+noan stand by an' hear sich talk i' my place."
+
+Ted, feeling he had made rather an inauspicious beginning, suddenly
+became lamb-like.
+
+"No offence," he pleaded humbly. "Mun I carry your basin for you into
+th' house?"
+
+Margaret looked over her shoulder and snorted; then, without returning
+yea or nay, she stalked over the cobble-stones and entered her
+kitchen, followed meekly by her visitor. Miss Heptonstall did not turn
+her head until the sound of Ted's boots, falling upon her tiled floor,
+made her look round sharply.
+
+"If ye're for coomin' in ye'd best wipe your feet," she announced
+briefly.
+
+Ted obediently retraced his steps and polished his boots on the mat
+outside the door. Then he re-entered, walking gingerly on the tips of
+his toes, and casting about in his mind for a suitable topic with
+which to inaugurate the conversation. Margaret's spare angular figure
+and sharp-featured face did not look encouraging; but surely never
+before was seen such a dazzling white apron, such a stiffly starched
+collar, such spotless cuffs. Margaret's cleanliness had in it, it was
+true, an aggressive quality, but Ted admired it nevertheless. The
+kitchen and all its appurtenances bore witness to the same scrupulous
+nicety. No floor in Thornleigh village was raddled so carefully, no
+fire-irons glittered so bravely; the very walls seemed to shine; and
+as for the pots and pans they positively winked at one another in the
+ruddy glow. Ted rested a sunburnt hand on each of his knees, drew a
+long breath, and remarked fervently--
+
+"Ye mun be wonderful house-proud, Miss Heptonstall."
+
+He could not have chosen a more pleasing theme; Margaret wrinkled up
+her nose with a sniff and a smile.
+
+"Well, I believe I'm reckoned to be," she remarked modestly; "theer's
+nought else i' this world as I care for mich, but I'm wonderful fond
+o' cleanin' and scrubbing', an' I've allus said I'd sooner do things
+for mysel' nor let onybody do it for me."
+
+Ted sighed and cast up his eyes.
+
+"It seems a pity, Miss Heptonstall, as it's only yoursel' ye're doin'
+it for--"
+
+"Why so?" interrupted Margaret snappishly.
+
+"Well, it seems sich terrible waste, ye know. It seems a pity ye
+shouldn't be doin' for soombry else at th' same time."
+
+"I dunnot want to do for nobry, nobbut mysel'," returned Margaret with
+a toss of her head. "Did ye think I'd be for takkin' lodgers at this
+time o' day?" she added suspiciously. "Nay, nay, I'll noan ha'
+strangers here, botherin' an' messin' about."
+
+"Eh, I wasn't thinkin' o' strangers," explained Wharton, hitching his
+chair a little nearer. "I were jest wonderin' to mysel', seein' you're
+so manageable an' clever an' that, as you hadn't never thought o'
+gettin' wed an' doin' for a husband as well as yoursel'. I raly do
+wonder, Miss Heptonstall," he repeated insinuatingly, "as ye haven't
+getten wed."
+
+He expected Margaret to be surprised and flattered, but she gave no
+indication of being either the one or the other. She fixed her steely
+blue eyes sternly on the visitor, and inquired stiffly what he thought
+she wanted a husband for, and what use he reckoned sich-like 'ud be to
+her. Ted edged his chair yet a little nearer, and thrust forward his
+face till it was within a yard of Margaret's.
+
+"A good husband 'ud be a great comfort to ye, Miss Heptonstall," he
+urged. "He'd--he'd love ye, ye know"--(hesitating)--"an' work for ye."
+
+This last was said with more assurance. Margaret appeared unconvinced.
+
+"Eh, he'd be more bother than he was worth," she remarked trenchantly.
+"Think 'o th' litter alone he'd mak' coomin' in an' out o' th' house.
+It's bad enough to be cleanin' up arter th' cats an' the dog--poor
+dumb things, they knows no better! But a mon stumpin' in an' out wi's
+dirty boots, an' clooes as 'ud allus want mendin', an' stockin's
+weerin' at th' 'eel! Eh, theer'd be no end to 't! An' then th' doin' for;
+gettin's mate an' that--turnin' up 's nose very like--ill-satisfied wi'
+a washin'-day dinner! Nay, nay, I'd sooner bide as I am wi' nobbut mysel'
+to look to."
+
+Ted threw back his head and coughed behind his hand, nonplussed for
+the moment; presently, noting that the practical side of the case was
+the only one likely to meet with favour, he resumed artfully--"Think
+how coomfortable it 'ud be of a rainy day, i'stead o' startin' out i'
+th' wet to feed pig an' do for chickens, to say to your gaffer,
+'Sitha, thou mun see to they things afore thou goes to thy wark'--an'
+of an evening, when he' coom awhoam, ye could set him to get th'
+'taters, an' chop wood an' that."
+
+Margaret crossed her arms and appeared to reflect.
+
+"An' of a Saturday--pay day, ye know--ye'd jest say: 'Hand o'er,
+wilto?' An' he'd hand o'er."
+
+A faint smile began to play about the lady's lips; she leaned back in
+her chair and looked attentively at Ted.
+
+"'Tisn't everybody as 'ud be willin' to do that," she remarked after a
+pause; "theer's a mony as 'ud sooner spend their brass at th'
+Thornleigh Arms."
+
+Ted privately thought this extremely likely, but he assumed an air of
+virtuous indignation.
+
+"Theer's chaps an' chaps! I reckon if onybody was to ax to wed _you_,
+Miss Heptonstall, he'd be a steady-goin' sort o' fellow as wouldn't be
+up to they mak' o' games."
+
+Margaret smiled outright. Ted thought he would follow up his advantage
+and clinch the point at once.
+
+"Now, Miss Heptonstall," said he, "for instance, if _I_ was to coom
+coortin' ye, I wouldn't be thinkin' of onything but makkin' ye
+coomfortable. I reckon ye'd mak' _me_ coomfortable"--(with an air of
+great fairness and impartiality)--"that's wheer 'tis; it 'ud be 'give
+an' take, give an' take.' I feel dreadful lonely of an evenin', an'
+it's a sad thing when a man allus has to do for hissel'. I'd be
+thankful if ye'd have me--"
+
+"I reckon ye would," interrupted Margaret with disconcerting
+frankness; "I've a good bit o' brass saved."
+
+This was news to Ted, and he looked at her with genuine interest.
+
+"Have ye?" said he. "I raly didn't know. Well, I'm doin' pratty well
+too, an' I've got a nice little place--"
+
+"Nay," put in Margaret, "it isn't mich of a place; this here's twice
+th' size, an' a dale coomfortabler. Nay, if we was to get wed, ye'd
+ha' to coom here--I wouldn't go yonder."
+
+Ted started for a moment, somewhat taken back by the matter-of-fact
+coolness with which his advances were received; he might as well
+finish the job now however, he reflected, and as he did not mean the
+business to proceed beyond the "shouting" stage, it would not hurt him
+to make any concession that Margaret might please to exact.
+
+"Ah, I could coom here," he remarked heroically; "my little nook isn't
+sich an ill place for all that; but I'll do it, an' I'll gi' ye my
+wage reg'lar an' do th' dirty work all round, an'--an' turn teetotal
+if ye want it."
+
+"Naw," said Miss Heptonstall, "I wouldn't go as far as that; I like a
+glass o' beer mysel' at dinner-time--I allus keep a little cask i' th'
+buttery yon--but you'll ha' to gi' o'er callin' at th' Thornleigh
+Arms."
+
+"Tisn't like I'd want to be callin' at th' Thornleigh Arms if I'd a
+coomfortable place like this to set in o' neets, and a missus o' my
+own to look to."
+
+He had for a moment contemplated qualifying the word "missus" with
+some such adjective as "bonny," but a glance at Margaret's face nipped
+this poetical flower in the bud. After a moment she sat upright,
+gazing at him stolidly.
+
+"I'll think on 't," she said. "Theer's things for it an' theer's
+things agin it. One thing's agin it--I dunnot fancy your talk out o'
+th' newspapers--speakin' ill o' th' Queen an' that--I reckon we'd ha'
+words if ye carried on that road when we was mon an' wife."
+
+Wharton rubbed his hands and looked embarrassed; he had hitherto had
+no hesitation in perjuring himself, but he could not for the life of
+him swallow his principles.
+
+Margaret marched across the room and took down a framed photograph
+from a shelf of the old-fashioned dresser. It represented Her Majesty
+in royal robes.
+
+"This here Canon give me at th' time o' th' Jubilee," she pursued.
+"I've vallyed it--well, I couldn't say how mich I've vallyed it an'
+_do_ vally it. See here, dunnot hoo look noble? I couldn't do wi'
+onybody i' th' house as didn't respect this same as I do."
+
+Ted cast a depreciating eye towards the portrait, but, after a glance
+at it, suddenly regained his tongue and his spirits.
+
+"See here, Miss Heptonstall," he cried eagerly, "th' Queen's not like
+that! Theer now, it just shows how poor folks gets imposed upon! I've
+seen the Queen mysel'--walked all the road to Liverpool when I didn't
+know no better, an' I see her, an' hoo were nought but a wumman i'
+black! Theer now, I'll tak' my oath on 't! Hoo hadn't no crown on, nor
+yet no blue ribbon, an' none o' they fal-lals o' medals, an' nought i'
+her hand. Hoo was jest an ord'nary wumman same 's ony other wumman.
+'Well,' thinks I to mysel', 'if yon is to be stuck up at th' 'ead o'
+Government, an' we all mun bow down afore a wuimman as isn't nought
+different to ony other wumman, it's a shame,' I says. An' it _is_ a
+shame, Miss Heptonstall."
+
+Ted was working up into a fine declamatory vein, and would probably
+have continued to hold forth for some time had not Margaret
+indignantly interrupted him.
+
+"Stop that! I'll ha' noan of it i' this 'ouse, an' so I tell ye. Did
+ever a body hear sich talk! Ye ought to be ashamed o' yoursel', Edward
+Wharton! If you was a mon ye should be ready to lay down your life for
+your Queen!"
+
+"Lay down my life!" repeated Ted, who was getting slightly irate in
+his turn. "I'd do no sich thing. I wouldn't put mysel' onyways out o'
+my road for th' Queen, now I know what hoo is. Hoo's fools enough to
+fight for her and wark for her. I wouldn't do nought for her."
+
+"Ye would then," said Margaret, suddenly becoming calm again and
+smiling grimly to herself. "Theer's one thing ye'd do for her, Edward
+Wharton--ye'd drink her 'ealth."
+
+Before he could retort she rose and went into the buttery, returning
+after a moment or two with a foaming brown jug in one hand and a
+quaintly shaped Toby-mug in the other. She placed them both on the
+table in inviting proximity to Ted.
+
+"Now then," she said persuasively, "ye'll drink Long Life to Her
+Gracious Majesty."
+
+The day was exceedingly warm, and if there was one thing on earth for
+which Radical Ted had a weakness it was his native nut--brown ale. He
+looked at Margaret and grinned--the grin of compromise. Margaret,
+still smiling, slowly filled the beaker, a beautiful creamy head
+bubbling over the brim.
+
+"Coom," she said, "ye'll say: 'Her Majesty's 'ealth, an' long life to
+her.'"
+
+Ted stretched out his hand and grasped the tempting handle; then,
+averting his eyes, he hastily mumbled the prescribed words, burying
+his face in the mug immediately after. While he slowly drained its
+contents Margaret chanted the last verse of the National Anthem, to a
+tune which might possibly have been like "God Save the Queen" if it
+had not borne an equal resemblance to "The Dead March in Saul."
+
+Music, we know, has charms to soothe the savage breast, and, whether
+because of Margaret's patriotic outburst, or because the beer was of
+excellent quality, Ted's face was wreathed in smiles when he set down
+the mug.
+
+"Ah," he said, "we'se never ha' no words if ye tackle me this gate.
+I'd drink the Queen's 'ealth again if you axed me."
+
+"Enough's good as a feast," returned his hostess sententiously. "It'll
+be tay-time afore aught's long."
+
+"Mun I bide for tay?" inquired Ted, with his head on one side.
+
+"Ye can if ye've a mind," said Margaret, accommodatingly. "Ye can be
+lookin' round if ye like while I'm gettin' things ready."
+
+Ted complied, nothing loth, and stalked about the place with his
+thumbs in his armholes and an air of proprietorship. Everything
+without was as snug, neat, and prosperous as everything within. The
+garden was well-stocked and weedless; the potatoes seemed to be coming
+on nicely; the pig was as fat as a self-respecting pig ought to be,
+and the chickens were healthy and well-grown. Ted re-entered the
+house, scraping his feet carefully this time, and looking at Margaret
+with increased respect as she bustled about. The kettle already sung
+merrily on the hob, a plateful of most inviting buttered toast was
+keeping warm within the fender, and Miss Hep. was in the act of
+placing on the table a smoking dish of nicely-browned sausages.
+
+"I made 'em mysel'," she explained briefly. "I dunnot often have 'em
+at this time o' day, but this here's an occasion."
+
+Ted looked blank for a moment, then, suddenly remembering that this
+was practically a betrothal-feast, responded heartily, and drew in his
+chair to the table with pleased anticipation.
+
+Miss Heptonstall, he remarked, had everything "gradely" about her. The
+table-cloth was not only snow-white and beautifully mended, but of
+fine quality; the spoons were silver, worn to egg-shell thinness, but
+resplendently bright; the teapot, a heavy, old-fashioned Britannia
+metal one, was polished till it might have been of the same precious
+ore; the cups and plates were of delicate transparent china. Margaret
+came of good old north-country stock, and these possessions were
+heirlooms. Ted looked at her, and a queer feeling suddenly came over
+him. Supposing--only _supposing_--that instead of a jest his wooing
+had been undertaken in sober earnest, he would be doing rather well
+for himself than otherwise. Now that he was at leisure to survey Miss
+Heptonstall with an impartial eye, it appeared to him that she really
+was not ill-looking, and he didn't believe she could be more than nine
+or ten years older than he was. She certainly was a notable sort of
+body; she kept her place wonderful nice, and she had a tidy bit of
+brass laid by in the bank. There was a very comfortable ring about
+this last item. It was odd that from the time these reflections took
+possession of him Ted became pensive and serious. The conversation
+flagged, and by-and-by he rose to take his leave. Margaret accompanied
+him to the door.
+
+"Ye'll be lookin' in again, I fancy, afore th' weekend?" she remarked
+casually.
+
+Ted cleared his throat and replied that very like he would. He walked
+rather slowly till he reached the corner of the lane, and there he
+paused, slapping his thigh as he suddenly remembered something.
+
+"I haven't said a word about the shoutin'!" he cried in a vexed tone.
+He retraced his steps more quickly, and presently re-entered
+Margaret's cottage.
+
+"Miss Heptonstall," he began, screwing his head insinuatingly round
+the doorpost.
+
+"Well?" returned Margaret. She was standing with her back to him,
+gazing meditatively into the fire.
+
+"I were thinkin'," continued Wharton, "you an' me, ye know--theer
+isn't much use in waitin', is theer?"
+
+Margaret turned and looked at him, but did not speak.
+
+"We met as well let Canon begin o' shoutin' us, dunnot ye think?"
+
+Margaret reflected. "It 'ud be a pity for ye to gi' up your house
+afore th' end o' th' year," she remarked. "Th' agent wouldn't let ye,
+would he? Ye'll ha' to gi' six months' notice, wunnot ye? Theer's time
+enough as how 'tis."
+
+Ted bethought him of the cask of beer, and his face fell. If he was to
+win his wager the banns must be published before the end of the month,
+and but ten days of it remained to run.
+
+"Well, I'd as soon as not hurry up things," he said, screwing a little
+more of his person on the other side of the door. "I'm awful tired o'
+livin' by mysel'. An' we met let my house an' turn o'er a bit o' money
+that way. If we was to get wed at once ye'd be havin' the benefit o'
+that as well's me. It 'ud be more to our mutual advantage," delivering
+this phrase, culled from one of his favourite papers, with great
+emphasis, "nor for both of us to remain single. That's what _I_ think,
+Miss Heptonstall, but ye mun do as _you_ choose."
+
+"Well, theer's summat i' what ye say," returned Margaret. "Happen
+'twould be best to get the job done. Dear o' me, it seems sudden like!
+I raly never thought o' changin' my state. Once before, ye may ha'
+heerd, Mrs. Alty wanted me to wed her Thomas. I was again it, dreadful
+again it at first, but hoo persuaded me, so I very nigh gave in. But
+him an' me didn't agree so well at arter, and Betty didn't dee, so
+that settled it. Well, then, I said to mysel', 'It's all for th'
+best,' an' I reckoned to bide as I were. But raly now, as ye've coom,"
+a sudden smile lit up her face, a smile less frosty, less sour, less
+grim than any that had hitherto found their way there, "I dunno how it
+is, but I seem to ha' taken a fancy to ye. I did fro' th' first. I
+reckon ye'll mak' a good husband."
+
+Ted left off embracing the lintel of the door and walked straight up
+to her, quite forgetting to wipe his feet. His face was very red and
+his eyes avoided hers; making a sudden dart at her hand, he shook it
+solemnly.
+
+"I will, Margaret, I will," he said huskily, "an' I reckon ye'll mak'
+a good wife--better nor I deserve."
+
+In another moment he was gone, walking very rapidly this time, almost
+running indeed, as though to give himself no time for thought. When he
+reached home, he shut the door hastily behind him and sat down on the
+nearest chair.
+
+"Well," he said, scratching his head, with an exceedingly perturbed
+expression, "this here's a queer kind o' business! I didn't quite know
+what I were lettin' mysel' in for, it seems."
+
+Once or twice during the week he called upon his lady-love, who, on
+one occasion, permitted him to inspect her Savings Bank book, and, on
+another, presented him with a handsome silver-mounted pipe, which her
+father had won many years before at some village sports. It was
+bestowed, it must be owned, on the understanding that it was never on
+any account to be used, but Ted's pride of possession was none the
+less great. At the conclusion of each visit she had not failed to make
+him drink Her Majesty's health.
+
+On the following Sunday, when the Canon with the portentous "Hem," and
+solemn glance round which invariably preceded the announcement of
+banns, began: "Be it known unto all here present," it was observed
+that the corners of his mouth were twitching in a most peculiar
+manner, and his voice actually trembled as he coupled the names of
+Margaret Heptonstall and Edward Wharton.
+
+Had any stranger chanced to enter Thornleigh church at that moment, I
+fear he would have been much disedified; every single member of the
+congregation was a-grin; the Canon himself was smiling; the only
+person who preserved his entire seriousness being Radical Ted himself.
+
+Those among his cronies who were in the secret of the wager considered
+this gravity affected, and part of the joke; and greeted him
+hilariously on quitting the church.
+
+"Well done, owd bird! Thou's lost no time as how 'tis."
+
+"Ah," replied Ted, still solemn, "I haven't lost mich time."
+
+"Well, thou's won th' bet i' gradely style! When wilto coom to
+Thornleigh Arms to have th' five shillin' paid over?"
+
+"Eh, I doubt Ted 'ud sooner ha' th' five shillin' worth," suggested
+one of Ted's boon companions.
+
+"I dunno," replied Ted; "I reckon I'd as soon ha' th' brass."
+
+"Ah, but thou'lt coom to Orme's for it?"
+
+"Nay--I fancy one on you had best bring it to my place--hoo met get to
+hear on 't, ye know," he explained with a sheepish smile.
+
+There was a great guffawing and stamping of feet at this. Ted was
+slapped on the shoulder, his friends declaring that nobry could beat
+him. By-and-by he managed to make his escape, and walked pensively
+homewards, shaking his head now and then, and muttering to himself:--
+
+"Ah, hoo'd happen get to hear on 't if I went yonder; aye, the brass
+'ull coom in reet 'nough. I'll say nought about that."
+
+He continued his courting assiduously during the ensuing week, and on
+the Sunday he and Margaret were "shouted" for the second time.
+
+The ecstasy of his friends knew no bounds. Was there ever such a chap
+as Ted for a marlock? How long would he keep it up? they wondered. In
+a day or two the news flew from mouth to mouth that Ted had given the
+agent six months' notice, and that he had announced his intention of
+letting his house and taking up his abode at Margaret's after their
+wedding.
+
+"Well! well!" cried the initiated, casting up their hands and eyes to
+heaven; the more moderate among them were of the opinion that Ted was
+carrying things a bit too far, particularly when' it became known that
+Margaret was boiling hams and killing chickens--yes, Sophia and
+Ernest, William and Augusta were laid low--in preparation for the
+forthcoming nuptial feast.
+
+On the third Sunday the general excitement reached fever-height, and
+when once more the Canon linked the names of Edward Wharton and
+Margaret Heptonstall, a kind of amazed murmur rippled from bench to
+bench. All those who had been party to the plot against Margaret's
+peace were totally at a loss to account for the conduct of the chief
+conspirator. They made up their minds to take him to task at the
+earliest possible opportunity; but, as on that particular morning he
+did not come to church, they were forced to restrain their curiosity
+till later in the day.
+
+After dinner, therefore, a select deputation waited on Mr. Edward
+Wharton at his own residence, but was again doomed to disappointment;
+that gentleman having gone to call on his charmer, and not returning
+till evening. However, the ardour of the deputation, though damped,
+was not extinguished, and when the shades of night were falling, it
+again betook itself to the abode of the bridegroom elect.
+
+As the half-dozen members who made up the embassy walked at the usual
+slow and somewhat shambling pace which the Lancashire rustic assumes
+at times of leisure--pausing every now and then to emphasise the point
+of some remark, switching at the hedge with their sticks, playfully
+kicking up the dust, or sending a tempting pebble spinning along in
+front of them--faint notes of music reached them, coming apparently
+from the direction towards which they were bending their steps. These
+notes were feeble and faltering, as though the player were practising
+an unfamiliar air; in another moment or two it became evident that the
+sounds proceeded from Ted's cottage, and that the musician was no
+other than Mr. Wharton himself.
+
+Quickening their pace, the hilarious party burst open the door,
+discovering the master of the house seated astride a wooden chair,
+concertina in hand; his face wore a most serious, not to say dismal,
+expression, and his whole attitude betokened absorption.
+
+Joe Lovelady advanced and clapped him on the shoulder with a loud
+laugh; the others followed, less jubilantly; one or two of them,
+indeed, felt themselves somewhat aggrieved at Ted's unaccountable
+demeanour.
+
+"Coom," cried Joe, "thou mun explain a bit, Ted, lad. We're gettin'
+fair moidered wi' this job; how long dost thou mean to keep it up?"
+
+"Haven't you and Margaret fallen out yet?" put in another. "Ye're
+carryin' on th' coortin' longer nor we looked for."
+
+"Ah, thou said thou'd content thysel' with bein' shouted, didn't thou?
+Thou allus said thou didn't mean it to coom to wedlock."
+
+Ted heaved a deep sigh, and looked solemnly from one to the other.
+
+"Theer's no knowin' i' this warld what folks cooms to," he replied
+seriously. "We says one thing an' we reckon we'se do it, an' when th'
+time cooms it's impossible."
+
+A blank silence fell upon the company, broken presently by Joe.
+
+"Why," he said, "thou doesn't mean thou'rt goin' to carry out this
+here business?"
+
+Ted nodded, seriously and regretfully.
+
+There was a general shout.
+
+"Thou'rt never goin' to wed owd Marg'ret Hep.?"
+
+"Hoo's noan so owd as that cooms to," retorted Ted indignantly. "Her
+an' me's mich of an age--I _am_ goin' to wed her. Now then! I've
+coorted her, an' we'n been shouted, an' I'm goin' to let it go forrud.
+Theer! I hope nobry hasn't got no objections."
+
+Nobody hadn't none, it appeared, though from certain low murmurs and a
+general shuffling of feet, it was evident that this unexpected outcome
+of Ted's joke caused a good deal of dissatisfaction. Joe, indeed, gave
+voice to the universal opinion when he observed that it wasn't what he
+had looked for, and he couldn't think it altogether 'andsome of Ted.
+Somebody else wanted to know what about their five shillin'?
+
+"Well, an' what about the five shillin'?" repeated Ted, reddening,
+however, a little uncomfortably.
+
+"Well, this here isn't what we expected; nay, not by a long road. We
+was lookin' for summat joy'al, a gradely marlock, thou knows. This
+here's an ord'nary kind o' business."
+
+"Ah, we all paid up--we did that, an' we'n been waitin' for thee to
+look in yonder at Orme's! We was all expectin' a bit of a do, thou
+knows--an' thou's never so much as coom nigh th' place. An' thou
+settled to get wed an' all, wi'out namin' it to nobry! It's scarce
+honest."
+
+Ted scratched his jaw reflectively; the argument seemed to touch him.
+After a pause he rose and crossed the room to a chest of drawers in
+the corner. Unlocking an upper drawer he took out a greasy leathern
+purse with which he returned to the expectant group. Opening it, with
+a kind of groan, he extracted five shillings, which he handed over to
+Joe Lovelady.
+
+"Theer," he said, "it is but fair when all's said an' done. Theer! ye
+can have a wet wi' that."
+
+"Reet, I knowed ye wasn't one as 'ud play us a dirty trick. Coom
+along, an' we'se have a drop all round, an' drink thy 'ealth an' th'
+bride's too. Ho! ho! ho! Aye, we'se wish thee an' thy missus good
+luck! Coom, we'se step out an' mak' up for lost time."
+
+"Nay, nay," said Ted, shaking his head with gentle melancholy. "I'll
+noan go wi' you--I met rue it at arter. Nay, I'll wish ye good-bye an'
+good luck, all on you, but I'll bide wheer I am."
+
+He returned thereupon to his concertina, meeting all further
+persuasions by deep sighs and obdurate shakes of the head; and,
+finding their efforts useless, the party withdrew at last, to drink
+his health without him.
+
+As they retraced their steps the uncertain notes of Ted's concertina
+came floating after them, borne upon the evening breeze; gradually
+these shaped themselves into a tune, a tune which their incredulous
+ears were at last forced to identify. Joe Lovelady suddenly paused and
+threw out his hand.
+
+"'Ark, all on ye, 'ark at that! Do ye know the tune th' owd lad's
+hammerin' at?"
+
+They all paused, holding their breaths; and then shouts of laughter
+broke the stillness.
+
+Radical Ted was playing _God Save the Queen_.
+
+
+
+
+HEATHER IN HOLBORN
+
+
+"I can scarce fancy her living here," said the man, pausing half-way
+up the stairs to look upwards at the dusty length which remained to be
+traversed. "Nay, she could never live here. I'm come on a fool's
+errand, but I may as well see it through."
+
+His tall, broad-shouldered figure disappeared behind another angle,
+and halted at length on the fifth floor. On the door facing him a name
+was neatly painted:--_Mr. Whiteside_.
+
+"'Tis a Lancashire name, right enough," he said, "but there weren't
+any Whitesides in our part when I was a lad. It'll be some stranger as
+our Molly took up with--well, let's go for'ard."
+
+His tap was answered by a fresh-coloured woman, neatly clad in a stuff
+gown. The man surveyed her with a curious searching look, and she
+stared back at him.
+
+"What was you pleased to want, sir?" she inquired at length, growing
+uncomfortable under his scrutiny. "Mr. Whiteside--that's my
+husband--is out."
+
+"Does Mrs. Rigby live here? No, I'm sure she does not--I beg your
+pardon--it is a mistake."
+
+"No, sir, no mistake at all; it's quite right. Mrs. Rigby does live
+here--she's my mother."
+
+The stranger again darted a swift, eager glance at her.
+
+"Right," he said. "I'll come in; I want to see her."
+
+Mrs. Whiteside hesitated for a moment. "My mother doesn't often have
+visitors," she said. "We've been here more nor ten year now, and
+nobody's ever come lookin' for her."
+
+"I've come a long way to look for her," said the man; "I've come from
+Australia. I'm bringing her news of her son Will."
+
+"Eh dear!" cried the woman, clapping her hands together, "ye don't say
+so! My word, mother will be pleased. We didn't know rightly whether he
+were alive or dead. Tis twenty-five year or more since he left home.
+Tisn't bad news I hope, mester?" she added anxiously, for the brown
+face, as much of it as could be seen under the thick dark beard, wore
+a troubled look.
+
+"Bad news? No," returned he with a gruff laugh. "It wouldn't matter
+much anyway, would it? seein' as you'd lost sight of him for so long,
+and by all accounts he wasn't worth much at the best o' times."
+
+"He's my brother," said Mrs. Whiteside shortly. "Will ye please to
+step in, sir?"
+
+He followed her into a narrow passage, and thence into an odd, little
+three-cornered room; a room furnished in mahogany and green rep, with
+a few brightly-bound books on the shining round table in the centre,
+framed oleographs on the walls, stuffed birds in glass cases on the
+mantel-piece, and a pervading odour of paraffin.
+
+"I'll call mother," said Mrs. Whiteside, backing towards the door and
+eyeing her visitor suspiciously, for her mind misgave her as to
+whether it would be safe to leave him alone with the Family Bible or
+the stuffed birds. "Mother!" she cried, raising her voice, "will you
+come for a minute? There's a visitor here."
+
+"Nay, lass, I can't leave the bread," called back an old woman's
+voice, shrill yet strong. "Ax the body to step in here, whoever 'tis."
+
+"Will ye come into the kitchen?" said Mrs. Whiteside unwillingly. "My
+mother, 'tis a notion she has, 'ull never set foot in this 'ere room.
+We're Lancashire folk, ye see, mester, and tis the custom there to
+live mostly in the kitchen."
+
+The visitor followed her in silence across the passage and into the
+opposite room. Hardly had he set foot inside the door before he
+uttered an exclamation, looking down the while at the floor. The
+boards were scrubbed to an immaculate whiteness and strewn with sand.
+He rubbed his boot backward and forward over the gritty surface with
+an odd smile; then, raising his eyes, he looked hastily round the
+room, averting his glance quickly when it fell upon the figure bending
+over the great brown pan in the fender. Walking to the window he stood
+looking out without speaking.
+
+"I hope the man's got all his wits," said Mrs. Whiteside to herself,
+"I never did see a chap act so strange."
+
+Through the open window a fine view could be had of tall grimy houses,
+and sooty roofs, with scarce a glint of sky between the
+chimney-stacks, and far down in the street below was the turmoil of
+city life; the roar and rush of it came echoing up even to that odd,
+peaceful little chamber. The man neither saw nor heard; as he stood
+there it seemed to him that he was looking out upon the moorland, with
+the smell of the heather strong and spicy and sweet in his nostrils,
+and the cry of the peewit in his ears. His chest heaved; then he
+turned about and faced the room again. Yes, it was no dream; here was
+the house-place of a North Country cottage. The sturdy deal table in
+the midst of the sanded floor, the oak dresser with its noble array of
+crockery, the big chest in the corner, the screened settle on one side
+of the hearth; and there, kneeling on the patchwork rug, the sturdy,
+strong-backed old woman, in bedgown and petticoat and frilled white
+cap, with lean, vigorous arms half-buried in a shining mass of dough.
+
+"Well, what's to do?" inquired she, glancing sharply over her
+shoulder.
+
+"This 'ere gentleman says he's brought news of our Will," said Mrs.
+Whiteside hesitatingly.
+
+The old woman uttered a cry, and, withdrawing her hands from the
+dough, wiped them hastily in her apron, and ran towards the stranger.
+
+"News indeed," she said. "Eh dear, and how is my poor lad? How is he,
+sir? Eh, bless you for coomin'! I scarce reckoned he were wick, 'tis
+so long sin' we'n had a word of him."
+
+She was clasping the new-comer's hands now, and shaking them excitedly
+up and down, her eyes searching his face the while.
+
+"How is my lad?" she repeated. "He mun be a gradely mon now--a gradely
+mon! Tis what he said hisself when he wur breeched. Dear o' me, I mind
+it well. He come runnin' in so proud wi's hands in's pockets. 'I'm a
+gradely mon now,' he says, 'same's my feyther.'"
+
+She dropped his hands and wiped her eyes.
+
+"My word, mother," said Mrs. Whiteside reprovingly, "how ye do run on!
+Was my brother well, mester, when ye see him last?"
+
+"Quite well," responded the stranger gruffly. "Well and hearty."
+
+"Thank God for that!" cried the old woman.
+
+"He told me," went on the other, and his voice still sounded rough and
+harsh from behind his great beard; "he told me if I were anywhere in
+Lancashire to look up the old place, and tell his folks he was alive
+and well."
+
+"Has he been doin' pretty well, sir, d'ye know?" inquired the younger
+woman, politely, but with interest.
+
+"Pretty well--lately; so I've been told," returned he.
+
+"And he didn't send nothin' to his mother? Nothin' besides the
+message?" she went on. "Well, I call it a sin and a shame; 'twas
+scarce worth your while to seek us out for that."
+
+"Howd thy din, Mary," cried Mrs. Rigby angrily. "Not worth while! Why,
+I'll bless the gentleman for it, an' pray for him day an' neet while I
+live. Wick an' hearty. My lad's wick an' hearty,--an' I was afeared he
+wur dead. An' he took thought on his owd mother so fur away, an' sent
+her word, bless him!"
+
+"He might ha' sent ye somethin' else I think," said Mary wrathfully;
+"I don't hold wi' makin' such a to-do about a chap as never did
+nothin' for you in his life. There's others as is worth more nor him."
+
+The old woman drew herself up, her eyes blazing in their sunken
+orbits.
+
+"Mary," she said, "if ye mean to cast up as ye're keepin' me in my owd
+age, I tell ye plain, though there are strangers here, I think no
+shame on't. I brought ye into the world, an' I reared you an' worked
+hard for you till ye was up-grown, an' kept a whoam o'er your head wi'
+nought but the labour o' my two hands. An' now as I'm stricken in
+years an' the owd place is gone, I think no shame o' being' behowden
+to ye for mate an' shelter."
+
+"La, mother," stammered Mary "whatever makes ye go for to say such
+things?--I'm sure I wasn't castin' up--"
+
+"Ye've no need to cast up," interrupted her mother fiercely. "I'm not
+behowden to ye for mich, as how 'tis--I reckon I addle my mate."
+
+The man turned upon the younger woman with a savage glance, but she
+was too much absorbed in her own grievance to heed him. "I wasn't
+castin' up, mother," she asseverated. "I nobbut meant it seemed a bit
+hard as you should think as much of Will as of me."
+
+"Eh," said the old woman, beginning to laugh and shaking her head,
+"I'll not deny but what the lad was a great fav'ryite. The only lad
+ever I had, and my first-born. Dear o' me, I mind how proud I was when
+they telled me 'twas a lad. 'A fine lad,' said the woman as did for
+me. Eh, I thought my heart 'ud fair burst wi' joy! An' he wur sech a
+gradely little chap, so peart an' lively, crowin' an' laughin' from
+morn till neet. Dear, yes--soon as ever leet coom he'd come creepin'
+up to our bed an' pull at the sheet. 'Wakken up, mother,' he'd say;
+'mother, it's time to wakken up!' Eh, mony a time I fancy I can hear
+the little voice when I wak' up now, i' this dark dirty place. I keep
+my e'en shut, an' hark at the birds chirrupin', an' think o' the
+little hand pluckin' at the sheet, an' the little voice. An' then
+clock strikes an' I oppen my e'en and see the smoke an' the black
+chimnies--eh, I'm welly smoored among 'em all! I could fair go mad to
+find mysel' so far away fro' whoam."
+
+"But surely," said the visitor, with a dreamy glance round, "you've
+made this place very home-like."
+
+"'Tis, an' 'tisn't. Says I to Mary when she axed me to shift wi' her,
+'I'll not coom,' says I, 'wi'out I bring th' clock an' chest, an' all
+they bits o' things as I'm used to.' 'Eh, mother,' says she, 'what
+would you be doin' wi' 'em down i' London town?'--'What should I be
+doin' wi' 'em?' says I. 'Same as I do here,' says I. 'If I coom wi'
+you, my lass I mun keep to the owd ways. I'm too owd mysel' for aught
+else. I mun keep th' owd things an' th' owd fashions.'--Is that a bit
+o' heather as ye've getten i' your hat, sir?"
+
+"Yes," said the man deliberately; "'tis a bit of heather--and it comes
+from Boggart Moor. I picked it last week when I went to look for you."
+
+"'Twas wonderful kind of you to go all that way, I'm sure," said Mrs.
+Whiteside. "I doubt our Will reckoned we was livin' there still. Tis
+years an' years since we've had a word from him. He didn't know I'd
+got wed, very like."
+
+"No, he didn't," said the man. "He thought his mother and sister were
+livin' still in the little cot up yonder. I had hard work to trace
+you."
+
+"How does the little place look, sir?" asked the old woman, with a
+wistful look.
+
+"Much as usual," returned he, half absently. "They'n shifted the
+horse-block, an' thrown the two shippons into one, an' tiled the
+wash-house roof."
+
+Mrs. Rigby clacked her tongue, and her daughter stared.
+
+"How did ye know about the horse-block?" she inquired, "an' how did ye
+guess the shippons was throwed into one? Did our Will tell you about
+the place?"
+
+He paused a moment, and then laughed.
+
+"Often and often. He said he could find his way there blindfold, an' I
+doubt he made me know it as well as himself."
+
+Mrs. Rigby stretched out her hand and touched the sprig of heather
+wistfully.
+
+"The moor mun be lookin' gradely now," she said; "all one sheet o'
+bloom, I reckon. Eh, I mind how I used to leave windows open, summer
+an' winter, an let the air come in, soomtimes hot an' soomtimes cowd,
+but al'ays wi' the smell o' the moor in it. Dear, when I think on't I
+can scarce breathe here."
+
+"Come, mother, we're keepin' the gentleman standin' all this time,"
+said Mary, suddenly recalled to a sense of her hospitable duties. "Sit
+ye down, sir, and sup a cup o' tea with us. Kettle's boilin', isn't
+it, mother? You're not in a hurry, are you, mester?"
+
+"I reckon I can stop a twothree minutes," said the man.
+
+Mrs. Whiteside glanced at him sharply, and her mother clapped her
+hands together.
+
+"Ye're a Lancashire lad, for sure," cried she; "ye speak just same as
+our own folks up on the moor yon."
+
+He hesitated for a moment.
+
+"Aye, I'll not deny the talk cooms natural to me," he said. "I thought
+I'd forgot it, but my tongue seems to turn to it when I get agate o'
+talkin' wi' Lancashire folks."
+
+"I reckon you and our Will had many a crack together about the bonny
+North," said Mrs. Rigby, as she spread the cloth, smoothing it
+carefully with her wrinkled hands. "I'm fain to think my lad minds th'
+owd place. Eh, I doubt he'd be nigh broken-hearted if he knowed we had
+to leave it--I like as if I could be glad to think he knows nought
+about it, poor lad. He didn't ever talk o' coomin' back, mester, did
+he?"
+
+"He met think on't," said the visitor slowly, "if he could be sure of
+a welcome. But he run away, you see, again his father's will, an' he
+wur allus reckoned a good-for-nothin' kind o' chap--so he seemed to
+think."
+
+"Who said that?" cried the old woman, pausing with the teapot poised
+in mid-air, and reddening all over her withered face.
+
+"Well, 'twas a kind o' notion he seemed to have, and o' course, though
+it's ill blamin' the absent"--here he uttered a queer little
+laugh--"when all's said and done he hasn't acted so very well. Any
+chap wi' a heart in's breast 'ud ha' took thought for his own mother,
+and 'ud ha' seen as she was kept comfortable an' happy in her owd age,
+and not forced to shift to a strange place."
+
+"I'm sure," put in Mrs. Whiteside indignantly, "I can't think what
+you're droppin' hints o' that mak' for, sir. A woman has to follow her
+husband, an' when his business takes him to London he takes her too.
+Doin' very well, he is, i' th' coal business, an' I'm sure I make my
+mother as comfortable an' as happy as I can. Turn London into the
+moorside is what I cannot do, an' I'm not to be blamed for that. As
+you said jest now if any one was to blame 'twas my brother."
+
+"Well, I'll not have nobody blamin' my lad," cried the old woman.
+"He's not to be faulted for what he knowed nought about. If he'd
+knowed I doubt it 'ud ha' been different."
+
+"That's true," interrupted the man; "if he'd knowed it 'ud ha' been
+different. He'd ha' kept his mother on the moor. If he was to come
+back now he'd have her awhoam again afore aught were long."
+
+"Tis wonderful to hear you takin' up wi' that homely talk," said Mrs.
+Whiteside, with a laugh, as she set a crusty loaf upon the table. "It
+fair brings me back. I scarce ever talk i' th' owd fashion now, wi'out
+'tis a twothree words now an' then to please mother. Pull up, sir.
+Will ye pour out the tea, mother? All's ready now."
+
+"Nay, fetch me a pot of the wimberry jam," said Mrs. Rigby. "Theer's
+jest two of 'em left. My son-in-law," she explained to the visitor,
+"he's oncommon kind about humourin' my fancies, an' every year he
+fetches me a peck or two o' wimberries--you can get 'em reet enough
+here i' th' market, an' I make us a few pots o' jam--'tis the only
+kind as ever I could fancy. Eh, what baskets-full the childer used to
+bring me in i' th' owd days! Will ye cut yourself a bit o' bread, sir?
+Tis a bit hard, I doubt; 'tis the end o' the last bakin'. I wur jest
+agate with the next lot when ye coom in."
+
+He cut off a piece, and spread it with the wimberry jam, and ate a
+mouthful or two in silence; he seemed to swallow with difficulty, not
+because of the hardness of the fare, but because of a certain stirring
+at his heart. How long was it since he had sat him down at such a
+board as this, and tasted bread, pure and sweet and wholesome, such as
+cannot be bought in shops, with the fruit of the moor for condiment?
+
+"I doubt it's hard," said Mrs. Whiteside commiseratingly, "and you're
+not eatin' a bit neither, mother. Come, fall to."
+
+"Eh, I canna eat nought fur thinkin' o' yon lad o' mine. How could he
+go for to think he'd not be welcome! Ye'll write and an' tell him
+he'll be welcome, sir, wunnot ye?"
+
+He nodded.
+
+"Eh, I'd be fain to see him, I would that! Ye'll tell him kind an'
+careful, mester, about me havin' to shift here, an' dunnot let him
+think I'm axing him to do mich for me."
+
+"It's time for him to do summat for ye, though," said Will's friend
+gruffly.
+
+"Nay, I don't ax it--I don't ax for nought. I nobbut want to see his
+bonny face again."
+
+"Happen you wouldn't know it," said Mrs. Whiteside; "he mun be awful
+altered now."
+
+"Know it? Know my own lad! I'd pick him out among a thousand."
+
+"I'm not so sure o' that," persisted her daughter. "Ye've seen our
+Will lately, I s'pose, mester? Can ye tell us what like he is?"
+
+"He's rather like me," said the stranger.
+
+"My word, ye don't say so!" gasped Mrs. Whiteside, while her mother,
+leaning forward, gazed eagerly into his face.
+
+"He is very like me," he said brokenly, and then, of a sudden,
+stretching out his hand he plucked the old woman by the sleeve:
+"Wakken up, mother," he cried; "mother, 'tis time to wakken up!"
+
+
+
+
+SENTIMENT AND "FEELIN'"
+
+
+As a rule our Lancashire peasants are not sentimental; in fact,
+degenerate south-countrymen frequently take exception to their blunt
+ways and terrible plain-speaking. But occasionally they display an
+astonishing impressibility, and at all times know how to appreciate a
+bit of romance.
+
+When three months after his wife's death, for instance, Joe Balshaw
+married her cousin, because, as he explained, "hoo favoured our Mary,"
+all the neighbours thought such fidelity extremely touching.
+
+I remember once when our little church was gaily decorated for the
+harvest festival some one had the happy thought of placing among the
+garlands of flowers and masses of fruit and vegetables--thank-offerings
+from various parishioners--which were heaped on each side of the
+chancel, a miniature hayrick beautifully made and thatched, and a tiny
+cornstack to correspond. The sermon was over, and the service
+proceeding as usual, when suddenly a burst of sobs distracted the
+congregation, and Robert Barnes, the bluffest and burliest farmer in
+the whole property, was observed to be wiping his eyes with a red
+cotton handkerchief. In vain did his scandalised wife nudge and
+reprove him; he sobbed on, and she grew alarmed. "Wasn't he well?" she
+asked.
+
+"Aye, well enough," groaned Robert; "but it's so beautiful. I cannot
+choose but cry!"
+
+"Is't th' music, feyther?" inquired his daughter.
+
+"Nay, nay--it's them there little stacks. Eh, they're--they're
+gradely. I never see sich a seet i' my life."
+
+If this was not susceptibility, I don't know where to look for it.
+
+No doubt a certain roughness of speech, an almost brutal frankness, is
+a noticeable northern characteristic. It strikes a stranger painfully,
+but is accepted and even appreciated by those accustomed to it from
+childhood.
+
+A sick man expects to be told he looks real bad, and preserves an
+unmoved tranquillity on hearing how small a likelihood there is of his
+ever looking up again, and what a deal of trouble he gives. The
+visitor unused to our ways shrinks from hearing these subjects
+discussed in the presence of the patient, but he himself listens
+philosophically, and, it would occasionally appear, with an odd
+pleasure in his own importance.
+
+"Eh, I sometimes think it 'ud be a mercy if th' Lord 'ud tak' him,"
+says the middle-aged daughter of a paralysed labourer, eyeing him
+dispassionately. "Doctor says he'll never be no better, an' I'm sure
+he's a misery to hissel', as well's every one else. Aren't ye,
+feyther?"
+
+"Ah," grunts feyther. "I'd be fain to go. I would--I'd be fain."
+
+"What wi's restin' so bad o' neets, an' th' gettin' up an' down to
+him, an' feedin' him, an' shiftin' him--he's that 'eavy I cannot stir
+him mysel'--I 'ave to wait till th' lads comes back fro' work--eh,
+it's weary work! I'm very nigh killed wi't."
+
+"Well, but if he gets better, you know," suggests the visitor, "you'll
+be glad to have nursed him so well."
+
+"Eh, he'll noan get better now; doctor says he hasn't a chance."
+
+The patient, who has been listening with close attention, and not a
+little satisfaction, to his daughter's report, now rolls his eyes
+towards his interlocutor.
+
+"Nay, nay, I'll noan get better," he observes somewhat resentfully.
+"Tisn't to be expected. I'm gettin' on for seventy-eight, an' this
+here's my second stroke."
+
+"Ah, his constitution's worn out," adds the woman; "that was what
+doctor said. ''Tisn't to be expected as he could recover,' says he;
+'his constitution's worn out.'"
+
+The rugged old face on the pillow is indeed lined and wrinkled; the
+one big hand lying outside the coverlet is gnarled and knotted, like
+the branch of an ancient tree; the form outlined by the bedclothes is
+of massive proportions. A fine wreck of a man this useless cumberer of
+the earth.
+
+"I shouldn't be worth my mate if I did get better," he says,
+reflectively, and without the faintest trace of bitterness. "Nought
+but lumber--in every one's road. Nay, I'd a deal sooner shift
+a'together. I've allus worked 'ard--it 'ud not coom nat'ral to be
+idle. I'm ready to go, if it's the A'mighty's will."
+
+"Eh, He'll be like to tak' ye soon, feyther. He will--He'll tak' ye
+afore aught's long," says the daughter. "Raly," she adds, as she
+pilots her visitor downstairs after this consolatory remark, "it's
+a'most to be 'oped as He will."
+
+Yet when He does, and poor feyther is carried away to his long home by
+his sons and cronies, there is genuine distress in the little
+household. When the daughter has got her "blacks," and drawn the club
+money, and the excitement of the funeral is over, she has leisure to
+miss the quiet presence, the familiar voice. She starts up at night
+many a time fancying she hears it, and weeps as she falls back on her
+pillow again. She polishes "feyther's cheer" reverently, and treasures
+his pipe, and sobs as she cuts up his clothes for suits for her little
+lads, and takes in his great-coat to make it fit her gaffer.
+
+"It was a blessed release," she says, wiping her eyes, "an' we had a
+nice funeral, but it's lonely wi'out him."
+
+"A nice funeral" is the most important of all desiderata, and many are
+the privations which the living cheerfully endure, that the dead may
+be interred with due respect and decorum. The most improvident of
+these people look forward to and prepare for the contingency,
+inevitable indeed, and yet deemed by other folk unutterably remote.
+
+"Ah! it's bin a struggle to keep 'em," said a poor woman once,
+speaking of her little flock of ten healthy hearty children. "I've
+noan bin able to put by much, but theer's wan thing, I've got 'em all
+in a buryin'-club."
+
+Now and then when the death has been preceded by a long illness, and
+the family exchequer has sunk low, the neighbours come to the rescue,
+and with characteristic straightforwardness and goodnature avert
+impending disgrace. One such case occurred here recently. The father
+of the family had been hovering for months between life and death, and
+when he "drew away" at last, wife and children were left absolutely
+without means. Nevertheless the funeral was beautiful, it was
+universally agreed. The wheelwright made a coffin free of charge, one
+of the farmers sent the necessary refection; each household in the
+village did something, one supplying a whole dress, one merely a
+hatband. When the time came for the procession to start, every child
+had its decent blacks, and though the question of how to live
+to-morrow was still unanswered, the poor widow, wiping her eyes behind
+her flowing veil, felt soothed and in a manner elated. No one could
+say but what her master had a gradely buryin'. She could not repress a
+certain honest pride, and, oddly enough, though the neighbours were
+quite aware that without their assistance this desirable appearance
+would never have been presented, they were none the less impressed,
+and felt that Mrs. ---- deserved great credit.
+
+If sentiment be not common among us, there is no dearth of "feelin',"
+though it is sometimes exhibited in unusual and rather startling
+fashion. The doctor, for instance, was somewhat taken aback one day by
+the reply of a poor man with whom he had been condoling over the death
+of an only son.
+
+"I tell ye," sobbed the inconsolable parent, "if it hadn't bin for
+what neighbours 'ud say, I'd ha' had th' little divil stuffed."
+
+There is no rule without its exception, and, though our people are for
+the most part affectionate and tender-hearted in their own rugged way,
+I am bound to own there are some Stoics in our midst.
+
+One old woman, in particular, whom I have known to be afflicted in a
+variety of ways, has never betrayed the least sign of emotion; whether
+she is incapable of it, or whether she heroically conceals it, I have
+been unable to discover.
+
+She lost two sons in rapid succession after a few hours' illness.
+
+"What did they die of?" asked some one sympathetically.
+
+As a rule such a remark would have led to a flood of tearful and
+affectionate reminiscences, but this old lady was laconic.
+
+"One deed of a Tuesday, and one of a Thursday," she replied.
+
+The third son a short time afterwards, returning home from market
+slightly hazy in his ideas, was run over by an express train as he
+endeavoured to cross the line.
+
+Next morning the body was found, horribly mutilated, and a porter was
+despatched to break the tidings to the bereaved mother. The man,
+overcome with the horror of the event, and full of compassion for the
+white-haired woman--who stood stolidly awaiting his message, evidently
+unsuspicious of its tenor--could scarcely find words with which to
+tell the news.
+
+"There's bin an accident," he faltered, "we'n foun' a mon o' th'
+rails--dead--cut t' pieces by a train."
+
+Old Lizzie stared at him in silence; then a light seemed to break in
+on her.
+
+"Ah," she said. "Happen it's our Bill!"
+
+And with that she turned on her heel and went upstairs to select a
+winding-sheet for him.
+
+Some of our folks like to talk about their troubles. Over and over
+again they tell you, almost in the same words, exactly how it all came
+about. A poor woman pleats her apron and gazes at you with pathetic
+eyes, which she stops to wipe occasionally. The story has grown
+familiar to both relater and listener, and sometimes you are regaled
+not only with the tale itself, but with the repetition of your own
+comments thereon.
+
+"I mind ye said so and so," she says, "an' it's often seemed to
+comfort me."
+
+Clearly there is nothing for it but immediately to say it again, and
+you are rewarded by seeing the face brighten perceptibly, much as a
+child's brightens as it hears a well--known point in a familiar tale.
+These simple people are very like children.
+
+But sometimes the pain is too great to be dilated on, and then a
+chance phrase or word, infinitely pathetic, betrays the depth of
+sorrow; sometimes there is silence more pathetic still.
+
+Looking into a cottage, one day, where the week before a little child
+had been carried to the churchyard, I found the mother hard at work,
+ironing.
+
+"I will not come in," I said. "You are busy."
+
+"Nay, ma'am, coom your ways in an' sit ye down. There's no hurry. I'm
+nobbut puttin' away our Teddy's little clothes."
+
+Not another word did she say in allusion to her sorrow, and no tears
+fell on the little worn garments. Poor little garments, so
+pathetically bringing to mind the wee lost personality! Darned socks
+which had covered active little feet; tiny short "knickers" patched at
+the knees; shabby coat--moulded, it would seem, into the very shape of
+the chubby figure--the mother ironed and polished them, and laid them
+in a tidy heap. As she worked she tried to talk of other things, but
+her face told its own tale, and I went away with an aching heart.
+
+The men carry their troubles afield; manual labour dulls, if it does
+not altogether exorcise, them; some have other less creditable means
+of seeking oblivion. But the poor women, shut in in their little
+houses, with their anxieties and sorrow staring them in the face--God
+help them! So narrow are their lives, so few their experiences, that
+their thoughts must run perpetually in the same groove; everything
+which surrounds them, their "sticks" of furniture, their little
+household gods, are reminders of lost joys and present grief.
+
+"Eh, I can scarce 'bide to see my mother's cheer," said a poor
+crippled girl to me. "Her 'an me was allus sat one aside o' t'other,
+an' now hoo's gone. Eh, I know I shouldn't complain, an' hoo's in a
+better place; but hoo's gone, ye see, an' I'm awful lonely. I keep
+settin' here all day, an' thinkin' of her, and fancyin' I hear her
+moanin'. Eh dear, yes, it's a shame for me, an' I know I ought to be
+glad hoo isn't sufferin' no longer. Eh, at th' last, ye know, Mrs.
+Francis, it were summat awful what hoo suffered. Oh yes, I _know_.
+But, ye see, when I'm sat here all day by mysel', an' when I see th'
+empty cheer, an' o' neets when I dream hoo's layin' aside o' me, an'
+then wakken up an' stretch out my arms--eh, dear o' me!"
+
+Some of the neighbours thought this poor girl's grief excessive. Nancy
+indeed, who buried her own exceedingly ancient parent comparatively
+recently, bade her remember that she was not the only one who knew
+what it is to lose a mother. It is not, as a rule, considered quite
+decent to speak in other than cheerful tones of a bereavement which
+has occurred more than a year ago,--unless, of course, you are taking
+a general survey of your troubles, in which case it is allowable to
+include it as a proof the more that you have "supped sorrow." But Mary
+set etiquette at defiance. Out of the fulness of her heart her mouth
+spake. To all corners she must needs tell her loneliness and her
+sorrow.
+
+One day, however, she received me with a bright face and a certain air
+of mysterious joy.
+
+"Mrs. Francis, I scarce know how to tell ye, but it seems as if th'
+Lord Hissel sent me a bit o' comfort. Ye see, nobry had no feelin' for
+me here in village; they all towd me to resign mysel', an' that, an'
+it were wicked o' me to be ill-satisfied wi' th' A'mighty's will. But,
+ye see, I wouldn't seem able to give ower frettin'--I raly couldn't.
+Well but, last neet--I haven't towd nobry, because I didn't want to
+have 'em laughin', ye know, and, o' course, I dunnot set mich store by
+dreams; but still, it seemed to comfort me."
+
+She looked at me appealingly, and, being assured of my sympathy,
+continued--
+
+"Well, last neet I were very lonesome when I geet into bed, an' I
+began o' thinkin' o' my mother, an' wonderin' where hoo was. An' 'Eh,
+mother,' I says out loud, 'wheer _are_ ye, an' are ye thinkin' o' me,
+an' are ye in heaven?' An' I geet agate o' cryin' an' axin' mysel wheer
+was heaven, an' was hoo raly theer. Well, at last I dozed off, an' I
+had a dream. I thought I saw my mother, in her cap an' apron, an' wi'
+her sleeves rolled up--just same as hoo used to look when hoo was busy
+about th' house. An' I thought hoo coom along, lookin' fro' one side
+to t'other, as if hoo were seechin' soombry; an' I said, 'Here I am,
+mother.' An' hoo stood a moment, an' smiled. An' then"--sinking her
+voice and speaking hurriedly and excitedly--"I looked up at sky (we
+was out o' doors i' my dream), an' then I saw it all full o' light,
+and rays coomin', goldy rays, same as--same as ye see sometimes on a
+Christmas card; an' they coom down, an' gathered all about my mother,
+an' lapped her round. An' then I see her goin' up, up--reet into th'
+leet; an' then I wakkened. Eh, Mrs. Francis, dunnot ye think--dunnot
+ye raly think--as th' Lord sent me that dream to comfort me? Eh, I
+feel sure hoo's in heaven now, an' hoo's thinkin' o' me. I cannot tell
+ye how 'appy it mak's me."
+
+"Eye hath not seen," says St. Paul, "ear hath not heard." Very
+different was poor Mary's vision. Think of it: the little old woman in
+her working dress, with the sleeves rolled up on her skinny arms--the
+"goldy rays, same as ye see on Christmas cards." But, nevertheless,
+even in her attic room she has had a glimpse of Paradise.
+
+
+
+
+THE ROMANCE OF BROTHER JOHN
+
+
+Mrs. Cross was gardening; it was an occupation in which she took great
+pleasure, not merely on account of her affection for the little plot
+of ground which she miraculously contrived to render bright at all
+seasons, but because it afforded her ample opportunities for
+supervising her neighbours' affairs. While she watered her stocks, or
+tied up her carnations, she was enabled to throw an occasional keen
+glance in at the open doorway on either side of her; she knew
+precisely what Mrs. Barnes had for dinner, and how large was Mrs.
+Frizzel's wash. Squatting back on her heels in the intervals of her
+labours, and negligently scratching her elbows or retwisting her
+untidy coil of hair, she would even hearken discreetly to such scraps
+of conversation as enlivened meal or toil. She knew all about Mrs.
+Frizzel's last letter from her daughter Susan, and could give the
+precise details of young Barnes' encounter with the stalwart yeoman
+who had supplanted him in the affections of his sweetheart. She would
+also hail from over the hedge the driver of any passing tradesman's
+cart, and was thus enabled to possess herself of the latest news from
+"town" a mile away. By craning her neck a little to the right she
+could catch a glimpse of the walls and roofs of this centre of
+activity, and by extending it in the other direction she had a peep of
+the high road, where sometimes as many as a dozen vehicles passed of
+an afternoon.
+
+Her eyes were strained towards this favourite point of view on one
+particularly sultry August evening; her own hedge, even, was sprinkled
+with dust, while the double row which guarded the glaring stretch
+yonder was absolutely white.
+
+Mrs. Cross's little garden was, however, a pleasant spot, even on this
+glowing, breathless afternoon. She had been watering her borders, and
+a delicious smell of damp earth mingled with the fragrance of the
+old-fashioned flowers beneath the mellow old walls of her cottage. A
+fine array of sweet-williams and larkspurs and hollyhocks stood in a
+row before them; jessamine and honeysuckle clung to the old brick and
+festooned themselves over the rickety porch. Between the green
+tendrils one got a glimpse of the picture within--the dresser with its
+wealth of shining crockery, the log-fire leaping merrily on the
+hearth, a little brown teapot winking in the glow, the table spread
+with a clean white cloth and set out for two. It made a pretty
+picture, yet, as has been said, Mrs. Cross perpetually turned her eyes
+towards the patch of high road which climbed painfully up between the
+dusty hedges. At last she was constrained to rise from her knees and
+take her stand by her little gate, where, with knitted brows and
+pursed-up lips, she remained on the watch, until at last her patience
+was rewarded by the sight of a woman's figure, clad in deep black,
+suddenly rounding the corner. She immediately smoothed her brow and
+composed her features to a becoming melancholy. Mrs. Cross was ever as
+ready to sympathise with her neighbours' misfortunes to their faces as
+she was to declare behind their backs that they were well-deserved.
+To-day, however, her countenance wore an expression of tempered woe,
+and her voice was only moderately dolorous, for the trouble which she
+was about to lament was a vicarious one.
+
+"I've a-been on the look-out for you ever since tea-time, Mrs. Domeny,
+my dear. Thinks I constant, 'I wonder how Mrs. Domeny be a-gettin' on,
+and I wonder how the poor widow-man be a-bearin' up.' Come in an' sit
+ye down, do; ye must be mortal hot and tired, walkin' so far in your
+deep."
+
+Mrs. Domeny, a chubby, buxom little woman, who found it hard to
+eliminate from her rosy face all trace of a cheerfulness which,
+however habitual, would have been unbecoming on the occasion of a
+sister-in-law's funeral, checked the smile with which she had been
+about to respond to her friend's invitation, and heaved a sigh
+instead.
+
+"Well, jist for a minute, Mrs. Cross. There, to tell 'ee the truth,
+I'm fair wore out, what with a body's feelin's and a-walkin' so far i'
+the sun, and the dust a-gettin' down one's throat wi' every sob, so to
+speak. 'Ees, my dear, I'm terrible dry, an' I would like a cup o' tea,
+jist about! They hadn't nothin' but ham," she added, "yonder at
+Brother John's. 'Twas a bit salt. I always told poor Sarah as I did
+think she salted her hams too much; but, there! she be gone, poor
+soul, and it wouldn't become me to speak ill of her ham now."
+
+"Ah, my dear," groaned Mrs. Cross, pouring out a cupful of the
+inky-looking fluid that had been stewing on the hob for the last hour
+and a-half. "Ah, my dear, all flesh is grass, as we do know. She was a
+dried-up-looking poor body, your sister-in-law; I al'ays did say so,
+ye mid remember. An' how did ye leave poor John?"
+
+"He was in floods," responded Mrs. Domeny, her eyes filling with
+sympathetic tears. "In floods, I do assure 'ee. I did feel for en, I
+can tell 'ee. 'Twas through me as they did first get to know each
+other. 'Twas a very romantic marriage theirs was, Mrs. Cross; a real
+romance me an' Robert al'ays did call it."
+
+"Ah!" commented her neighbour, half sympathetically, half
+interrogatively. She kicked the logs together with her flat shoe, drew
+a chair close to her visitor's, filled her own cup, and sat down with
+an expectant expression.
+
+"'Ees, my dear, quite a romance, as you'll say when I've a-told 'ee.
+When my sister Susannah was laid up wi' her ninth, which was a twin,
+my dear, an' her husband out of work, and the other eight scarce able
+to do a hand's turn for themselves, she wrote to me an' axed me to
+come an' look after things a bit till she got about again. Well, I
+couldn't say no, ye can understand, so Robert got Janie Domeny,
+brother Tom's oldest girl, to come of a marnin' to see to en, an' I
+did go to poor Susannah. Well, 'twas at Susannah's, if you'll believe
+me," said Mrs. Domeny, with a solemnity which would have befitted the
+announcement of an event of national importance, "as I first came
+across poor Sarah."
+
+"Well!" ejaculated Mrs. Cross, pausing with a large bite of bread and
+butter distending her cheek, and uplifting her hands. "Well, to think
+of it!"
+
+"'Ees, as I often did say," resumed Mrs. Domeny, "it did seem from the
+very beginnin' as though 'twas meant to be. She was a-livin' next door
+to Susannah--hadn't long come, d'ye see, and didn't know any of the
+neighbours to speak on. But she an' me took to each other fro' the
+beginnin'. She were a staid women then, an' not over an' above
+well-lookin'--nay, I can't say as she was. But she was dressed very
+fayshionable an' nice, an' she was very pleasant to speak to, an' as
+for me, you know I'm of a very affectionate disposition; 'tis my
+natur' to cling, d'ye see. 'Ees, as I often do say to my 'usband, I am
+as clingin' as--as a worm. So, as I tell ye, we did take to each other
+fro' the first. Well, when Susannah was a-gettin' about, after the
+ninth day, ye know, I went home along, and Sarah did say to I, 'I'll
+come and see you, Mrs. Domeny, if I mid make so bold,' she says in her
+lady-like way.
+
+"'To be sure, Mrs. Maidment,' says I--"
+
+"Oh, she was a widow then?" interrupted Mrs. Cross. "There now, what
+notions folks do get in their heads. I al'ays made sure and certain as
+your sister-in-law was a single woman afore she was your
+sister-in-law."
+
+"No, my dear," said Mrs. Domeny impressively. "She was a widow, Mrs.
+Cross, that's what she was. She'd a-buried her first poor husband--an'
+a very fine man he was by all accounts--nigh upon six year afore ever
+she took up wi' brother John."
+
+"Indeed!" ejaculated Mrs. Cross, in a tone which signified that the
+fact redounded greatly to the credit of the late Mrs. John Domeny.
+
+"'Ees, indeed," repeated the narrator triumphantly. "But where was I?
+'To be sure, Mrs. Maidment,' says I, 'I'll be main glad to see you
+whenever ye can anyway make it convenient to come.' Well, one Sunday
+she did drap in just as my husband and myself was a-sitting down to
+our tea. So of course I did make her so welcome as I could, and did
+get out the best cups an' heat up a bit o' toast, and we was all as
+comfortable an' friendly as could be. But I noticed, Mrs. Cross, as
+how Mrs. Maidment's eyes was a-fixed constant on my husband; there, I
+couldn't choose but notice it, it seemed as if she had to look at him,
+d'ye understand. I thought at first maybe he had a spot on his face or
+some sich thing, but, no, it weren't that; and she did speak to en so
+respectful, and hearken so interested-like when he did say a word,
+which warn't often, ye mid be sure, for Robert bain't no talker."
+
+"Dear to be sure, how strange," put in Mrs. Cross, again pausing in
+the act of mastication, and preparing to listen to further details
+with heightened interest.
+
+"Strange!" echoed the other. "Wait till ye hear the rest, then ye'll
+think it strange. By-and-by Robert pushed away his cup, 'I think I'll
+step out for a bit of a pipe, Mary,' says he to I. 'I wish ye good
+day, ma'am,' says he, noddin' his head at Mrs. Maidment. The door had
+no sooner shut behind en," she continued, leaning forward and speaking
+slowly and with great unction, "than Sarah she looks me full in the
+face, and says she, 'Mrs. Domeny,' she says, 'I do admire your
+husband. I think,' she says, 'he be a beautiful man.'"
+
+"T'ch, t'ch, t'ch," commented the listener, clicking her tongue, for
+her astonishment at the sudden development was too great to find vent
+in mere words.
+
+"'I do admire your husband,'" repeated Mrs. Domeny impressively. "That
+was what she said, 'he be a beautiful man.' 'Well,' said I, 'I'll not
+say nay to that, Mrs. Maidment. Him an' me have been married now goin'
+on fifteen year, an' all I can say about en is as if I were free to
+choose again, I'd choose the same.'
+
+"'Ah,' says she, giving a kind of sigh, this way, ye know" (here Mrs.
+Domeny sighed noisily). "'Ah, I knowed he was good by the very looks
+of him. I am sure,' says she, 'he must come of a very respectable
+family.' So of course I did tell her as the Domenys was well known and
+respected in all the country round, and was real good old Darset
+stock. 'There never was a Domeny yet,' says I, 'as wasn't a credit to
+the country.' 'Ah,' says she, sighin' again, 'and I d' 'low, ma'am,
+they do make very good husbands.'
+
+"'Ye mid be sure they do,' says I; 'I can speak up for my own man, and
+I think Mrs. Tom and Mrs. Ned can do the same for theirs.'
+
+"'Be they all married?' axes she, very quick.
+
+"Well, I looked at her--it did seem a particular kind of question, so
+to speak, an' she took a fit of coughin'" (here Mrs. Domeny simulated
+a genteel and hesitating attack of the infirmity in question), "an' at
+last, says she, very earnest, 'Bain't there one of them at all as
+hasn't got a wife?'
+
+"'There is Brother John,' says I; 'his missus died two years ago, come
+Michaelmas. He's a very quiet man,' says I, 'very quiet.'
+
+"'Has he got a nice place?' says she.
+
+"'Dear, to be sure,' says I, 'Brother John be very comfortable. He's
+got a good-sized house wi' a big garden, an' he do bring up a sight o'
+pigs an' chicken.'
+
+"'That 'ud do me very well,' says Sarah. 'I've got a bank-book what is
+worth lookin' at!' And then she stood up. 'I should like to meet your
+brother John,' she did say; 'perhaps ye'll think it over, Mrs.
+Domeny?'
+
+"'Oh, 'e--es, I'll do that,' said I. She did bid me good-bye then, an'
+so soon as ever she was gone I called Robert in and telled en the
+whole tale."
+
+"I d' 'low he were pleased," put in Mrs. Cross, "about her admirin' of
+en, ye know."
+
+"Well, he be a very modest man, Robert be; he didn't take much notice.
+'Fancy that!' says he, when I did tell en."
+
+"Fancy that!" had also been Mrs. Cross's inward comment, on first
+hearing of the effect produced by Mr. Robert Domeny on the
+impressionable Mrs. Maidment; for if truth be told he was anything but
+an Adonis. But she wisely kept her surprise to herself, and now once
+more clicked her tongue in token of appreciation.
+
+"'Now, Robert,' says I," continued Mrs. Domeny, resuming her narrative
+tone, "'how would it be if we was to write to Brother John?'
+
+"'What 'ud ye tell en?' says he; 'he'd mayhap not quite fancy the
+notion o' takin' up wi' a woman he did never set eyes on.' 'You just
+leave it to I,' says I; 'I bain't a-goin' to say nothin' at all about
+wedlock. I'll jist ax en to come to tea next Sunday, and I'll tell en
+as a very nice body what we've lately got acquainted wi' be a'
+a-comin' to tea, too; an' I'll jist set down, careless-like, as she
+have got a bank-book what is worth seein'. Jist no more nor that.'
+
+"'Ah, that 'ud maybe do very well,' says Domeny, and we did put our
+heads together, and between us the letter was wrote. Brother John sent
+us word by the carrier as he was a-comin', and I did send off Janie
+that same day to let Mrs. Maidment know, and Janie said her face did
+fair flush up wi' j'y. She kissed the maid so affectionate, an' says
+she, 'You be another Domeny, my dear. You must favour your Pa, I'm
+sure, for you be a very vitty maid.'
+
+"Well, Sunday did come, an' I did have a beautiful tea ready; muffins
+and a bit o' cold ham--not so salt as poor Sarah's--and a pot o'
+blackberry-an'-apple jam. Brother John were the first to come. He fair
+give me a start, for I didn't expect en so early; he did put his head
+in at the door, an' beckon this way, so secret-like." (Here there was
+the usual accompaniment of appropriate gesture.)
+
+"'Mary,' he whispered, 'Mary, be she come?'
+
+"'Not yet, John,' says I.
+
+"He did squeeze hisself very cautious round the door, lookin' to right
+an' left, this way" (further pantomime). "'Mary,' says he, right in my
+ear, 'have 'ee seen the bank-book?'
+
+"'Nay, John,' says I; 'nay; 'twasn't to be expected, but I did hear,
+John,' says I, 'as it were worth lookin' at.'
+
+"He did sit him down then, an' did begin to whistle to hisself, an' to
+rub his knees up and down. He had his best clothes on, an' the big
+tall hat as he'd a-bought for the first poor Mrs. John's funeral. He
+took it off after a while, and did keep turnin' it round and round in
+his hands. 'Where's Robert?' says he, all to once.
+
+"'Cleaning up a bit i' the bedroom,' says I.
+
+"'I think I'll go to en,' says he.
+
+"'Not you,' says I, determined-like. 'Sit you there, that's a good
+man. She'll be here in a minute.'
+
+"But Robert come down first, an' we was gettin' a bit anxious when
+Mrs. Maidment did tap at the door. She was lookin' real well an'
+genteel, in a black silk dress, and wi' one o' them little black bags
+as they did use to call ridicules in her hand. Poor Brother John could
+scarce take his eyes off it, for he made sure, d'ye see, as she'd
+a-brought the bank-book inside. Well, the tea did pass off so pleasant
+as could be, and so soon as it was over I did make a sign to Robert.
+
+"'I've summat to show 'ee' says I, an' so soon as I did get en
+outside, I did sauce en for bein' so stupid.
+
+"'How be they ever to get things settled wi' us two a-lookin' at 'em?'
+says I.
+
+"We did stay outside a-kickin' of our heels for above half-an-hour,
+an' then we did come in--an' there they was a-settin' one on each side
+of the fire so comfortable as you could wish. Sarah looked up when I
+opened the door, an' she says straight out, 'We've pretty nigh settled
+things, but I shan't give my promise until I've had a look round Mr.
+Domeny's place. I'd like to make sure as it 'ud suit me,' says she.
+
+"'To be sure,' says John, who was lookin' a bit puzzled, but very
+pleasant. 'To be sure. Next Thursday--now what 'ud ye say to makin' up
+a party next Thursday, all on ye, an' drivin' over in the arternoon?
+I'd have kettle bilin',' says he, 'an' all set out so well as a poor
+lone man can do it, an' maybe one o' you ladies 'ud make tea?'"
+
+Mrs. Cross sucked in her breath in token of intensifying enjoyment,
+and turned her head yet a little more on one side.
+
+"And so?" prompted she, as Mrs. Domeny paused.
+
+"And so, Thursday come, an' we did get a trap off Mr. Sharpe, an' we
+set off. Brother John was a-standin' on the doorstep on the look-out
+for us, and he did lead Mrs. Maidment in and sit her down at the head
+of the table.
+
+"'Let's hope,' says he, 'it may be your nat'ral place afore long.'
+
+"She jist smiled back wi'out speakin'; an' all the time we was havin'
+our tea, I could see her eyes a-rovin' round the room, here an' there
+an' everywhere. The teapot had a chip out of the spout, an' she did
+jist pass her finger along it.
+
+"'T'ud be easy to get a new un,' says Brother John, for he knowed what
+she meant. An' then she looks down at the table-cloth--'It wants
+darnin',' says she. "Tis easy seen as a woman's hands be needed here.'
+
+"'They are, truly,' says he, lookin' at her so wistful-like.
+
+"'Well, we'll see,' says she, noddin' at him very kind."
+
+"An' did she really look over everything Mrs. Domeny, my dear?"
+interrupted Mrs. Cross eagerly. "She must ha' been a wonderful
+sensible woman!"
+
+"You'd ha' said so if you could ha' seen her. There! there wasn't so
+much as a pan as she didn't look into. Behind the doors, and under the
+bed; she turned over the very blankets, I do assure 'ee. Upstairs an'
+down she went, an' roun' the yard, an' down the garden, an' into the
+shed. Poor Brother John kep' a-trottin' after her, an' at last she
+come back to the kitchen again."
+
+[Illustration: THE ROMANCE OF BROTHER JOHN
+"Poor Brother John kep a trottin' after her"]
+
+"'Well, Mr. Domeny,' says she, 'if ye'll go to the expense of a few
+buckets of whitewash, an' give a lick o' paint to the door here, I
+think it 'ull do very well.' So they settled the day an' everythin'
+there an' then."
+
+"Well, to be sure!" ejaculated Mrs. Cross. "It do sound jist like a
+book; an' talkin' o' that, I suppose she did show en the bank-book?"
+
+"She never gave en so much as a sight o' it, Mrs. Cross, if you
+believe me. Kep' it locked up, she did, and never let him throw his
+eye over it till the day of her death. I went up to see en so soon as
+I heard as all were over, an' found en cryin' fit to break his heart.
+
+"'Come, Brother John,' says I, ''tis a sad loss, as we do all know,
+but you must bear up.'
+
+"''Tisn't only the loss o' poor Sarah,' says he, ''tis--'tis,' an' his
+'eart were that full he couldn't say no more, but jist held out the
+bank-book to me. My dear, there weren't above three pound in it!"
+
+"Dear heart alive!" ejaculated Mrs. Cross, clapping her hands
+together, "I never heerd o' such a thing i' my life. Why," she added
+energetically, "it 'ud scarce pay for the whitewash! An' yet he gave
+her a nice funeral, ye tell me?"
+
+"'E--es, my dear. Ye see, 'tis this way. Brother John be a very just
+man, an' so soon as he did get over his first disappointment, he did
+say to I, m'urnful like, but very patient--
+
+"'Mary,' he says, 'it weren't what I did look for, an' it weren't what
+I were led to expect, but takin' one thing wi' another,' says he, 'I
+don't regret it. Poor Sarah was a wonderful hand at managin' pigs,'
+says he, 'an I never see'd her equal for bringin' up chicken. No!' he
+says, 'I don't regret it.'"
+
+"Well, he couldn't say no fairer than that," commented Mrs. Cross
+admiringly. "Yes," she added, drawing a long breath, "'tis just what
+you do say, Mrs. Domeny--it be a reg'lar romance."
+
+
+
+
+GILES IN LUCK
+
+
+Giles Maine sat in the middle of the ward, his hands crossed on his
+new umbrella, while his fellow-inmates gathered together in knots and
+stared at him, some curiously, some enviously, some a little
+regretfully, though all were ready to wish him God-speed when the
+moment of parting came.
+
+By a strange turn of Fortune's wheel, Giles Maine, the oldest inmate
+of Branston Union, who had in truth for twenty years known no other
+home, now found himself, at the age of seventy-eight, a comparatively
+wealthy man. A distant relative, a relative so distant indeed that
+Giles had been unaware of his existence, had recently died intestate,
+and Giles proved to be his next-of-kin.
+
+It had taken him some time to grasp the situation, and to understand
+that he was now free to live where he would, in a position of comfort,
+not to say affluence. Everybody had taken him in hand, however; the
+master had ordered a brand-new suit of clothes for him; the matron had
+engaged rooms in the village, and had put him under the charge of his
+future landlady, who was a motherly sort of woman, and could be
+trusted to look after him; the clergyman had given him much kind
+advice, and many friendly warnings; and at length the old man found
+himself ready to depart. He was now, in fact, only waiting to say
+good-bye to the matron before turning his back for ever on the bare
+room where he had spent so many monotonous hours.
+
+The prospect ought surely to have elated him, yet his face wore a very
+blank expression as he sat awaiting the expected summons; his new
+clothes felt strange and stiff, the high collar of his fine white
+shirt hurt his neck, his shiny new boots pinched his feet, the knobby
+handle of his massive umbrella was not so comfortable to grasp as the
+familiar crook of his battered old stick.
+
+"First turn at the end of the lane, then third house on the right, and
+ax for Mrs. Tapper," he repeated to himself from time to time. "First
+turn, and third house--'e-es I can mind it right enough--third house
+and ax for Mrs. Tapper."
+
+"'Tis a pity," said some one for the fortieth time that day, "'tis a
+pity, Mr. Maine, as you ain't got no folks o' your own. Ah, 'tis a
+pity, sure. 'Twould ha' been more cheerful like if you'd ha' been
+going home."
+
+"'E-es," agreed Giles, also for the fortieth time, "'e-es I d' 'low it
+would, but I ain't had no folk--there! I can scarce mind when I had
+any. I never so much as heerd the name o' this 'ere chap what has left
+me his fortun'. Never heerd his name--never so much as knowed he were
+born."
+
+"Dear to be sure! It seems strange, don't it? And him to leave ye his
+money and all. I wonder where ye'll go, Mr. Maine. P'r'aps ye'll go to
+Lunnon?"
+
+"To Lunnon?" gasped Giles, his jaw dropping. "What should I go to
+Lunnon for?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know--ye can go where ye like, d'ye see. I reckon I'd go
+to Lunnon if I was in your shoes."
+
+"Would 'ee?" queried Giles, interested, but still aghast. "Nay now, ye
+see, I never was one for travellin'--I've never been so far as
+Darchester, not once all the time I were"--he jerked his thumb over
+his shoulder--"outside."
+
+"Well, your lodgin' be only took on trial, so to speak, to see how ye
+do like it," said another man. "Ye can change it so soon as ye please,
+and move here and there just as ye fancy. A fine life--I'd give summat
+to be you."
+
+"I never was one for movin' much," said the old man, uneasily. "Nay,
+movin' weren't in my line. I did use to work for the same master
+pretty near all my life, till I were took bad wi' the rheumatiz.
+'E-es, he were a good master to I. I could be fain to see en again,
+but he's dead, they tell me, and the family ha' shifted. There bain't
+nobody out yonder as I ever had acquaintance wi' in the wold times.
+Nay, all 'ull be new, and a bit strange."
+
+"A pleasant change, I should think," a gruff man was beginning--an
+unattractive person this, with a week-old beard and a frowning brow,
+when an old fellow, who had been sitting disconsolately in the corner
+of the room, suddenly struck in:
+
+"I d' 'low, Giles, ye'll be like to miss we when ye're all among
+strangers, I d' 'low ye will. 'E-es, ye'll be like to miss we just so
+much as us'll miss you."
+
+Giles rolled his eyes towards him with a startled expression, but said
+nothing for a moment or two; then he remarked, in a somewhat dolorous
+tone:
+
+"I d' 'low I'll miss you, Jim; you and me has sat side by side this
+fifteen year--'tis fifteen year, bain't it, since ye come?"
+
+"Ah! fifteen year," agreed Jim. "I'll be the woldest inmate in th'
+Union when you do leave."
+
+"'E-es, Jim, thee 'ull be gettin' all the buns and all the baccy now,"
+cried one of the others, laughing. "He'll have to stand up and say
+'Good marnin'' to the gentry when they comes round, and tell his age,
+and how long he've a-been here, and all. I d' 'low he'll do it just so
+well as you."
+
+Giles gazed at the speaker frowningly; he did not seem to like the
+idea, but if he meditated a retort he was prevented from uttering it
+by the advent of a messenger from the matron, which was the signal for
+his own departure. He stood up, and went shuffling from one to the
+other of his former cronies, shaking hands with them all, but without
+speaking. He gripped Jim's hand the hardest, and pumped it up and down
+for so long a time that the messenger grew impatient; and then he went
+stumbling along the passage, and down the stone stairs to the door,
+where the master and matron both stood awaiting him. He received the
+money which had been placed in the master's hands for his actual
+needs, and scraped his rickety old foot, and pulled his forelock,
+after a forgotten fashion, as he listened to their kindly words. Then
+they, too, shook hands with him, and accompanied him to the gate,
+looking after the feeble old figure until it disappeared.
+
+"I do hope Mrs. Tapper will look after him," said the matron. "He's no
+more fit to take care of himself than a baby."
+
+Giles tottered on down the hill, his eyes roaming vaguely over the
+landscape, which was looking its fairest on this mellow June
+afternoon. Yonder rolled the downs, all golden green in the light of
+the sinking sun, nearer at hand lay the meadows, very sheets of
+buttercup gold; every leaf and twig of the hedgerow was a-glitter,
+too--all Nature, it seemed, had arrayed itself in splendour to
+correspond with the old pauper's sudden access of wealth. Not that any
+such fancy crossed his dazed mind. As he shuffled along he thought of
+how he had walked this way last year, with Jim at his side, on one of
+their rare outings. They had, in fact, been on their way to the
+parsonage, and Jim, who had been a farm labourer in a previous state
+of existence, had called his attention to the "for'ardness" of the
+potatoes which were growing where the hay grew now.
+
+Giles paused mechanically, and gazed at the billowing grass; and then
+he went on a little, and stopped again at the next gap in the hedge,
+where Jim had pointed out the splendid view of Branston.
+
+"I could wish," he muttered, as he turned away, "we was goin' to tea
+at the rectory now."
+
+Farther down the road was a bench where it was the old paupers' custom
+to sit awhile on their return journey, before beginning the steep
+ascent of the hill; Giles sat stiffly down now, and once more stared
+about him. By-and-by the town clock struck seven and he instinctively
+rose to his feet, and began hurriedly to retrace his steps, but pulled
+himself up of a sudden.
+
+"Seven o'clock! It 'ud seem more nat'ral to be goin' up-along. I was
+nigh forgettin' I be comed away! Mrs. Tapper 'ull think I bain't
+a-comin' if I don't hurry up."
+
+This time he made up his mind to continue his journey without further
+interruptions, and very soon arrived at the end of the lane, and even
+at the third house on the right, where he was duly received by Mrs.
+Tapper. She was most civil, not to say respectful; called him "Sir"
+and "Mr. Maine," hustled her children out of his way, installed him in
+the elbow-chair in the corner, and waited upon him at tea-time as
+though he had been a gentleman born.
+
+At first Giles rather enjoyed it, but presently the feeling of
+loneliness and strangeness, against which he had been struggling all
+day, returned with redoubled force; and when he was finally ushered
+into his clean tidy little room, and Mrs. Tapper, after calling his
+attention to the various preparations she had made for his comfort,
+left him to himself, he sat down on the side of the bed and groaned
+aloud.
+
+[Illustration: GILES IN LUCK
+"Waited upon him at tea time as though he had been a gentleman born"]
+
+They would just be about "turnin' in" at the Union, and Jim, laying
+himself down on the pallet next to his, would be making the
+time-honoured joke about the absence of spring-mattresses and
+feather-beds, with which he was usually wont to regale the other
+inmates at this hour. As Giles turned down the spotless
+lavender-scented sheets he thought longingly of the workhouse twill.
+
+A week later Giles was permitted to visit his former friends, laden
+with such a store of buns and baccy as would have ensured his welcome,
+even had not most of his cronies been genuinely glad to see him.
+
+"Dear heart alive!" cried Jim, receiving his modicum of twist with a
+delighted chuckle, "these be new times, these be. Who'd ever ha'
+thought o' Giles Maine walkin' in like a lard wi' presents for us
+all?"
+
+But Giles was looking round with a foolish wavering sort of smile.
+
+"It'd seem real homely in here," he remarked. "Ah! it do fur sure.
+There be the papers as us'al, I see--I do miss papers awful out
+yonder."
+
+"Why, to be sure," cried one of the younger men, "you can buy 'em for
+yourself now. I'm blowed if I wouldn't have all the papers as comes
+out if I was you."
+
+"I did go to a shop onest," said the old man, "and I did ax, but they
+didn't seem able to gi' me the right 'uns. 'I want pictur's o' the
+snow and folks huntin' and that,' says I. 'Not this time o' year,'
+says the young lady; 'them's in Christmas numbers.' 'That's what I've
+bin used to,' says I. 'Well, we can order 'em for you,' says she, but
+I couldn't mind the names. I knowed one did begin 'G--r--a--p--' so I
+did ax if they had one about 'Grape--summat,' and they did give I the
+_Gardener_--ah, that was what they did call it; but there weren't no
+pictur's in it at all, only flowers and mowing machines, and
+sich-like."
+
+"Why, ye mean the _Graphic_" cried some one with a laugh; "no wonder
+the maid couldn't make out what you was a-drivin' at."
+
+But Giles did not heed him; he was gazing hungrily at the greasy pack
+of cards which lay on the deal table.
+
+"It d' seem a martal sight of time since I've had a game," he
+exclaimed. "Light up, Jim; you and me 'ull jist have time for one
+afore tea."
+
+When the bell rang for this last-named meal Giles rose with the rest,
+and was preparing to walk with them down the well-known stairs, when
+he was astonished by receiving an invitation to tea with no less a
+person than the matron herself.
+
+He smoothed his hair with the palms of his hands, pulled up his
+shirt-collar, and followed the messenger with an odd mixture of pride
+and reluctance. It was no doubt highly gratifying to be thus honoured
+before all his former mates, but he was conscious of a secret yearning
+to sit down once more in the old place, and munch his allotted portion
+of bread and cheese with a friend at either elbow.
+
+The matron received him cordially.
+
+"Come in, Mr. Maine, and sit down; I am glad to have an opportunity of
+chatting with you. It would never do for you to have tea with the
+others now, you know."
+
+"No, to be sure," agreed Giles blankly.
+
+"Well, and how are you, Mr. Maine? Most comfortable and happy, Mrs.
+Tapper tells me."
+
+"'E-es, mum," returned Giles mournfully.
+
+"Sugar and milk, Mr. Maine?"
+
+"Thankee, mum, I likes it best pure naked. I'd be thankful to 'ee,
+mum, if ye wouldn't call me Mr. Maine; it don't seem naitral like."
+
+"Perhaps not," agreed the matron, with a kindly laugh. "Well,
+Giles--I'll say Giles, then--Giles, do you know that you are quite a
+remarkable person? They have been writing about you in the papers. 'A
+lucky pauper,' they call you."
+
+"Have they now, mum?" returned Maine, staring at her over the rim of
+his cup.
+
+"Yes, indeed, and people have been writing to me to know the
+particulars. 'Tis not often, you see, such a stroke of good fortune
+befalls an inmate of the Union."
+
+"I s'pose not," he agreed, between two gulps of tea.
+
+The matron continued to speak in this congratulatory vein while the
+old man ate and drank; but though he occasionally muttered a word or
+two which would seem to endorse her statements, his countenance was
+far from wearing the joyful self-satisfied expression which she had
+anticipated.
+
+All at once he pushed away plate and cup.
+
+"Mum," he said, "if I mid make so bold I'd like to say summat. I've
+been a-thinkin'--couldn't I come back here?"
+
+"Here!" echoed she in astonishment. "Here! to the workhouse?"
+
+Giles nodded.
+
+"Why, are you not happy at Mrs. Tapper's?"
+
+"'E--es, oh, 'e--es, I haven't got no fault to find wi' she nor
+naught; but I--I'd like the Union best."
+
+"Well, but you see, my dear Giles, the Union is meant for people who
+cannot live anywhere else. You have got plenty of money now, and--"
+
+"I'd be willin' to pay," said Giles.
+
+"Good gracious!" exclaimed the matron.
+
+The old man looked at her stolidly, but made no further remark.
+
+"I'm sure I don't know what to say," she went on, after a pause. "I
+don't suppose such a thing has ever been heard of--I'm sure the
+guardians would never allow it."
+
+"I'd pay handsome," said Giles. "You ax 'em, mum."
+
+"Well, I will if you like; but don't you think you are very foolish?
+There you are, a man of property, who can hold up your head with the
+best, and pay your way, and you want to come back here among a lot of
+miserable paupers."
+
+"I've a-been twenty year here," observed Giles, making the statement
+in a dispassionate tone. "I know 'em all here, and I'm used to the
+ways. I couldn't never get used to no other ways, and no other folks.
+I'd sooner bide, mum, if ye'd ax 'em to let me. I'd not give no
+trouble--no more n' I ever did, an' I'd pay for my keep."
+
+"Well, well," said the matron, staring at him in puzzled amazement.
+
+"Can I go up to 'em again for a bit?" queried the old man. "Me and Jim
+was in the middle of a game."
+
+"Oh, yes, you can go up to them."
+
+He rose, scraped his leg and pulled his forelock as usual, and backed
+out of the room, leaving his fine new hat on the ground beside his
+chair.
+
+Coming upon it presently, the matron decided to return it herself to
+the owner; perhaps she was a little curious to see how he comported
+himself among his mates.
+
+She opened the door of the old men's ward so quietly that no one
+noticed her entrance; the room was full of tobacco smoke, and the
+inmates were sitting or standing about as usual. Giles sat in his old
+corner, with Jim opposite to him; both had removed their coats, and
+the grizzled heads were bent together over the battered cards.
+
+"You be in luck, Jim," Giles exclaimed as the matron closed the door.
+"You've turned up a Jack!"
+
+
+
+
+"THE WOLD LOVE AND THE NOO"
+
+
+"Have ye heard the noos?" said Betty Tuffin, thrusting in her head at
+old Mrs. Haskell's open door.
+
+"Lard, no, my dear," returned her crony, hastily dropping the crooked
+iron bar with which she had been drawing together the logs upon her
+hearthstone. "There, I never do seem to hear anything nowadays, my
+wold man bein' so ter'ble punished wi' the lumbaguey and not able to
+do a hand's turn for hisself. Why, I do assure 'ee I do scarce ever
+set foot out o' door wi'out it's to pick up a bit o' scroff, or a few
+logs--an' poor ones they be when I've a-got 'em. I can hardly see my
+own hand for the smoke. Step in, do, Betty love, an' tell I all what's
+to be told."
+
+Betty had stepped in long before Mrs. Haskell had concluded her
+harangue, and had, by this time, taken possession of a comfortable
+corner of the screened settle, deposited her basket by her side,
+folded her arms, and assumed that air of virtuous indignation which
+denoted that she was about to relate the shortcomings of some third
+party.
+
+"Dear, to be sure! Souls alive! Lard ha' mercy me, ye could ha'
+knocked I down wi' a feather when Keeper told I--"
+
+"A-h-h-h, them bwoys o' Chaffey's has been poachin' again I d' 'low,"
+interrupted Mrs. Haskell eagerly. "Never did see sich chaps as they be.
+A body 'ud think they'd know better nor to act so unrespectable-like.
+Why, as my wold man do say sometimes, 'ye mid as well put your hand in
+Squire's pocket as go a-layin' snares for his hares an' rabbits--'tis
+thievin' whichever way ye do look at it,' he do say."
+
+"Well, I don't agree wi' he," responded Betty with some heat. She had
+sons of her own who were occasionally given to strolling abroad on
+moonlight nights, and usually returned with bulging pockets. "I don't
+agree at all. The Lard made they little wild things for the poor so
+well as for the rich--same as the water what runs through Squire's
+park an' down along by the back o' my place. Who's to tell who they
+belongs to. A hare 'ull lep up on one side o' the hedge, an' then
+it'll be Squire's, an' it'll run across t'other side, an' then it's
+Maister's, an' then it'll come an' squat down in my cabbage
+garden--then I d' 'low 'tis mine if I can catch it."
+
+Mrs. Haskell, who was too anxious to gossip to dally by the way in a
+disquisition on the Game Laws, assented to her friend's argument with
+somewhat disappointing promptness, and returned to the original
+subject of discussion.
+
+"I be real curious to hear that there bit o' noos."
+
+"You'll be surprised I d' 'low," said Mrs. Tuffin. "Ye mind Abel Guppy
+what went off to the war out there abroad wi' the Yeomanry? Well, they
+d' say he be killed."
+
+"Dear, now, ye don't tell I so," said the other in a dispassionate,
+and if truth be told, somewhat disappointed tone. A death, though
+always exciting, was not after all so very uncommon, and when a man
+"'listed for a soldier," most of the older village folk looked upon
+his destruction as a foregone conclusion. "Killed, poor young chap!
+His aunt Susan 'ull be terrible opset."
+
+"I d' 'low she will be opset," said Betty meaningly, "and it bain't
+only along of him bein' killed, poor feller, but you'd never think,
+Mrs. Haskell, how things have a-turned out. Ye mind that maid up to
+Bartlett's what he was a-courtin'?"
+
+"'E-es, to be sure I do. A great big bouncin' wench as ever I did see,
+wi' her red head an' all."
+
+"Well, it seems afore poor Abel went out he wrote a paper an' give it
+to this 'ere maid, a-leavin' her everything as the poor chap had in
+the world."
+
+"Mercy on me! But she be a-walkin' out wi' somebody else they tell me;
+she've a-took up wi' the noo love afore she did leave off wi' the
+wold."
+
+"She have," agreed the visitor emphatically. "That be the very thing
+Susan 'ull find so cruel 'ard. She did say to I to-week afore she
+knowed her nevvy were killed, 'If any harm comes to en,' says she, 'it
+do fair break my heart to think as that good-for-nothing Jenny Pitcher
+'ull have her pick of everything in this place. It bain't the same as
+if she'd truly m'urned for en, but she've a-taken up wi' a new young
+man,' says she, 'what walks out wi' her reg'lar.'--'My dear,' says I,
+'if anything should happen to your nevvy, which the Lard forbid,
+she'll never have the face to come to ax for his bits o' things,
+seein' as she haven't been faithful to en.' 'She will though,' says
+Susan, an' 'tis the talk o' the place that _she will_.'"
+
+Mrs. Haskell clapped her hands together. "Well, well! But what a sammy
+the chap was. He did ought to ha' made sure afore makin' sich a will.
+It be a will, I suppose, my dear?"
+
+"It be a will sure enough," said Mrs. Tuffin gloomily. "There, Susan
+did tell I as that there artful hussy made sure he got it signed an'
+all reg'lar. There's a few pounds too in the savings bank--I don't
+know if she'd be able to get 'em out or not."
+
+"Well, I never heerd such a tale. That maid must be a reg'lar Jezebel,
+Betty, that's what she must be. That hard-hearted, unfeelin'--Lard ha'
+mercy me! Well, well, well!"
+
+Betty took up her basket again, and was proceeding leisurely towards
+the door, shaking her head and uttering condemnatory groans the while,
+when she suddenly gripped her friend by the arm with an eager
+exclamation.
+
+"There she be!--there's the very maid a-walkin' by so bold as brass
+with her young man along of her!"
+
+"I shouldn't wonder," said Mrs. Haskell in sepulchral tones, "I
+shouldn't wonder but what she be a-goin' up to Susan's to pick out
+poor Abel's things."
+
+"Dear, do you raly think so?" gasped Betty, almost dropping her basket
+in her horror. "Why the noos of him bein' killed only come this
+marnin'."
+
+"I d' 'low she be a-goin' there," repeated Mrs. Haskell emphatically.
+"If I was you, Betty, I'd follow 'em, careless-like, an' jist find
+out. It do really seem like a dooty for to find out. I'd go along of
+you only my wold man 'ull be a-hollerin' out for his tea."
+
+A muffled voice was indeed heard at that very moment proceeding from
+the bedroom, accompanied by an imperative knocking on the wall.
+
+"There he be," said Mrs. Haskell, not without a certain pride. "He do
+know the time so reg'lar as church clock. He'll go on a-shoutin' and
+a-hammerin' at wall wi' his wold boot till I do come. I do tell en he
+wears out a deal more shoe-leather that way nor if he were on his
+feet."
+
+She turned to go upstairs, and Betty crossing the threshold stood a
+moment irresolute. Her basket, full of purchases recently made at the
+shop a mile away, was heavy enough, and her feet were weary; but
+Jenny's tantalising red head gleamed like a beacon twenty yards away
+from her, and curiosity silenced the pleadings of fatigue. Hitching up
+her basket she proceeded in the wake of the young couple, who were
+walking slowly enough, the girl's bright head a little bent, the man
+slouching along by her side in apparent silence. All at once the
+observer saw Jenny's hand go to her pocket, and draw thence a
+handkerchief which she pressed to her eyes.
+
+"She be a-cryin'" commented Betty, not without a certain satisfaction.
+"They've a-had a bit of a miff, I d' 'low; well, if the young man have
+a-got the feelin's of a man he'd be like to object to this 'ere notion
+of hers--Nay, now, he do seem to be a-comfortin' of her. There! Well!"
+
+They had left the village behind, and Betty's solitary figure was
+probably unnoticed by the lovers. In any case it proved no hindrance
+to the very affectionate demonstrations which now took place.
+Presently Jenny straightened her hat, restored her handkerchief to her
+pocket, and walked on, "arm-in-crook" with her admirer.
+
+"They be a-goin' to Susan's, sure enough. Well, to be sure! Of all the
+hard-hearted brazen-faced--!" words failed her, and she quickened her
+pace as the couple disappeared round the angle of the lane. A few
+minutes' brisk walking brought the pair, with Betty at their heels, to
+a solitary cottage standing a little back from the lane in the shelter
+of a high furze-grown bank. As the young man tapped at the door Jenny
+turned and descried Betty's figure by the garden-gate.
+
+"Is it you, Mrs. Tuffin?" she inquired. "I can scarce see who 'tis wi'
+the sun shinin' in my eyes. Be you a-goin' in?"
+
+"It's me," responded Betty tartly, in reply to the first question,
+while she dismissed the second with an equally curt "I be."
+
+The door opened and the figure of a stout elderly woman stood outlined
+against the glow of firelight within. She peered out, shading her eyes
+from the level rays of the sinking sun, and starting back at sight of
+Jenny.
+
+"'Tis you, be it? Well, I didn't think you'd have the face to come, so
+soon."
+
+"I did just look in to say a word o' consolation, Miss Vacher," said
+the girl, drawing herself up. "I be very grieved myself about this
+melancholy noos. I've a-been cryin' terrible, I have, an' says I, 'Me
+an' poor Abel's dear aunt 'ull mingle our tears.'"
+
+"Mingle fiddlesticks!" said Susan. "What be that there young spark o'
+yours a-doin' here? Be he come to drop a tear too?"
+
+"He be come along to take care of I," said the girl demurely. "'Tis
+Mr. Sam Keynes. He didn't think it right for I to walk so far by
+myself. Did ye, Sam?"
+
+"Well, now ye can walk back wi' her," said Susan, addressing that
+gentleman before he had time to answer. "I don't want no tears
+a-mingled here. Who be that by the gate?"
+
+"'Tis me, Betty Tuffin," returned the owner of that name. "I didn't
+come wi' these 'ere young folks--don't think it, my dear. I come to
+see if this 'ere noos be true an' to tell you how sorry I be."
+
+"I'd 'low the noos bain't true, but come in all the same, Betty. I be
+al'ays glad to see _you_. You'd best be marchin', Jenny Pitcher, you
+and your new sweetheart, else it'll be dark afore you get home."
+
+Jenny looked at her admirer, who nodded encouragingly and nudged her
+with his elbow.
+
+"I think as we've a-come so far," she remarked, "I must ax leave to
+step in for a bit, Miss Vacher. 'Tis a little matter o' business, and
+business is a thing what ought to be attended to immediate."
+
+Miss Vacher threw open the door with such violence that the handle
+banged against the wall, and stepped back with sarcastic politeness.
+
+"Oh, come in, do. Come, and poke and pry, and see what ye can pick for
+yourself."
+
+Sarcasm had turned to fury by the time the end of the sentence was
+reached, and, as Jenny, overcome by conflicting emotions, was about to
+sink into the nearest chair, she darted forward and snatched it away.
+
+"That's mine anyhow," she cried emphatically. "You shan't touch that."
+
+Jenny almost fell against the table, and gasped for a moment or two,
+partly from breathlessness, partly, as presently appeared, from grief.
+
+"Oh, poor Abel!" she groaned, as soon as she could speak. "The poor
+dear fellow. Oh, oh dear!"
+
+"I wouldn't take on so if I was you," said Betty sarcastically, while
+even Mr. Keynes surveyed his intended with a lowering brow, and
+gruffly advised her to give over.
+
+"'Tis a pity to upset yourself so much," said Miss Vacher, with a
+shrill laugh. "I don't believe he be dead. Somebody 'ud ha' wrote if
+he was. The papers--you can't credit what they say in them papers."
+
+"Oh, he's dead, sure enough," cried Jenny, suddenly recovering
+herself. "I know he's dead--I know'd he'd die afore he went out.
+There, I had a kind o' porsentiment he'd be killed, and so had he,
+poor fellow. That's why he settled everything so thoughtful and kind.
+Oh dear, oh dear! It fair breaks my heart to think on't. Poor Abel! he
+was too good for this world--that's what he was. We'll never, never
+see his likes again."
+
+"Dear, to be sure, think o' that now!" cackled Betty. "I hope ye like
+_that_, Mr. Keynes."
+
+Mr. Keynes evidently did not like it at all, if one might judge from
+his expression, but Jenny now turned towards him in artless appeal.
+
+"You do know very well, Sam, don't you, as poor Abel was my first
+love? I've often told 'ee so, haven't I? You must remember, Sam, I did
+say often and often, as 'whatever happens you can only be my second.
+Don't ever think,' says I, 'as you can ever be to me what he was.'"
+
+At this point Sam's feelings were too many for him; he made a stride
+towards his charmer, and imperatively announced that he'd be dalled if
+he'd stand any more o' that. "Cut it shart, Jenny, cut it shart, or
+I'm off!"
+
+"There, I did ought to think more o' your feelin's," said Jenny,
+drying her eyes with surprising promptitude. "I beg your pardon--I
+were that undone, ye see, wi' lookin' round at all my poor Abel's
+things, what's to be mine now. They do all seem to speak so plain to
+I--the very clock--"
+
+"The clock!" exclaimed Susan, with an indignant start, "why that there
+clock have hung over chimney-piece for nigh upon farty year! That
+clock didn't belong to Abel!"
+
+"That clock," said Jenny with mild firmness, "did belong to my poor
+Abel's father, and 'twas his by rights; he've a-left it to me wi' the
+rest of his things, and I shall value it for his sake. When I do hear
+it tickin' it will seem to say to I, _Think o'--me; think o'--me_."
+
+"Jenny, drop it," cried Mr. Keynes with a muffled roar of protest; "I
+tell 'ee 'tis more nor flesh and blood can bear. If you be a-goin' to
+think constant o' he you'd better ha' done wi' I."
+
+"Sam, dear Sam," said Jenny in melting tones, "you be all as I've
+a-got left now; don't you desert me."
+
+"Well, don't you go a-carryin' on that way," said Sam, still
+unmollified and eyeing her threateningly.
+
+"You don't lay a finger on the clock," said Susan Vacher with spirit.
+"Who told you that clock was Abel's? It's a-been there ever since my
+mother's time, and I've a-wound it up myself every Saturday night."
+
+"That clock belonged to Abel," repeated Jenny emphatically, "and he've
+a-left it to me in his will."
+
+She drew a piece of paper from her pocket, opened it slowly, and
+proceeded to read its contents aloud, with great dignity.
+
+"'In case o' my death, I, Abel Guppy, bein' firm in mind and body--'"
+
+"What does he mean by that?" interrupted Betty. "Lawyer Wiggins did
+make my father's will an' 'tweren't wrote that way. What's 'firm in
+mind and body'?"
+
+"This 'ere was copied from a pattern will what was bought for sixpence
+up to Mr. Marsh's in town," said Jenny loftily. "It do begin, '_I,
+M.N., bein' o' sound mind though infirm in body_'--Abel, d'ye see,
+weren't infirm in body; he were as well as ever he were in his life,
+poor chap, when he did set out."
+
+"Well, let's hear," said Susan with a martyrised air.
+
+"'I, Abel Guppy,'" resumed Jenny, "'bein' firm in mind and body, do
+hereby state as I wish for to leave my sweetheart, Jenny Pitcher, if I
+do die in this 'ere war, all what I've a-got in this world. The money
+in the Savings Bank--'" Betty groaned and threw up her eyes to heaven;
+Susan involuntarily clenched her fist; Sam's brow cleared.
+
+"'The money in the Savings Bank,'" repeated Jenny unctuously, "'and
+any bits o' furniture what belongs to I, more partic'lar the clock
+over the chimney-piece, the two chaney dogs, and the warmin'-pan--'"
+
+"Well, I never!" interrupted Susan; "them two chaney dogs my mother
+bought herself off a pedlar that come to the door. I mind it so well
+as if it were yesterday."
+
+"Very like she did," returned Jenny sharply. "And when she died hadn't
+Abel's father, what was her eldest son, the best right to 'em? And
+when he went to his long home they was Abel's, and now they'm
+mine--and the warmin'-pan too," she added defiantly.
+
+"Well, of all the oudacious--" Susan was beginning, when Jenny cut her
+short, continuing to read in a high clear voice--
+
+"'And half-a-dozen silver spoons, also the hearth-rug what was made
+out o' my old clothes--'"
+
+"I'm--I'm blowed if you shall get the hearthrug," cried Susan
+explosively. "That's mine whatever the rest mid be. Them clothes was
+only fit to put on a scarecrow, an' I cut 'em up, and picked out the
+best bits, and split up a wold sack and sewed on every mortial rag
+myself; and I made a border out of a wold red skirt o' mine."
+
+"And a handsome thing it is too, my dear," said Betty admiringly.
+
+"They was Abel's clothes, though," said Jenny; "ye can't get out o'
+that, Miss Vacher."
+
+"No, but there's one thing _you_ can't get out of, Miss Jenny, so
+clever as ye think yerself," cried the outraged possessor of the
+hearthrug. "You be a-comed here on false pertences. Even if my nevvy
+_be_ dead you han't a-got no right to these 'ere things now. He wrote
+it plain, 'I leave 'em all _to my sweetheart_ if I'm killed.' Well,
+you wasn't his sweetheart when he was killed--you was a-walkin' out
+wi' this 'ere chap."
+
+"Abel Guppy did mean I to have they things," said Jenny. "I was his
+sweetheart at the time he wrote it, and if I left off bein' his
+sweetheart 'twas because I felt he was too good to live. I knowed he
+wouldn't come back--as I tell you I had a porsentiment. I were forced
+to take up wi' Sam because I knowed Abel 'ud never make any livin'
+maid his bride."
+
+"That's the third time!" cried Sam, ramming on his hat, and making for
+the door. "I've had about enough o' this. I'll look out for another
+maid as hasn't got a sweetheart i' th' New House--you be altogether a
+cut above the likes of I."
+
+Susan obligingly opened the door for him, and in a moment he was gone,
+leaving Jenny staring blankly after him.
+
+The banging of the garden-gate seemed to restore her to her senses.
+With a scream she threw the paper on the floor, and rushed out of the
+house, calling wildly on her lover. Soon the sound of the hurrying
+steps was lost in the distance, and the two women simultaneously
+turned to each other, eyes and mouth equally round with amazement.
+
+At last Betty, slowly extending her forefinger, pointed to the will.
+
+"I know," said Susan, finding voice all at once. "I've a good mind to
+pop it i' the fire."
+
+Betty shook her head admonishingly.
+
+"I wouldn't do that," she said, with a note of reproof in her voice.
+"'T'ud be real dangerous. Folks could be sent to prison for meddling
+wi' wills, an' sich."
+
+Susan, who had grasped the document in question, dropped it as if it
+burnt her.
+
+"My very spoons!" she said with a groan. "I tell 'ee, Betty, I'd a
+deal sooner bury 'em nor let her have 'em."
+
+"I d' 'low you would," said Mrs. Tuffin commiseratingly; "but I don't
+advise 'ee to do it, my dear--'twouldn't be safe, an' you'd be bound
+to give 'em up one time or another. I d' 'low that maid be a-actin' as
+she be to spite ye more nor anythin' else; the more unwillin' you be,
+the more she'm pleased."
+
+"Very like," agreed Susan. "She knowed I never were for Abel takin' up
+wi' her, an' al'ays said so much as I could again the match."
+
+"Well, if you'll take my advice, Susan, you'll jist disapp'int her by
+givin' in straight off. If I was you I'd jist make up a bundle o' they
+things what Abel left her; pack 'em all up an' pin the will on top,
+an' give 'em to carrier to take to her, an' jist write outside, 'Good
+riddance o' bad rubbish,' or 'What ye've touched ye may take,' or some
+sich thing to show ye didn't care one way or t'other. I d' 'low that
+'ud shame her."
+
+"Maybe it would," said Miss Vacher dubiously, though with a latent
+gleam of malice in her eye.
+
+"Take my advise an' do it then," urged Mrs. Tuffin earnestly. "Make
+the best of a bad job an' turn the tables on she. All the village 'ull
+be mad wi' her--the tale 'ull be in every one's mouth."
+
+Miss Vacher compressed her lips and meditatively rubbed her hands.
+
+"Well, I will; but I'll tell 'ee summat--I'll cut off every inch o'
+that red border."
+
+She picked up the rug as she spoke and held it out. "That'll spile the
+looks of it anyhow," she remarked triumphantly.
+
+The threat was carried into effect, and on the morrow poor Abel
+Guppy's little household gods were duly transferred to the home of his
+former sweetheart. Jenny professed great indifference to Susan's
+scornful message, and continued to hold her head high in spite of the
+storm of indignation provoked by her conduct. She claimed and carried
+off the departed yeoman's Savings Bank book, and was much aggrieved on
+finding that the authorities would not at once permit her to avail
+herself of the little vested fund; inquiries must be made, they said,
+and in any case some time must elapse before she could be permitted to
+draw the money out.
+
+This was the only real cloud on Jenny's horizon, however, and she
+speedily forgot it in the midst of her wedding preparations. She and
+her Sam had made up their little difference, and as he was well-to-do
+in the world, and quite able to support a wife, there seemed to be no
+reason for delay.
+
+The banns were duly called, therefore, and on one sunshiny summer's
+day Jenny and Sam, followed by a little band of near relatives, walked
+gleefully to their new home from the church where they had been made
+one. Betty Tuffin, who, as a lone woman, could not in justice to
+herself refuse any paying job, however little she might approve of her
+employer, had been left to take care of the house and to assist in
+preparing the refreshments, As the little party approached the cottage
+door they were surprised to see her standing on the threshold, now
+portentously wagging her black-capped head, now burying her face in
+her apron, evidently a prey to strong emotion, though of what
+particular kind it was difficult to say.
+
+The bride hastened her steps, and Betty, who had for the twentieth
+time taken refuge in her apron, cautiously uncovered what seemed to be
+a very watery eye, and remarked in muffled and quavering tones from
+behind its enveloping folds--
+
+"I'm afeared you'll be a bit took a-back when ye go indoor, my dear;
+best go cautious. I d' 'low ye'll be _surprised_!'
+
+"What d'ye mean?" cried Jenny in alarm. "What's the matter?"
+
+"Anything wrong?" inquired Sam from the rear.
+
+But Betty was apparently entirely overcome, and could only intimate by
+repeated jerking of her thumb over her shoulder her desire that they
+should go in and see for themselves.
+
+A long table was spread in the centre of the living-room, and, at the
+moment that the bridal party entered, a tall figure, dressed in
+kharki, was walking hastily round it, picking up a spoon from each
+cup.
+
+"Abel!" shrieked Jenny, staggering back against her husband.
+
+"What, bain't ye dead?" gasped the latter with a dropping jaw.
+
+Abel added another spoon to his collection, and then looked up:--"This
+'ere only makes five," he said; "there did ought to be six. Where's
+t'other?"
+
+"Dear heart alive!" groaned Jenny's mother. "Jist look at en. We
+thought en dead an' buried, an' here he be a-carryin' off the spoons!"
+
+"I bain't dead, ye see," returned the yeoman fiercely. "There's more
+Abel Guppys nor one i' the world, an' the man what got shot was a chap
+fro' Weymouth. If I _was_ dead an' buried, all the same d'ye think I'd
+leave my spoons to be set out at another man's weddin'? Where's the
+other chaney dog?"
+
+He had already pocketed one, and now cast a vengeful glance round.
+
+"On the dresser, Abel," gasped Jenny faintly; "oh, my poor heart, how
+it do beat! To think o' your comin' back like that! Oh, Abel, I made
+sure you was killed."
+
+"And you're very sorry, bain't ye?" returned her former lover with
+wrathful irony, "I'll thank ye for my bank-book, if ye please. Ye
+haven't drawed the money out--that's one good thing. They telled I all
+about it at the post-office yesterday. That's my dish, too." Extending
+a long arm he deftly whisked away the large old-fashioned platter
+which had supported the wedding-cake, dusting off the crumbs with an
+air of great disgust.
+
+"I think ye mid have found summat else to put your cake on," he said,
+with a withering look; "I think ye mid ha' showed a bit more feelin'
+than that."
+
+"I'm sure," protested Jenny plaintively, "'twas only out o' respect
+for you, Abel, that I set out the things. 'Twas out o' fond memory for
+you. You know you did say yourself when you was a-writin' out your
+will, 'I'll leave you all my things, Jenny, so as you'll think o'
+me,'--an' I _did_ think o' you," she added, beginning to sob, "I'm
+sure I--I--I even wanted to put a bit o' black crape on your clock,
+but mother wouldn't let me."
+
+"Well," interrupted Mrs. Pitcher apologetically, "I didn't think, ye
+know, it 'ud look very well to have crape about on my darter's
+weddin'-day. It wouldn't seem lucky. Or else I'm sure I wouldn't ha'
+had no objections at all--far from it, Abel."
+
+"But I'd ha' had objections," cried Sam, who had stood by swelling
+with wrath. "I do think my feelin's ought to be considered so much as
+yon chap's, be he alive or dead. It's me what's married your darter,
+bain't it?"
+
+"It be, Samuel; 'e-es I d' 'low it be," returned Mrs. Pitcher, with a
+deprecating glance at the yeoman who was now rolling up the rug. "We
+all on us thought as Abel was dead, ye see."
+
+"Meanin', I suppose, as if ye knowed he was alive I shouldn't ha' had
+her," retorted Sam explosively. "Well, I d' 'low, it bain't too late
+yet to come to a understandin'. Jenny be married to I, sure enough,
+but I bain't a-goin' to ha' no wives what be a-hankerin' arter other
+folks. She may take herself off out of this wi'out my tryin' for to
+hinder her. If she can't make up her mind to give over upsettin'
+hersel' along o' he you may take her home-along, Mrs. Pitcher."
+
+A dead silence ensued within the house, but Betty's strident tones
+could be heard without, uplifted in shrill discourse to curious
+neighbours.
+
+"'E-es, d'ye see, he did write home so soon as he did get to
+Darchester, a-tellin' of his aunt as he was a-comin' private-like so
+as to surprise his sweetheart. And Susan, she did write back immediate
+an' say, 'My poor bwoy, there be a sad surprise in store for _you_.'
+And then when he comed they did make it up between them to keep quiet
+till--"
+
+"There's the clock, too," observed Abel, ending the pause at last.
+
+"You can take the clock," cried Jenny, simultaneously recovering
+speech and self-possession. "Take the clock, Abel Guppy, and take
+yourself off. There ben a mistake, but it be all cleared up at last."
+
+She stepped with dignity across the room, and slipped her arm through
+Sam's, who made several strenuous but ineffectual efforts to shake her
+off.
+
+"You get hold o' he," cried Sam; "you cut along an' catch hold o' he.
+It be he you do want."
+
+"No, Samuel," said the incomparable Jenny with lofty resolution, "it
+bain't he as I do want. I mid ha' been took up wi' some sich foolish
+notion afore, bein' but a silly maid, but now I be a married 'ooman,
+an' I do know how to vally a husband's love."
+
+The new-made bridegroom ceased struggling and gaped at her. Jenny,
+gazing at her former lover more in sorrow than in anger, pointed
+solemnly to the clock:--
+
+"Take down that clock, Abel Guppy," she repeated. "I do know you now
+for what you be. I consider you've behaved most heartless an'
+unfeelin' in comin' here to try an' make mischief between man an'
+wife. I thank the Lard," she added piously, "as I need never ha' no
+more to do with you. Walk out o' my house, if ye please--"
+
+"_Your_ house," interpolated Sam, a note of astonished query
+perceptible in his tone despite its sulkiness.
+
+"'E-es," said Jenny firmly. "He shall never show his face inside the
+door where I be missis. Take down the clock, Abel Guppy," she repeated
+for the third time. "You'd best help him, Sam. He don't seem able to
+reach to it."
+
+Encumbered as he was with newly-regained possessions, the yeoman had
+made but abortive attempts to detach the timepiece; and Sam, with a
+dawning grin on his countenance, now mounted on a chair, officiously
+held by one of the guests, and speedily handed it down.
+
+After all it was the ill-used Abel Guppy who looked most foolish as he
+made his way to the door, loaded with his various goods, the relatives
+of bride and bridegroom casting scornful glances at him as he passed.
+Before he had proceeded twenty yards Sam ran after him with the
+bank-book, which the other pocketed without a word, while the
+bridegroom returned to the house, rubbing his hands and chuckling.
+
+Jenny was already seated at the head of the table and received him
+with a gracious smile:--
+
+"If you'll fetch another plate, Sam, my dear," she remarked, "I can
+begin for to cut the cake."
+
+
+
+
+BLACKBIRD'S INSPIRATION
+
+
+"What be lookin' at?" inquired Mrs. Bold, emerging from her dairy, and
+incidentally wiping her hands on a corner of her apron. "There ye've
+a-been standin' in a regular stud all the time I were a-swillin' out
+the churn."
+
+Farmer Bold was standing at the open stable door, his grey-bearded
+chin resting on his big brown hand, his eyes staring meditatively in
+front of him. It was a breezy, sunny autumn day, and all the world
+about him was astir with life; gawky yellow-legged fowls pecked and
+scratched round his feet with prodigious activity, calves were
+bleating in the adjacent pens, while the very pigs were scuttling
+about their styes, squealing the while as though it were supper-time.
+The wind whistled blithely round the corners of the goodly cornstacks
+to the rear of the barton, and piped shrilly through their eaves; the
+monthly roses, still ablow, swung hither and thither in the fresh
+blast, strewing the cobblestones with their delicate petals. In all
+the gay, busy scene only the figure of the master himself was
+motionless, if one might except the old black horse which he appeared
+to be contemplating, the angular outlines of whose bony form might be
+seen dimly defined in the dusk of its stable.
+
+Towards this animal Farmer Bold now pointed, removing his hand from
+his chin for the purpose. "I wur a-lookin' at Blackbird," he said,
+"poor wold chap! He was a good beast in his day, but I d' 'low his day
+be fair done. Tis the last night what Blackbird 'ull spend in this
+'ere stall."
+
+"Why," cried Mrs. Bold quickly, "ye don't mean to say--"
+
+"I mean to say," interrupted her husband, turning to her with a
+resolutely final air, "I mean to say as Blackbird's sold."
+
+"Sold!" ejaculated the woman incredulously. "Who'd ever go for to buy
+Blackbird?--wi'out it be one o' they rag-and-bone men, or maybe for a
+salt cart. Well, Joe," with gathering ire, "I didn't think ye'd go for
+to give up the faithful wold fellow after all these years, to be
+knocked about and ill-used at the last."
+
+"Nay, and ye needn't think it--ye mid know as I wouldn't do sich a
+thing," returned her lord with equal heat. "I've sold en"--he paused,
+continuing with some hesitation, as he nodded sideways over his
+shoulder, "I've a-sold en up yonder for the kennels."
+
+"What! To be ate up by them there nasty hounds? Joseph!"
+
+"Come now," cried the farmer defiantly, "ye must look at it sensible,
+Mary. Poor Blackbird, he be a-come to his end, same as we all must
+come to it soon or late. He 've a-been goin' short these two years--ye
+could see that for yourself--and now his poor wold back be a-givin'
+out, 'tis the most merciful thing to destroy en. They'll turn en out
+to-week in the field up along--beautiful grass they have there--and
+he'll enjoy hisself a bit, and won't know nothin' about it when they
+finish en off."
+
+"I al'ays thought as we'd keep Blackbird so long as he did live,"
+murmured Mrs. Bold, half convinced but still lamenting, "seein' as we
+did breed en and bring en up ourselves, and he did work so faithful
+all his life. Poor wold Jinny! He wur her last colt, and you did
+al'ays use to say you'd keep en for her sake. Ah, 'tis twenty year
+since I run out and found en aside of her in the paddock--walkin'
+about as clever as you please, and not above two hours old. Not a
+white hair on en--d'ye mind?--and such big, strong legs! I was all for
+a-callin' en Beauty, but you said Beauty was a filly's name. And he
+did use to run to paddock-gate when he wur a little un, and I wur
+a-goin' to feed chicken--he'd know my very foot, and he'd come
+prancin' to meet I, and put his little nose in the bucket. Dear, to be
+sure, I mind it just so well as if it wur yesterday!"
+
+The farmer laughed and stroked his beard.
+
+"'E-es, he was a wonderful knowin' colt," he agreed, placidly.
+"There's a deal o' sense in beasts if ye take notice on 'em and treat
+'em friendly like. Them little lambs as we did bring up to-year was so
+clever as Christians, wasn't they? Ye mind the little chap we did call
+Cronje, how he used to run to I when he did see I a-comin' wi' the
+teapot? And Nipper--ye mind Nipper? He didn't come on so well as the
+others; he was sickly-proud, so to speak, and wouldn't suckey out o'
+the teapot same as the rest. But he knowed his name so well as any o'
+them, and 'ud screw his head round, and cock his ears just as a dog
+mid do, when I did call en. Pigs, even," he proceeded meditatively,
+"there's a deal o' sense in pigs, if ye look for it. Charl', ye mind
+Charl', what he had soon after we was married? That there pig knowed
+my v'ice so well as you do. What I did use to come into the yard and
+did call 'Charl',' he'd answer me back, 'Umph.' Ho! ho! I used to
+stand there and laugh fit to split. Ye never heard anythin' more
+nat'ral. 'Charl',' I'd call; 'Umph' he'd go. Ho! ho! ho!"
+
+The woman did not laugh; she was screwing up her eyes in the endeavour
+to penetrate the darkness of the stable. "Poor wold Blackbird," she
+said, "I wish it hadn't come to this. It do seem cruel someway. There,
+he did never cost 'ee a penny, wi'out 'twas for shoes, and he've
+a-worked hard ever sin' he could pull a cart--never a bit o' vice or
+mischief. It do seem cruel hard as he shouldn't end his days on the
+place where he was bred."
+
+"My dear woman," said her husband loftily, "what good would it do the
+poor beast to end his days here instead of up yonder? He's bound to
+end 'em anyways, and we are twenty-two shillin' the better for lettin'
+of en go to the kennels."
+
+"Twenty-two shillin'?" repeated his wife.
+
+"'E-es, not so bad, be it? The pore fellow's fair wore out, but still,
+d'ye see, he fetches that at the last, and 'tis better nor puttin' an
+end to en for nothin'. Ah, there be a deal o' money in twenty-two
+shillin'!"
+
+Mrs. Bold sighed. Perhaps she knew almost better than her husband how
+much toil and trouble it cost to get twenty-two shillings together.
+Twenty pounds of butter, twenty-two dozen eggs, eighty-eight quarts of
+milk! What early risings, what goings to and fro, what long sittings
+with cramped limbs and aching back, milking cow after cow in summer
+heat and winter cold, how many weary hours' standing in the flagged
+dairy before twenty-two shillings could be scraped together! She
+turned away, without another word.
+
+Later in the evening poor old Blackbird was brought out of his stall,
+and, after receiving the farewell caresses of master and mistress, was
+led away, limping, to the kennel pasture.
+
+"Don't 'urry en," called the farmer to the lad who had charge of him.
+"Tis a long journey for he--two mile and more; let en take his time.
+He'll get there soon enough."
+
+The next morning, just as Mrs. Bold had finished getting breakfast,
+her husband came to the dairy in a state of amused excitement.
+
+"There, ye'll never think! I al'ays did say beasts was so sensible as
+Christians if ye took a bit of notice of 'em. I was a-goin' round
+stables jist now, and if I didn't find wold Blackbird in his own
+stall, jist same as ever. I did rub my eyes and think I must be
+dreamin', but there he were layin' down, quite at home. He al'ays had
+a trick of openin' gates, ye know, and he must jist ha' walked away i'
+th' night. He wur awful tired, pore beast--'twas so much as I could do
+to get en off again."
+
+"Ye sent en off again!" cried Mrs. Bold indignantly. "Well, I
+shouldn't ha' thought ye could have found it in yer heart! The poor
+wold horse did come back to we, so trustin', and you to go an drive en
+away again to his death! Dear, men be awful hard-hearted!"
+
+"Of all the onraisonable creeturs, you are the onraisonablest," cried
+the farmer, much aggrieved. "Was I to go and take the folks' money and
+keep the money's worth? A nice name I'd get in the country! They'd be
+sayin' I stole en away myself, very like. No, I did send en up so soon
+as I could, so as they shouldn't be s'archin' for 'en."
+
+Mrs. Bold clapped a plate upon the table.
+
+"Sit down," she cried imperatively. "Ye'll be ready for your own
+breakfast, though you wouldn't give pore Blackbird a bit."
+
+"Who says I didn't give en a bit?" retorted Joseph. "Ye be al'ays
+jumpin' at notions, Mary. Blackbird had as good a feed o' carn afore
+he did go as ever a horse had."
+
+"Much good it'll do en when he's a-goin' to be killed," returned his
+spouse inconsequently. "There, it's no use talkin'; I must make haste
+wi' my breakfast and get back to my work. It's well for I as I be able
+to work a bit yet, else I suppose ye'd be sendin' me to the knackers."
+
+"I never heerd tell as you was a harse," shouted the farmer. The wit
+and force of the retort seemed to strike him even as he uttered it,
+for his indignant expression was almost immediately replaced by a
+good-humoured grin. "I had ye there, Mary," he chuckled. "'I never
+heerd tell as you was a harse, says I."
+
+Next churning day Mrs. Bold rose before dawn, according to her custom,
+and the churning was already in progress before the first grey,
+uncertain light of the autumnal morning began to diffuse itself
+through the latticed milk-house windows. All at once, during a pause
+in the labour, she fancied she heard a curious, hesitating fumbling
+with the latch of the door.
+
+"Hark!" she cried, "what's that?"
+
+"Tis the wind," said one of the churners.
+
+"Nay, look, somebody's a-tryin' to get in," returned the mistress, as
+the latch rose in a ghostly manner, fluttered, and fell. "Go to the
+door, Tom," she continued, "and see what's wanted."
+
+"'Tis maybe a spirit," said Tom, shrinking back.
+
+"Nonsense! What would a spirit want at the dairy door? 'Tis more like
+a tramp. Open it at once--You go, Jane."
+
+"I dursen't," said Jane, beginning to whimper.
+
+"Not one of ye has a grain o' sense!" said Mrs. Bold angrily.
+
+She went to the door herself, just as the odd rattling began for the
+third time, opened it cautiously, and uttered a cry.
+
+There stood the attenuated form of poor old Blackbird, looking huge
+and almost spectral in the dim light, but proclaiming its identity by
+a low whinny.
+
+"Rabbit me!" exclaimed Tom, "if that there wold carcase ain't found
+his way here again!"
+
+But Mrs. Bold's arms were round the creature's neck, and she was
+fairly hugging him.
+
+"Well done!" she cried ecstatically, "well done! Ye did well to come
+to I, Blackbird. I'll stand by ye, never fear! I'll not have ye drove
+away again."
+
+Blackbird stood gazing at her with his sunken eyes, his loose nether
+lip dropping, his poor old bent knees bowed so that they seemed
+scarcely able to sustain his weight; the rusty skin, which had once
+been of so glossy a sable, was scratched and torn in many places.
+
+"He must have found his way out through the hedge. Well, to think of
+his coming here, Missis!"
+
+"He knowed he come to the right place," said Mrs. Bold, with flashing
+eyes. "Turn that there new horse out o' the stall and put Blackbird
+back, and give en a feed o' earn, and shake down a bit o' fresh straw.
+'Tis what ye couldn't put up wi', could ye, Blackbird?" she continued,
+addressing the horse, "to find a stranger in your place! Ye come to
+tell I all about it, didn't ye?"
+
+When the farmer came down half-an-hour later, his wife emerged from
+the shed in the neighbourhood of the pig-styes, where she had been
+ministering to the wants of two motherless little pigs. One small
+porker, indeed, was still tucked away under her arm as she advanced to
+meet her husband, and she was brandishing the teapot, from which she
+had been feeding it, in her disengaged hand.
+
+"Joseph," she said, planting herself opposite to him, and speaking
+with alarming solemnity, "we've a-been wed now farty year come Lady
+Day. Have I bin a good wife to 'ee, or have I not?"
+
+"Why, in course," Joseph was beginning, when he suddenly broke off.
+"What's the new colt standing in the cart-shed for?"
+
+"Never you mind the new colt--attend to I! Have I been a good wife to
+'ee, or have I not?"
+
+"In course ye have--no man need ax for a better. But why--"
+
+"Haven't I worked early and late, and toiled and moiled, and never
+took a bit o' pleasure, and never axed 'ee to lay out no money for I?
+Bain't I a-bringin' up these 'ere pigs by hand for 'ee, Joseph Bold?
+And a deal of worry they be. 'Twasn't in the marriage contract, I
+think, as I should bottle-feed sucking-pigs--was it now, Joseph? I d'
+'low parson never thought o' axin' me if I were willin' to do that,
+but I've a-done it for your sake."
+
+"Well, but what be ye a-drivin' at?" interrupted the farmer, with a
+kind of aggrieved bellow, for his wife's sorrowfully-reproachful tone
+cut him to the quick. "What's it all about? What be a-complainin' of?
+What d'ye want, woman? What d'ye want?"
+
+"I want a pet," returned Mrs. Bold vehemently. "Here I've been
+a-livin' wi' ye all these years, and ye've never let me keep so much
+as a canary bird. There's the Willises have gold-fish down to their
+place, and they be but cottagers; and Mrs. Fripp have got a parrot. A
+real beauty he be, what can sing songs and laugh and shout like the
+children, and swear--ye'd think t'was Fripp hisself, he do do it so
+naitral!"
+
+Joseph Bold fairly groaned:
+
+"Good Lard! I never did think to hear 'ee talk so voolish--a sensible
+body like ye did always use to seem! Dear heart alive! Gold-fish! And
+a poll parrot! Well, Mary, I did think as a body o' your years could
+content herself wi' live things as had a bit more sense in 'em nor
+that."
+
+"Oh, I dare say," returned his spouse sarcastically. "Pigs and
+sich-like!" giving a little tap to the wriggling, squeaking creature
+at that moment struggling under her arm, "and chicken and ducks! Nice
+pets they be."
+
+"Upon my word, a man 'ud lose patience to hear you. _Pets_--at your
+time o' life, wi' children grown up and married. Well, if ye want
+pets, ha'n't ye had enough of 'em. Don't ye have nigh upon a dozen
+lambs to bring up every spring?"
+
+"'E-es, and where be they now, Joseph? Where be the lambs as I got up
+afore light in the frostis and snow to attend to? Where be they? Ye
+know so well as I do as butcher had 'em, every one. That's my
+complaint--you do never let me keep a thing as isn't for killin'. A
+body'd need a heart o' stone to stand it. This 'ere pig--ye know right
+well as he'll be bacon afore this time next year."
+
+[Illustration: BLACKBIRD'S INSPIRATION
+"Here's my little pet," she cried jubilantly]
+
+"Then, in the name of furtin have your fancy, woman! Give it a name,
+and I'll get it for 'ee."
+
+"Ye give me your word, do ye, Joseph?"
+
+"I bain't a man to break it," responded the farmer shortly.
+
+Mrs. Bold set the little pig carefully on its feet, and sidled across
+the yard, eyeing her husband the while with a curious expression that
+was half-fearful, half-triumphant. When she reached the closed stable
+door she opened it, plunged into the dark recess within, and
+reappeared, dragging forth by a wisp of his ragged mane--poor,
+decrepit old Blackbird.
+
+"Here's my little pet," she cried jubilantly, delight at her success
+overmastering all other feelings. "You've give me your word, Joseph,
+and, as ye d'say yerself, ye bain't the one to take it back. Here's
+the only pet I'll ever ax to keep. He'll not cost much," she added,
+seeing her husband's face redden and his eyes roll threateningly. "He
+can pick about in the summer, and a bit of hay in the winter'll be all
+he'll need. I'll make it up to 'ee, see if I don't; and I think you do
+owe I summat, anyhow, for workin' so hard as I always do."
+
+"Oh, in course, if ye put it that way," he returned, huffily, "I
+haven't got a word to say. I al'ays thought 'twas a wife's dooty to
+help her husband, but since it seems to be a favour, I'm sure I did
+ought to be very grateful. Thank ye kindly, ma'am! P'r'aps ye'll be so
+good as to shut up that beautiful pet o' yourn now, and give me a bit
+o' breakfast, if it bain't troublin' ye too much."
+
+"Oh, go on, Joseph!" exclaimed Mrs. Bold, with heightening colour,
+turning Blackbird about as she spoke, and propelling him before her
+towards the stall. "I couldn't do nothin' else nor want to keep him,"
+she added in an aggrieved tone, "when he come to the dairy door--he
+come actually to the dairy door!--same as if he knowed 'twas his last
+chance."
+
+The farmer did not answer, but in spite of himself a dawning
+expression of interest was perceptible on his face.
+
+"'E-es, an' he must ha' broke through a hedge to get out; he be cut
+about terrible wi' thorns."
+
+"They did padlock th' gate when I sent en back last time," returned
+Joseph gruffly, adding, in the same tone, "Ye'd better sponge they
+sore places a bit after breakfast, and get dust out of 'em."
+
+Mrs. Bold installed Blackbird in his old quarters, and hastened to the
+house.
+
+The meal which ensued was at first a somewhat silent one. In spite of
+her satisfaction at having gained her point, Mrs. Bold felt somewhat
+remorseful for the tactics she had employed; and her husband stolidly
+munched his bread and bacon with a solemn, not to say gloomy,
+countenance.
+
+All at once, however, he began to roll his head from side to side,
+while the colour on his already rubicund face deepened so much that
+his wife gazed at him in alarm, dreading the ensuing outburst. But
+when after long repression the explosion actually took place, it
+proved to be one of harmless and jovial laughter.
+
+"What is it?" inquired Mrs. Bold, laughing delightedly too, though she
+knew not at what.
+
+"I've bin a-thinkin' o' summat. Dear heart alive, Mary, the queer
+notions as do seem to be a-comin' into our heads all this week! D'ye
+mind my sayin', 'I never knowed as you was a harse'? Ha! ha! Ye
+couldn't say much to that, could 'ee? And when I think o' you standin'
+in yard jist now, wavin' the teapot and tuckin' the little pig under
+your arm! 'Bottle-feedin' suckin'-pigs weren't in the marriage
+contract,' says you. Ho! ho! ho! Whatever put it i' your head to say
+that, I can't think."
+
+"I didn't really mean it, my dear," said Mary penitently, though she
+laughed still.
+
+"I dare say not, but I've bin a-thinkin' 'tis a pity your pet bain't a
+size or two smaller--he be sixteen hands if he be a inch--else maybe
+ye'd like to have en in here a-layin' on the hearthrug."
+
+Then husband and wife laughed long and loud, and their little
+difference was forgotten as their eyes met.
+
+
+
+
+THE GIRL HE LEFT BEHIND HIM
+
+
+On one particular Sunday in August, a brilliant sunny, breezeless day,
+such a day as would under ordinary circumstances conduce to certain
+drowsiness even in the most piously disposed, the church-goers of
+Little Branston were preternaturally alert, if not quite so attentive
+as usual. For behold! Corporal Richard Baverstock, Widow Baverstock's
+only son, and the father of Matilda Ann, the three-year-old darling of
+the village, had returned from the wars with a very brown face, a
+medal, two or three honourable scars, and, it was whispered, a
+pocketful of "dibs."
+
+Every one knew about Corporal Dick, the sharp boy who had been the
+general pet and plaything in early years, much as his own "Tilly Ann"
+was now; the dashing soldier, whose occasional visits to his native
+place in all the glories of uniform had caused on each occasion a
+flutter of excitement which had endured long after his own departure;
+the hero of romance, whose sudden appearance with a beautiful bride,
+wedded secretly somewhere up the country, had made more than one
+pretty maid's heart grow sore within her, and caused many wiseacres to
+shake their heads; the disconsolate young widower whose year-old wife
+had been laid to rest in the churchyard yonder, immediately after the
+birth of their child; the boy-father, bending half wonderingly over
+the blue-eyed baby on his mother's knee; the warrior, wounded "out
+abroad," whose letters had been passed from hand to hand in the little
+place, and conned over and admired and marvelled at till old Mrs.
+Baverstock, when each mail came to hand, found herself raised to a
+pinnacle of honour to which otherwise she would never have dared to
+aspire--he had come home now for a brief blissful fortnight before
+rejoining his regiment at the depôt. Not one of the congregation there
+present but had heard of his return on the previous day, and of how he
+had almost knocked over the old mother in the vehemence of his
+greeting, and how he had caught up Tilly Ann and hugged her, and some
+said cried over her; and how he had almost within the hour walked up
+to the little cemetery and knelt by his wife's grave, which, the
+neighbours opined, "howed a wonderful deal o' feelin' in the man as
+'twas a'most to be expected he'd ha chose a second by now."
+
+"But they d' say, my dear, as the women out abroad be a terrible ugly
+lot, and most of 'em black. Tisn't likely as Corporal Baverstock 'ud
+so much as look at any o' they, arter pickin' sich a vitty maid for
+his first missis."
+
+It was Mrs. Cousins who made this remark to Mrs. Adlam, as they paced
+together along the flagged path that led to the church porch; and it
+is not surprising that both ladies felt constrained to turn their
+heads when the martial tread of Soldier Dick resounded up the church a
+few moments later.
+
+Jenny Meatyard nudged Maggie Fripp.
+
+"Do 'ee see his medal?" she inquired in a whisper.
+
+Maggie nodded. "That there korky uniform do suit en wonderful well."
+
+Two village mothers exchanged glances of tender approbation, for,
+clinging to Corporal Baverstock's hand, and taking preposterously long
+steps in the endeavour to keep pace with his strides, was Tilly Ann,
+in her best starched white frock, and with her yellow hair curled in a
+greater profusion of corkscrew ringlets than her granny had ever yet
+achieved.
+
+"Bain't it a pictur'?" one pair of motherly eyes seemed to say to the
+other, and I think many of the good simple folk performed their
+devotions all the better because of the consciousness of the two happy
+hearts, the man's and the little child's, beating in their midst.
+
+The service once over, friends and neighbours gathered round the young
+soldier outside the church door. Those nearest spoke to him; those
+less fortunate, on the outskirts of the little crowd, contented
+themselves with admiring comments.
+
+"He d' seem to have filled out, though he have been punished so
+terrible out yonder."
+
+"My dear, they did tell I as his poor leg was all one solid wownd.
+D'ye mind how Mrs. Baverstock did take on, pore 'ooman. And well she
+mid."
+
+"Well she mid, indeed. Ah! 'tis a comfort to see as Corporal
+Baverstock d' seem able to walk so well as ever. I see Mrs. Baverstock
+didn't come to church--'tis a wonder."
+
+"Nay, no wonder at all. It bain't likely as the poor body could leave
+her Sunday dinner the very first day her son be a-comed home. She's
+busy, that's what she be."
+
+"Ah! to be sure. There, Lard now, look at Tilly Ann! He've a-got her
+up in his arms. Dear, to be sure, 'tis a beautiful sight, they two
+faces side by side. The maid doesn't favour her daddy a bit--nay, 'tis
+the very pictur' o' the pore wife."
+
+"'E-es; she had that yellow hair, and them great big blue eyes. There,
+I've a-got a china cup at home what be jist the same colour. 'Tisn't
+nat'ral for a maid to have eyes that blue. I wouldn't mention it to
+Mrs. Baverstock, nor yet to Dick, but I shouldn't wonder at all if
+Tilly Ann was to follow her mother afore very long, pore little maid."
+
+"Ah! they do say as when a young mother be took like that, as often as
+not she'll keep on a-callin' and a-callin', till the pore little thing
+she've a-left behind fair withers away."
+
+While this cheerful line of prognostication was being followed up
+beyond her ken, Tilly Ann sat bolt upright in her father's arms,
+looking round her with a proprietary air, and occasionally patting his
+cheek with a broad dimpled little palm. She was a tall, well-made
+child, plump and fair, with rosy cheeks and sturdy limbs that would in
+themselves have given the lie to any dismal croakings; it was no
+wonder that "daddy's" eyes perpetually rested on her with a glow of
+pride.
+
+"And she were quite a little 'un when ye did last see her, weren't
+she, Corporal?" said some one. (In Branston the good folk were
+punctilious with regard to titles.) "Ye'd scarce ha' knowed her I d'
+'low if ye'd met her on the road."
+
+"Know her," said Corporal Baverstock, "I'd know her among a thousand!
+'Tis what I did write to my mother. Says I, 'I'd pick her out
+anywheres, if 'twas only by the dimple in her chin.'"
+
+The bystanders nodded at each other; they remembered that particular
+letter well, and had much appreciated the phrase in question.
+
+"To be sure, Corporal, so ye did, so ye did. And the maid have a
+dimple sure enough. There, 'tis plain for all folks to see."
+
+Tilly Ann turned up her little face, and her father kissed the cleft
+chin with sudden passion. Then he tossed her up in his arms and
+laughed.
+
+"Many a time I've a-thought o' that dimple," he observed, in rather an
+unsteady voice, "and wondered if I'd ever set eyes on it again."
+
+"And look at her curls," said a woman admiringly. "They be a-sheenin'
+like gold to-day. She thinks a deal o' they curls, don't 'ee, Tilly?
+If anybody axed her for one she'd al'ays say she was a-savin' on 'em
+up for daddy--didn't 'ee, Tilly?"
+
+Tilly Ann, overcome with coyness, buried her face in her father's
+shoulder, and giggled, wriggling her little fat body the while, and
+drumming on his side with her lace-up boots.
+
+"Hold hard there!" cried he. "Them boots of yourn be so bad as a
+pom-pom. Come, we must be lookin' up the wold lady. Say Ta-ta, and
+we'll be off."
+
+One blue eye peeped out shyly from beneath the forest of curls, one
+little sunburnt hand was waved comprehensively; a smothered voice
+uttered the necessary "Ta-ta," with an accompaniment of chuckles and
+wriggles, and the soldier, clasping his burden more tightly, and
+nodding laughingly right and left made his way towards home.
+
+No one, looking at Mrs. Baverstock as she stood at her doorway in her
+neat black stuff gown, the sleeves of which were decently drawn down
+to her very wrists, would have guessed at the magnitude of the
+culinary labours in which she had been employed. The beef was now done
+to a turn, the "spuds" boiled to a nicety; she had made pastry of the
+most solid description, which was even now simmering in the oven--I
+use the word "simmering" advisedly, for in the generosity of her heart
+she had not spared the dripping. The tea was brewed, hot and strong,
+the teapot, singed by long use, standing on the hob. There was a
+crusty loaf, a pat of butter indented in the middle with one of Dick's
+regimental buttons, and a plate of cakes, hard as the nether--millstone
+and very crumbly, having been purchased from the distant town at the
+beginning of the week in expectation of this auspicious day.
+
+"Well, mother, this be a spread!" cried the soldier, good-humouredly,
+as he set the child upon her legs. "I haven't sat down to such a meal
+as this since I left old England. 'Tis fit for a king."
+
+Mrs. Baverstock rubbed her bony hands together; and laughed
+deprecatingly. She was a little woman, with very bright, beady black
+eyes, and hair that was still coal-black in spite of her wrinkled
+face. Her son was like her, but taller and better looking. One had but
+to glance at the child to realise that she must be the image of her
+mother.
+
+"Nay, now," said the widow; "I do do my best for 'ee, Dick, but I d'
+'low it bain't so very grand. I'd like to do 'ee honour. There bain't
+nothin' too good for 'ee to my mind, if I could give it 'ee."
+
+"I tell 'ee, mother, some of the poor chaps out yonder 'ud give summat
+to sit down to this 'ere dinner. Bully beef wi' a pound or two o' raw
+flour, what you haven't got nothin' to cook wi'--it do make a man feel
+a bit sick, I can tell 'ee, when it do come day arter day."
+
+"Dear heart alive," groaned his mother, "a body 'ud think they mid
+manage a bit better! Lard, to think on't! Tis all along o' the poor
+dear Queen bein' dead, ye mid be sure! There needs to be a woman at
+the head o' things! I reckon the Government be all made up o' men
+folks now, and men never has any notion o' doin' for theirselves.
+There, I did use to say to father many a time, 'If I was to leave 'ee
+to yourself I d' 'low ye'd go eatin' any kind o' rubbish.' There wants
+to be a sensible woman or two i' th' Government--no woman 'ud ever
+think o' sendin' out the poor chaps' bit o' food raw. There bain't a
+hedger or ditcher but has his bit o' dinner put ready for en, and I
+reckon soldiers have got stummicks much same as other folks."
+
+Dick had only half attended to this speech; he had been standing by
+the door intently gazing up the village street, and shading his eyes
+with his hand.
+
+"Why, I'm blowed!" he exclaimed. "Here's a mate o' mine ridin' this
+way! Yes, so it be. I thought he was goin' a-coortin'. Hullo, Billy!"
+
+A bicycle wheeled round abruptly, and the rider alighted at the
+cottage door. A big young man, with the bronzed face which would have
+announced his recent return from the front, even had not his khaki
+uniform proclaimed the fact.
+
+"I thought I'd look 'ee up," he explained, shaking hands with his
+friend with a somewhat sheepish air. "You and me bein' mates, d'ye
+see, and me feelin' a bit dull over yonder."
+
+"Why, what's become o' she?" interrupted Dick, with a grin.
+
+"Don't talk about her! She be just like the rest--'Out o' sight out o'
+mind'--took up wi' a civilian soon as my back were turned. I reckoned
+I'd come and have a look at _your_ maid."
+
+"Yes, to be sure!" cried Dick jovially. "My sweetheart han't a-took up
+wi' anybody else--she've a-been faithful and true."
+
+"What's that?" inquired Mrs. Baverstock, coming forward, her little
+black eyes looking ready to start from her head.
+
+"Tis a kind of a little joke what me and Billy have a-got between us
+about my sweetheart. There, he can tell 'ee the tale while we're
+eatin'. This 'ere be my mother, Billy. This be Mr. Billy Caines--a
+Darset man same as myself. Him and me was reg'lar pals out there,
+wasn't we, Bill?"
+
+"I d' 'low we was," responded Private Caines, after ceremoniously
+pumping Mrs. Baverstock's hand up and down. "We did fight side by
+side, and we was wounded side by side, and we was a-layin' side by
+side for weeks in the field hospital, wasn't us, Dick?"
+
+"I reckon we had a bit too much o' that there hospital," responded the
+Corporal, drawing forward a chair for his friend. "'Twas there we did
+have so much talk about my sweetheart. Ha, ha, ye didn't know as I'd
+a-got a sweetheart, did ye, old lady?" he inquired of his mother.
+"Billy 'ull tell 'ee about that," and he winked surreptitiously at his
+friend.
+
+Mrs. Baverstock was evidently in a flutter. What between this sudden
+arrival of six feet of khaki-clad humanity and the innuendoes which
+had been recently thrown out, touching a subject on which she felt
+strongly (the possibility of Dick's marrying again), she actually set
+the pastry on the table in the place of the beef, and helped the two
+soldiers to a cake each instead of a piece of bread.
+
+"Why, you be wool-gathering, that you be. You've a-got everything in a
+reg'lar caddie!" cried her son, as she paused to clack her tongue
+remorsefully over her mistakes. "Business first and pleasure
+arterwards. Up wi' the beef! Now then, Billy, fall to! A bit better
+tasted nor bully, bain't it?"
+
+Billy groaned appreciatively, with his mouth full, and silence ensued,
+during which Mrs. Baverstock cut up Tilly Ann's dinner, and presented
+her with a spoon.
+
+Tilly Ann's eyes had been fixed unwinkingly upon the new comer since
+his arrival, and she had now apparently classified him, for, after
+successfully piloting one or two spoonfuls of beef and potato to her
+little red mouth, she paused, drummed on the table with the handle of
+her spoon, and remarked conclusively:
+
+"Another daddy!"
+
+"Dear, to be sure! Hark to the child," said granny, while the two men
+laughed uproariously.
+
+"The little maid's sharp, I can tell 'ee," announced Dick; "she do
+know the difference between soldier and civilian a'ready. Never see'd
+no soldier but I afore, and now, when another do come, says she to
+herself, 'This must be another daddy.' Ho! ho!"
+
+"She've a-got more sense nor many a wolder maid," returned Private
+Caines gloomily; "she do know what's what--I d' 'low she wouldn't ha'
+gone a-takin' up wi' a (qualified) civilian when you weren't to the
+fore. She be a bonny little maid, too," he added reflectively, eyeing
+the chubby pink and white face. "Yes, you've a-got good taste, as you
+did tell I out yonder."
+
+"Come, don't 'ee spoil the tale," cried the Corporal, laughing; "begin
+at the right end. My mother here do want to hear about my sweetheart."
+
+"I don't want to hear no sich thing," retorted the old woman,
+querulously, but anxiously, too. "I do know 'ee better nor to think
+you'd have any sich nonsensical notions; you as be a widow man, and
+have a-buried sich a lovin' wife, what have a-left 'ee the darlingest
+little maid to keep. Us do want no step-mothers; us do want all the
+love, the wold mother and the little maid."
+
+Dick's face twitched, and his eyes clouded, but before he could
+answer, Private Billy Caines, who was not endowed with remarkably
+acute perceptions, began his narrative in a loud and merry voice.
+
+"Him and me was knocked over the same day--I shouldn't wonder but what
+it was the same shell. I couldn't tell 'ee for sure about that, for I
+were hit all to flinders, and for a bit they thought I was done for.
+But when I did get a bit better, and did begin to look about, I'm
+danged if the first thing I did see weren't poor old Dick's long white
+face, lyin' there so solemn, wi' his girt hollow black eyes, a-starin'
+and a-starin' straight i' front of en. I did use to watch en, and he
+did always look the same--sorrowful and anxious, and one day I did
+call out to en, soft like, 'What be thinkin' on, man? The us'al thing,
+I s'pose?' He did scraggle his head a bit round on the pillow and
+squint back at me. 'What mid that be?' says he. 'Why,' says I, 'the
+girl I left behind me!' 'Be that what you be a-thinkin' on?' says he.
+'O' course,' says I; 'what else?' 'What else, indeed?' says he, and he
+did sigh same as if he had a bellows inside of en."
+
+"Did he actually say he was a-thinkin' about soom maid?" interrupted
+Mrs. Baverstock wrathfully.
+
+"Bide a bit," retorted Private Caines, wagging his head portentously;
+"I be a-tellin' the tale so quick as I can. Well, I did get tired o'
+watchin' en layin' there, starin' and sighin', so I did begin to tell
+en about somebody _I_ did think a deal on then, but have a-changed my
+mind about now; and he did listen and laugh a bit, but I could see he
+were a-thinkin' about his own sweetheart all the time. So says I at
+last, 'I d' 'low she be a vitty maid?' 'Who?' says he, scraggling
+round again. 'The girl ye left behind ye,' says I. 'Ah, to be sure,'
+says he. 'Yes, she be a reg'lar pictur.' 'Well, you mid tell us a bit
+about her,' says I; 'I've a-told 'ee all about my maid. Blue eyes, I
+s'pose?' Seein' as his own be so black as sloes, I reckoned 'twould
+come naitral to en to take up wi' a fair maid. 'Yes,' says he, 'so
+blue as the sky at home on a June day!' I made a good shot, I told en.
+'A good bit o' colour, I d' 'low!' (Him bein' a sallow man, d'ye see.)
+'A pair o' cheeks like roses,' he says; 'and a little neck as
+white--as the snow--nay, that's too cold--'tis more like the white of
+a white flower, bless her!'"
+
+Mrs. Baverstock threw herself back in her chair and snorted.
+
+"This here be a pretty kind o' story to tell your mother the very
+first day as you do come home," she said, in trembling tones. "And the
+poor, innocent child a-sittin' there a-listenin' to every word."
+
+"Nay, now, ma'am, you must hear me to the end," cried Caines, bursting
+into a guffaw; while Dick, looking somewhat conscience-stricken,
+patted his mother's hand and besought her in a loud whisper not to
+take on.
+
+"Lard bless 'ee, that weren't all!" exclaimed Billy. "You should ha'
+heerd the chap a-ravin' about her little hands, and her darlin' little
+feet, and I don't know what all. 'And what colour mid her hair be?' I
+axed him arter a bit, when he'd a-told me everythink else he could
+call to mind. 'I s'pose her hair be fair?' 'I s'pose so,' says he,
+lookin' a bit queer. 'Why, don't ye know?' says I. 'D'ye mean to say
+ye've forgot the colour?' 'Why,' says he, 'to tell 'ee the truth,
+mate, she hadn't much hair o' any kind when last I did see her.'
+'Bless us!' says I. 'What be talkin' on? Ye haven't been and took up
+wi' a bald wold maid?' 'She bain't so very old,' says he, and he did
+pull blanket up o'er his mouth so as I shouldn't see en laughin'!"
+
+Here the hero of the tale startled his mother by suddenly exploding,
+and she turned upon him indignantly.
+
+"I do really think as we've a-had enough o' this here nonsense. I
+can't make head or tail on't. You and your friend do seem to be
+a-keepin' up a regular charm, and I can't make out no sense in it."
+
+"I be very nigh done now, missis," cried Caines jubilantly; "there be
+but a little bit more. I did sit and stare at en when he did say his
+sweetheart hadn't no hair, and at last I did ax en the question
+straight out, 'How old mid she be when you did last see her?' 'About
+two months,' says he. Ho, ho, ho! 'About two months!' Yes, I've a-been
+away from England a good bit, an' when I left her she hadn't a hair on
+her head, nor yet a tooth in her mouth.' And the two of us did laugh
+and laugh till we did very nigh bust our bandages."
+
+"'Twas the little maid I did mean," explained Dick, as his mother
+still stared gapingly from one to the other. "'Twas my little maid as
+I was a-thinkin' on when I did lie on that there wold stretcher what I
+did think I should never leave again. I did think o' she and wonder
+what 'ud become o' she if doctor couldn't make a job o' me. Come here,
+Tilly. You be daddy's little sweetheart, bain't ye?"
+
+The child ran to him, and climbed upon his knee, and he passed his
+hand proudly through her mass of yellow curls.
+
+"See here, mate; plenty o' hair here now."
+
+He gathered up the thick locks half absently, twisting them clumsily
+into a kind of knot, and, throwing back his head, surveyed her
+pensively for a moment; then he kissed her just at the nape of the
+neck, and let the curls drop again with a sigh.
+
+Mrs. Baverstock's beady eyes became momentarily dim; she did not
+possess by nature a very large amount of intuition, but love is a
+wonderful sharpener of wits.
+
+"Dear, yes," she said. "She be the very pictur' of her mother." Then,
+suddenly bursting out laughing and clapping her hands together, "So
+that were the girl ye left behind ye!"
+
+[Illustration: THE GIRL HE LEFT BEHIND HIM
+'So that were the girl ye left behind ye']
+
+
+
+
+ELLENEY
+
+
+Mrs. McNally's house was situated at the extreme end of the village,
+and looked not upon the street, but right out into the glen, so that
+when Elleney opened her attic window in the morning her blue eyes
+feasted on a wilderness of trees, exquisite at this season with an
+infinite variety of tints; for the tender bloom of an Irish spring is
+only surpassed in beauty by the glories of an Irish autumn. The
+undulating masses that would in October glow with a myriad fires were
+now clad in the colours of the opal, delicate pinks and blues and
+greys of yet unopened buds forming a background to the pure vigorous
+green of larch or chestnut in full leaf, while here and there a group
+of wild cherry-trees--trees which in a few months would be clothed in
+the hues of the sunset--caught the morning light now on raiment as
+snowy as the summit of the Jungfrau.
+
+Elleney gazed, and rubbed big eyes yet heavy with slumber, and gazed
+again; then she heaved a deep sigh, half of rapture, half of regret.
+
+"It's beautiful, entirely," she said. "An' that big black hill at the
+back o' the trees is the grandest ever I seen. But I'd sooner be
+lookin' out at the little green hills at our own place, with me poor
+father--the Lord ha' mercy on his soul!--walkin' about on them."
+
+She passed her hand across her eyes now for another reason, and then
+sighed again, but presently took herself to task.
+
+"Sure, I've no call at all to be frettin'; I have a right to know
+better, so I have. Me poor dada is gone where he's out of his
+throubles, please God; an' amn't I too well off myself here in this
+grand place, with me a'nt an' everywan so kind to me? Ye ought to be
+ashamed o' yourself, Elleney, to go cryin' an' frettin' when it's down
+on your knees ye should be, thankin' God. Hurry up now, an' on with
+your clothes an' get the breakfast! Sunday mornin' an' all, an' the
+girls down an' workin' about, I'll engage."
+
+These remonstrances, which were made aloud with exceptional severity
+of aspect, but in the sweetest, softest little voice in the world,
+appeared to have the desired effect. The eyes were dried, the sobs
+checked, and soon Elleney emerged from her garret, and came clattering
+down the corkscrew stairs in her unyielding little best boots, clad
+all in her Sunday finery, every sunshiny hair in its place, and her
+blooming face a vision of wonder and delight to any chance beholder.
+
+One such beholder encountered her in the narrow passage downstairs,
+and respectfully flattened himself against the wall to let her pass.
+
+"It's a fine mornin', Miss Elleney," said the young man.
+
+Elleney started, stared, and then broke into a laugh.
+
+"It's you, is it, Pat Rooney? I didn't know ye, ye're so grand this
+mornin'. You do be generally all over flour--I never see you without
+lookin' out for flour."
+
+"An' I never see you, Miss Elleney," responded Pat Rooney gallantly,
+"without bein' put in mind of another kind o' flower. Sure, you look
+the very same as a rose to-day."
+
+"Not at all," laughed Elleney, blushing, but quite frank and
+unconcerned; "I wouldn't ask to be thought aiqual to anything so grand
+as that. A daisy maybe, or--"
+
+"Elleney!" called a shrill voice from some distant region. "_Elleney!_
+We are all famished entirely. Girl alive, do ye forget it's your week
+for the breakfast? I never heard the like! We've been waitin' this
+half-hour."
+
+"Laws," ejaculated Elleney under her breath, and with a
+conscience-stricken face. "I didn't forget; but sure I didn't know
+what o'clock it was, an' there's the eggs to boil an' all. Me cousin
+Juliana 'ull be murderin' me. I'm just bringin' it, Ju," she called
+back apprehensively. "And goodness only knows if the kettle 'ull be
+boilin', itself," she added in a distracted undertone, "an' I'm afther
+forgetting my big aperon upstairs, an' if I go an' black my best dress
+me a'nt 'ull be the death o' me."
+
+"Aisy now, don't be tormentin' yourself that way," cried Pat
+soothingly. "Sure I'll just go along wid ye into the kitchen, an' if I
+don't have that kettle bilin' in next to no time my name's not Pat
+Rooney. It's me that's used to fires--ye'll see how I'll blow up yours
+for ye, miss. There now, wasn't it by the greatest good luck I looked
+in this mornin' to pick up my pipe that I left down below in the
+bakehouse? Cheer up, Miss Elleney--we'll not be keepin' them long
+waitin' for their breakfasts now."
+
+Even while speaking the young baker had preceded the girl into the
+kitchen, possessed himself of the bellows, and blown up the fire; he
+now deftly dropped an entire basketful of eggs into a saucepan, and,
+with a large loaf in one hand and a knife in the other, began with
+almost incredible speed to cut off thick rounds.
+
+"I suppose ye have the cloth laid?" he inquired presently.
+
+"Me cousin Henerietta does that; I only has the breakfast itself to
+get, an' there's not much trouble in that, on'y I'm such a slowcoach,
+an' someway--I don't know how it was--my wits went wool-gatherin' this
+mornin'."
+
+"Well, I'll tell ye what, miss; if ye'll wet the tay an' pop the pot
+down on the hob, the eggs 'ull be done, an' by the time ye have them
+brought in the bread 'ull be toasted illigant. Herself won't know ye,
+the way ye'll have got up the breakfast so quick."
+
+"I'm very thankful to ye, Pat," said Elleney gratefully. "I'm sure I
+don't know what in the world I'd have done without ye. But it's too
+bad to be givin' ye all that trouble."
+
+"Not at all, miss; no trouble at all. Sure I wouldn't have it on me
+conscience for you to be roastin' that lovely face off o' yourself at
+this terrible hot fire. The egg-cups is there on the shelf behind
+ye--I can see them from here. There now, sure ye have it all
+grand--wait till I open the door for ye. Now I'll have the loveliest
+lot o' toast ready for ye when ye come back. That thray's too heavy
+for ye entirely--it's a poor case altogether that I haven't got
+another pair o' hands."
+
+Elleney's gay little laugh trilled out again, and she shot a glance of
+confiding gratitude from under her thick dark lashes in the direction
+of the young baker which set the honest fellow's heart dancing, though
+he well knew how little such innocent warmth meant.
+
+"God bless her," he murmured as he returned to his toasting fork; "if
+a dog done anything for her she'd look at it the same. If she wasn't
+the mistress's niece itself, ye might whistle for her, Pat, me boy."
+
+Meanwhile Elleney had gone staggering along the passage with her heavy
+tray, and now bumped it against the parlour door as an intimation that
+she would like some one to open it.
+
+This unspoken request was acceded to so suddenly that she almost fell
+forward into the room.
+
+"I was waitin' on the eggs," she explained hurriedly, as she recovered
+her balance and tottered forward with her burden; "but here they are
+for yous now, and the tea is wet this good bit, an' the toast is very
+near ready."
+
+The room was full of women; no less than eight of them sat expectantly
+round the empty board. Besides Mrs. McNally herself and her four
+daughters, three nieces had been added to her family on the death of
+their mother, Mrs. McNally's only sister.
+
+"Sure they're all the same as me own," the good woman was wont to say,
+looking round affectionately at the girls. "There's times when I have
+to be thinkin' which is which--upon me honour, there is." And
+thereupon she would roll her broad shoulders, and wink with both eyes
+together after her own good-natured fashion; and no one who lived in
+the house with her could doubt that she spoke the truth.
+
+Elleney had only recently been added to the group; she spoke of the
+head of the house as "me a'nt," but she was in truth no relation to
+the kindly soul who had taken compassion on her destitute condition,
+being a niece of the late Mr. McNally's first wife. Perhaps no other
+woman in the world would thus have admitted her to a circle already
+somewhat inconveniently large; but, as Mrs. McNally said, "One more or
+less didn't make much differ, an' sure the Lord 'ud be apt to make it
+up to her, an' Elleney was a useful little girl, a great hand at her
+needle, an' with a wonderful turn for business, God bless her."
+
+Mrs. McNally invariably alluded to the odd little house where her many
+avocations were carried on as her "establishment," and spoke
+habitually of "the business." It would have been hard to define the
+precise nature of this business. There was a bakery attached to it,
+over which Pat Rooney presided, driving round the country each
+afternoon with the results of his labours. Juliana and Henrietta
+McNally sold groceries at one counter, and Matilda and Maria sold
+calico and flannel and boots at another. Hams and stockings hung in
+parallel lines from the ceiling, and there was a mysterious little
+railed-off chamber at the back of the house, reached by a swing door,
+on which the word "Bar" was set forth in gold letters, with a printed
+legend underneath announcing that Diana McNally was licensed to sell
+wines and spirits to be consumed on the premises. Here Bridget and
+Mary Nolan held sway. They were "stale girls" in the opinion of the
+neighbours, and therefore, as their aunt felt, the most suited for
+this post. Maggie, their youngest sister, migrated between shop and
+bar, and spent much of her time in rolling up "ha'porths o' twist" in
+scraps of newspaper. Elleney, who was "tasty," and possessed of a
+wonderful light hand, turned her talent for millinery to account, and
+soon Mrs. McNally was able to add trimmed hats and ready-made dresses
+to the other departments of her flourishing concern. Predisposed as
+she was by nature to like any helpless young creature, she had rapidly
+grown to appreciate the girl's talents, and was now genuinely fond of
+her, though it must be owned that her daughters occasionably grumbled,
+and that the real nieces were undisguisedly jealous.
+
+Bridget looked up now, with a sniff, as Elleney began with great haste
+to hand the eggs about the table.
+
+"You've been long enough over it, anyhow," she remarked. "Mary and me
+was wonderin' whether 'twas milkin' the cow ye were or bakin' the
+bread."
+
+"An' she hasn't brought the toast yet," grumbled Mary, drawing up her
+chair.
+
+"It's very near done," returned Elleney eagerly. "Pat Rooney said he'd
+have it ready by the time I come back."
+
+"Pat Rooney!" exclaimed the eight voices, in varying tones of
+amazement and disapproval; even Mrs. McNally's sounding forth a deep
+note of wondering concern.
+
+"Pat Rooney, child! What brings him into the house at this time o' th'
+mornin'? What brings him here at all to-day indeed?"
+
+"He come to fetch his pipe," explained Elleney, scarlet with
+confusion; "and when he seen me so run, an' so put about because I was
+a bit behind, he offered to stay an' help me. It's him that's makin'
+the toast."
+
+Juliana McNally, a frosty-faced person, no longer in her first youth,
+looked round with a scandalised face.
+
+"Did ye ever hear the like o' that?" she exclaimed. "Pat Rooney! The
+impident fellow! If I was you, m'mah, I'd walk him out o' the kitchen
+this very minute. Ye had no call to let him in at all, Elleney. Not
+one of us 'ud ever dream o' such a thing, would we, Henny?"
+
+"Indeed we would _not_," returned Henny or Henrietta as she was
+indifferently called in the family. "Cockin' him up that way. He had a
+right to know better, an' not go forgettin' himself and his place
+altogether."
+
+"Aye, indeed," chimed in Bridget. "Set him up! Him and his ould cart."
+
+"Then if it was nothin' but the cart that ailed him, Bridget,"
+returned Juliana severely, "there wouldn't be much to complain of.
+I'll throuble ye not to be turnin' up your nose at the beautiful new
+cart me mother sent for all the way to Dublin. Ye paid pounds and
+pounds for that same cart, didn't ye, m'mah?"
+
+"To be sure I did," responded Mrs. McNally promptly. "There, now,
+don't be upsettin' yourselves, girls. Elleney didn't know any better,
+she's that innicent, poor little girl. She won't do it again, I'll
+engage--will ye, Elleney? Ye see, me dear," she added in a
+confidential undertone, "we do have to be very particular in an
+establishment like this. 'Twouldn't do for me at all to go lettin' a
+boy like Pat Rooney forget himself. He's a very decent boy, poor
+fellow, an' his mother--the Lord ha' mercy on her!--was a most
+respectable poor woman. But he must be kept in his place, me child,
+an' ye see--"
+
+"A-ah, m'mah, in the name of goodnsss sit down and pour out the tea,"
+interrupted Anna Maria impatiently. "I'm dyin' for me cup. An' sure ye
+haven't brought us anythin' at all to eat yet, Elleney. Off with you
+now, an' bring that same toast whoever made it. The poor child's
+frightened out of her wits. Sure what harm if ye did ask Pat Rooney to
+help ye, itself--ye can soon get shut of him again. Ju, for mercy's
+sake take that crabby ould face off o' ye. 'Pon me word 'tis enough to
+curdle the milk."
+
+Anna Maria's own face was of the round good-humoured order. "She took
+after the mother," the neighbours said, and had certainly inherited a
+large share of kindliness and jollity.
+
+"Faith! Nanny's right," cried Mrs. McNally, relaxing. "Go fetch the
+toast, Elleney, and give Mr. Pat Rooney his marchin' orders at the
+same time."
+
+"What am I to say?" inquired Elleney, her eyes round with alarm above
+cheeks that were still crimson.
+
+"Bid him get out of that," returned her aunt, laughing.
+
+Elleney took up her tray, and went away with a lagging step. The
+kitchen door was wide open, and in the aperture stood Pat, flushed
+with his exertions, and holding triumphantly aloft an immense dish of
+beautifully browned toast.
+
+"There now," he cried jubilantly, "I'll throuble them to put their
+teeth through the whole o' that in a hurry. Isn't that a fine lot? But
+I know they does be great aiters within there."
+
+"I'm very thankful to ye, Pat," said Elleney, with a downcast face.
+
+"Sure I'm not meanin' to show disrespect," resumed he, quick to note
+her expression, but mistaking its cause. "It's a powerful big family
+your a'nt has, first and last, and why wouldn't they ait? I'll tell ye
+what, Miss Elleney, I'll just stop here in the chimbley corner, an' if
+they does be wantin' any more toast I'll have it made for them afore
+you can turn round."
+
+"Oh no, Pat," cried Elleney in alarm. "That wouldn't do at all. Me
+a'nt bid me tell ye--me a'nt said--"
+
+"Well, what did she say, miss, dear?" inquired Pat, as she faltered.
+
+"She wasn't best pleased," stammered the girl. "She thought I done
+wrong lettin' you help me; she bid me give ye marchin' orders"--catching
+at what seemed to her the least offensive manner of conveying her
+aunt's behest.
+
+"Well, I can soon march," said Pat, in a slightly offended tone, and
+turning even a deeper red than before. "I'll be off out o' this in a
+minute."
+
+"Sure ye're not angry with me, Pat?" said Elleney timidly, as she
+followed him to the door. "I'm very grateful for all ye done for me."
+
+"To be sure you are," said Rooney, without turning his head, and in
+another moment the house door slammed behind him.
+
+Elleney returned somewhat mournfully to the parlour, there to find the
+whole family in a state of violent excitement.
+
+Mrs. McNally had just received a letter, which she was clutching fast
+with both fat hands; while the seven girls were simultaneously
+endeavouring to read its contents over her broad shoulders.
+
+"If yez 'ull sit down like good children," she exclaimed, as Elleney
+entered, "I'll read it all out--every word. An' yez 'ull all know as
+soon as meself. But ye have me distracted entirely, tormentin' me the
+way ye're doin' now. Musha! did anybody ever see such a scrawl as the
+man writes?"
+
+"Sure, I can see it plain enough from here," cried Juliana, and with a
+sudden deft movement she twitched the document out of her mother's
+hands. "I'll read it, m'mah, in half the time you do be thinkin' about
+it."
+
+"Very well, me dear, very well," agreed Mrs. McNally resignedly. "Ye
+have the best right, afther all. It concerns you more nor me."
+
+Juliana smoothed out the paper, and began to read in a high-pitched
+monotonous voice, and without any regard to punctuation, of which,
+indeed, in all probability, the letter was devoid.
+
+"'Dear Mrs. McNally,--I write these few lines hoping you are quite
+well as I am at present thank God it's a long time since we come
+across each other but I haven't forgot the old times and I am sure
+yourself is the same I did be hearin' a while ago about the fine
+family of daughters you have God bless them and how well you prospered
+in business dear Mrs. McNally I have one son a fine young man that I
+do be anxious to settle in life--'
+
+"Look at that now!" put in Mrs. McNally jocularly. "Didn't I say the
+letter was more for you than for me, girls?"
+
+"Whisht! can't you whisht?" put in Henrietta eagerly. "Go on, Ju!"
+
+"'Settle in life,' resumed Ju. 'The farm is doin' finely for me thanks
+be to God though I'm not able to stock it as well as I'd like these
+bad times.' He's lookin' out for a bit o' money, ye see, m'mah?"
+
+"To be sure he is," responded her mother comfortably. "Trust Tim
+Brennan to be lookin' out for that. An' why wouldn't he, the poor ould
+fellow? Dear knows, it's hard set the most o' the farmers is to live
+at all. He's a cute ould schemer, Tim is, though."
+
+"'There's not one o' the girls in these parts I'd let him take up with
+at all,' went on the reader, 'but it come to me mind that if you was
+willin' we might make up a match between himself an' one o' your fine
+young daughters--'
+
+"Yous 'ull have all the luck, I suppose?" put in Maggie Nolan
+enviously.
+
+"Not at all. What's that he says here about nieces, Ju?" returned Mrs.
+McNally, leaning over her daughter's shoulder, and pointing with her
+plump forefinger.
+
+"'Or maybe one of them three nieces I was hearin' ye have livin' with
+ye I knew your poor sister Bridget R.I.P. as well as I know yourself
+an' I know all she done for her family.'"
+
+"The sharpness o' that!" interrupted Henrietta. "The ould fellow knows
+me A'nt Bridget had a nice little fortun', an' I'll engage he made
+sure the three of yous has a share in the business."
+
+"Young nieces," soliloquised Matilda, looking pensively at Bridget and
+Mary.
+
+"Young daughters, too, if ye please," returned Bridget with spirit,
+and her glance fell upon Juliana.
+
+"Well, go on, Ju, finish it," said Mrs. McNally, laughing
+immoderately. "You can all be pulling caps for him afterwards."
+
+"'Me son,' read Juliana, 'has business in Dublin this next week an' if
+you've no objections he could run out on an early train some mornin'
+an' pay his respects to yourself an' the girls an' he can be tellin'
+ye all about our place an' his prospects in life he's the only son I
+have an' its a good farm an' a comfortable house an' many a girl would
+think she was doin' well for herself so hopin' you'll think well of
+the idea I will say no more this time yours ancettery, TIMOTHY
+BRENNAN. P.S.--My son Brian is six foot high an' has a beautiful head
+of hair he is very--' What in the name o' fortun' is that word,
+m'mah?"
+
+"Hearty, is it?" said Mrs. McNally, craning her short neck. "No--happy,
+maybe--no, that's not it. _Healthy_, that's it! 'He is very healthy.'"
+
+"Laws!" said Henrietta, "that's a quare thing to be sayin'. Who cares
+whether he's healthy or not?"
+
+"A-ah, me dear," returned her mother sagely, "when ye get to my age
+ye'll know it makes a great deal o' differ--especially to a farmer.
+The poor d'da! Rest his soul!--well, well, we won't be talkin' o' them
+times, but he was a great sufferer; an' if it was a farmer he was the
+house wouldn't have held him. It's a terrible thing for a poor farmer
+to be tryin' to go about his place, an' him not gettin' his health.
+I'm glad this young fellow is healthy."
+
+"Six foot!" commented Matilda, who was inclined to be sentimental.
+
+"A beautiful head of hair," exclaimed Anna Maria, with a giggle.
+"Troth, if it's me he takes a fancy to I'll be combin' it for him."
+
+"Well," said Juliana indignantly, "I think ye're takin' too much on
+yourself, Nanny, to go pickin' him up that way. There's others has a
+better right to be considered first."
+
+"You're the oldest, of course," said Anna Maria meekly.
+
+"There's others older nor her, though," burst out Bridget.
+
+"The oldest daughter has the first claim," cried Juliana, with
+heightened colour.
+
+"To be sure, to be sure," said Mrs. McNally nervously. She was very
+much in awe of her firstborn, who was indeed possessed of a
+considerable amount of determination. "The young man, of course, 'ull
+make his own choice, but I must say I think it 'ud be only becoming if
+it was Ju."
+
+Juliana glanced triumphantly round on the row of crestfallen faces,
+and a sudden silence fell, during which Elleney, who had stood
+listening with deep interest, suddenly remembered the now sodden toast
+and handed it dutifully round.
+
+Maggie Nolan's eyes met hers in wrathful protest as she helped
+herself.
+
+"Did ye ever see sich a girl as Ju?" she whispered.
+
+"A regular grab-all. Of course if me a'nt goes favourin' her, the poor
+fellow 'ull have to take her. But I pity him, aye do I."
+
+"Sure maybe he won't," whispered Elleney back, consolingly. "He'll be
+apt to be pickin' wan o' the young ones--I shouldn't wonder if it was
+yourself, Maggie."
+
+"If it wasn't for the money I dare say you'd have as good a chance as
+the rest of us," said Maggie, mollified by this tribute; "but of
+course the father wouldn't hear of any girl without a fortun'."
+
+By an odd freak of fate, however, it was Elleney who first had speech
+with Brian Brennan when he came to seek a wife in Mrs. McNally's
+house. Elleney, indeed, was not in the house when his eyes first fell
+upon her; she was kneeling on the doorstep, scrubbing it with might
+and main. He had driven out from Dublin instead of coming by train,
+and arrived in consequence earlier than was expected. Elleney wore the
+pink cotton frock in which she went about her work of a morning; her
+sleeves were rolled up, and her skirt pinned back. Her face was
+flushed with a lovely colour, and the breeze lifted loose strands of
+her nut-brown hair, as she squatted back on her heels in answer to the
+stranger's salutation.
+
+"Is Mrs. McNally within? I think she's expecting me."
+
+"Oh," said Elleney, looking up with those big astonished eyes of hers,
+"is it Mr. Brennan?"
+
+"It's that same," responded Brian cheerfully.
+
+Elleney jumped up, knocking over her pail in her agitation, and wiped
+her little damp hands on her apron.
+
+"Me a'nt is in the shop," she said hurriedly. "If ye'll walk inside
+I'll call her in a minute."
+
+"A-ha!" said Mr. Brian, "you're one o' the nieces, are ye? Are the
+rest anyways like ye?"
+
+"They wouldn't take it as a compliment if ye were to say so," replied
+Elleney. "This way, sir."
+
+The big young man followed her into the parlour. He was a very big
+young man, and he had a beautiful head of hair, black and curly; and
+he looked extremely well fed and pleased with the world in general.
+
+"Bless me, child, what a show ye are!" exclaimed Mrs. McNally, when
+Elleney breathlessly summoned her. "Look at your sleeves, and your
+skirt tucked up an' all. I declare I'm ashamed of my life--"
+
+"How could I know it was him?" protested Elleney.
+
+"To be sure, to be sure, none of us expected him; an' any way it
+doesn't matter about you. Here, pull down your sleeves, dear, and take
+my place for a bit. Where's Ju?"
+
+"She's above, doin' her hair, and Henny's sewin' the bows on her
+dress."
+
+"Well, well, I'll call them. You'll have to keep the shop goin'
+altogether, Elleney, this day. All the girls is wild to have a chance,
+an' I know ye won't mind doin' a bit extra."
+
+"I wonder which it will be," meditated Elleney. "If I was him I'd take
+Nanny."
+
+But Mr. Brian seemed quite unmoved by Nanny's rollicking charms. He
+was, indeed, to some extent struck by the appearance of Juliana, who,
+with her hair done up into what her mother called a "shin-on"--a
+fashion much affected when she was a young woman--and wearing a silk
+dress with flounces innumerable of the terra-cotta hue beloved, for
+some occult reason, of her kind, entered the room with an air of
+stately magnificence. The young visitor was very respectful to
+Juliana, and spoke in particularly genteel tones when addressing her.
+But his eyes wandered perpetually towards the door, and an acute
+observer might have detected a certain lengthening of visage at each
+fresh arrival on the scene.
+
+When the seven specimens of maidenhood, from among whom he was
+expected to make his choice, were at length seated in various
+constrained attitudes about the room, a dead silence fell, broken only
+by an occasional nervous remark from Mrs. McNally, and a monosyllabic
+response from the wooer. The relief was general when the "decent
+body," engaged to help for the day, opened the door with a very black
+hand, kicked it still further back with a gaping shoe, and finally
+entered the room bearing a large tray.
+
+A repast, which the lady aforesaid subsequently described as
+"sumpchus," soon adorned the board, and Mrs. McNally, with a
+deprecating giggle, advised Brian to sit next the partner he liked
+best.
+
+He hesitated, and cast a baffled glance round the room.
+
+"Sure the whole of the family isn't here, is it?" he inquired.
+
+"How many more would you want?" returned Juliana, with a playfulness
+strongly tinged with asperity.
+
+"Didn't I see another young lady an' I comin' in?" he persisted.
+
+"Who in the name of wonder did he see, m'mah?" whispered Henrietta,
+while the others looked blank.
+
+"I b'lieve 'twas Elleney let him in," said Mrs. McNally. "The poor
+fellow, he's that well-mannered he thinks bad o' sittin' down without
+her. We're all here that can be here at present, Mr. Brian," she
+remarked aloud. "Little Elleney that ye seen awhile ago is mindin' the
+shop for me. We'll keep a bit hot for her till I go to take her
+place."
+
+"Oh! that indeed?" said Brian rather blankly. "Isn't it clever of her
+to be able to mind the shop, and she so young? I s'pose she's the
+youngest of them?"
+
+"Well, there isn't much to choose between her and Maggie there,"
+returned his hostess; "and, indeed, I may say the same o' my daughter
+Anna Maria. There is but a year between the three, one way or the
+other. Well, since you're so bashful, Mr. Brian, I'd best choose a
+place for ye. Will ye sit there on me right, between Bridget and
+Juliana? There does be safety in numbers, they say, so ye needn't be
+afeard."
+
+"Afeard is it?" responded Brian, with simulated jocularity, though his
+countenance still wore an expression of dismay. "Troth! it 'ud be a
+poor lookout if I was that easy frightened. 'Faint heart,' ye know."
+
+But, though Mr. Brennan was very gallant and witty, the entertainment
+was felt by every one to be somewhat flat, and the relief was general
+when the young man proposed to go outside and smoke a bit of a pipe.
+Mrs. McNally, however, considered it her duty to protest.
+
+"Sure, we're not that particular," she observed, with her jolly laugh.
+"Don't be goin' out in the cold, Mr. Brian."
+
+"Why, what sort of a fellow would I be at all if I could forget myself
+that way," he returned, rising with alacrity. "Would ye have me
+pizenin' the young ladies? I hope I know me manners better."
+
+"There's no denyin' he has elegant manners," commented his hostess, as
+the door closed behind him. "I never wish to see a nicer young man.
+Well, girls, what do ye think of him!"
+
+"The poor fellow was shy, m'mah," said Juliana. "He kept blushin'
+every time I looked at him."
+
+"A-ah, g' long!" exclaimed Bridget, with startling warmth. "Not a
+blush on him, then! Sure, it was his natural colour; he has a
+beautiful complexion."
+
+"His eyes was rovin' from one to the other," cried Anna Maria,
+giggling; "I was near dyin' with laughin'. You could see as plain as
+anything he was axin' himself all the time, "Will I have this one,' or
+'Will I have that one?'"
+
+"A-ah, not at all," cried Juliana, reddening. "I didn't see a sign of
+his eyes rovin'. Anybody with a grain of sense 'ud know his mind was
+pretty well made up."
+
+"Listen to that, now!" laughed Nanny, who was certainly good-tempered.
+"You're out there, Ju. No; but I'll tell you the way it was with him.
+Says he to himself, looking at you, 'That one is the eldest and a fine
+girl altogether, but her nose is too long.' An' then he'd look round
+at Bridget, 'She's got a nice bit o' money,' he'd say, 'but she's a
+bit too old for me.' An' then he'd look at me, 'A nice healthy lump of
+a girl,' he'd say, 'but too many freckles.' An' then Maggie maybe 'ud
+have a turn--"
+
+"Och, don't be goin' on with such nonsense, child," interrupted her
+mother, quick to observe certain tokens of an impending storm. "Don't
+let him find yez quarrellin' an' fightin' when he does be comin' back.
+Wait till I tell yez all he's afther tellin' me about his own place. I
+questioned him a bit afore yez come down."
+
+The girls crowded eagerly round her, and she repeated with unction the
+description of the various glories which awaited the future Mrs. Brian
+Brennan.
+
+Every one had forgotten Elleney and her little bit of dinner; every
+one, that is, except the new-comer, who, after casting a nervous
+glance at the parlour window on finding himself outside the house, had
+made straightway for the almost deserted shop.
+
+Customers were not many at that hour of the day, and Elleney had only
+sold a pound of bacon and a couple of bootlaces since her aunt's
+departure. She was sorting ribbons with a somewhat melancholy face
+when Brian passed through the glass door and made his way to the
+counter.
+
+"Is that where ye have yourself hidden?" he inquired gaily. "They
+thought to keep ye shut up out o' me sight, but I was a match for them
+as cute as they were. 'Twas a shame for them not to let you come in to
+dinner."
+
+"Sure somebody had to mind the shop," returned Elleney. Then her
+little pink and white face dimpled all over with smiles. "Have ye
+chose yet, Mr. Brian?" said she.
+
+"Bedad, I think I have," quoth Brian, gazing at her admiringly.
+
+Elleney clapped her hands. "Oh dear, is it Juliana?"
+
+"It's not Juliana, then," said he. "Is that the big one with the
+top-knot? Sure, what sort of taste d'ye think I have?"
+
+"It wouldn't be Bridget!" cried she, laughing till every little white
+tooth was visible.
+
+"That's a bad shot--I'm afeard ye're no hand at guessin'."
+
+"I wished it was Nanny," said Elleney earnestly; "she's the
+best-hearted girl in the world."
+
+"You wished it was her, do ye? Well, I'm sorry I can't gratify ye. My
+choice was made before I ever set eyes on e'er a one of them."
+
+"Then ye'd no call to come here at all," interrupted Elleney
+indignantly.
+
+"Whisht! Don't be bitin' the nose off me that way. Ye little schemer,
+ye know very well it's yerself that carries all before ye. Sure, who'd
+have eyes for any one else when you were to the fore?"
+
+"Och, Mr. Brian, it's a shame for ye!" cried Elleney, with flashing
+eyes. "Ye've no right to come givin' me impidence that way. I'll call
+me a'nt."
+
+"An' what would ye do that for? It's the truth I'm tellin' ye,
+darlint. The very first minute I seen ye on the doorstep the heart
+leapt out o' me breast. You're my choice, mavourneen, though I don't
+so much as know your name yet."
+
+Elleney gazed at him timidly. He was a pleasant-looking young fellow,
+and his eyes were very kind. She turned quite pale because of the
+rapid beating of her heart. What a wonderful thing it was that the
+prize over whom all her rich cousins had been disputing should have
+fallen to her share--to her, poor little penniless Elleney.
+
+"It's too good of you entirely," she was beginning in a tremulous
+voice; "but I don't think you ought to go disappintin' your father and
+me a'nt."
+
+But before she could proceed further in her little speech the narrow
+door which gave access to the house was thrown open and Mary Nolan
+appeared upon the scene.
+
+"Elleney, you're to--" she was beginning, when she suddenly stopped,
+and, to use her own expression, "let a yell" that brought her aunt and
+cousins in tumult to the scene.
+
+"I couldn't for the life o' me help it," she explained as they crowded
+round her. "When I had the door opened who did I see but
+himself"--designating Brian--"with his impident arm round Elleney's
+waist--the bould little scut!"
+
+"Sure, I didn't ax him to put it there," protested Elleney, beginning
+to cry; "I didn't rightly know what he was doin'."
+
+"Ladies," said the suitor, "don't disthress yourselves. There wasn't a
+ha'porth of harm in it--me arm was in the right place. I come here by
+my father's wish an' with your consent, ma'am, to choose one o' your
+family for my wife. Me clargy wouldn't let me marry the whole of yez,
+so I have to be content with one, an' I'm after choosin' this one."
+
+Juliana laughed shrilly and ironically, and Henrietta clapped her
+hands together; the rest stood round with stony faces, except Nanny,
+who cast a dubious and compassionate glance at Elleney.
+
+"Lord save us!" ejaculated Mrs. McNally, when she had recovered her
+wits, "I never thought o' such a thing. I had a right to have told
+ye--it's a mistake. Me poor young man, come away with me an' I'll tell
+ye."
+
+"No mistake at all, ma'am," Brian was beginning, with a bright
+backward glance at Elleney; but Mrs. McNally clutched him by the arm,
+looking so much disturbed the while, that the words died on his lips,
+and he suffered himself to be drawn along the passage and into the
+parlour. The others also melted away with many scornful murmurs and
+withering glances, all except Nanny, who hurled herself round the
+counter and caught Elleney in her arms.
+
+[Illustration: ELLENEY
+"With his impident arm round Elleney's waist"]
+
+"Ye poor misfortunate innicent!" she exclaimed. "Why didn't ye tell
+him ye weren't rightly one o' the family?"
+
+"He didn't give me time," faltered Elleney; adding with more spirit,
+"Besides, what matter if it's me he likes the best?"
+
+"Bless us an' save us!" groaned Nanny; "sure how can ye get married
+when ye haven't so much as a one pound note o' your own?"
+
+"Do you think he didn't know?" gasped Elleney, looking very blank.
+
+"Not a know," responded Nanny, with decision. "My mother had a right
+to have told him, but some way not one of us dreamed of him thinkin'
+of you. Sure, girl alive, if _he_ was willin' itself, his father 'ud
+never agree to his havin' ye."
+
+"I s'pose not," said Elleney; "but ye don't know all he's afther
+sayin' to me, Nanny."
+
+"Och, divil doubt him!" exclaimed Nanny, with a vexed laugh. "Sure,
+that's the way they all does be goin' on. If ye had more sense,
+Elleney, me dear, ye'd know how to be up to them. Whisht!--here's
+m'mah!"
+
+Poor Mrs. McNally's heavy foot was now heard hastening along the
+passage, and in another minute she entered--alone, her kind face was
+all puckered up with concern, and at first sight of it Elleney knew
+exactly how matters stood. She disengaged herself from Nanny and went
+quietly up to her aunt.
+
+"I hope you explained to him that I didn't rightly understand what he
+was sayin'," she observed with a certain childish dignity that took
+the others by surprise. "It was all a mistake, of course, but there's
+no great harm done."
+
+"Not a bit of harm at all, me dear," groaned Mrs. McNally. "Not a bit
+of harm in the world--only for the disappointment."
+
+"No disappointment," returned Elleney; her eyes were steady, though
+that red under-lip of hers would quiver; "no disappointment, a'nt, I
+hope. He'll be sure to pick out one of the girls, won't he?"
+
+"I b'lieve so," answered Mrs. McNally, propping herself against the
+counter. "He's afther tellin' me his father 'ud be the death of him
+if--"
+
+"Sure that's all right," interrupted her niece. "Nanny, you ought to
+go and see to him."
+
+"Do, Nanny," said the mother. "He was askin' for you."
+
+"Then he may ask away," retorted Nanny. "Do ye remember the story o'
+the Connaught woman who said 'Purse, will ye have him?' when the
+fellow made up to her for her money. My purse says 'No.' Let him try
+Juliana. Is that the bar bell ringing?"
+
+"Aye, it is; ye'd best be off an' see what's wanted. Bridget and Mary
+is so taken up with that young fellow I declare they don't know
+whether they're on their heads or their heels."
+
+"Aye, indeed," cried Anna Maria with her jolly laugh. "I seen them
+prancin' round him like a couple o' goats, as old as they are."
+
+She vanished, and Mrs. McNally also went away.
+
+Some time later Pat Rooney entered the shop, bearing a large tray of
+newly-baked loaves. His face wore a solemn, not to say sulky,
+expression, and he looked neither to right nor to left. Before he had
+finished piling up the loaves in their allotted corner, however, a
+suspicious sound attracted his attention, and he turned reluctantly
+round. A small figure was crouching in the darkest angle of the "dress
+department," with its apron over its head.
+
+"Is it cryin' ye are?" said Pat sternly.
+
+For all answer Elleney sobbed afresh.
+
+The young man drew nearer, and Elleney tilted up one elbow as a hint
+to him to keep his distance.
+
+"Bedad, ye have no right to be cryin'," remarked Pat in a withering
+tone. "It was the other way wid ye altogether when I looked in through
+the door a while ago, on my way back from me dinner. If I hadn't seen
+it wid me own two eyes," he added with scornful severity, "I wouldn't
+have believed it was you that was in it at all."
+
+Elleney jerked down her apron, and looked up with eyes that blazed
+beneath their swollen lids.
+
+"How dar' ye speak to me that way?" she cried.
+
+Pat snorted: "To be sure I've no right to say a word at all," he
+returned, with wrathful irony. "A poor fellow like meself has no call
+to have any feelin's--but ye might have knocked me down with a feather
+when I seen that strange chap with his arm about your waist."
+
+"Oh Pat!" gasped Elleney, and overcome with shame and woe, she burst
+into fresh tears, and buried her face in the unresponsive folds of a
+linsey-woolsey petticoat which dangled from a peg beside her.
+
+Pat immediately melted.
+
+"Amn't I the terrible ould ruffian to go upsettin' ye that way!" he
+groaned remorsefully. "There now, Miss Elleney, don't mind me. I'm not
+meself to-day. I'm a regular ould gomeril. Sure it had to come sooner
+or later. It's meself knew very well I'd have to stan' by and see ye
+carried off some fine day by whoever was lucky enough to get ye. Some
+fellows has all the luck in this world, and maybe they're no better
+nor others that hasn't any luck at all."
+
+But Elleney scarcely heeded the latter part of this speech; it seemed
+to her she could never lift up her head again. Pat knew--Pat had seen!
+
+"Oh dear," she sobbed inarticulately, after a pause, "I think I'll die
+with the shame of it. I don't know how I come to let him do it at all,
+but I didn't rightly know--I didn't think--an'--an' he said he was so
+fond of me an' 'twas me he wanted for his wife."
+
+"Faith," retorted Pat, "it's himself's the gentleman doesn't let the
+grass grow under his feet--an' why would he? Well, alanna," he
+continued in an altered tone, "don't be frettin' yourself anyway.
+Bedad, I wouldn't blame--"
+
+"Ah, but I blame myself," interrupted Elleney, wringing her poor
+little hands. "I'll--I'll never look up again afther the disgrace he's
+afther puttin' on me. Sure 'twas all a mistake--he thought I was one
+of the family, an' when me a'nt tould him the way it is with me, he
+just tossed me away the same as an ould shoe. I b'lieve he's makin' up
+to Juliana now."
+
+Pat emitted a kind of roar, but, before he could ventilate his
+feelings further, the door communicating with the house was quickly
+opened and Mr. Brian Brennan walked in.
+
+"Are ye there, darlint?" he inquired, in a tone of melancholy
+tenderness; "I'm just come to tell ye the poor case I'm in--"
+
+"Then ye'll be in a poorer case in something less than no time if ye
+don't behave yourself, me brave young gentleman!" cried a choked voice
+in his ear, and almost before he could realise what was taking place,
+Brian Brennan found his six-foot length laid low upon the dusty shop
+floor, while his beautiful head of hair rolled aimlessly about amid a
+collection of boots and tin buckets. Pat Rooney was sitting on his
+chest, his knees pinioning his arms, and clutching each of his broad
+shoulders with a vigorous hand. He was not half the size of the
+prostrate giant, but love and fury lent him unnatural strength. His
+flour-bedecked face worked convulsively, his eyes gleamed under their
+powdered lashes.
+
+Elleney uttered a stifled scream, and then stood transfixed with
+horror.
+
+"Ye passed your word to Miss Elleney a while ago that it was her ye'd
+have for your wife," said Pat firmly. "Are ye goin' to stick to your
+promise or are ye not?"
+
+"Get up out o' that, ye ruffian," spluttered Brian. "What business is
+it of yours anyway?"
+
+"Ruffian yourself!" said Pat. And he heaved up Mr. Brennan's shoulders
+a little way, and then loosed his hold suddenly, so that the fine
+curly head bumped once more against the tin pails. "Will ye gi' me a
+straight answer, or will ye not?"
+
+"I'll pay ye out for this when I get upon my legs!" growled Brian. "As
+for that young lady, she knows very well I can't--"
+
+"Ye can't what?" cried Pat, rolling a threatening eye at him.
+
+"I can't keep my word," said Mr. Brennan, with as much dignity as was
+compatible with his position.
+
+"Ye mean ye won't, I s'pose," remarked Pat, with ominous calm.
+
+"Well, then, I won't!" shouted Brian, heaving himself up at the same
+time with a futile attempt to rid himself of his adversary.
+
+"Ah!" retorted Pat, tightening his grasp on the powerless shoulders,
+and repeating his previous manoeuvre with such success that his victim
+saw a multitude of stars. "Ye won't, won't ye? No; but ye will!--I
+tell ye, ye will! Ye will, me fine gentleman!"
+
+With each reiteration of the phrase the unfortunate Brian's head
+received fresh damage, and Pat, who was warming to his work, had just
+announced that he was going to give Mr. Brian the finest thrashing he
+ever had in his life, when Elleney, who had hitherto been petrified
+with alarm and amazement, rushed to the rescue.
+
+"In the name o' goodness, Pat Rooney," she cried, in a voice that
+trembled as much with anger as with fear, "get up this minute! It's
+outrageous--altogether outrageous!"
+
+"Never fear, Miss Elleney, asthore!" cried Pat triumphantly, baring
+his arms the while for action. "Run away out o' this while I tache him
+manners! The dirty spalpeen! He'll not have it all his own way,
+anyhow. I'll give him a trimmin'!"
+
+"I forbid ye, Pat, to do any such thing!" cried Elleney, almost with a
+shriek. "I declare I'm ashamed o' my life! Who gave you leave to go
+mixin' up my name?--makin' so little of me? Oh dear! oh dear!" and the
+poor child began to sob again. "What have I done to be disgraced an'
+tormented that way!"
+
+Her blue eyes were drowned in tears, her pretty cheeks blanched.
+
+Pat sat back on his prostrate foe, and stared up at her with
+astonished concern. Elleney sobbed louder than before, and Brian,
+raising his voice, uttered a forcible expression of opinion.
+
+"Bless us an' save us!" exclaimed a voice in the passage, and the
+door, being thrown wide open, revealed the portly form and scandalised
+face of no less a person than Mrs. McNally herself.
+
+"Who is it that's cursin' an swearin' that way?" she began, but broke
+off abruptly as she realised the scene within.
+
+"Oh, a'nt, me heart's broke entirely!" cried Elleney, running to her,
+and hiding her face on her ample shoulder.
+
+Pat cleared his throat diffidently, insensibly relaxing his grip the
+while, so that, with a slight effort, Brian was enabled to roll him on
+to the floor, and to rise, looking very sheepish.
+
+"Was it fightin' the two of yez was?" said Mrs. McNally severely.
+"Sure, that's a disgrace. Look at your coat all over dust, Mr.
+Brennan, and the big lump on your forehead risin' up the size of an
+egg!"
+
+Brian squinted over his shoulder to ascertain the condition of his
+coat, but being unable to carry out the rest of Mrs. McNally's
+injunctions and survey the lump on his own forehead, he passed his
+hand over it instead, and turned towards Pat with an expression of
+virtuous indignation.
+
+"That fellow there was near bein' the death of me," he exclaimed.
+
+"Musha! what is it all about at all?" queried Mrs. McNally. "Elleney,
+quit cryin' an' tell me what happened ye? What was that impident
+fellow Pat doin' rollin' Mr. Brennan on the floor?"
+
+Elleney shook her head, and wept, and nearly throttled her aunt, but
+entered on no explanation.
+
+Quick steps were now heard in the passage, and Anna Maria burst in.
+
+"What in the world is Elleney cryin' for?" she exclaimed; "an'
+goodness gracious! look at Mr. Brennan, the show he is! Is it up the
+chimney ye were? For the matter of that Pat isn't much better. What's
+all this, m'mah?"
+
+"I'm sure I couldn't tell ye, me dear," returned her mother. "I can't
+get a word o' sense out of any of them. Brian Brennan here says that
+Pat is afther bein' the death of him."
+
+"Ah, then now," cried Anna Maria sarcastically, "isn't he very
+delicate, the poor fellow, to be so near made an end of by a little
+fellow half his size!"
+
+"I was took by surprise," explained Mr. Brian, with dignity, "or I
+could easy have settled him with one finger."
+
+"Well, but what call had ye to go doin' it, Pat?" insisted Anna Maria.
+"'Twasn't your place to go knocking a visitor down, I think."
+
+"I'm very sorry, miss, if ye think I'm afther takin' a liberty,"
+returned Pat firmly; "but I'd knock any man down who went to insult
+Miss Elleney."
+
+Elleney dropped her arms from her aunt's neck and whisked round, her
+blue eyes blazing through her tears.
+
+"I'll thank ye not to be mixin' yerself up with my business at all,
+Pat Rooney. Nobody asked you to meddle."
+
+"Was it Mr. Brennan ye were cryin' about, me poor child?" said Mrs.
+McNally, in a compassionate but distinctly audible whisper.
+
+Brian shot a melting glance towards her.
+
+"Upon me word," he was beginning plaintively, when Elleney interrupted
+him with a little shriek of exasperation, and a stamp of her foot.
+
+"Oh dear, oh dear, everything is contrairy this day! I'd have ye to
+know, Mr. Brennan, that I'd be long sorry to cry for you--if ye was to
+go down on your two knees I'd never have ye! I know the kind o' young
+man ye are now, an' I'll not fret after ye. I couldn't help cryin' at
+first at the disrespectful way ye were afther treatin' me, but I
+wouldn't have anything to say to ye now for the whole world."
+
+"Well done!" cried Pat approvingly, while Anna Maria giggled.
+
+"Maybe there's others that thinks different," said Brian in a nettled
+tone.
+
+"Oh yes," put in Anna Maria quickly, "her elders and betters--was that
+what you were goin' to say? Juliana's to be had, Mr. Brian. She'd be a
+mother to ye."
+
+"Upon me word, Nanny," said Mrs. McNally, "it doesn't become ye to be
+talkin' that way of your elder sister."
+
+"Sure, what harm?" responded Nanny blithely. "All I said was she'd be
+a mother to him. Sure, what could be better than that?"
+
+Brian, with all his faults, was gifted with a sense of humour, and
+looked at Anna Maria with a twinkle in his eye.
+
+"Bedad," he said, "I've that much respect for Miss Juliana I'd be
+afraid o' me life to ask her to put up with me."
+
+"Well, there's Bridget then," said Nanny. "Bridget's a fine girl, an'
+she's got a fine fortun', an' the whole of us knows that's what
+_you're_ lookin' afther, Mr. Brian."
+
+"I wouldn't say that altogether," said Brian, stammering a little.
+"Yous all know the way it is with me. 'Tis me father that's makin' the
+match for me, and I have to choose one of the family. No one can feel
+more sorry nor I do for the unfort'nate mistake I'm afther makin'; I
+went altogether too quick, and I was very much to blame. I'm sure I ax
+Miss Elleney's pardon."
+
+Elleney made a little inarticulate rejoinder, and turned away. Pat
+looked daggers at his whilom victim, and Mrs. McNally, folding her
+arms, looked sternly round.
+
+"The less said about some things the better," she remarked. "Mr.
+Brian, I'll trouble ye to go into the parlour--ye'd best go with him
+too, Nanny; all the girls are there."
+
+"Will ye step up to the show-room?" said Nanny, with a giggle.
+
+"Troth," returned Brian, who was now in some measure recovering his
+self-possession, "I think the best o' the stock is what I'm afther
+seein' in the shop."
+
+He followed her out of the room, and a slight scuffle was presently
+heard in the passage. Mrs. McNally solemnly closed the door, and came
+back to Pat and Elleney, who stood looking equally downcast and
+confused.
+
+"I'd like to know, Pat Rooney," she said, gazing at the young man
+sternly, "what talk at all this is between you and me niece? What
+business is it o' yours to interfere? I don't understand it at all,
+Elleney--I'm very much put about--"
+
+"It's no fault of Miss Elleney's, ma'am," said Pat quickly. "She'd
+nothin' to say to it at all. I forgot meself altogether. When I seen
+that fellow makin' little of a chance that I'd give the two eyes out
+o' my head for--"
+
+"O Pat, whisht for goodness sake!" interrupted Elleney. "Ye oughtn't
+to be talkin' like that."
+
+"Sure I know that very well, Miss Elleney, darlint--I know I might
+just as well be cryin' for the moon. But the murder's out now, an'
+'pon me word I'm glad of it. I couldn't stop here the way I am--I'd go
+mad altogether. I'll throuble ye to look out for another boy, Mrs.
+McNally, ma'am--I wish to leave in a week's time."
+
+Mrs. McNally gasped.
+
+"Isn't it the great fool you are, Pat Rooney, to go give up your good
+place for a stupid notion like this? Ye know Miss Elleney 'ud never
+demean herself to you."
+
+"Ay, ma'am, I know she looks on me as the dirt under her feet."
+
+"Then stop where ye are," said Mrs. McNally, comfortably. "You're a
+very good boy when you don't let your wits go wool-gatherin'. As for
+my niece, she's no notion of encouragin' any nonsense--have ye,
+Elleney?"
+
+Elleney's long lashes were downcast, and she nervously twisted her
+apron.
+
+"Sure ye haven't, dear?" said her aunt persuasively. "Tell the poor
+foolish fellow that ye haven't, an' then he'll be puttin' it
+altogether out of his head."
+
+Elleney raised her eyes and looked at Pat, and then dropped them
+again.
+
+"He's the only one in the wide world that cares for me," she said,
+with a quivering lip.
+
+"Bless us and save us!" gasped Mrs. McNally. "If that's the way it is,
+Pat, ye'd best be off with yourself."
+
+Pat turned as red as a cherry, and then as white as his own flour.
+
+"Miss Elleney, dear," he whispered, "d'ye know what ye're sayin'? D'ye
+know I'm such a great big fool that I'm beginning to think the most
+outrageous nonsense. I'll be beginnin' to think soon, me jewel, that
+ye might some day be gettin' a bit fond o' me, an' maybe say Yes when
+I ax ye a question. Sure ye didn't think of that, alanna?"
+
+"Will ye whisht, ye impident fellow?" cried Mrs. McNally angrily. "Of
+course she thought o' no such thing."
+
+Elleney turned her sweet eyes deprecatingly towards her aunt, and
+murmured very faintly--
+
+"I don't know--I--I think I did."
+
+*       *       *       *       *
+
+Half-an-hour afterwards Mrs. McNally entered the parlour with a
+dubious, almost timid, expression on her good-natured face. Most of
+her family was gathered round the hearth, talking in muffled tones,
+and with gloomy countenances. Behind the window-curtain Brian Brennan
+and Anna Maria were tittering together. Mrs. McNally jerked her thumb
+inquiringly over her shoulder, and raised her eyebrows.
+
+"Is that the way it is?" she whispered.
+
+"You'd better ask them," returned Juliana, with her nose in the air.
+
+Bridget sniffed audibly.
+
+"She reg'larly thrun herself at his head," said Mary spitefully.
+
+"Did I indeed?" said Nanny, emerging from behind the window-curtain.
+"Brian here could tell yous a different story. He's been beggin' an'
+prayin' this half-hour, an' I haven't give him an answer yet."
+
+"Ah, but you will!" said Brian, with an ingratiating smile.
+
+"If I do then it 'ull be for the sake of servin' you out. Ye never
+heard the like of the life I'll be leadin' ye. Ye'll only be sorry
+once, an' that'll be for ever."
+
+"I'll risk that," said Brian gallantly.
+
+"Well, well, well," said Mrs. McNally, clapping her hands; "so it's to
+be you, Nanny! 'Pon me word it rains weddin's this evenin'. I don't
+know whether I'm on me head or me heels. There's Elleney,
+now--nothin'll serve her but to go takin' up with Pat Rooney."
+
+"Pat Rooney!" exclaimed Anna Maria, while the rest of the family
+echoed the name in varying tones of shrill disapproval.
+
+"Aye, indeed," said Mrs. McNally, dropping into a chair.
+
+"Pat Rooney. Her mind's made up, it seems, and 'pon me word, though I
+thought she'd have looked higher, I can't altogether blame the girl.
+Sure what sort of a husband can she expect, and her without a penny?
+An old widower maybe, or maybe a fellow with one leg. Pat's gettin'
+good wages, an' the two of them were talkin' o' takin' that little
+thatched cabin just out of the town--"
+
+"A cabin!" said Juliana, and began to turn up her eyes, and to make a
+strange clucking noise in her throat.
+
+"For goodness' sake, Ju, don't be goin' off in highsterics," cried
+Nanny quickly. "Sure what matter if 'tis a cabin itself! I'll engage
+she'll keep it as clean as a new pin--and she's a great hand at her
+needle, so she is. Sure she'll be able to do dressmakin' for the
+quality."
+
+"An' of course," said Mrs. McNally, casting a deprecating glance round
+at the irate faces, "we mustn't forget she doesn't rightly belong to
+the family. Tis no disgrace to us at all, an' really an' truly, girls,
+I'm almost glad to think she's comfortably settled."
+
+"To be sure," said Bridget, "she's no relation at all to any of us. A
+little girl that me a'nt took in out of charity. Why wouldn't she
+marry the baker--"
+
+"My blessin' to her!" said Mary sourly.
+
+Juliana left off clucking, and smiled sarcastically. "She isn't
+breakin' her heart after you, Mr. Brian, at any rate," she remarked.
+"She wasn't long in getting over her disappointment."
+
+"I must say I didn't think she'd make so little of herself," he
+returned, drawing himself up.
+
+"How d'ye like that, Nanny?" said Juliana spitefully. "I declare Mr.
+Brian's quite upset."
+
+"Ah, the poor fellow, is he?" said Anna Maria, whose good-humour was
+imperturbable. "I declare I'll have to get married to him now if it's
+only to comfort him."
+
+And thereupon she burst into a hearty laugh, in which Brian Brennan
+joined.
+
+
+
+
+IN ST. PATRICK'S WARD
+
+
+It was intensely, suffocatingly hot, though the windows on either side
+of the long room were wide open; the patients lay languidly watching
+the flies on the ceiling, the sunshine streaming over the ochre-tinted
+wall, the flickering light of the little lamp which burned night and
+day beneath the large coloured statue of St. Patrick in the centre of
+the ward. It was too hot even to talk. Granny M'Gee--who, though not
+exactly ill, was old and delicate enough to be permitted to remain
+permanently in the Union Infirmary instead of being relegated to the
+workhouse proper--dozed in her wicker chair with her empty pipe
+between her wrinkled fingers. Once, as she loved to relate, she had
+burnt her lovely fringe with that same pipe--"bad luck to it!" but she
+invariably hastened to add that her heart 'ud be broke out an' out if
+it wasn't for the taste o' baccy. Her neighbour opposite was equally
+fond of snuff, and was usually to be heard lamenting how she had
+r'ared a fine fam'ly o' boys an' girls, and how notwithstanding she
+had ne'er a wan to buy her a ha'porth in her ould age. Now, however,
+for a wonder she was silent, and even the woman nearest the door found
+it too hot to brandish her distorted wrists, according to her custom
+when she wished to excite compassion or to plead for alms. There would
+be no visitors this morning; not the most compassionate of "the
+ladies," who came to read to and otherwise cheer the poor sufferers of
+St. Patrick's ward, would venture there on such a day.
+
+The buzzing of the flies aforesaid, the occasional moans of the more
+feeble patients, the hurried breathing of a poor girl in the last
+stage of consumption were the only sounds to be heard, except for the
+quiet footsteps and gentle voice of Sister Louise. There was something
+refreshing in the very sight of this tall slight figure, in its
+blue-grey habit and dazzling white "cornette," from beneath which the
+dark eyes looked forth with sweet and almost childish directness.
+Sister Louise was not indeed much more than a child in years, and
+there were still certain inflections in her voice, an elasticity in
+her movements, a something about her very hands, with their little
+pink palms and dimpled knuckles, that betrayed the fact. But those
+babyish hands had done good service since Sister Louise had left the
+novitiate in the Rue du Bac two years before; that young voice had a
+marvellous power of its own, and could exhort and reprove as well as
+soothe and console, and when the blue-robed figure was seen flitting
+up and down the ward smiles appeared on wan and sorrowful faces, and
+querulous murmurs were hushed. Even to-day the patients nodded to her
+languidly as she passed, observing with transitory cheerfulness that
+they were kilt with the hate, or that it was terrible weather
+entirely. One crone raised herself sufficiently to remark that it was
+a fine thing for the counthry, glory be to God! which patriotic
+sentiment won a smile from Sister Louise, but failed to awaken much
+enthusiasm in any one else.
+
+The Sister of Charity paused before a bed in which a little, very thin
+old woman was coiled up with eyes half closed. Mrs. Brady was the
+latest arrival at St. Patrick's ward, having indeed only "come in" on
+the preceding day, and Sister Louise thought she would very likely
+need a little cheering.
+
+"How are you to-day, Mrs. Brady!" she asked, bending over her.
+
+"Why then indeed, ma'am--is it ma'am or Mother I ought to call ye?"
+
+"'Sister'--we are all Sisters here, though some of the people call
+Sister Superior 'Reverend Mother.'"
+
+"Ah, that indeed?" said Mrs. Brady, raising herself a little in the
+bed and speaking with great dignity, "Ye see yous are not the sort o'
+nuns I'm used to, so you'll excuse me if I don't altogether spake the
+way I ought. Our nuns down in the Queen's County has black veils ye
+know, ma'am--Sisther I mane--an' not that kind of a white bonnet that
+you have on your head."
+
+"Well, do you know our patients here get quite fond of our white wings
+as they call them?" returned Sister Louise, smiling. "But you haven't
+told me how you are, yet. Better, I hope, and pretty comfortable."
+
+A tear suddenly rolled down Mrs. Brady's cheek, but she preserved her
+lofty manner.
+
+"Ah yes, thank ye, Sisther, as comfortable as I could expect in a
+place like this. Of course I niver thought it's here' I'd be, but it's
+on'y for a short time, thanks be to God! My little boy'll be comin'
+home from America soon to take me out of it."
+
+"Why, that's good news!" cried the Sister cheerfully. "We must make
+you quite well and strong--that is as strong as we can"--with a
+compassionate glance, "by the time he comes. When do you expect him?"
+
+"Any day now, ma'am--Sisther, I mane--aye, indeed, I may say any day
+an' every day, an' I'm afeard his heart'll be broke findin' me in this
+place. But no matther!"
+
+Here she shook her head darkly, as though she could say much on that
+subject, but refrained out of consideration for Sister Louise.
+
+"Well, we must do all we can for you meanwhile," said the latter
+gently. "Have you made acquaintance with your neighbours yet? Poor
+Mrs. M'Evoy here is worse off than you, for she can't lift her head
+just now. Tell Mrs. Brady how it was you hurt your back, Mrs. M'Evoy."
+
+"Bedad, Sisther, ye know yerself it was into the canal I fell wid a
+can o' milk," said the old woman addressed, squinting fearfully in her
+efforts to catch a glimpse of the new patient. "The Bishop says the
+last time he come round, 'I s'pose,' he says, 'ye were goin' to put
+wather in the milk.' 'No,' says I, 'there was wather enough in it
+before.'"
+
+Here Mrs. M'Evoy leered gleefully up at the Sister, and one or two
+feeble chuckles were heard from the neighbouring beds; but Mrs. Brady
+assumed an attitude which can only be described as one implying a
+mental drawing away of skirts, and preserved an impenetrable gravity.
+Evidently she had never associated with "the like" of Mrs. M'Evoy in
+the circles in which she had hitherto moved.
+
+"And there's Kate Mahony on the other side," pursued Sister Louise,
+without appearing to notice Mrs. Brady's demeanour. "She has been
+lying here for seventeen years; haven't you, Kate?"
+
+"Aye, Sisther," said Kate, a thin-faced sweet-looking woman of about
+forty, looking up brightly.
+
+"Poor Kate!" said the Sister in a caressing tone. "You must get Kate
+to tell you her story some time, Mrs. Brady. She has seen better days
+like you."
+
+"Oh, that indeed?" said Mrs. Brady, distantly but politely, and with a
+dawning interest; "I s'pose you are from the country then, like
+meself."
+
+"Ah no, ma'am," returned Kate. "I may say I was never three miles away
+from town. I went into service when I was on'y a slip of a little
+girl, an' lived with the wan lady till the rheumatic fever took me an'
+made me what I am now. You're not from this town, I s'pose, ma'am."
+
+"Indeed, I'd be long sorry to come from such a dirty place--beggin'
+your pardon for sayin' it. No, indeed, I am from the Queen's County,
+near Mar'boro'. We had the loveliest little farm there ye could see,
+me an' me poor husband, the Lord ha' mercy on his soul! Aye, indeed,
+it's little we ever thought--but no matther! Glory be to goodness! my
+little boy'll be comin' back from America soon to take me out o'
+this."
+
+"Sure it's well for ye," said Kate, "that has a fine son o' your own
+to work for ye. Look at me without a crature in the wide world
+belongin' to me! An' how long is your son in America, ma'am?"
+
+"Goin' on two year now," said Mrs. Brady, with a sigh.
+
+"He'll be apt to be writin' to ye often, I s'pose, ma'am."
+
+"Why then, indeed, not so often. The poor fellow, he was niver much of
+a hand at the pen. He's movin' about, ye see, gettin' work here an'
+there."
+
+Sister Louise had moved on, seeing that the pair were likely to make
+friends; and before ten minutes had elapsed each was in possession of
+the other's history. Kate's, indeed, was simple enough; her seventeen
+years in the infirmary being preceded by a quiet life in a very
+uninteresting neighbourhood; but she "came of decent people," being
+connected with "the rale ould O'Rorkes," and her father had been "in
+business"; two circumstances which impressed Mrs. Brady very much, and
+caused her to unbend towards "Miss Mahony," as she now respectfully
+called her new acquaintance. The latter was loud in expressions of
+admiration and sympathy as Mrs. Brady described the splendours of the
+past; the servant-man and the servant-maid, who, according to her,
+once formed portion of her establishment; the four beautiful milch
+cows which her husband kept, besides sheep, and a horse an' car, and
+"bastes" innumerable; the three little boys they buried, and then
+Barney--Barney, the jewel, who was now in Amerika.
+
+"The finest little fella ye'd see between this an' County Cork! Over
+six fut, he is, an' wid a pair o' shoulders on him that ye'd think 'ud
+hardly get in through that door beyant."
+
+"Lonneys!" said Kate admiringly.
+
+"Aye, indeed, an' ye ought to see the beautiful black curly head of
+him, an' eyes like sloes, an' cheeks--why I declare"--half raising
+herself and speaking with great animation, "he's the very moral o' St.
+Patrick over there! God forgive me for sayin' such a thing, but raly
+if I was to drop down dead this minute I couldn't but think it! Now I
+assure ye, Miss Mahony, he's the very image of that blessed statye,
+'pon me word!"
+
+Miss Mahony looked appreciatively at the representation of the patron
+of Ireland, which was remarkable no less for vigour of outline and
+colouring than for conveying an impression of exceeding cheerfulness,
+as both the saint himself and the serpent which was wriggling from
+beneath his feet were smiling in the most affable manner conceivable.
+
+"Mustn't he be the fine boy!" she ejaculated, after a pause. "I'd love
+to see him--but I'll niver get a chanst o' that, I s'pose. Will he be
+comin' here to see ye, ma'am?"
+
+"He'll be comin' to take me out of it," returned the mother. "He
+doesn't raly know I'm in it at all. I'll tell ye now the way it is.
+When the poor father died--the light o' heaven to him--an' bad times
+come, and we had to give up our own beautiful little place, Barney
+brought me to town an' put me with Mrs. Byrne, a very nice respectable
+woman that was married to a second cousin o' my poor husband's, an' I
+was to stop with her till he came back from America with his fortune
+made. Well," pursued Mrs. Brady, drawing in her breath with a sucking
+sound, which denoted that she had come to an interesting part of her
+narrative, "well, he kep' sendin' me money, ye know, a pound or maybe
+thirty shillin' at a time--whenever he could, the poor boy, an' I was
+able to work the sewin'-machine a little, an' so we made out between
+us till I took this terrible bad turn. Well, of course troubles niver
+comes single, an' the last letther I got from my poor little fella had
+only fifteen shillin' in it, an' he towld me he had the bad luck
+altogether, but, says he,'My dear mother, ye must on'y howld out the
+best way ye can. There's no work to be got in this place at all' (New
+York I think it was). 'But I am goin' out West,' says he, 'to a place
+where I'm towld there's fortunes made in no time, so I'll be over wid
+ye soon,' he says, 'wid a power o' money, an' I'm sure Mary Byrne'll
+be a good friend to ye till then. The worst of it is,' he says, 'it's
+a terrible wild outlandish place, and I can't be promisin' ye many
+letthers, for God knows if there'll be a post-office in it at all,'
+says he; 'but I'll be thinkin' of ye often, an' ye must keep up your
+heart,' he says. Well," sucking up her breath again, "poor Mrs. Byrne
+done all she could for me, but of course when it got to be weeks an'
+months that I was on my back not able to do a hand's turn for meself,
+an' no money comin' an' no sign o' Barney, what could she do, the
+crature? One day Dr. Isaacs says to her, 'Mrs. Byrne,' says he, 'why
+don't ye send poor Mrs. Brady to the Infirmary?' 'What Infirmary,
+sir?' says she. 'The Union Infirmary,' says he; 'it's the on'y place
+she's fit for except the Incurables in Dublin,' says he, 'an' I'm
+afraid there's no chance for there.' 'Oh, docther, don't mention it!'
+says poor Mrs. Byrne--she was telling me about it aftherwards. 'Is it
+the Union? I wouldn't name it,' she says, 'to a decent respectable
+woman like Mrs. Brady. She's a cousin by marriage o' me own,' she
+says; 'I wouldn't _name_ it to her, I assure ye.' 'Just as you
+please,' says Docther Isaacs. 'It 'ud be the truest kindness you could
+do her all the same, for she'd get betther care and nourishment than
+you could give her.' Well, poor Mrs. Byrne kep' turnin' it over in her
+mind, but she raly couldn't bring herself to mention it, nor wouldn't,
+on'y she was druv to it at the end, the crature, with me bein' ill so
+long, an' the rent comin' so heavy on her an' all. So we settled it
+between the two of us wan day, an' she passed me her word to bring me
+Barney's letther--if e'er a wan comes--the very minute she gets it,
+an' if he comes himself she says she won't let on where I am, all at
+wanst, but she'll tell him gradual. Sometimes I do be very unaisy in
+me mind, Miss Mahony, I assure ye, wondherin' what he'll say when he
+hears. I'm afeared he'll be ready to kill me for bringin' such a
+disgrace on him."
+
+"Sure, what could ye do?" said Kate, a little tartly, for naturally
+enough as "an inmate" of many years' standing, she did not quite like
+her new friend's insistence on this point. "Troth, it's aisy talkin',
+but it's not so aisy to starve. An' afther all, there's many a one
+that's worse off nor us here, I can tell ye, especially since the
+Sisthers come, God bless them, with their holy ways. How'd ye like to
+be beyant at the ---- Union, where the nurses gobbles up all the
+nourishment that's ordhered for the poor misfortunate cratures that's
+in it, an leaves thim sthretched from mornin' till night without doin'
+a hand's turn for them. Aye, an' 'ud go near to kill them if they
+dar'd let on to the Docther. Sure, don't I know well how it was before
+the Sisthers was here--we have different times now I can tell ye. Why,
+that very statye o' St. Pathrick that ye were talkin' of a while ago,
+wasn't it them brought it? An' there's St. Joseph over in the ward
+fornenst this, an' St. Elizabeth an' the Holy Mother above. See that
+now. Isn't it a comfort to be lookin' at them holy things, and to see
+the blessed Sisthers come walkin' in in the mornin' wid a heavenly
+smile for every one, an' their holy eyes lookin' into every hole an'
+corner an' spyin' out what's wrong?"
+
+"Aye, indeed," assented Mrs. Brady, a little faintly though, for
+however grateful she might be, and comfortable in the main, there was
+a bitterness in the thought of her "come down" that nothing could
+alleviate.
+
+She and her neighbour were excellent friends all the same, and she
+soon shared Kate's enthusiasm for "the Sisthers," finding comfort
+moreover in the discovery that Sister Louise understood and
+sympathised with her feelings, and was willing to receive endless
+confidences on the subject of the "little boy," and to discuss the
+probability of his speedy advent with almost as much eagerness as
+herself.
+
+But all too soon it became evident that unless Barney made great haste
+another than he would take Mrs. Brady "out of" the workhouse. Grim
+death was approaching with rapid strides, and one day the priest found
+her so weak that he told her he would come on the morrow to hear her
+confession and to give her the last Sacraments.
+
+Not one word did the old woman utter in reply. She lay there with her
+eyes closed and her poor old face puckered up, unheeding all Kate
+Mahony's attempts at consolation. These, though well meant, were
+slightly inconsistent, as she now assured her friend that indeed it
+was well for her, and asked who wouldn't be glad to be out o' that;
+and in the next moment informed her that maybe when she was anointed
+she might find herself cured out an' out, as many a wan had before
+her, an' wasn't it well known that them that the priest laid his holy
+hands on, as likely as not took a good turn immaydiate?
+
+Later on Sister Louise bent over Mrs. Brady with gentle reassuring
+words.
+
+"God knows best, you know," she said, at the end of her little homily;
+"you will say 'His will be done,' won't you?"
+
+"Sure Sisther, how can I?" whispered Mrs. Brady, opening her troubled
+eyes; her face almost awful to look on in its grey pallor. "How can I
+say 'His will be done' if I'm to die in the workhouse? An' me poor
+little boy comin' as fast as he can across the say to take me out of
+it, an' me breakin' my heart prayin' that I might live to see the day!
+An' when he comes back he'll find the parish has me buried. Ah,
+Sisther, how am I to resign meself at all? In the name o' God how _am_
+I to resign meself?"
+
+The tears began to trickle down her face, and Sister Louise cried a
+little too for sympathy, and stroked Mrs. Brady's hand, and coaxed,
+and cajoled, and soothed and preached to the very best of her ability;
+and at the end left her patient quiet but apparently unconvinced.
+
+It was with some trepidation that she approached her on the morrow.
+Mrs. Brady's attitude was so unusual that she felt anxious and
+alarmed. As a rule the Irish poor die calmly and peacefully, happy in
+their faith and resignation; but this poor woman stood on the brink of
+eternity with a heart full of bitterness, and a rebellious will.
+
+Mrs. Brady's first words, however, reassured her.
+
+"Sisther, I'm willin' now to say 'His will be done.'"
+
+"Thank God for that," cried Sister Louise fervently.
+
+"Aye. Well, wait till I tell ye. In the night when I was lying awake I
+took to lookin' at St. Pathrick beyant, wid the little lamp flickerin'
+an' flickerin' an' shinin' on his face, an' I thought o' Barney, an'
+that I'd niver see him agin, an' I burst out cryin'. 'Oh, St
+Pathrick!' says I, 'how'll I ever be able to make up my mind to it at
+all?' An' St. Pathrick looked back at me rale wicked. An' 'Oh,' says I
+again, 'God forgive me, but sure how can I help it?' An' there was St.
+Pathrick still wid the cross look on him p'intin' to the shamrock in
+his hand, as much as to say 'There is but the wan God in three divine
+Persons an' Him ye must obey.' So then I took to baitin' me breast an'
+sayin' 'The will o' God be done!' an' if ye'll believe me, Sisther,
+the next time I took heart to look at St. Pathrick there he was
+smilin' for all the world the moral o' poor Barney. So says I, 'afther
+that!' Well, Sisther, the will o' God be done! He knows best, Sisther
+alanna, doesn't He? But," with a weak sob, "my poor little boy's heart
+'ill be broke out an' out when he finds I'm afther dyin' in the
+workhouse!"
+
+"We must pray for him," said the Sister softly; "you must pray for him
+and offer up the sacrifice that God asks of you, for him. Try not to
+fret so much. Barney would not like you to fret. He would grieve
+terribly if he saw you like this."
+
+"Heth he would," said Mrs. Brady, sobbing again.
+
+"Of course he would. But if he heard you were brave and cheerful over
+it all, it would not be half so bad for him."
+
+Mrs. Brady lay very quiet after this, and seemed to reflect.
+
+When the priest came presently to administer the Sacraments of the
+dying to her, she roused herself and received them with much devotion,
+and presently beckoned Sister Louise to approach.
+
+"Sisther, when Barney comes axin' for me, will ye give him me bades
+an' the little medal that's round me neck, an' tell him I left him me
+blessin'--will ye, dear?"
+
+"Indeed I will."
+
+"God bless ye! An' tell him," speaking with animation and in rather
+louder tones. "Tell him I didn't fret at all, an' died quite contint
+an' happy an'--an' thankful to be in this blessed place, where I got
+every comfort. Will ye tell him that, Sisther alanna?"
+
+The Sister bowed her head: this time she could not speak.
+
+*       *       *       *       *
+
+It was nearly two months afterwards that Sister Louise was summoned to
+the parlour to see "Mr. Brady," who had recently arrived from America,
+and to whom his cousin, Mrs. Byrne, had broken the news of his
+mother's death.
+
+Sister Louise smiled and sighed as she looked at this big, strapping,
+prosperous-looking young fellow, and remembered his mother's
+description of him. The black eyes and curly hair and rosy cheeks were
+all there, certainly, but otherwise the likeness to "St. Patrick" was
+not so very marked.
+
+"Mr. Brady wants to hear all about his poor mother, Sister," said the
+Sister Superior. "This is Sister Louise, Mr. Brady, who attended your
+poor mother to the last."
+
+Mr. Brady, who seemed a taciturn youth, rolled his black eyes towards
+the new comer and waited for her to proceed.
+
+Very simply did Sister Louise tell her little story, dwelling on such
+of his mother's sayings, during her last illness, as she thought might
+interest and comfort him.
+
+"There are her beads, and the little medal, which she always wore. She
+left them to you with her blessing."
+
+Barney thrust out one huge brown hand and took the little packet,
+swallowing down what appeared to be a very large lump in his throat.
+
+"She told me," pursued the Sister in rather tremulous tones, "to tell
+you that she did not fret at all at the last, and died content and
+happy. She did, indeed, and she told me to say that she was thankful
+to be here--"
+
+But Barney interrupted her with a sudden incredulous gesture and a big
+sob, "Ah, whisht, Sisther!" he said.
+
+
+
+
+THE FLITTING OF THE OLD FOLKS
+
+
+"Maggie! Maggie! Glory be to goodness! where in the world has that
+child gone off with herself to? _Maggie_! Sure I've been roarin' an'
+bawlin' for ye this half-hour. Run up this minute to Mr.
+Brophy's--they're afther gettin' a letther from America, an' they
+can't get any one to read it for them, the cratur's. Hurry now, that's
+a good little girl; I'm goin' up myself along wid ye. Poor Mrs.
+Brophy'll be nearly out of her mind."
+
+Mrs. Kinsella caught up her baby as she spoke, gave a hasty look round
+to make sure that Micky and Nanny were not crawling into the fire,
+enjoined Mary, her "second eldest" little girl, to "have an eye to
+them" during her absence, and, hustling her firstborn before her,
+hastily left the cabin.
+
+"What is it at all?" asked Peggy Murphy, her next-door neighbour,
+thrusting her head over the half-door. "What in the world has
+happened? Is it goin' up to Brophys' ye are? I hope herself's not sick
+or anything."
+
+"Not at all; but Dan looked in on his way from town, an' says he,
+'I've a letther in my pocket that the postmisthress is afther givin'
+me, an' it's from America,' he says, 'but I'm sure I couldn't tell ye
+who wrote it,' says he. 'I wisht,' he says, 'ye'd send up wan o' yer
+little girls to read it to us,' says he, 'for neither herself nor me
+is much hand at makin' out writin'.' An' here I'm afther sarchin' high
+an' low for Maggie, an' where was she? Up in a tree, if ye plaze. Me
+heart's scalded with that child. She'll break her neck on me before
+she's done."
+
+Maggie jerked her flaxen locks backwards with a slightly defiant air,
+and inquired of her parent if she was comin' on out o' that. Mrs.
+Kinsella in return curtly desired her to be off with herself, an' not
+be standin' there givin' her impidence, an' Mrs. Brophy maybe killin'
+herself wonderin' what could be in the letther at all.
+
+Thus adjured, Maggie led the way up a steep and stony path, followed
+by her mother, Mrs. Murphy, and sundry other of the neighbours, all
+agog with excitement and curiosity.
+
+Half-way up the rocky hillside they came upon the Brophys' abode, a
+one-storied cabin, with a cabbage garden, a potato plot, and a scanty
+patch of wheat climbing up the mountain at the rear.
+
+Dan himself stood in the doorway, eagerly on the lookout for them;
+while a querulous voice from within warned them that "herself" had
+reached the limit of her patience.
+
+Entering they descried her--a tiny old woman, bent almost double with
+age and rheumatism, leaning forward in her elbow-chair with the letter
+on her knee.
+
+Maggie was hustled to the front and the packet placed in her hand. She
+turned it over and over, and finally broke the seal.
+
+"It's from America," she said.
+
+"Bedad, alanna, I knew that before," returned old Dan, who was bending
+over her, his weather-beaten face betraying the utmost mystification.
+
+"Sure all of us knew that," murmured the bystanders.
+
+"Well, give the child time to see what's in it," urged Mrs. Kinsella.
+"Father Taylor himself couldn't tell yez what's in a letther before he
+had it opened."
+
+"Who's it from, Maggie asthore? Tell us that much," cried Mrs. Brophy
+with shrill eagerness.
+
+Maggie drew the letter from the envelope and slowly unfolded it. An
+enclosure fell out. Several hands were outstretched to catch it, and
+Mrs. Kinsella succeeded.
+
+"What in the name o' goodness is this?" she asked. "There's print on
+this. I hope to heaven it's not a summons, or a notice to quit, or
+anything that way."
+
+"Not at all, not at all," cried Peggy Murphy, "that's an ordher for
+money. I knew the looks of it the minute I set eyes on it--the very
+same as wan that Mrs. O'More sent me from Dublin, the price of a pair
+o' chickens she sent for, afther she went up. Bedad, you're in luck,
+Dan. How much is it for, now, Maggie?"
+
+"Ah! good gracious! don't be axin' the child them things. Sure how in
+the world could she tell, an' it afther bein' written in America?--God
+bless us! let her have a look at the letther anyhow."
+
+"'My dear uncle and aunt,'" began Maggie, slowly spelling out.
+
+[Illustration: THE FLITTING OF THE OLD FOLKS
+"My dear Uncle and Aunt," began Maggie]
+
+Mrs. Brophy uttered a shrill scream, and clapped her hands together.
+"It's from Larry! Lord bless an' save us! it's Larry himself, him that
+I thought in his grave this fifteen year! God bless us, it's dramin' I
+am--it can't be true! Dan, d'ye hear that? Good gracious, what's the
+man thinkin' of, stan'in' there, lookin' about him, the same as if he
+never heard a thing at all. _Dan_" (with an impatient tug at his
+sleeve), "d'ye hear what I'm tellin' you? Larry isn't dead at all, an'
+he's afther writin' to us from America."
+
+"Well, to be sure," cried Mrs. Kinsella. "Your sister's son, wasn't
+he, ma'am? La'rence Kearney. A fine young fellow he was, too. He went
+an' listed on yez, didn't he?"
+
+"Aye, an' she was near breakin' her heart when he done it," chimed in
+Peggy Murphy; "sure, I remember it well."
+
+Several other bystanders remembered it too, and expressed their
+sympathy by divers nods and groans; old Dan at last impatiently
+throwing out his hands for silence.
+
+"Whisht! whisht! we can't be sure whether himself's in it at all yet.
+Let the poor little girl be gettin' on wid the letther, can't yez?
+Sure maybe it isn't Larry at all."
+
+"Listen to the man, an' him the only nephew that ever we had," began
+"herself" shrilly; but Maggie's childish pipe, proceeding with the
+reading, drowned the rest of her remonstrance.
+
+"'I hope you are quite well, as this leaves me at present. You will be
+very much astonished to get this letter, but when we meet, as I trust
+we soon shall, I hope to have the pleasure of explainin' to you all
+that has befell me since I left yous an' my happy home to join her
+Majesty's corpse!'"
+
+"What's that?" cried Dan in alarm. "Corpse! Didn't I tell yez he was
+dead?"
+
+"Sure how could he be dead," put in Mrs. Brophy, "when it was himself
+that wrote the letther? There isn't anythin' about a corpse in it,
+Maggie asthore, is there?"
+
+"'C-o-r-p-s,' spelled out Maggie, "corpse; yes, there it is, as plain
+as print."
+
+"Sure he manes 'rig'ment,' "shouted out some well-informed person from
+the background. "'Corpse'--that's what they do be callin' the army."
+
+"Oh, that indeed?" resumed Dan, much relieved. "Go on, Maggie."
+
+"'I am now, however, at the end of my rovin's,'" read the child, "'an'
+you'll be glad to hear that I am just afther gettin' married to a very
+nice young lady, with a good bit o' money of her own. I have also
+contrived to save a tol'rable sum, an' am now lookin' forward to a
+life of contentment an' prosperity in the company of my bride.'"
+
+"That's Larry," exclaimed Mrs. Brophy with conviction. "That's
+himself--the very turn of him. He always had that fashion, ye know, of
+pickin' out them grand words. I could tell 'twas him the very minit
+she began, God bless him."
+
+"'My fond memory, however, turns to them that in the days of my
+childhood was the same as a father an' a mother to me. I made sure
+that yous must both be under the daisy-quilt, an' me first thought was
+to send some money to the reverend gentleman, whoever he may be,
+that's parish priest in Clonkeen now, an' ax him to put up a rale
+handsome monument over your remains; but by the greatest good fortune
+I came across poor Bill Kinsella not long sence, an' he tould me yous
+were to the fore, an' not a sign o' dyin' on yous yet.'"
+
+"Look at that now," cried Mrs. Kinsella, with shrill glee; "sure
+that's me own first cousin's son that went over beyant a couple of
+years ago. Well, now to think--"
+
+"Ah, for goodness' sake, let's hear the end of the letther," cried Dan
+and his wife together, both violently excited.
+
+"'Me an' me wife both feels,' went on Maggie, 'that we couldn't rest
+happy unless we made sure that yous ended your days in peace and
+comfort. This is a big house and a comfortable place, with room an' to
+spare for the two of yous, and you'll get the warmest of welcomes from
+nephew and niece. So I am sendin' you the price of your journey, with
+maybe a few dollars over, for fear you should come short, an' I hope
+you'll come out by the next boat, for there isn't much time to spare,
+an' you'll be gettin' too old for travellin'. I will say no more this
+time, my dear uncle and aunt, but _cead mille failthe_ from your
+affectionate La'rence Kearney."
+
+"Sure it isn't across the say he wants us to go," cried Dan in dismay;
+"is it to America?"
+
+"God bless him!" exclaimed the wife, with fervour; "it's him that
+always had the good heart. To think of him plannin' an' contrivin'
+everythin' that way, even to the monyement."
+
+"I wonder," said Dan regretfully, "what sort of a monyement at all
+he'd have put over us? 'Pon me word it 'ud have looked elegant
+beyant."
+
+"Would ye have goold letthers on it, ma'am?" put in Peggy Murphy
+admiringly. "I seen wan at Kilpedder wan time that I went up when a
+cousin o' me own was buried, an' it was the loveliest ye ever seen.
+There was goold letthers, an' a crass on the top, an' at the four
+corners of it there was a kind of an ornamentation the same as a
+little skull--'pon me word, the natest thing ye could see! No bigger
+nor me fist, ye know; but all set out elegant with little
+weeshy-dawshy teeth, all as perfect as ye could imagine. It was some
+rale grand ould gentleman that was afther puttin' it up for his wife.
+I wondher if yez 'ud have had wan made anything that shape."
+
+Dan looked pensive, and rubbed his hands slowly together, tantalised
+perhaps by the magnificence of the vision; but "herself" shook her
+head with a proud little smile.
+
+"There's no knowin' what we'd have had," she observed. "Larry said
+he'd have axed Father Taylor to choose us the best, an' I b'lieve his
+reverence has very good taste."
+
+"'Deed an' he has, ma'am. But will yez be goin' off wid yourselves to
+America out o' this?"
+
+"Aye will we," responded Mrs. Brophy, with spirit. "Bedad, if Dan an'
+me is ever to see the world it's time we started."
+
+"It's very far off," said poor old Dan nervously; "it's a terrible
+long way to be goin', alanna. If it wasn't for Larry expectin' us over
+beyant--"
+
+"What would ye do, then?" interrupted his energetic little wife
+fiercely. "Stop at home, perishin' wid the cold an' hunger, an' the
+rain droppin' down on us while we're atin' our bit o' dinner; me that
+bad wid the rheumatiz I can hardly move hand or fut, an' yourself
+taken wid them wakenesses so that it's all ye can do to lift the
+potaties."
+
+"Dear knows, it's himself that ought to leppin' mad wid j'y," cried
+one of the neighbours. "To get such a chance! Isn't it in the greatest
+good luck ye are, Dan, to be goin' off to that beautiful place, where
+ye'll be livin' in the heighth o' comfort an' need never do another
+hand's turn for yourselves? Troth, I wish it was me that had the offer
+of it."
+
+Many murmurs of approval greeted this sally; every one being convinced
+that Dan was indeed in luck's way, while his wife wrathfully opined
+that he didn't know when he was well off.
+
+Poor old Dan hastened to assure them that he was "over-j'yed."
+
+"I suppose," he added, looking round deprecatingly, "they'll tell me
+down at the railway station the way we'll have to go; or maybe Father
+Taylor 'ud know. The say is miles an' miles away--I question if they'd
+give us a ticket for the say down beyant at Clonkeen."
+
+"Sure, yez'll have to go to Dublin first," interposed the
+well-informed person who had before volunteered useful explanations.
+
+"Dublin!" said Dan, sitting down on the edge of his favourite little
+"creepy" stool. "Well, well, to think o' that! I never thought to be
+goin' to Dublin, an' I suppose America is twicet as far."
+
+"Aye, an' ten times as far," cried Peggy Murphy.
+
+Dan looked appealingly round as though seeking contradiction, but
+could not summon up enough courage to speak. He sat still, rubbing his
+hands, and smiling a rather vacant smile; and by-and-by, having
+exhausted their queries and conjectures, the visitors left the cabin,
+and the old couple were alone.
+
+They stared at each other for a moment or two in silence, Mary Brophy
+fingering the letter which she could not read.
+
+"That's grand news?" she remarked presently, with a querulous
+interrogative note in her voice.
+
+"Grand entirely," repeated her husband submissively, rubbing the
+patched knees of his corduroy trousers for a change.
+
+"We'll have to be gettin' ready to be off soon, I suppose?" pursued
+Mary, still in a tone of vexed inquiry.
+
+"Aye," said Dan, continuing to rub his knees.
+
+"Ye ought to be out o' yer wits wid delight," asserted Mrs. Brophy
+angrily.
+
+"So I am," said Dan, with a ghastly attempt at cheerfulness.
+
+"Ah, go 'long out o' that!" cried Mary. "Ye have me moithered, sittin'
+there starin' the two eyes out o' yer head. Go out an' give the hens a
+bit to ate."
+
+"Sure we haven't had our own suppers yet," returned Dan, slowly
+rising; "time enough to give the cratur's what's left."
+
+"Listen to the man! 'Pon me word, ye'd never desarve a bit o' good
+look, Dan Brophy, ye've that little sense. What call have we to go
+pinchin' an' scrapin' now, will ye tell me? Us that's goin' to spend
+the rest of our days in peace an' comfort. Sure, Larry'll let us want
+for nothin' while we live."
+
+"Aye, indeed," returned her husband; "I was forgettin' that."
+
+He went out obediently, and presently his voice was heard dolorously
+"chuck-chucking" to the hens. When he re-entered he sat down on the
+stool again, with the same puzzled air which had formerly irritated
+his wife.
+
+"I wonder," he said, "how in the world we'll be managin'. Will I go
+down to the station beyant, an' give them that money ordher, an' tell
+them Larry bid them give us tickets to America for it, or will I have
+to take it to the post-office first? Mrs. Murphy said it was a
+post-office ordher, but sure they wouldn't be givin' us tickets for
+America at the post-office."
+
+"Ah, what a gom ye are!" said Mary. It was her favourite and wholly
+untranslatable term of opprobrium.
+
+"Afther that," as Dan invariably said, "there was no use in talkin' to
+Mary." He suspected that on this occasion she was feeling a little
+puzzled herself, but wisely resolved to postpone the discussion till
+she should be in a better humour.
+
+Next morning, when the old man rose and went out of the house, as
+usual, to fetch a pailful of water from the stream which ran at the
+foot of the hill, he cast lingering glances about him. It would be a
+queer thing, he thought, to look out in the morning on any other view
+than this familiar one, which had greeted his waking eyes in his far
+away childhood, and on which he had expected to look his last only
+when the day came whereon he should close them for ever. On the other
+side of the rugged brown shoulder of that hill was the little chapel,
+under the shadow of which he had hoped one day to be laid to rest.
+Pausing, pail in hand, he began to wonder to himself where he would
+have had the monument which, if he and Mary had already departed, was,
+by Larry's request, to have surmounted their remains. There was an
+empty space to the right of the gate--it would have looked well
+there--real handsome, Dan opined. With his mind full of this thought
+he returned to Mary, and immediately imparted it to her.
+
+"Alanna, we wouldn't have known ourselves, we'd have been so grand,"
+he added. "Goold letthers, no less. I don't know that I'd altogether
+fancy them little skulls, though. They would have been altogether too
+mournful. I'd sooner have R.I.P. at all the corners--wouldn't you?"
+
+"Maybe I would an' maybe I wouldn't," said Mary. "We needn't be
+botherin' our heads about it. Larry'll be apt to be puttin' up a
+tombstone over us when we do go."
+
+"Sure what good will that do us over there where nobody knows us?"
+murmured Dan discontentedly. "If it was here where all the neighbours
+'ud be lookin' at it, it 'ud be somethin'-like. But what signifies
+what kind of an ould gully-hole they throw us into over
+beyant--there'll be nobody to pass a remark about us, or to put up a
+prayer for us afther we're gone, only Larry and his wife; an' I
+question if she's the lady to be throublin' her head over the like of
+us."
+
+Mrs. Brophy was quite taken aback at this harangue, but soon recovered
+herself sufficiently to rate Dan as soundly as she considered he
+deserved; then, with many muttered comments on his ingratitude, she
+proceeded to crawl over to the hearth to prepare breakfast.
+
+"Woman alive!" ejaculated Dan presently, "sure it's not tay ye're
+wettin' this mornin', an' only a sign of it left in the bag. Ye'll be
+callin' out for yer cup on Sunday, an' there'll not be a grain left
+for ye."
+
+"Good gracious, won't the two of us be out of it before Sunday?"
+returned Mary tartly. "Upon me word, a body 'ud lose patience wid ye
+altogether. I'm sick an' tired tellin' ye that we've no call to be
+savin' up the way we used to be doin'. Sit down there, an' don't
+_saucer_ yer tay, but drink it like a Christian out o' the cup. An'
+for goodness' sake, Dan, don't be blowin' it that way. I declare I'll
+be ashamed of me life if that's the way ye're goin' to go on forenenst
+Mrs. Larry."
+
+"Would ye have me scald the throat out o' meself?" retorted Dan
+indignantly. "I wish to goodness that letther o' Larry's was at the
+bottom of the say. Ye're that contrairy sence, I dunno whatever to do
+wid ye. Bedad, if that's the way wid ye I'll not stir a fut out o'
+this. Mind that!"
+
+Mrs. Brophy, though much incensed, nevertheless deemed it prudent to
+make no reply; and presently Dan, pushing back his stool, got up and
+went out. Mary sat cogitating for some minutes alone; her reflections
+were not altogether of the pleasantest order, and she was relieved
+when, by-and-by, Mrs. Kinsella's voice hailed her from the doorway.
+
+"How's yourself this morning?" inquired the visitor pleasantly. "Did
+you think it was dramin' ye were when ye woke up? I suppose the two o'
+yez'll soon be out o' this now. I was thinkin'"--leaning her arms
+affably on the half-door--"any ould things, ye know, that wouldn't be
+worth yer while to bring along wid yous 'ud come in very handy for me
+down below. Of course I wouldn't name it if ye were likely to be
+takin' everythin' wid ye; but goin' all that way, an' lavin' nobody
+afther ye--it's a terrible long fam'ly I have altogether, ma'am--I
+declare I have the work of the world wid them. Terence--nothin' 'ud
+serve him but to go makin' a drum out o' the on'y pot we have, an'
+he's afther knocking a great big hole in it. So if ye weren't goin' to
+take your big ould pot away wid ye, ma'am, I thought I'd just mention
+it."
+
+Mrs. Brophy's withered little face flushed.
+
+"It's yerself that 'ud be welcome, I'm sure," she replied stiffly,
+"but that same pot Dan an' me bought when we got married, an' I don't
+think I could have the heart to part wid it."
+
+"Ah, that indeed, ma'am? Well, of course, when ye have a fancy for it
+that way, it's best for ye to take it wid ye. But I question if Mrs.
+Larry 'ud like the looks of it comin' into her grand kitchen. Sure
+Bill tould me, that time he came back from America, there wasn't such
+a thing as a pot to be seen over there at all. But plaze yerself,
+ma'am, of coorse."
+
+Mrs. Brophy looked startled and perturbed.
+
+"Not such a thing as a pot in it," she repeated. "God bless us! it
+must be a quare place. Well, Mrs. Kinsella, ma'am, if I do lave the
+pot behind I'll make sure that yourself has it."
+
+"Thank ye, ma'am," responded Mrs. Kinsella, with alacrity. "Any ould
+thing at all that ye wouldn't be wantin' 'ud come in handy for me. Ye
+wouldn't be takin' that ould chair, now, or the dresser; that 'ud be
+altogether too big an' too heavy to put in a boat, but I'd be thankful
+for it at my place."
+
+Mary looked round at her little household gods with a sudden pang;
+then she glanced rather sharply back at Mrs. Kinsella.
+
+"There's time enough to be thinkin' o' them things," she observed.
+"Himself an' me hasn't made up our minds at all when we're goin', or
+what we'll be doin' wid our bits o' things."
+
+"Well, I must be off wid meself anyhow," returned the visitor, easily
+changing the subject. "Ye'll be havin' his reverence in wid yez some
+time this mornin'. I'm afther meetin' him goin' up the road to poor
+Pat Daly's, an' when I told him the news he near broke his heart
+laughin' at the notion of the two o' yez goin' off travellin' at this
+time o' day. 'But I'm sorry, too,' he says, 'I'm very sorry,' he says.
+'Upon my word,' says he, 'the place won't know itself without poor Dan
+an' Mary. An' so they're goin' to live over there,' says he, 'or
+rather to die over there,' says he, 'an' there'll be some strange
+priest lookin' afther them at the last,' he says. 'Well, well, I
+always thought it 'ud be me that 'ud have the buryin' o' Dan an'
+Mary.'--An' off wid him then up the hill to Dalys', but he'll be apt
+to be lookin' in on his way back."
+
+"He will, to be sure," agreed Mary, in rather doleful tones.
+
+When Mrs. Kinsella had departed she sat cowering over the fire without
+heeding her unfinished cup of tea. The priest's words just quoted had
+touched her in a vulnerable point. True for his reverence. It wasn't
+living much longer they'd be over there, and when they came to die it
+would be a lonesome sort of thing to have a strange priest coming to
+see them instead of their own Father Taylor, who had been their
+friend, guide, and adviser for more than forty years! Mrs. Brophy's
+heart misgave her; his reverence would be apt to think bad of their
+going off that way, and him so good to them. Then Mrs. Kinsella's
+remarks rankled in her memory--"an ould pot" that Mrs. Larry would
+despise in her elegant kitchen; the cool scrutiny with which she had
+surveyed all poor Mary's treasured belongings was hard to be borne.
+The dresser; like enough there would not be room for the dresser in
+the boat--Mary had no notion as to the size of the vessel that was to
+convey her and her belongings to America--and what about the bed then?
+The bed, a valuable heirloom which had stood in its own particular
+corner of the cabin for nearly a century, which had been Mary's
+mother's bed, the pride and joy of Mary's heart, and the envy of the
+neighbours. What in the world was to be done with this priceless
+treasure? Good-natured as she was she felt that she could not bring
+herself to allow it to become the property of Mrs. Kinsella or any of
+the neighbours. Who would respect it as she did? At the bare thought
+of heedless "gossoons" or "slips of girls" tumbling in and out of the
+receptacle which she herself had always approached so reverently, Mary
+shivered.
+
+"Cock them up, indeed!" she murmured wrathfully.
+
+Then an idea struck her, an idea which became a fixed resolution when
+presently Father Taylor's kindly face nodded at her over the
+half-door. She would offer his reverence the bed; it would be honoured
+by such a rise in the world as a transfer to the priest's house; and
+at the same time Mary felt that this precious legacy would in some
+measure repay her good pastor for his long and affectionate care. She
+had hardly patience to listen to Father Taylor's greeting, or to
+answer his good-natured rallying queries anent their unexpected good
+fortune. When she did speak it was rather in a tone of lamentation
+than of rejoicing:--
+
+"Aye, indeed, yer reverence, it's what we nayther of us looked for,
+an' it's a terrible change altogether. I'm wondering what in the world
+I'll do wid my bits o' things--my little sticks o' furniture, ye know,
+sir. Biddy Kinsella was up here a little while ago lookin' out for me
+pot--it's an elegant pot, an' I'm loth to part with it--but she says
+Bill tould her there's no such thing as a pot to be seen out there. So
+I'll have to lave it with her. But the bed, Father Taylor, it's the
+bed that's throublin' me the most. It's a beautiful bed, your
+reverence."
+
+The priest glanced towards that valuable article of furniture, and
+responded heartily and admiringly:--
+
+"It is, indeed, a wonderful bed."
+
+"Sure there isn't its like in the place," resumed Mary. "It was me
+mother's bed, so it was--she looked very well when she was laid out on
+it," she added thoughtfully. "Very well, indeed, she looked! I always
+thought that Dan an' meself 'ud be waked in that bed, too. Well, well,
+the Lord knows best, doesn't he, yer reverence? But I'd think very bad
+of lettin' that bed out o' this to go anywhere on'y to yer reverence's
+house."
+
+"Bless me!" cried Father Taylor, unable to restrain a surprised laugh;
+but he quickly composed his features.
+
+"Aye, indeed, yer reverence, I'd be proud if ye'd let me make ye a
+present of it," said poor old Mary, trying to straighten her little
+bent back, and peering at him with anxious eyes. "Sure it's altogether
+too proud Dan an' meself 'ud be, an' ye wouldn't believe the beautiful
+nights' rests we do be gettin' out o' that bed."
+
+"I'm quite sure you do," responded the priest warmly; "but upon my
+word, Mary, do you know I'm afraid the Bishop mightn't like it."
+
+Mrs. Brophy was appalled at the magnitude of the idea. Father Taylor
+continued in a very solemn voice, but with a twinkle in his eye:--
+
+"You see, Mary, we poor priests are not allowed luxuries, and if his
+lordship were to arrive unexpectedly and walk into my room and see
+that grand bed in the corner he might think it very queer."
+
+"Would he now?" said Mary, in awestruck tones.
+
+"You wouldn't like to get me into trouble, Mary, I'm sure," pursued
+Father Taylor. "The Bishop might think I was getting beyond myself
+altogether."
+
+Mrs. Brophy heaved a deep sigh; she was depressed, but magnanimous. It
+would ill become her, she observed, to be gettin' his reverence into
+trouble, and who'd think his lordship was that wicked? Holy man! She
+would say no more; and Father Taylor was devoutly thankful for her
+forbearance. He would have done anything rather than hurt her
+feelings, but the mere sight of that ancient, venerable, and
+much-begrimed four-poster made him shudder; while he scarcely ventured
+to contemplate the attitude likely to be assumed by his
+housekeeper--of whom he stood in some little awe--if the question were
+mooted of adding this piece of furniture to her well-polished and
+carefully-dusted stock.
+
+Wishing to change the subject, he remarked that Mary's beautiful cup
+of tea had been scarcely tasted. "Why, I thought every drop was
+precious," he added, laughing; "but I suppose you will not be counting
+the grains now as you used to do."
+
+"I don't seem to fancy it this mornin' the way I used to do
+sometimes," responded Mrs. Brophy plaintively.
+
+"Ah," said the priest, half-sadly, "you will have plenty of everything
+over there, Mary, but I doubt if you will relish anything as much as
+what you and Dan used to buy out of the price of your chickens.
+Nothing is so sweet as what we earn for ourselves, woman dear. I fancy
+the potatoes grown in your little bit of ground, and boiled in your
+own black pot, taste sweeter, somehow, than all the fine dinners that
+Mrs. Larry will be giving you."
+
+"Thrue for ye, yer reverence," put in Dan, suddenly appearing in the
+doorway. "'Pon me word, I wish that ould letther an' all that was in
+it had stopped where it was, before it came upsettin' us that way. I'd
+sooner stop where I am, so I would--I would so--there now ye have it!"
+turning defiantly to his wife. "Sure it'll be the death of the two of
+us lavin' the ould place, an' thravellin' off across the say among
+strangers. An' what good will it do us, as I do be sayin' to herself
+here, for Larry to be puttin' up a monyement for us over beyant there,
+where there's ne'er a one at all that knows us?"
+
+"To be sure, I was forgetting the monument," said Father Taylor,
+laughing again. "I was to have the choosing of it, too, wasn't I? Let
+me look at the letter again, Mary. Yes, here it is. 'The reverend
+gentleman, whoever he is, that's parish priest in Clonkeen now'--It's
+the very same reverend gentleman that used to give Master Larry many a
+good box on the ear long ago when he was a little rascally lad; but I
+suppose he thought I was dead and buried by this time--he wants to
+have us all underground. Well, well, it's a pity I'm not to have the
+choosing of that monument--I'd have picked out the finest that money
+could buy."
+
+He intended this as a joke, and Dan and Mary uttered a somewhat
+melancholy, but complimentary laugh; then they looked at each other
+wistfully, as though regretting that they were not in a position to
+enable their pastor to gratify his artistic tastes.
+
+Dan presently confided his troubles and difficulties anent the
+changing of the order, and was desired by the priest to call in the
+afternoon, when he would himself go with him to the post-office. Then
+Father Taylor withdrew, feeling a little sad at the thought of losing
+two such old parishioners, and a little impatient with the
+over-affectionate nephew, who had so late in the day insisted on their
+uprootal.
+
+"How much more sensible it would have been," he said to himself, "how
+much more truly kind, if Larry, instead of transplanting the poor old
+couple in their old age, had sent them a small sum of money every
+month to enable them to end their days in comfort at home." But there
+was apparently nothing for it now but to take what steps he could to
+help them over the difficulties of their flitting.
+
+About five o'clock Dan duly made his appearance, wearing a much more
+jubilant aspect than when his pastor had taken leave of him. With a
+comical and somewhat sheepish grin he produced the "ordher" in a
+crumpled condition from his tattered pocket, and handed it over to the
+priest, remarking, as he did so, that "it was a quare thing to think
+what a power o' money did be in a little or'nary thing like that."
+
+"Yes, indeed," said Father Taylor, with a sigh, "that little bit of
+paper will carry you and Mary all the way over the sea, and across a
+State as big as Ireland."
+
+"Would it now?" inquired Dan, eyeing it curiously. "Well now, to tell
+you the truth, yer reverence, herself an' me has been havin' a bit of
+a chat. She thinks bad, the cratur', of lavin' the bed, an' the ould
+pot, an' all our little sticks o' things behind, ye know, sir, an' I
+do be thinkin' I'd never get my health at all out of ould Ireland; an'
+any way the two of us is too ould to be thravellin' off that way. An'
+so herself says to me--she says:--'Dan,' says she, 'I think the best
+way would be for ye to step down to his reverence's,' says she, 'an'
+give him the ordher,' she says, 'an' ax him,' says she, 'if he'll just
+write a line to poor Larry, an' let him know that we haven't the heart
+nor the strength to be lavin' our own little place. An' bid him,' says
+she, "ax Larry if it 'ud be all the same to him if his reverence was
+to keep the money for us agin we want it.'"
+
+"To be sure, to be sure," cried Father Taylor, delighted. "You show
+your good sense, Dan, and so does Mary. I'll just go with you now, and
+change the order; and I'll let Larry know that I'll keep the money for
+you, and pay it out little by little as long as it lasts."
+
+"Not at all, not at _all_," interrupted Dan, hastily and indignantly.
+"Bedad, it isn't that we want yer reverence to do for us. Sure the
+raison I'm afther givin' ye the ordher is for you to keep it safe, the
+way we'll have it for the monyement."
+
+
+
+
+"THE SPIDER AND THE GOUT"
+
+
+Old Pat Clancy lived in a small cabin immediately beneath the Rock of
+Donoughmor, and looked upon the ruined castle on the top as his
+especial property, the legends concerning them being treasured by him
+as jealously as though they were traditions of his own ancestors. A
+proud man was Pat when piloting the occasional strangers who wished to
+inspect the keep up the steep and slippery path which led to the
+ancient portcullis, and conducting them thence to the banqueting-hall,
+sparing the luckless pilgrim, in fact, no corner of the edifice or its
+surroundings, and pausing only on the mossy slope to the rear, where,
+his charge having duly admired "the view over three counties," he
+would proudly point out the precise spots where Fin-ma-coul had
+"wrastled" with and overthrown another "monsthrous joynt" of name
+unknown, the traces of the encounter being yet visible in the short
+turf.
+
+"Ne'er a blade o' grass at all 'ud grow on them," Pat would cry,
+pointing triumphantly to the irregular hollows in the soil supposed to
+be the traces of the giant's mighty feet. These, by the way,
+occasionally varied oddly in extent; during the summertime, when most
+visitors were to be expected, being noticeably large, and much deeper
+than at other seasons.
+
+Poor Pat's devotion to his beloved ruins was the cause of his undoing.
+One spring morning, when a late frost had made the grass unusually
+slippery, just as he was expounding to an interested audience how the
+Danes used to shoot "arrers through them little slits of windies in
+the wall beyant," his foot slipped, and after rolling for a little
+distance down the steep incline, he went over the precipitous side of
+the crag, and fell some twenty feet on to the stones below. Many bones
+were broken, and as surgical aid was difficult to obtain, and but of
+poor quality when at last secured, most of them were badly set, and
+the poor old fellow remained to the end of his days a cripple. How he
+and his wife and their last remaining child, a son born to them when
+Pat was already old, managed thenceforth to eke out a living would
+have been a marvel to their neighbours, if similar problems of
+existence had not been so common in the countryside. There was the
+pig, of course, and a few chickens, and "herself" did a day's work now
+and then in the fields, and escorted the visitors over the ruins, well
+primed and prompted by Patrick as to the "laygends and tragedies"
+(traditions) of those sacred precincts; and little Mike minded the
+sheep, and frightened crows and picked turnips for their landlord,
+"ould Pether Rorke beyant at Monavoe," but "Goodness knows," as the
+neighbours would say, shaking their heads at each other, "it was not
+much of a livin' the poor child 'ud make out of him--the ould villain!
+Didn't he let his own flesh and blood go cold and hungry--'twasn't to
+be expected he'd do more nor he could help for a stranger. Aye indeed,
+he was a great ould villain! To think of him with lashin's and lavin's
+of everything an' money untold laid by, an' his only son's widdy
+livin' down there with a half-witted lodger in a little black hole of
+a place that was not fit for a pig, let alone a Christian, an' the
+beautiful little cratur', his grandchild, Roseen, runnin' about
+barefut, with her dotey little hands an' feet black an' blue wid the
+cowld--sure what sort of a heart had the man at all?"
+
+Old Pat was sitting alone one summer's afternoon, "herself" having
+gone up to Donoughmor with some Quality, and Mike not having yet
+returned from work, when little Roseen Rorke poked her sunny face in
+at the door.
+
+"Is that yourself?" said Pat pleasantly. He was fond of the child, as
+was every one in the neighbourhood, and being a fellow-sufferer from
+the hard-heartedness of her grandfather, who was, as has been said,
+his landlord, was perhaps the most violent of her champions.
+
+Roseen's blue eyes, peering through her tangled sheaf of golden-brown
+curls, took a hasty and discontented survey of the small kitchen.
+
+"Isn't Mike here?" she inquired.
+
+"He's not, asthore, an' won't be home this hour most likely; but come
+in out o' the scorching sun, an' sit down on the little creepy stool.
+Herself will be in in a few minutes, an' maybe she'll give ye a bit o'
+griddle cake."
+
+Roseen unfastened the half-door and came in, her little bare brown
+feet making no sound on the mud floor. She was a pretty child for all
+her sunburnt face and scanty unkempt attire. Poor Widow Rorke has long
+ceased to take pride in the fact that her husband had been the son of
+the richest farmer in all the countryside, and did not care to keep up
+appearances, all her energies being devoted to the struggle for daily
+bread; nevertheless, the short red flannel frock was as becoming to
+Roseen as any more elegant garment could have been, and when she
+approached the hearth and sat down on the three-legged stool by Pat's
+side, he breathed a blessing on her pretty face that was as admiring
+as it was fervent.
+
+Crossing one shapely sunburnt leg over the other, and gazing pensively
+at the smouldering turf sods, she heaved a deep sigh.
+
+"They're afther goin' out an' lavin' me," she lamented.
+
+"Did they, asthore? Sure they had a right to have taken ye along wid
+them. Where are they gone to at all, alanna?"
+
+"Me mother's after goin' to the town to buy a bit o' bread, an' Judy's
+streeled off with herself, goodness knows where, wid her ould pipe in
+her pocket. Dear knows when she'll be back; an' she bid me stop at
+home an' mind the fire, but I come away out o' that as soon as her
+back was turned."
+
+The bright eyes glanced defiantly at the old man and then suddenly
+clouded over; the corners of the little mouth began to droop, and the
+small bare shoulders to heave.
+
+"They'd no call to go lavin' me all by meself."
+
+"Troth they hadn't, mavourneen," agreed Pat, clackling his tongue
+sympathetically. "It was too hard on ye, altogether, but sure you
+won't cry now, there's a good little girl; crying never done any one a
+ha'porth o' good yit. Look at me here wid all my ould bones broke; I
+might cry the two eyes out o' my head an' never a wan at all ud' get
+mended for me."
+
+Roseen sat up blinking. "Did it hurt ye much, Misther Clancy, when
+your bones was broke on ye?"
+
+"Is it hurt, bedad! Ye'd hear me bawlin' up at the crass roads. Sure I
+thought it was killed I was! My ancistor couldn't have shouted louder
+when he had the Earl Strongbow's spear stuck in him. Will I tell ye
+about that, alanna, to pass the time till herself comes in?"
+
+Roseen shook her head discontentedly.
+
+"I know that story," she said. "I wisht ye'd tell me about the Spider
+an' the Gout though, Misther Clancy. Ah do, an' I'll sit here
+listenin' as quiet as a mouse."
+
+Pat rubbed his unshaven chin with the lean fingers of his one
+serviceable hand, the bristles of his week-old beard making a rasping
+sound the while, and glanced down sideways at the eager little
+petitioner.
+
+"Is it the Spider an' the Gout?" he said, knitting his brows with
+affected reluctance. "Sure I am sick an' tired tellin' ye that. No,
+but I'll tell ye 'The little man and the little woman that lived in
+the vinegar bottle.' ... Wanst upon a time, there was a weeshy-dawshy
+little man--'"
+
+"Ah no, Misther Clancy, I don't care for that," interrupted Roseen,
+jumping up and clapping her hands to her ears. "It's a horrible ould
+story. They'd have been drownded," she added seriously.
+
+Pat chuckled. "Well, sit down, an' don't offer to say a word unless
+you hear me goin' out. Sure maybe I disremember it altogether."
+
+Roseen sat down obediently and fixed her eyes on the old man's face.
+
+[Illustration: THE SPIDER AND THE GOUT
+"Wanst upon a time," began Dan]
+
+"Wanst upon a time," began Dan, with a twinkle in his eye, "the pigs
+were swine." Roseen gave an impatient wriggle. "Well, well, it's too
+bad to be tormentin' ye that way. I'll begin right now.--Well, very
+well then. There was wan time the Spider an' the Gout was thravellin'
+together, goin' to seek their fortun's. Well, they come to the crass
+roads. 'Lookit here,' says the Spider, 'it's time for you an' me to be
+partin' company,' says he; 'I'm goin' up along here to the right,'
+says he, 'to that great big house on the hill. A very rich man lives
+there,' says he, 'an' I think the quarthers 'ull suit me. You can go
+down that little boreen to the left,' he says; 'there's a little cabin
+there that belongs to some poor fellow or other. The door is cracked,'
+says the Spider, 'and the windy is broke. Ye can slip in aisy,' he
+says, 'an' creep into the poor fellow's toe before he knows where he
+is.'--'Is that so?' says the Gout. 'Oh, that indeed!' says he; 'it'll
+suit me very well,' says he, 'if that's the way it is. An' I'll tell
+you what we'll do,' says the Gout, 'you an' me'll meet here this time
+to-morrow night an' tell each other how we're gettin' on,' says he."
+
+Pat paused, rubbing his knotted fingers up and down the ragged knees
+of his corduroys. Roseen heaved a deep sigh, and folded one dimpled
+hand over the other, her eyes meanwhile fixed unwinkingly on the face
+of the narrator. The interest of the tale was now growing absorbing.
+
+"Well, the Spider went off wid himself up to the rich man's house, an'
+what do ye think the poor fellow found when he got there?"
+
+Roseen was perfectly aware of the state of affairs which the Spider
+discovered, knowing as she did every word of the story by heart, but
+deemed it her duty to shake her head slightly and raise her eyebrows
+in a manner which denoted that she was absolutely at fault.
+
+"Well," pursued Pat, "every door in the whole place was shut up, an'
+every windy was bolted an' barred, an' though the poor Spider ran this
+way an' that way, an' round the house an' round the house, not a hole
+nor a crack could he find; an' there he had to stop outside in the
+wind an' the rain."
+
+Roseen's face betokened extreme compassion for the Spider. Pat went
+on, drawing in his breath with a sucking sound.
+
+"Well then, very well then; next mornin' the sarvants was sweepin' and
+clanin' an' dustin', here an' there an' everywhere, the way they do in
+the houses of Quality. One o' them left the hall door open an' in
+creeps the little Spider, an' away wid him acrass the hall, an' never
+stops till he gets to the great big parlour. Up the wall wid him then
+as fast as he could leg it, an' there if he doesn't go and make his
+web in a corner of a great big gould pictur' frame. Well, there he
+sat, the poor fellow, but ne'er a fly at all come next or nigh him,
+an' by-an'-by in walks the housemaid wid her great big broom, an' if
+she didn't--"
+
+"You are afther forgettin'!" interrupted Roseen, quickly seizing the
+opportunity of using her tongue, and proceeding with as close an
+imitation of Pat's manner as she could muster. "In walks the
+housemaid. 'Och,' says she, 'what brings you here at all, ye dirty
+little spalpeen!'"
+
+"To be sure," said Pat, "I was near forgettin' that altogether. 'Och,'
+says she (in shrill tones of horror supposed to proceed from the
+startled housemaid), 'what brings you here at all, ye dirty little
+spalpeen? You infarnal little sckamer,' says she."
+
+Roseen gave a delighted little cackle, this being an addition on Pat's
+part and charming her by its vigour and originality.
+
+"'You infarnal little sckamer, what brings you here at all?' And she
+whips out her duster an' hot the poor Spider such a crack that his web
+was destroyed on him altogether, an' it was on'y by the greatest good
+luck he was able to creep out of her way behind the corner of the
+frame, or she'd have had him killed as well. Well, the poor fellow,
+there he sat the whole livelong day, niver so much as offerin' to spin
+another web; an' sure if he had it 'ud have been no use, for there
+wasn't the sign of a fly at all. When evenin' come the masther of the
+house had company, an' there was atin' an' drinkin' an' the best of
+everything but the poor little Spider was lookin' on, very near
+perishin' wid hunger an' fright. Well, at the long and the last, when
+he thought there was nobody lookin', he crept down the wall an'
+folleyed wan o' the sarvants out o' the room, an' by good luck, the
+hall door was open, so the poor fellow made off wid himself as fast as
+he could. Down the road wid him till he come to where the Gout was
+sittin' waitin' for him at the crass roads. 'Is that yourself?' says
+the Spider. 'How did you get on?' says he. 'Och,' says the poor
+Gout"--and here Pat assumed a tone of extreme weakness and
+exhaustion--"'it's near killed I am altogether; I never put in such a
+time in me life.' 'Well, for that matther,' says the Spider, 'I might
+say the same; but what happened to ye at all? Tell me all about it in
+the name of goodness,' says he.
+
+"'Well,' says the Gout, 'I went off down the boreen the same as ye
+told me, an' I come to the little cabin beyant; the door was open an'
+in I walked, but o--o--oh! Wh--o--o--oh!' (Pat indulged in a prolonged
+shiver, while Roseen chuckled and clapped her hands.) 'The cowld of
+that place was near bein' the death o' me! Sure the wind blew into
+it,' says he, 'an' the rain was comin' through the roof, an' there
+wasn't as much fire on the hearth as 'ud warm a fly itself. Well, the
+poor man come in afther a bit,' says the Gout, 'an' I slipped in
+through a crack in his owld wore-out brogue, an' into his toe. "Och,
+Mary," says the poor man to his wife, "I have a terrible bad pain in
+me toe! What'll I do in the world?" says he; "I'll never be able to
+stir a fut to-morrow." "Whisht, sure it's maybe a bit of a cramp ye've
+got. Wait a bit," she says, "an' I'll fetch ye a sup o' the wather I'm
+afther bilin' the pitaties in, maybe that'll do ye good," she says.
+'Well,' says the Gout, 'if the fellow didn't go an' put his fut, _an'
+me in it_, into an owld rusty bucket full of pitaty-wather! I thought
+he'd have destroyed me altogether. An' such a night as I passed, wid
+scarcely a blanket at all on the bed! An' nothin' 'ud sarve the man
+but to get up before light, an' go thrampin' off through the mud an'
+rain till I was nearly perished. There he was draggin' me up an' down
+at the tail of a plough, wid the wet soakin' in through the holes in
+his brogues, till I couldn't stand it any more, an' I come away wid
+meself, an' I've been waitin' for ye this two hours.' 'Ho then,
+indeed,' says the Spider, 'I'd have been glad enough to be out of it
+before this; I never was so put about in me life as I was up there,'
+says he. 'Sure they had all their windies shut up,' says he, 'and the
+doors too, an' ne'er a sign of a fly at all in it when I did get in,'
+he says; 'an' the whole place that clane, an' sarvants running about,
+till I couldn't so much as find a corner to spin my web,' says he.
+'Och, dear,' says the Gout, 'that's a poor case entirely; what sort of
+a place was it at all, an' what were they doin' in it?'
+
+"'Ah, 'twas a great big place--altogether too big for my taste; an'
+they had roarin' fires in the grates. I was near killed wid the hate.'
+
+"'That indeed!' says the Gout, pricking up his ears." Roseen listened
+solemnly, not in the least astonished to be told that the personage in
+question was possessed of ears; she supposed "a Gout" to be a living
+thing, an insect probably, of a more noxious kind than a spider.
+
+"'Fires!' says the Gout; 'an' was they atin' an' drinkin' at all?'
+says he.
+
+"'Atin' an' drinkin'!' says the Spider. 'Bedad, they're afther
+spendin' hours at it, an' were in the thick of it when I come away. If
+ye were to see the j'ints that was in it, ye wouldn't believe your own
+eyes; an' chickens an' turkeys,' he says, 'was nothin' at all to them,
+and they was swalleyin' down pigeons an' partridges an' them sorts o'
+little birds, the same as if they wasn't worth counting.'
+
+"'Oh, oh!' says the Gout, smacking his lips, 'an' did ye chanst to see
+any dhrinkin' at all?' 'Goodness gracious!' says the Spider, 'sure
+there was rivers of wine goin' down every man's throat!'
+
+"'That'll do,' says the Gout. 'I'll bid ye good evening,' he says,
+'an' I'll be off wid meself up there; an' I'll tell ye what,' says he,
+'I'll be in no hurry to lave it!' he says, winking acrass at the
+other, 'an' you thry the cabin,' he says, lookin' back over his
+shoulder; 'maybe it'll suit ye betther nor me.' Well, the poor Spider
+ran off as fast as he could, an' when he come to the poor man's
+housheen, in he walked, widout a bit o' throuble at all, an' sure
+there was plenty of flies there waitin' for him. They used to come
+buzzing in an' out through the broken windies all day long.
+
+"'Och, bedad! I am in luck,' says the Spider to himself, 'if on'y the
+ould woman 'ull let me stop in it an' not be thryin' to desthroy me
+wid her duster, the way the girl up beyant at the Coort did.' But
+sure, the poor ould woman had other things to be thinkin' of nor to be
+goin' afther Spiders. She left him alone in peace an' comfort, an' the
+poor fellow thought he was in heaven, afther all he had to put up wid
+at the other place. Well, there he lived till he died, an' he got so
+fat wid all the flies he was afther killin' that it was an
+_apple-complex_ that carried him off at the end!
+
+"Well, Misther Gout went marching up the hill at a fine rate, an' when
+he come to the rich man's house, who should he see, by the greatest
+good luck, but the masther himself, standin' on the steps o' the hall
+door, sayin' good-bye to the company. He lay quiet till the last of
+the illigant carr'ages had drove off, an' the master stepped inside
+again.
+
+"'I think I'll have a smoke,' says he--here Pat assumed an
+aristocratic air and spoke in refined and mincing tones--'before I go
+to bed. William,' says he to one of the futmen, 'bring me me
+slippers.' Well, the gentleman sat down in a grand soft armchair, an'
+the futman brought his slippers--an' if the Gout didn't take the
+opportunity an' pop into his big toe!"
+
+Roseen jumped up from her stool with a chuckle of anticipation. Pat
+proceeded to give utterance to a series of hollow and extraordinary
+groans, and to writhe in a manner intended to convey the extreme agony
+of the rich man. Roseen fairly danced about, imitating Pat's moanings
+to the best of her ability. "Ou-ou-ou-ough! Ugh!" "'By this an' by
+that,' says the gentleman, 'tare an' ages!' says he, 'thunder an'
+turf!' he says, 'what in the world is the matter wid me big toe?'
+
+"Well, the misthress comes runnin' down in a great state. 'My dear,'
+she says (here Pat affected an extremely _Englified_ falsetto), 'I am
+afeard you are very sick,' says she; 'ye'd best have a sup of port
+wine,' says she.
+
+"'Ou-ou-ough!' says the masther, 'maybe it would do me good. Fetch it
+there, quick,' he says to the sarvants, 'or I'll be the death o' some
+of yez!'
+
+"Well, they brought him port wine, an' they brought him whisky, an'
+they brought a beautiful velvet cushion an' put it under the
+gentleman's fut; an' the Gout winks to himself, an' says he, 'Troth,
+I'll not be in a hurry to quit out o' this. Sure it's in clover
+altogether I am,' he says.
+
+"Well, there ye have the story now, alanna, an' here's herself comin'
+down the hill an' Mike afther her."
+
+But Roseen was too much excited to heed the last announcement. "Was it
+this way, the way the rich man was groanin'?" she asked, once more
+imitating Pat's extraordinary utterances. The old man nodded, and
+Roseen stood still meditatively scratching one little brown leg with
+the curved-in toes of the other. "I wisht," she observed presently, in
+a pensive tone, "that a Gout 'ud get into me gran'father's big toe; it
+'ud sarve him right!"
+
+Pat was rubbing his hands and chuckling to himself over this remark
+when his wife entered, hot and weary after her peregrinations over the
+ruins.
+
+"Sixpence is all they're afther givin' me," she observed plaintively.
+"Dear knows, it's hard set we are to live these times at all."
+
+"Is it sixpence, woman alive!" cried Pat; "I wonder they had the face
+to offer it to ye. Well, well, I was looking for a shillin' now, or
+maybe two. Here, cut the child a bit o' griddle cake; she's been
+keepin' me company this long while, haven't ye, Roseen? An' it's
+starvin' she is out-an'-out."
+
+"Come here, alanna," said Mrs. Clancy, taking down the flat loaf from
+the shelf in the corner; "wait till I put a pinch o' sugar on it. I'm
+sorry I haven't butther for ye, but there isn't a bit in the house at
+all. There now."
+
+"Thank you, ma'am," said Roseen, extending an eager hand.
+
+"Ye're welcome, darlint. Here, Mike, ye'd like a bit too, wouldn't
+ye?"
+
+"Aye," said Mike, drawing near likewise.
+
+He was a sturdy little fellow of about eleven, with an open sunburnt
+face, hair bleached almost lint-white by the sun, and twinkling blue
+eyes like his father's. The mother passed her thin knotted hand
+lovingly over his tangled head and smilingly bade him "be off out o'
+that with Roseen."
+
+The two little figures darted out in the sunlight, and soon were to be
+seen bounding like deer up the steep golden-green slope that led to
+the "Rock."
+
+"What do ye think the little one there is afther sayin' to me?" asked
+Pat, shading his eyes with his hand as he peered after them. "'I
+wisht,' says she, 'a Gout 'ud get into me gran'father's fut,' says
+she; 'it 'ud sarve him right,' she says. I was afther tellin' her the
+'Story of the Spider an' the Gout,' ye know."
+
+"Did she now?" cried Mrs. Clancy, sinking down on the stool which
+Roseen had vacated and clapping her hands together. "Well now, that
+bates all! But she's the 'cutest little thing--I never seen her
+aiqual."
+
+"'I wisht,' quoted Dan meditatively, 'a Gout 'ud get into me
+gran'father's big toe an' stay there,' says she. Ha, ha; bedad I wisht
+it would too, the ould naygur."
+
+Meanwhile the children pattered up the hill and spoke no word until
+they reached the summit. Sitting down under the great portcullis, they
+munched their bread and sugar amicably together, Mike's eyes pensively
+gazing in front of him the while, and Roseen's roving hither and
+thither with quick, eager glances. Suddenly she tilted her head
+backward, gazing at a narrow horizontal slit in the masonry high over
+their heads. "That's where they used to throw the bilin' lead down in
+ould ancient times when anybody wanted to come fightin' them."
+
+Mike gazed upwards likewise, still slowly munching, but said nothing.
+
+"When you an' me grows up an' gets married to each other, the way we
+always said we would," pursued Roseen, "this 'ud be a gran' place to
+live."
+
+Mike's face brightened, and he nodded enthusiastically. "It would so,"
+he agreed.
+
+"There's lots o' beau'ful rooms that we could live in," resumed
+Roseen, "an' we'd make a fire in that great big enormous stone hearth
+beyant, an' we'd ate off o' that big stone table, an' when anybody 'ud
+offer to come annoyin' us, we'd just melt a bit o' lead an' throw it
+down on them."
+
+Mike looked astonished and perturbed. "Sure it 'ud burn the flesh off
+o' their bones. I wouldn't like to be doin' that, Roseen."
+
+"If they was rale bad people," said Roseen persuasively; "rale wicked,
+crule people, the same as me gran'father beyant, it 'ud sarve them
+right,--or we might throw down a sup of bilin' wather," she added as a
+concession.
+
+Mike appeared unconvinced.
+
+"I don't think ye have a right to be talkin' that way of your
+gran'father," he said reprovingly; "an' he isn't that bad. He never
+offered to lay a finger on me as long as I am in it, barring the time
+I let the sheep into the hay-field."
+
+"He's a crule ould villain!" returned Roseen conclusively. "Look at
+all he done on me mother. Come on now," with a sudden change of tone,
+"whistle a tune an' we'll have a dance."
+
+Mike looked lovingly at the last fragments of his griddle cake, the
+enjoyment of which he had been anxious to prolong as much as possible,
+and then after a little sigh, crammed them into his mouth and led the
+way to the giant's wrestling ground.
+
+"Wait a bit," he cried, as Roseen took hold of the folds of her ragged
+skirt daintily in the finger and thumb of each hand, and looked
+expectantly towards him, "I'm just goin' to thramp a bit in the
+joynt's steps."
+
+"What are ye doin' that for at all?" asked Roseen, knitting her
+brows.
+
+"Sure me father bid me never go past this way widout stampin' them
+down a bit to keep them from gettin' smaller," answered Mike,
+hammering diligently with his bare heel at the corners of the
+"futprints" of the mighty Fin-ma-coul.
+
+The operation at last concluded, he rejoined the little girl on a
+small grassy plateau surrounded by low growing Irish gorse. The
+heather, mingling with these furze bushes, was just beginning to
+bloom, and here and there a tall foxglove towered above the undulating
+irregular mass of purple and gold. Taking her place in the centre of
+her ball-room, Roseen again looped up her skirt and pointed her
+shapely little foot. Mike began to whistle a jig tune, his sturdy
+brown legs twinkling the while in time to the measure. Now and then
+his piping grew faint, and was interrupted by gasps for breath,
+whereupon Roseen, still vigorously footing it, would take up the tune
+after a fashion of her own, her voice imitating as nearly as might be
+the sound of a fiddle. Overhead a lark was soaring, and his trill,
+wafted down to them, mingled with their quaint human music; far away
+over that brown and purple stretch of bog the plovers were circling,
+their faint melancholy call sounding every now and then. The sun would
+soon set, the air was already turning a little chilly, and the dew was
+falling. The shadow of the ruined tower fell obliquely across the
+golden-green carpet of their ball-room; but the children danced on,
+Roseen's curls shaken into a light feathery nimbus round her brow, a
+beautiful colour in her cheeks, and her little white teeth parted in a
+smile of delight; while Mike pranced and capered, as though old
+Peter's stick had never fallen about his shoulders, and there were no
+holes in the roof at home.
+
+
+
+
+ROSEEN
+
+
+Peter Rorke stood on the threshold of Monavoe, his big comfortable
+house, looking round him with the proud air of the proprietor. It is
+commonly said that the Devil is not so black as he is painted, and in
+the case of Peter Rorke the proverb would seem to be justified. In
+appearance and manner there was nothing about the man to bear out his
+evil reputation. A close observer would indeed detect, in his long
+narrow face, and particularly in the neighbourhood of his rather small
+closely-set eyes, certain lines and wrinkles which conveyed an
+impression of meanness--the one sin which, as some one very truly
+observes, is apparently found least possible to forgive, particularly,
+one might add, by Irish folk. But, on the whole, Peter Rorke was not
+an ill-looking old fellow, and now as he stood basking in the autumn
+sunlight, while his eyes wandered from one to the other of his
+possessions, his face wore quite a pleasant expression. In truth, it
+would have been difficult, even for the most humble of mortals, not to
+feel a certain exhilaration on gazing at the evidences of prosperity
+at Monavoe. The house, to begin with, was solid and comfortable, the
+barns and granaries were full to overflowing; yonder were stables for
+the six fine cart-horses now toiling at various corners of Peter's
+domain; adjoining them the cow-houses, where Peter could not only
+accommodate twelve milch-cows, but fatten in the winter an equal
+number of "stall-feds"; in the "haggard" to the rear were the
+innumerable golden stacks and hay-ricks which were, of all his
+possessions, those most valued by the Master of Monavoe. No one in the
+country was so clever in selecting time and weather for cutting and
+carting; no one so cunning in ascertaining the most opportune moments
+for selling, or so far-seeing with regard to prices. At this very
+moment Peter Rorke was gazing at an immense rick of "prime old hay"
+which he had had the prudence to keep back while all his neighbours
+were selling. His wisdom now appeared; there had been an unexpected
+failure in the hay crop that season, the prices had gone up
+accordingly, and Peter looked forward to receiving more than double
+the sum that his produce was actually worth.
+
+Rousing himself at length from what, to one of his temperament, had
+been a reverie of long duration, he turned round and called loudly to
+some one whom he supposed to be within: "Rose, Rose! Are ye there,
+girl?"
+
+There was no answer, and after a moment's pause he called again
+impatiently. A very old woman with a white sun-bonnet tilted over her
+brow came slowly from the back premises. "Where is my granddaughter,
+Judy?" he asked, with a frown. Judy was no favourite of his.
+
+"She isn't here at all," she observed; and then jerking her thumb over
+her shoulder in the direction of some outhouses, "she went acrass to
+the dairy a while ago."
+
+Peter Rorke grunted, and, without another glance at the old woman,
+began to walk at a rapid pace in the direction she had indicated. As
+he drew near the partly open door of the dairy, the sound of a girl's
+voice could be heard merrily lilting a tune; and when Peter entered
+the owner of the voice turned round, abruptly ceasing her song and
+gazing at him with a startled look. This was Roseen, a tall and comely
+lassie of seventeen, in whose pretty, saucy face, however, and clear
+blue eyes, there still remained much of the child. Her mother had died
+when she was about fifteen, and, to the astonishment of every one who
+knew him, Peter Rorke had announced his intention of adopting his
+grandchild. He had never had any objections to the girl herself, he
+declared loftily; she was well enough in every way, and his own son's
+child; he could never put up with the mother, it was true--a common
+little servant girl that his son had no right to have been speaking
+to, much less to be goin' an' gettin' married to. Peter would never
+bring himself to recognise him at all after he had demeaned himself
+that way, and as long as the wife lived he couldn't be expected to
+take any notice of the child; but now that she was dead an' gone to
+her own place, wherever that might be, he wasn't goin' to let his
+granddaughter go out to sarvice. She was Miss Rorke, and her place was
+at Monavoe, where all the Rorkes had lived and died for more
+generations than any one cared to count.
+
+When, however, he had, with a good deal of pompous benevolence, driven
+up on his outside-car to fetch Miss Rorke from the tumbled-down cabin
+which had been hitherto the only home she had known, that young lady,
+instead of being properly grateful, and impressed by her relative's
+condescension, had displayed a spirit of independence, and indeed
+stubbornness, which the worthy old gentleman found as bewildering as
+mortifying. He had never taken any notice of them before, she had
+averred; he had let her father starve, and her mother work herself to
+death. Roseen was not going to be beholden to him now--she'd earn her
+own bread, so she would, an' if he thought shame of his grandchild
+goin' to sarvice, she was glad of it, so she was, an' she'd make sure
+an' tell every one the way he was afther thratin' them. Peter had
+rubbed his lantern-jaw and glanced askance at the determined little
+maiden who stood facing him, her blue eyes flashing through her tears,
+and every line of face and figure betokening resolution. First, he had
+been puzzled, then angry, finally he had had recourse to entreaty,
+feeling in his heart that he could never look the neighbours in the
+face again if the story got about that this chit had "got the better
+of him that way." At length Roseen had suffered herself to be
+softened, and agreed, after much persuasion, to a compromise. She
+would condescend to take up her abode under her grandfather's roof on
+the condition that Judy came too. Judy was one of these appendages so
+frequently to be seen in Irish cabins, there being, apparently,
+scarcely any householder so poor that he or she cannot afford to
+shelter some one poorer still. While there is a roof over their heads,
+a potato to put into their mouths, the Irish peasants will share with
+one another. Ever since Roseen could remember, Judy had been an inmate
+of their home; she had helped in the small household labours, tended
+Mrs. Rorke after her own fashion when she had been sick, scolded and
+adored Roseen from babyhood to youth. There was not much else poor
+Judy could do, except smoke her pipe when, by some lucky chance, a
+"bit o' baccy" came in her way: she was not only old and lame, but
+half-witted, very nearly "innocent." What Peter's feelings had been
+may be guessed when invited to receive this strange-looking old
+creature into his house; but Roseen had been firm, and he had finally
+consented.
+
+Whether there had been some dormant family affection in that withered
+heart of his, which had sprung to life now that poor Mrs. Rorke no
+longer stood between him and his own flesh and blood, or whether the
+girl's obstinacy had aroused in him a corresponding desire to carry
+his point, or whether, as some of the neighbours ill-naturedly said,
+he thought if the fine little colleen was to go to sarvice at all, she
+might as well come to him for no wages as to be airnin' from somebody
+else, remains a mystery; but it is certain that in spite of the
+unpleasant condition imposed by Roseen, Peter felt a curious glow of
+pride and pleasure when he assisted Roseen to alight at the door of
+Monavoe. Since then he had certainly grown fond of her, and was
+moreover proud of her good looks and winsome ways. He had sent her to
+a boarding-school, a grand convent establishment for young ladies,
+where the good nuns had done their best to impart to her all that was
+deemed essential for Mr. Rorke's granddaughter to learn. Roseen knew
+already how to read, and could write after a fashion of her own; she
+now learnt arithmetic, and could, indeed, keep her butter accounts by
+dint of much counting on slim sunburnt fingers and puckering of her
+pretty white forehead; but alas! all attempts to attain more elegant
+accomplishments remained fruitless--Roseen was a thorough little
+dunce. Much to the relief of all parties, she returned to Monavoe at
+the end of twelve months, and thereupon devoted her energies to the
+more homely acquirements in which she had since become an adept. She
+could do anything with those deft fingers of hers: her butter was
+proverbial, her bread excellent, she could trim a hat and hem a duster
+with equal speed and nicety, and as for clear-starching and getting up
+fine things, she was the wonder of the rustic matrons for ten miles
+round.
+
+Roseen had been making butter when her grandfather entered, and,
+turning round, displayed a face rosy with her exertions, and arms bare
+to the elbow.
+
+"So here ye are," remarked Peter, his grim face relaxing as much as
+was possible to it; "I've been lookin' for ye everywhere. Do ye know
+what I am after doin' for you this fine mornin'?"
+
+"What?" asked Roseen, a little apprehensively, while the colour
+deepened in her cheeks. Peter leaned against the long stone shelf that
+ran round the dairy wall, and smiled before replying: "I am after
+makin' the finest match for you that's to be had in all the country
+side."
+
+The flush mounted to Roseen's very temples and then died away; she
+paused a moment to steady her voice before venturing on a query. "I
+seen Mr. Quinn goin' down the road a little while ago--is it him?"
+
+"Ah, you little rogue! you were on the lookout, were ye?" cried Peter
+jocosely. "Well, you are right; it is him. You are the rale lucky
+girl, Roseen! You'll be the richest woman in the town-land."
+
+Roseen glanced down, apparently wrestling with some inward emotion,
+and presently observed in a small, strangled voice: "Sure, he is
+twenty year older nor me."
+
+"What matter?" said Peter; "he'll be all the better able to take care
+o' you. It's better to marry a man with sense, nor to go takin' up
+with some young whipper-snapper that would be thinkin' of nothin' but
+spendin' money and carryin' on with nonsense."
+
+"He's an ould widower," cried Roseen, wrinkling up her little nose
+with an expression of disgust.
+
+"Well," said Peter, "an' a good thing too; you'll come in for all the
+beautiful dresses and jewels and things the first Mrs. Quinn left
+behind."
+
+"I am not goin' to take her lavin's, then," retorted Roseen with
+spirit. "Neither her jew'lry, her dresses, nor her husband will I
+have, so there! That's my answer, an' you may tell him so. He may go
+make up his match with somebody else for me." With a whisk of her
+skirts and a stamp of her foot, she returned to her butter.
+
+"Come, come!" said Peter, knitting his brows. "Come, come, come!" he
+repeated, in warning tones; "this won't do, miss."
+
+Roseen tossed her head, and gave her roll of butter two or three
+little pats.
+
+"If I bid you take Mr. Quinn, you'll have to take him," said Peter
+angrily.
+
+"I won't, then," retorted Roseen, and she finished off one little roll
+and fell to preparing another.
+
+"You owe everything in this wide world to me, I would have you
+remember," cried Peter, stammering in his wrath; "if I was to turn you
+out o' doors this minute, ye wouldn't have a place to go to."
+
+"I would soon find a place," said Roseen. "I told ye that before I
+come here."
+
+Peter, finding the threat of no avail, changed his tactics, and
+assumed a wheedling tone.
+
+"Listen, Roseen, like a good sensible girl. Sure, ye know very well
+it's me that holds the place of father an' mother to you now, an' it's
+my duty to see you are settled an' provided for. Well, now, ye might
+sarch the world over an' not find such a good man as Mr. Quinn, an' a
+real gentleman, too, mind you. Sure, it's jumping with joy you ought
+to be. An' lookit here, Roseen, you are all the descendants I have,
+an' if you do as I bid you, I'll make me will after ye are married to
+Mr. Quinn, an' leave the two 'o you this place an' everything in the
+wide world that I have. There now!"
+
+This tempting prospect was too much for Roseen. She whisked round
+again so rapidly that she overturned a pan of cream; her cheeks were
+flaming, her eyes flashing with anger.
+
+"I'll be thankin' ye not to talk to me that way, grandfather," she
+cried. "I declare it's enough to vex a saint! I won't have Mr. Quinn,
+an' wouldn't if he gave me a carpet of gould to walk upon. That's me
+answer, an' he needn't be waitin' for me, for I won't have him."
+
+Peter Rorke shook his head sorrowfully.
+
+"Ye'll be bringin' me white hairs with sorrow to the grave, the same
+as your father," he remarked, oblivious of the fact that the poor
+fellow in question had only succeeded in laying low his own curly
+black ones. "I declare me heart's broke. Ye had a right to have a bit
+more consideration for me, Roseen, after all I done for ye. Did I ever
+give ye a cross word, now, since you come here?"
+
+Roseen opened her eyes a little blankly, stricken with sudden remorse.
+It was true her grandfather had ever treated her kindly since she had
+come to Monavoe, and indeed, after a certain queer fashion, the two
+had grown to be rather fond of each other.
+
+"Haven't I always given you everything you wanted?" pursued Peter, in
+a querulous tone; "everything in reason, anyhow. Look at the beautiful
+blue tabinet dress I gave you--sure there isn't the like in the
+place--and the new hat ye have, an' kid gloves an' all! Sure, I never
+deny you anything! An' you up an' give me them disrespectful answers,
+an' refuse to do the only thing I ever axed ye!"
+
+Tears were actually twinkling in the old man's narrow eyes, so much
+aggrieved did he feel himself to be. Roseen began to cry too. "It's me
+that has me heart broke," she sobbed. "How can I go marryin' Mr. Quinn
+wid his ugly red face, an' him an ould widower an' cross-eyed into the
+bargain? Sure, if it was anything else now--" A burst of woe
+interrupted her utterance.
+
+"Me child," said Peter impressively, "I know more what's for your good
+nor you do yourself; but don't distress yourself too much, alanna: Mr.
+Quinn says he does not mind waitin' as long as you like, so we'll say
+no more about it for a while."
+
+"O--o--o--oh!" groaned Roseen.
+
+Peter prevented further lamentations by assuring her, with various
+affectionate pats on the arm, that he knew she would never go annoyin'
+her poor ould grandfather, but they'd say no more about it, for a bit
+anyhow. He withdrew, leaving Roseen still sobbing amid the fragments
+of a broken milk-pan, and perhaps the ruins of a castle in the air.
+
+Presently, however, she dried her eyes, and, being a methodical
+person, set to work to repair the disorder around her. When the broken
+crockery was removed, the cream wiped up, and the remaining butter
+rolled into shape, she went out, closing the dairy door after her and,
+giving a hasty glance to right and to left, made her way swiftly
+across the "haggard" and down a grassy lane beyond, to a large field,
+where a man was to be seen leisurely assembling together a troop of
+cows.
+
+Roseen ran quickly across the grass towards him, stopping as soon as
+she perceived that he had caught sight of her, and beckoning to him
+mysteriously.
+
+"Come here, Mike!" she cried softly, as he hastened towards her, "I've
+something to be tellin' ye."
+
+Mike quickened his pace. He was a tall young fellow, but slender, with
+an honest, good-humoured face. Without being handsome, there was
+something attractive about him--an alertness, a vigour in the
+well-knit limbs, a candour and kindliness in the expression of the
+open face, a tenderness, moreover, in the blue eyes as they rested on
+Roseen--which would seem to account for the fact that these former
+playfellows were now lovers.
+
+Roseen looked piteously at him, as he halted beside her, gazing with
+alarm at the trace of tears which still remained on her face.
+
+"Me grandfather wants me to get married to Mr. Quinn," she announced
+briefly.
+
+"God bless us!" ejaculated Mike, his cheeks growing pale beneath their
+tan. "What did ye say, alanna?"
+
+"I said I wouldn't," answered Roseen.
+
+"That's me brave girl! I declare ye're afther givin' me such a fright,
+I don't know whether I am on me head or on me heels. Was he goin' to
+murther ye for that?"
+
+"He was at first," replied the girl, "and then he began sayin'--Oh
+dear, oh dear, me heart's broke!" She was sobbing now violently.
+
+"Sure, what matther what he says?" cried Mike, much concerned. "Ye
+have no call to be frettin' that way; let him say what he likes, bad
+luck to him! Sure, ye won't be havin' Mr. Quinn, Roseen, will ye?"
+
+"N--no," said Roseen. "Me grandfather says I'm bringin' his white
+hairs with sorrow to the grave."
+
+"Ah, the ould gomeril!" retorted Mike unsympathetically. "Bedad, what
+hairs he has isn't white at all, but red as carrots! Don't ye be
+listenin', Roseen, asthore. Sure, ye wouldn't marry ugly Mr. Quinn?"
+he repeated anxiously.
+
+"I would not," replied Roseen; "but I don't like me grandfather to be
+talkin' that way. An'--an' his hair isn't that red, Mike," she added
+reprovingly; "ye have no call to be sayin' it is."
+
+"If I never said worse nor you have said yourself often an' often!"
+retorted the lad. "Many's the time I heard ye at it."
+
+"That was before I had sense," replied Roseen, a trifle loftily; "ye
+have no call to be castin' that up at me now. Me an' me grandfather
+has never fell out since I come here."
+
+"Oh, that indeed," said Mike sarcastically; "ye're gettin' altogether
+too good an' too grand. Hothen indeed, I may as well make up my mind
+to it--ye'll be Mrs. Quinn before the year is out. Sure, what chanst
+has a poor fellow the same as meself, wid the ould wans at home to
+support as well as meself, when there's such a fine match as Mr. Quinn
+to the fore! Och bedad! when ye're sittin' along wid him on your
+side-car, ye'll never offer to throw so much as a look at poor Mike."
+
+At this affecting picture Roseen wept more than ever, and brokenly
+assured the honest fellow that not for all the Mister Quinns in the
+world would she ever forget him, and that she would wait for him till
+she was grey, she would, an' marry nobody else, no matter what might
+happen.
+
+Thus reassured, Mike could not do less than apologise for his
+intemperate language, and a reconciliation was in the act of taking
+place when Mr. Peter Rorke chanced to look over the hedge. It was past
+milking-time, and he had come to see why his cows had not been driven
+in as usual. Leaning on his stick and trembling with rage, he
+apostrophised the young pair in no measured terms.
+
+"Now I understand, miss," he added, after relieving his mind by a
+burst of eloquence, "now I understand why you thought so bad of Mr.
+Quinn's kind offer. It was this young schamer ye had in your mind--him
+that ye should think no more of nor the dirt under your feet."
+
+"Well then, grandfather," cried Roseen hotly, "I may as well tell ye
+straight out that I won't stand here an' hear Michael Clancy abused.
+He's all the husband ever I'll have, an' ye may make up your mind to
+that."
+
+Peter spluttered with fury and brandished his stick. It was perhaps
+well for the girl that the hedge divided them.
+
+"Get in wid ye into the house this minute out o' me sight," he
+screamed. "Him your husband! A dirty little beggar's brat that I
+picked up out o' the gutter for charity!"
+
+"Charity yourself," interrupted Mike, squaring his shoulders. "I've
+done more work for ye nor ever ye paid me for--now! And the Clancys is
+as good as the Rorkes, an' an oulder family, though we are down in the
+world, along wid bad luck an' misfortun'."
+
+"The Clancys is an ould ancient family," chimed in Roseen. Her
+grandfather turned to her, almost beside himself with exasperation.
+
+"Get in wid ye to the house this instant, as I bid ye, miss; or it'll
+be the worse for ye. Be off, now, before I come over the hedge to
+you."
+
+"If you dar' lay a finger," began Mike; but Roseen interrupted him
+with a little defiant laugh.
+
+"Sure, I am not afeard of him, Mike. I am more afeard of his hurting
+himself nor me; but I'm goin' now, anyway, an' I am glad ye know the
+truth, grandfather, so that ye needn't be botherin' me about Mr.
+Quinn."
+
+She went away, moving slowly and carrying her curly head very high.
+
+Peter watched her till she was out of sight and hearing, and then
+turned to Mike.
+
+"Now then," he cried, "we'll have this matter settled. You'll go out
+o' this, me lad, an' so will your father an' mother. They're owin' me
+a year's rent an' more."
+
+"Didn't I tell ye I would work it off, little by little?" said Mike,
+who had suddenly become very pale. "It was me poor mother bein' sick
+last year that thrun us back, an' you said ye would have patience wid
+us."
+
+"Then ye had a right to behave better," returned Rorke. "How dar' ye
+go make up to my granddaughter, you young villain? I'd have ye to know
+that Miss Rorke is not for the likes of you."
+
+All poor Mike's pride and valour seemed to have deserted him since
+Peter's threat.
+
+"Sure, Roseen an' me was always fond of one another," he said
+pleadingly. "I couldn't remember a time when we wasn't. Her an' me was
+ould playfellows, and she used to be as much at our place as at home."
+
+"It won't be your place much longer," retorted Peter curtly. "Out o'
+this ye may all go, bag an' baggage, the whole pack of yous."
+
+"Me father hasn't stirred out o' that chimley corner for years an'
+years," urged Mike; "an' me mother, God help her! she's near as bad as
+him wid the weakness an' the terrible cough she has this while back.
+It 'ud be the death of her out an' out--sure, where could the cratur's
+go?"
+
+"Let them go to the poor-house, unless you can make a livin' for them
+somewhere out o' this. I'll not have ye here, mind. Ye needn't come
+an' work to-morrow, an' ye may tell your father an' mother to be
+gettin' ready to march, for they'll be havin' the bailiff in on them
+as soon as I can get him."
+
+A deep flush replaced Mike's pallor and a shiver of indignation shook
+him from head to foot.
+
+"Mr. Rorke," he cried, "ye don't mane what ye are sayin'. Ye'd never
+have the heart to turn them two ould craturs out on the roadside to
+die?"
+
+"Wouldn't I though?" retorted Peter; "ye'll soon find out for
+yourselves whether I would or not."
+
+He turned and was hastening homewards, when Mike called after him. The
+old man faced him, still sneering.
+
+"This will not bring you luck," cried Mike, his young voice quivering,
+his face working with emotion, his usually merry eyes ablaze with
+passion. "I tell you it'll bring a curse on you. You'll live to rue
+the day you turned on us that way--an' maybe it won't be long before
+ye are sorry."
+
+Peter's only answer was an ironical laugh, and he once more resumed
+his homeward journey, leaving Mike standing pale and trembling beside
+the hedge.
+
+Peter entered the house, flushed with triumph, and, calling loudly for
+Roseen, informed her that he was after sendin' that fine young
+sweetheart of hers about his business.
+
+"Ye don't mane to say you turned him off!" cried the girl, in dismay.
+"The poor fellow, how is he to live at all, him that has his old
+father and mother to keep as well as himself?"
+
+"His father and mother won't be costing him anything much now, I am
+thinkin'," explained Peter politely. "That grand ancient family of the
+Clancys will soon be out o' this place, an' living in the greatest
+aise and comfort at the country's expense in the poorhouse, me dear."
+
+"What do ye mane at all? Indeed Mike will never let them go there.
+He'll work till the two hands drops off of him, but he will conthrive
+to keep a roof over their heads."
+
+"Will he now?" said Rorke, still laboriously urbane. "I wonder what
+roof that'll be?"
+
+Roseen looked up quickly, her parted lips suddenly turning white.
+
+"I am thinking," resumed Peter, "he'll have to make haste an' find a
+place for them, for they'll be out o' the old one soon enough."
+
+"Grandfather!" cried Roseen, "ye're not going to put them out in
+airnest, are ye? Sure ye'd never have the heart! The poor old couple
+is dying on their feet as it is. It'll be the death o' them altogether
+if ye go do that."
+
+"An' a very good thing too," retorted Peter. "We'll be shut o' the
+whole of them out-an'-out, that way."
+
+"Ye're a regular hard-hearted old Turk," cried Roseen, "that's what ye
+are! The whole countryside will cry shame on ye! It is outrageous, so
+it is! 'Pon me word, ye're as bad as Cromwell."
+
+"Ah, ha," said Peter, "I'll tell ye what it is, Roseen, the more
+impidence ye give me, the more I'll do on the Clancys. _Now_! Ye bold
+little lump! How dar' ye go speak to me that way? I'll teach ye to be
+carryin' on wid the likes o' that. Not another word out o' ye now, or
+I'll walk down to the Clancys this minute an' throw them out on the
+road before dark."
+
+Roseen's fury was replaced by terror.
+
+"Och, grandfather, sure ye wouldn't do the like! I ax your pardon for
+spakin' disrespectful to ye. Sure ye're not in airnest? Ye won't raly
+put the poor old man and his wife there out o' their little place?
+They won't be troublin' you long. A-a-h, grandfather, me own dear
+grandfather, do lave them where they are an' I'll promise faithful
+never to give you a crass word again."
+
+But neither the coaxing tone nor the touch of the soft clinging arms,
+which the girl now wound about him, moved Peter's heart.
+
+"Out o' this them Clancys goes, bag and baggage," he asserted; "if
+ye'd wanted me to let them stay where they were, an' them owin' me so
+much rent an' all, ye ought to have behaved different. But on account
+of this impident young sckamer ye go tellin' me ye won't marry Mr.
+Quinn, the man I chose for ye, an' I catch ye sweetheartin' an'
+carryin' on wid that ploughboy there, demanin' yourself altogether.
+Sure nobody could be expected to stand that. I won't stand it anyhow.
+Out they go, and off the whole o' them may march."
+
+Roseen was silent for a moment, apparently battling with herself, and
+at last she said in a very shaky voice:
+
+"It's a poor case if it's me that's bringin' this throuble on them
+all. Grandfather, if--if I was to give ye me word that I wouldn't
+spake to Mike in the way of courtin' agin--"
+
+"Wisha!" cried Peter sarcastically, "much good that would do. I know
+the way ye would keep your promise, me lady; no, no, I'll make sure of
+this job."
+
+"Oh, grandfather! I'll promise, I promise faithful never so much as to
+look at Mike!"
+
+But Peter was inexorable; he had been wounded in his tenderest point,
+bearded by these two impudent young people--set at nought. His pride,
+moreover, could not brook the proximity of the audacious youth who had
+dared to aspire to the hand of his granddaughter, and of the parents
+who had, as he had been reminded that day, ventured to befriend her
+when he himself had cast her off.
+
+He felt that he must be rid of them without delay. Poor Roseen crept
+upstairs and sat disconsolately at the window, watching the corner of
+the haggard where she expected before long to see Mike appear. It had
+been the custom of the young pair to meet for a few moments every
+evening, under the shadow of the big hayrick and there converse before
+Mike returned home. He would surely come, if only to say good-bye.
+Poor fellow, what would he do? Whither would he go? Big tears rolled
+down Roseen's cheeks as she thought of his desperate plight.
+
+As she sat watching and waiting--for she dared not venture out too
+soon lest her grandfather's suspicions should be aroused--a sudden
+rattling and fumbling at the lock of her own door made her turn round.
+The door was opened for a moment, a lean hand thrust into the room,
+the key which had been on the inner side was withdrawn suddenly; then
+the door quickly closed again, and before Roseen thoroughly realised
+what had happened, old Peter locked her in.
+
+"Good night, me dear!" he cried ironically through the keyhole; "I
+think it's as well for ye to stay quiet this evenin' an' not be takin'
+any more walks, or tirin' or excitin' yourself. Pleasant dreams,
+dear."
+
+Down the stairs he went, chuckling to himself and leaving the girl
+furious. She banged at the door with all her might and main, but the
+lock held fast and no one came to her rescue; then she rushed to the
+window and threw it open; but the distance from the ground was too
+great for even a desperate maiden to jump, and she wrung her hands
+frantically. Mike would think she had given him up; he would fancy her
+grandfather had got round her, and that she had deserted him in his
+humiliation and distress. Was there nobody who would help her, no one
+by whom she could convey at least a message?
+
+As if in answer to her agonised prayer, certain shuffling steps were
+presently heard below, and old Judy's white sunbonnet appeared round
+the corner of the house. Roseen clapped her hands: here was one who
+would do her bidding, a faithful hench-woman who could be trusted to
+carry out her orders in defiance of old Peter's commands.
+
+"Judy!" cried the girl softly, bending out of the window.
+
+Judy looked up in astonishment. "Is it there ye are?" she cried.
+
+"Oh, Judy, my grandfather has me locked in! Listen now! I want ye to
+do something for me."
+
+Judy's face clouded over. "I was just stalin' out to have me little
+pipe," she said. "The masther does be killin' me, when he catches me
+at it, an' I was makin' me way off while he had his back turned."
+
+"Ah, ye can smoke away as much as ye like," cried Roseen impatiently.
+"See here, Judy, all I want ye to do is to stand over there, by the
+corner of the haggard, an' watch till Mike comes, an' tell him me
+grandfather's afther lockin' me up, an' I can't get out this evenin',
+but the first chanst I have to-morrow I'll run round. An' tell
+him"--here her voice faltered--"that no matther what any one says,
+I'll always be faithful to him. An' I'll never get married to anybody
+on'y to himself."
+
+Judy's beady black eyes were fixed somewhat vacantly on her mistress's
+face during this speech, but she nodded at the end, and on being
+adjured not to forget, informed Roseen, somewhat tartly, that she had
+no notion of forgettin'. She hobbled off fingering her beloved pipe,
+and Roseen, sitting by the window, watched the twilight deepen and saw
+the world grow misty and indistinct, and heard the birds twittering as
+they went to roost. Then the stars came out one by one, and a pale
+young moon showed faintly in the sky; it was night now, but Judy had
+not returned. Was it possible that Mike had failed to appear at the
+trysting-place.
+
+After what seemed an interminable time, Judy's uncertain footfalls
+were again heard, and her white bonnet showed indistinctly in the
+dusk, bobbing up and down as she approached. Roseen craned forward her
+head eagerly. "What did he say, Judy?"
+
+"I'm afther losin' me lovely pipe," responded the old woman, halting
+beneath the window. "What in the world will I do? I'm afther losin'
+it. Oh dear! oh dear!--the on'y bit o' comfort I had."
+
+"Whisht, whisht; ye'll find it to-morrow, when the light comes. Did ye
+see Mike, Judy? An' what did he say?"
+
+"Ah, don't be botherin' me about Mike," wailed Judy, "I have other
+things to be thinkin' of, I'm afther losing me beautiful pipe; me
+heart's broke entirely!"
+
+"Judy, Judy! I'll give ye the loveliest pipe ever ye seen, an' a
+beautiful roll o' twist, if on'y ye'll tell me. Wasn't Mike in it at
+all, Judy? Tell me that, for the love of Heaven."
+
+Judy made a desperate effort to collect the scattered remnants of her
+wits, and presently said doubtfully: "Is it Mike ye are axing about?
+Sure what 'ud bring Mike to the haggard? I did _not_ see him--an' me
+pipe is lost on me!"
+
+Roseen fairly stamped her foot. Why had she been such a fool as to
+count on this poor old idiotic creature? Probably while Judy was
+hunting for her pipe, Mike had watched and waited in vain for a sign
+from his love.
+
+Judy shuffled off, lamenting, but Roseen sat still at her open
+casement, pondering mournfully on the misfortunes which had
+overwhelmed those she loved, and bewailing her impotence to help them.
+Soon all was absolutely still; the house was wrapt in slumber, and at
+last, rising, chilled and weary, the girl prepared to go to rest. As
+she closed the window her eye was caught by a curious appearance in
+the sky, immediately above the long line of the regularly shaped
+stacks in the haggard. The big hayrick particularly was defined with
+curious clearness against what seemed to be a glow in the sky. As she
+looked a sudden tongue of flame sprang out from the western corner,
+and ran leaping up the great dark mass, spreading and widening as it
+went; then sparks were thrown out, and Roseen suddenly realised that
+the great rick, composed of tons upon tons of hay, worth at this
+moment a fortune in itself, was on fire. Screaming she rushed
+frantically to the door, but owing to Peter's forethought she was
+locked in. In vain she hammered and shrieked; no one heeded her. Such
+labourers as remained on the premises at night slept over the stables;
+the two maid-servants whom Peter employed only came by day. If Judy
+heard, she had not the sense to heed; and old Peter himself, snuggling
+into his pillows, merely turned over when the din reached his ears,
+muttering to himself with righteous indignation that a body would
+think the girl would know better nor behave that way, but let her
+shout as much as she liked an' tire herself out, she'd be apt to be a
+bit quieter in the mornin'. Meanwhile the little flame, which Roseen
+had first seen, had grown apace. The slight crackling sound which had
+originally accompanied its progress, was replaced by a sullen roar;
+volumes of ruddy smoke filled the air; a pungent, peculiar smell
+penetrated even to Roseen's room, almost suffocating her. Would no one
+hear, would no one heed? Taking the poker she knocked on the floor,
+hoping to produce some response from her grandfather, but finding that
+he did not answer she fell to hammering and battering the lock of her
+door with such vigour and good-will that at last she succeeded in
+breaking it. Rushing down stairs, candle in hand, she burst in upon
+old Peter.
+
+"Get up, grandfather, get up at wanst! the big rick is on fire, and
+will be burnt to a cinder if you don't make haste." Old Peter sat up,
+blinking at the light, and at first refusing to believe Roseen; but
+when the girl flung open the window and he saw and heard for himself
+that the alarm was only too well founded, he fairly burst out crying
+like a child.
+
+"Me rick, me beautiful rick! I'm ruined and destroyed entirely!
+What'll I do at all?"
+
+"Get up!" said Roseen sharply, "and let's get all the help we can.
+I'll run out an' call Jack an' Barney, an' do you put on your clothes
+an' fill the stable bucket."
+
+She flew out, and after some trouble succeeded in rousing the men in
+question, who, however, when they arrived on the scene and saw the
+extent of the damage which had already been done, gave her little hope
+of being able to arrest its progress.
+
+"Sure it's all wan sheet of flame, none of us could get near it,"
+cried one, pointing to the rick. "What good would a bucket or two of
+wather do on that?"
+
+"Well, do something can't yez?" cried Roseen. "There's no good in
+standin' there, lookin' at it. I'll run off an' fetch Mike Clancy; he
+has more sense nor the whole o' yez put together."
+
+Off she sped, finding her way easily, even in the dark, along the
+familiar path; but when she reached the cabin, and after much knocking
+succeeded in arousing Mrs. Clancy, disappointment awaited her--Mike
+was nowhere to be found.
+
+The news went round the country next morning, first that old Peter
+Rorke's famous hayrick and two of the neighbouring cornstacks were
+burnt to the ground, and secondly that Michael Clancy had mysteriously
+disappeared. By-and-by certain additional circumstances were reported
+which caused people to connect the one fact with the other, and to
+comment thereon in whispers, with divers nods and winks, and
+mysterious jerks of the thumb. Michael was after havin' words with the
+ould fellow, it was rumoured, on account of his bein' sweet on Roseen,
+an' him and his ould father and mother were goin' to be put out o'
+their little place. Sure no wonder the poor boy--Well, well, he'd have
+had the time to get far enough off by this, an' it was nobody's
+business, on'y his own, poor fellow!
+
+It was whispered that Jack McEvoy had seen Mike on the evening before,
+standing in the corner of the haggard lookin' about him "rale
+distracted, ye'd say." "What are ye doin' there at all, this time o'
+night?" said Jack. "Och, nothin' much," says Mike, "just streelin'
+about." "Well," says Jack, "I'm afeard ye are after gettin' poor
+Roseen into throuble; there's the great blow-up entirely goin' on
+beyant there at the house. The masther's murdherin' Roseen for the way
+the two of yez has been goin' on. He had her crying, the poor little
+girl," says Jack; "I h'ard her through the windy," says he. "'Oh,
+grandfather,' she says, 'I'll never spake to Mike agin, I give ye me
+word,' she says. 'I'll never ax to look at him,' says she. Well," Jack
+said, "if ye'd seen the look that come over Mike's face! He staggered
+back, so he did. 'The ould devil,' says he, 'he's afther gettin' round
+her an' turnin' her agin me.'" "Och, to be sure," says Jack, "he's a
+rale ould villain! Is it true that he's puttin' yez all out in the
+road?" "He is," says Mike, "but he'll be sorry for it yet?"
+
+"Mind that now," some one would say, and the nods and the shakings of
+the heads would become more mysterious than ever, and then the gossips
+would begin to chuckle over Peter's discomfiture; the universal
+verdict being that "It sarved him right, the covetious ould
+blackguard!" Mrs. Clancy had told Roseen, weeping, that Mike was gone
+off wid himself. He had come in late, very near distracted, the poor
+boy, an' he had said "good-bye" to his father an' mother, an' had told
+them he was goin' to England to try an' make a bit o' money at the
+potato-harvest, the way they wouldn't have to go to the workhouse when
+Mr. Rorke turned them out.
+
+Gone without a word of farewell to her! Roseen betook herself
+homewards full of bewildered pain; but kept her own counsel.
+
+When the whispers anent the probable cause of his disappearance
+reached her ears, she felt a momentary thrill of apprehension, but her
+faith in her old friend survived this temptation. "Mike never done the
+like," she said to herself, with a proud little toss of her head; even
+when by--and--by the lad was openly accused of having been the cause
+of the disaster, she took his part against all comers, making no
+secret of her own intention, frustrated by her grandfather, of meeting
+him in the haggard, and announcing boldly that it was on her account
+that Mike had come there.
+
+Old Peter, who had behaved like a man distracted while his property
+was being consumed before his eyes, was the first to connect the
+disappearance of Mike with this act of destruction, and declared he
+would leave no stone unturned in his efforts to capture and punish
+him.
+
+The police were soon on poor Mike's track, and before long he was
+discovered in the act of embarking for Liverpool, and ignominiously
+dragged back to the scene of his supposed exploit. In vain he denied
+all knowledge of the deed, putting forward the same motive for his
+absence as his mother had done; circumstances were adverse to him, and
+the evidence against him sufficiently strong to justify the magistrate
+in committing him for trial at the approaching assizes. In the
+meantime the unfortunate fellow was despatched to the county gaol.
+
+Peter Rorke remained in a condition of mind bordering upon frenzy;
+some of his neighbours opined that he was goin' out of his wits
+altogether, and there were moments when Roseen herself was in terror
+of him. The old man's excitement took a most unpleasant form, his
+hatred of Mike and his unfortunate parents being little less than
+rabid.
+
+Not only were the poor old couple evicted with the least possible
+delay, but their few "sticks of furniture," precious to themselves and
+worth absolutely nothing to anybody else, were seized and carried off
+to Monavoe--there being no bidders at the sale which Peter held in
+"distraint for rent."
+
+Poor old Pat was helped out of the cabin and insisted on seating
+himself by the roadside to watch proceedings, though his wife tried
+anxiously to persuade him to accept at once the hospitality pressed
+upon them by sympathetic neighbours.
+
+"Lave me alone," he growled, "I'll see this out, so I will. Och,
+bedad, they are afther liftin' out the bed now--mind it doesn't fall
+to pieces on yez before yez get it into the cart. Troth, ould Peter
+himself ought to sleep in that iligant bed; it's the pleasant dhrames
+he'd have!"
+
+"It doesn't become ye to be talkin' that way, Pat," cried "Herself,"
+flushed and weeping; "that was me mother's bed, so it was. Oh dear, oh
+dear! that I should live to see it taken off of us that way! And
+there's me pot that I biled mornin' an' evenin' these years an'
+years!"
+
+"Och, musha, lave the pot," retorted Pat; "sure what good is the pot
+to us when we haven't a bit to put in it? Troth, now the ould sckamer
+beyant has Mike in prison, we may give up altogether. Yourself an' me
+will soon be undher the Daisy-quilt, never fear. There they have me
+ould chair, now," he added sardonically; "troth it looks well cocked
+up there. Mind the china now, Jack McEvoy; herself here thinks there
+isn't the like in the country,--have ye all now, the two mugs an' the
+three plates, an' the cups an' saucers, an' the little taypot with the
+cracked spout? Ah, don't be forgettin' the little jug though, the
+little weeny jug with a rose on it. Sure, what are ye crying for,
+woman! Isn't it great grandeur for the little jug to be goin' up to
+Monavoe? Bedad, ould Peter'll be apt to be puttin' it undher a glass
+case on the chimley-piece!"
+
+Their friends and neighbours gathering round gazed with puzzled looks
+at the old man as he sat enthroned on his heap of stones, his knotted
+trembling hands leaning on a blackthorn stick, his face flushed, and
+his eyes blazing under their shaggy white brows. They could scarcely
+understand his stoicism; Mrs. Clancy's lamentations were far more
+comprehensible to them.
+
+"I won't be in it long," she wailed, "throublin' anybody. Sure, what
+matther if it's in the poorhouse the two of us ends our days, now poor
+Mike has been sent to gaol on us! Ah! God bless us! I could never
+hould up me head agin afther that."
+
+"God help ye!" commented a bystander. "Don't be frettin' that a-way,
+ma'am; sure even if he's in gaol itself, he'll be out agin before ye
+know where yez are an' maybe they wouldn't keep him in it at all."
+
+"'Deed then they had a right to let him out at wanst," groaned Mrs.
+Clancy from beneath her apron. "The Lord knows he never done what
+they're afther sayin' he done."
+
+"Hothen, indeed, I wouldn't make too sure of that," put in Pat. "Why
+wouldn't he do it? Bedad, he'ud have done well if he done twice as
+much. No, but he had a right to have burnt the ould villain in his bed
+an' got shut of him out-an'-out--the on'y mistake the poor fellow
+made, was lettin' him off so aisy."
+
+"Whisht, whisht! in the name of goodness! God bless us! what is it
+ye're sayin' at all? Sure, poor Mike's as innocent as a lamb."
+
+"Heth, he's the fine lamb!" retorted the father sarcastically. "Well,
+I believe they have everything now, down to the little creepy. Good
+luck to ye, Jack McEvoy; mind how ye go takin' it up the road--don't
+be dhroppin' any of it out o' the cart. Give me compliments to Mr.
+Rorke, and tell him I hope he'll enjoy my iligant furnitur, an' much
+good may it do him!"
+
+Jack McEvoy, one of Peter's men, climbed into the cart sheepishly
+enough and drove off. Once more the neighbours pressed round the
+homeless old pair, quarrelling for the honour of harbouring them.
+
+"It's coming along wid me they are," cried one, "aren't yez now? sure
+of course they are. Isn't mine the biggest house anywhere in
+Donoughmor?"
+
+"Ah, but it's that far off," argued another. "Look at the length of
+time it 'ud take them to be gettin' there, an' the two of them so wake
+on their legs, God help them! No, but it'll be betther for them step
+down to my little place that's handy. An' it ud' take them no time at
+all to get there."
+
+"Good gracious, woman, where would ye put them in that little
+shebeen--sure there isn't room in it for your own childer. God bless
+them! the fine childer they are too--but where in the world would you
+find a corner for Misther and Mrs. Clancy?"
+
+"Troth, I'll find a corner aisy enough; and it wouldn't do a ha'porth
+of harm to the two little fellows if they were to sleep for a few
+nights undher the turf stack outside. It's grand warm weather we are
+havin', Glory be to Goodness, an' they'd sleep as sound as a bell by
+the side of it."
+
+"Oh, not at all, ma'am," put in Mrs. Clancy, "we wouldn't dhrame to be
+puttin' ye about that much; the poor little fellows might be gettin'
+their deaths o' cold on ye. Indeed it doesn't matther where we go; we
+are a throuble to every wan. I wisht the Lord 'ud take us out of it
+altogether," she added dismally; "I'd sooner be in the old gully-hole
+at wanst nor be goin' to the poorhouse, and, dear knows, that's where
+we'll have to go."
+
+"Not wan bit, then," cried Pat resolutely, "not wan fut will ye iver
+put in the poorhouse, woman, nor me neither. We'll be back in the ould
+place here yit, see if we aren't. Nobody 'ud go in it on'y ourselves,
+an' it'll be there waitin' for us till the poor boy comes out an' puts
+us back in it."
+
+The neighbours glanced from one to the other, and by common accord
+decided to humour the old man.
+
+"To be sure ye will, Misther Clancy. The two of yez will be back there
+before we can turn round, an' Mike will be apt to be gettin' your bits
+o' things back for yez too. Sure the old rogue up there will have no
+call to keep them wanst the boy has paid up the bit yez owe him."
+
+"Troth, it'll be no time at all before you're back, Pat, an' ye had a
+right to lave talkin' that way about the poorhouse, ma'am. There isn't
+a wan of us that 'ud ever let yez go there, bad luck to it! No,
+indeed, ma'am."
+
+"Aye, we'll be back yet in the ould little place," repeated Pat with
+conviction, "we will so; come on out o' that, Mary, an' make up your
+mind where it is we're goin' this night. Sure the craturs here is
+fightin' for the honour of havin' us. Stop turnin' your head round
+now; the place won't run away on ye till we're back in it."
+
+All the neighbours were indeed vying with each other in their anxiety
+to entertain and comfort the helpless old pair, and prove at once
+their sympathy with them in their trouble and their indignation with
+Peter Rorke.
+
+"He done it just out of spite, mind ye," they said one to the other.
+"Wasn't he afther promisin' Mike to let him work out the thrifle o'
+rent they were owin?"
+
+"Aye! he is the outrageousest ould villain that ever stepped," was the
+general verdict. Nevertheless, as in all communities there is
+generally one ill-conditioned person, even in the little village of
+Donoughmor there was to be found a time-server who, wishing for
+reasons of his own to ingratiate himself with Peter Rorke, was base
+enough to report to him old Pat Clancy's hasty words.
+
+"He's saying he wished Mike had burnt ye in your bed, an' more by
+token," added Peter's informant, "he's tellin' every wan that it'll be
+no time at all before he's back in his own place again the same as
+ever he was, an' that you may do what ye like on him, he doesn't
+care."
+
+"He says that, does he?" cried Peter, crimson with fury; "I'll soon
+show him he's makin' a bit of a mistake. 'Pon me word, did ever
+anybody hear the like o' that?"
+
+"Well, that's what he says," repeated the other. "'I wisht,' he says,
+'that Mike had burnt the ould villain in his bed,' says he. That's the
+very word he said, 'the ould villain' he says; 'an' got shut of him,'
+says he, 'but it'll be no time at all before herself an' me is back in
+the ould place,' he says. He did so--it's the truth I'm tellin' ye,
+that's the very way he said it."
+
+"I'll show him different then," repeated Peter. "I wisht I'd thought
+of it first off--the way he'd have seen it."
+
+"An' what's that, sir?"
+
+"You'll soon see. 'Pon me word, I wisht I had him there now in his
+bed, the ould raskil, the way I could do on him what he's wishin' his
+spalpeen of a son had done on me. Are ye there, Pat?" he cried,
+raising his voice.
+
+"I am, sir," returned some one from the region of the stables.
+
+"Is Barney there?"
+
+"He is."
+
+"Bring him along wid ye then; an' call Jack McEvoy and a couple more
+of the boys. Bring a pick wid ye, an' a couple of them hatchets--an'
+Pat!"
+
+"Sir?" replied Pat, suddenly appearing from behind the stable-wall.
+
+"Run round to the kitchen an' fetch the big bottle of paraffin off o'
+the long shelf there."
+
+"I will, sir. Where will we be goin' to, sir?"
+
+"I have a little job for yous to do down at Donoughmor," said Peter.
+"Hurry up now the whole of yous; I don't want to be losin' more time
+over it nor I can help."
+
+The officious visitor, finding that matters were likely to become more
+unpleasant than he had anticipated, disappeared while preparations
+were going forward, and it was only at the head of his own startled
+and unwilling band of followers that Peter at length sallied forth.
+Not a word said Peter Rorke until he reached the Clancys' deserted
+cabin, and with his own hands set fire to the thatch; then falling
+back a step or two he rubbed his hands and chuckled.
+
+"There, now," he cried, "let us see if I can't make near as good a
+bonfire as Mike Clancy himself! Throw a sup more paraffin on, you,
+Pat; now stand back all of yous, an' look at the fine blaze. As soon
+as we have the roof off of it, you can all set to work an' pull the
+whole place down. Then we'll see if the Clancys will come to their own
+again, as the ould blackguard Pat keeps tellin' every one. I don't
+think it'll be worth his while to step back in it when I've done with
+it."
+
+The poor little rotten roof, mossgrown as it was, did not burn as
+rapidly as Peter could have wished, but by dint of much coaxing and a
+plentiful sprinkling of paraffin, the fire at last gained ground, and
+a dense smoke began to issue from the smouldering thatch. Peter
+coughed and choked, and at last calling out to his men that he would
+be with them again as soon as that part of the job was over, climbed
+up the rocky hillside, pausing only when he had reached the summit,
+and turning round with a long gasping breath. The air was clearer
+there, and it pleased him to look down from this eminence on his
+destructive work. The smoke of the burning roof hung over the little
+dwelling as though to hide its degradation; jets of flame leaped
+through it now and then; from time to time one of his men approached
+with the bottle of paraffin, but the rest stood together looking on,
+somewhat sullenly. Farther down the lane a few women and old folks had
+gathered together; from his altitude Peter watched them, marking their
+eager gestures and imagining the horror and disgust in their faces.
+"Let them say what they like," he muttered to himself grimly, "I'll
+not leave a bit o' the place standin'. Aye! they may curse an' swear
+as much as they like, it doesn't hurt me."
+
+Suddenly he bethought him how Mike had threatened him before setting
+fire to his rick; his hard-heartedness would bring a curse upon him,
+the boy had said. Peter asked himself now, with a dry chuckle, upon
+whom the curse had fallen most heavily. It was certainly a piece of
+bad luck to lose his splendid rick, but he had paid the villains well
+out for it. There was Mike in gaol, the old people living on the
+charity of their neighbours, with no prospect before them but to end
+their days in the workhouse; their goods scattered, their cabin razed
+to the ground--who was the most accursed?
+
+Ha! one of those women down there had fallen on her knees and was
+raising her hands to heaven; another crone was shaking her fist in his
+direction. Let them pray and let them threaten--Peter was not afraid
+of anything or anybody, neither God nor man--not of the devil himself!
+
+A sudden sound of stones falling just behind him made him turn round
+quickly. He could see nothing, but a curious scraping and rustling
+were still to be heard. He was standing almost beneath a low stone
+wall which traversed the summit. The sound appeared to him to come
+from a spot immediately above his head; he looked up and could see
+through a fissure in the wall what seemed to be a moving form. His
+gaze remaining fixed and fascinated on this object, distinguished at
+last a dark face with two gleaming eyes surmounted by _horns_. All
+Peter Rorke's vaunted courage deserted him; conscience-stricken and
+smitten by sudden agonising fears, he uttered a shrill quavering
+scream and began to totter down the hill with all the speed he could
+muster.
+
+The steep path had been rendered more slippery than usual by recent
+rain, and afforded very insecure footing. Peter, rushing blindly
+forward, soon lost all control over his limbs, and fell at last,
+rolling over and over until he dropped on the rocks below.
+
+His men, hastening to his assistance, hardly dared to raise him from
+the ground, and when they had at last mustered courage to do so, they
+were under the firm belief that it was the corpse of their master
+which they were carrying home. But Peter Rorke was not dead yet, and
+to the surprise of all who had known him, soon demonstrated that he
+was going to cheat a certain Old Gentleman--who had been considered
+his intimate friend during his long life--of his company at the close
+of it. His end in fact was most edifying. He made his peace with both
+God and man before he departed. To the last he remained persuaded that
+the horned face, which had peered at him through the ruins of
+Donoughmor, was that of the devil himself.
+
+The explanation that the McEvoys' goat, which had been tethered on the
+hill, had broken loose and clambered up the ruined wall did not seem
+to him to have any bearing on the case. It was his belief that the
+"Ould Boy" had somewhat prematurely appeared to claim him; and his
+most anxious endeavour was to cheat him of his due. So Peter
+accomplished deeds which, under other circumstances, would have been
+impossible to him. He made his will to begin with, leaving a good deal
+of money in charity, and the bulk of his fortune to Roseen; he left
+directions that the Clancys were to be reinstated in their cabin and
+emphatically announced that he forgave Mike. When this last item, by
+the way, was reported to Pat, the old man's indignation knew no
+bounds.
+
+Peter's last hours were not, however, disturbed by any hint as to the
+Clancys' attitude, and it was with the most peaceful and resigned
+disposition that he, at last, betook himself to another world, with
+the full assurance that it would prove a better one.
+
+When Roseen had in some measure recovered from the shock of her
+grandfather's death, her thoughts turned at once to the Clancys. One
+of the family indeed had never been absent from them, and it was with
+surprise and indignation that she learnt that old Peter's forgiveness
+would in no manner affect Mike's actual position. The crime of which
+he was accused was so serious in character that he would have to await
+his trial at the approaching Sessions.
+
+For his parents, however, something could be done, and Roseen, now
+finding herself mistress of Monavoe and all who dwelt there, proceeded
+to give orders right and left with an assurance which surprised those
+who had formerly known her. Injunctions were issued that the Clancys'
+cottage should be re-roofed and made habitable without delay, and,
+meanwhile, she announced her intention of taking the old couple to
+live with her at Monavoe. Many were the jokes and comments made upon
+this act of hers; a few people of what had now become her own standing
+in the neighbourhood offered her sage pieces of advice; some of her
+former cronies laughed and inquired if she were going to set up a home
+for incurables, as what between ould Judy that had no sense to speak
+of, an' Pat Clancy with ne'er a sound limb in his body, and his wife,
+God help her! hardly able to crawl with rheumatics, she would have her
+hands full up there. Roseen thanked her advisers kindly and laughed
+with the jokers, and went her own way.
+
+One fine morning, her smart outside car drove up to the hospitable
+cabin which had sheltered the Clancys, and Pat and his wife were with
+some difficulty hoisted on to it. Some twenty or thirty neighbours
+kindly escorted them, "to hould them on for fear they might fall, the
+craturs!" With a deal of shouting and huzzahing, the little procession
+halted at length at Monavoe, where Roseen's health was drunk in due
+form, and then Mike's, and then Pat's, and then Mrs. Clancy's, and
+then Roseen's again; and at last the escort went reluctantly
+homewards, and Roseen conveyed her charges to the apartment she
+destined for them. It was a comfortable room on the ground floor,
+larger than the whole of the Clancys' former dwelling, which,
+nevertheless, it resembled oddly in many particulars. For, lo and
+behold! there in the corner stood their own venerable four-poster, and
+drawn up by the hearth was Pat's particular elbow-chair; all their
+possessions were there in fact, Roseen having carefully collected them
+previous to installing their owners--not even the little creepy-stool
+was absent.
+
+Pat Clancy, who had maintained a certain dignified reserve all day,
+not quite liking the notion of being regarded as Roseen's pensioner,
+and not being certain whether this new move did not involve a
+sacrifice of independence, was now fairly overcome. "God bless you, me
+child!" he said brokenly, "ye were always the good little girl,
+Roseen. Herself and me will be quite at home here."
+
+"Ah then, musha, look at me pot," cried Mrs. Clancy, who had been
+troubled by no scruples and whose tongue had been wagging freely
+during the course of their transit to Monavoe. "Look at me own
+_i_-dentical pot that has biled for me ever since we got married! I
+declare I could very near kiss it! I could never fancy any stir-about
+the same as what come out o' that pot! And there's the dresser an' all
+me cups and saucers widout so much as a crack on them. Well now, who'd
+ever fancy anybody that thoughtful? Sure we'll be in clover here--if
+only we had poor Mike out o' gaol!"
+
+"He'll be out soon, never fear," cried Roseen. "We'll get a grand
+clever lawyer from Dublin to come an' spake for him, see if we don't.
+But rest yourself now, Mr. Clancy, ye'll be tired afther the drive.
+Maybe Mrs. Clancy would like to wet a grain o' tay for ye. Ye'll find
+plenty there, ma'am, in the little caddy, an' I'll send up Judy with a
+bit o' griddle cake."
+
+"God bless ye, alanna!" said Mrs. Clancy, with shining eyes; "I'll set
+on me own little kettle this minute; it's a grand little wan to bile
+in a hurry, an' I'll make himself a cup of tay in no time."
+
+Roseen withdrew with a bright nod, her innate delicacy prompting her
+to leave the couple to themselves for a time. Mrs. Clancy's own
+particular little rusty kettle was soon singing merrily on the hob,
+and Judy presently appeared with the griddle cake and a roll of butter
+of Roseen's own making.
+
+"She's afther fetchin' it herself from the dairy," she remarked. "It's
+herself has the grand hand for butter, God bless her!"
+
+"Ahmin!" said Pat emphatically, "she's the grand little girl
+altogether, there's not her aiquals in Ireland."
+
+"Aye, indeed," chimed in his wife, "an' lookit how humble she is--no
+more stuck up now nor she was when she was a little slip of a colleen,
+leppin' about on the Rock, beyant."
+
+"An' she has the fine fortun', mind ye," said Judy proudly, "the
+Masther left her a power o' money--'deed an' he did, a power o'
+money!"
+
+"Bedad, he must have left her a good bit," agreed Pat meditatively,
+"and she desarves it all. 'Pon me word, I wisht Mike had left that
+ould rick alone. Sure, it's her that's the loser now. It's into her
+pocket all that fine money 'ud be comin'."
+
+"Musha," exclaimed "Herself," "I declare I am sick an' tired hearing
+ye goin' on that way, an' me tellin' ye twenty times a day that it is
+the last thing poor Mike 'ud do. He would never dhrame o' such a
+thing, him that wouldn't hurt a fly. Many a time I seen him drivin'
+home the sheep, an' he'd have his heart scalded wid them runnin' this
+way an' that, an' he'd niver offer to rise a stick to them, or so much
+as to peg a stone at them."
+
+"Ah, ha! then, maybe he didn't!" cried Pat triumphantly; "I know me
+own son as well as ye do, ma'am, an' he has a fine sperrit of his own
+as quiet as he is. There now! Who done it if he didn't? Tell me that
+if ye plase."
+
+"Sure them hayricks often and often goes on fire of themselves,"
+retorted Mrs. Clancy, flushed and tearful; "ye know that as well as
+me, Pat. Weren't they at the loss of a lovely stack down there at
+McEvoy's, four year ago? No, it was five, I believe--look at that
+now."
+
+Pat laughed derisively. "'Pon me word, Mary, you have no more sense
+nor herself there," nodding towards Judy. "Sure, McEvoy's rick took
+fire because they were afther stackin' it, an' it wet. Whoever heard
+of a three-year-old rick takin' fire of itself, an' every bit of it as
+dry as a bone?"
+
+"Troth it was," put in Judy, "powerful dry, ma'am. Sure, when a little
+spark got on it out o' me pipe it burnt up the same as if it was
+tindher."
+
+As she spoke she drew her stool up to the table; she was unusually
+loquacious and sensible that day. The potations in which she, in
+common with the other members of Roseen's establishment at Monavoe,
+had indulged having apparently at once loosened her tongue and
+brightened her wits.
+
+Pat's face suddenly changed; his eyes flashed, and his voice shook
+when next he spoke, though he endeavoured to assume a casual air.
+
+"An' was it smokin' alongside o' the rick you were, Judy? When was
+that, agrah?"
+
+"Sure, it was the very night I lost me pipe," replied Judy. "Roseen
+bid me go out an' watch for Mike an' tell him the Masther had her
+locked in an' she couldn't get out to spake to him."
+
+The Clancys looked at each other; the old man making an imperative
+sign to his wife to keep silent.
+
+"That was the very night the rick was burnt down," he observed; "ye
+didn't see any one go near it, did ye?"
+
+"Aye, indeed, it was the very night," agreed Judy; "I lost me lovely
+pipe that night too," she added plaintively.
+
+"Did ye, now?" said Pat, adding in a menacing aside to his wife:
+"Woman, I'll be the death of ye if ye say a word now! Lave her to me.
+Well, Judy, it was a poor case your losin' your pipe that way. I
+wonder what become of it at all? Ye didn't see any one comin', did ye,
+who would be apt to pick it up? Give the woman some tay, Mary, can't
+ye see she's dhry?"
+
+Mrs. Clancy poured out the tea with a shaking hand, and Judy, spilling
+some into her saucer, proceeded to blow it vigorously, her hosts with
+difficulty restraining their impatience the while.
+
+"Beautiful tay, ma'am!" she remarked, after gulping down the first
+instalment. "Elegant tay now, isn't it? Herself never gives less nor
+two an' thruppence a pound for it."
+
+"Doesn't she now," cried Pat; "well, an' ye never seen anybody goin'
+near that rick?"
+
+"Ne'er a wan at all," replied Judy, collecting herself.
+
+"Ye didn't see Mike then?"
+
+"Well, I'll tell ye. I was sittin' wid me back to the rick waitin' for
+him, an' he didn't come, an' I fell asleep, an' when I woke up I
+couldn't for the life of me find me bit of a pipe, not a sign of it
+was in it at all." Here Judy began to weep. "Me heart's broke ever
+since! I just laid it out o' me hand for a minute, and ne'er a bit o'
+me could find it since--and--Och! och! Mr. Clancy, ow--wh! Murdher!
+What are ye doing at all?" For old Pat had struggled from his chair,
+and hobbling across to where Judy sat, had seized her by the shoulder,
+the grip of his one sound hand being as the grip of a vice.
+
+"Woman!" he cried, "it's you that's afther bein' the ruination of me
+boy! It's you that set fire to the rick wid that ould mischeevious
+pipe o' yours! An' there, ye let him be sent to gaol an' the whole of
+us be disgraced for what you are afther doin'. 'Pon me word, I could
+throttle ye this minute."
+
+Mrs. Clancy ran screaming out of the room, bursting in upon Roseen
+with the announcement in the same breath that "Himself would be the
+death of ould Judy before he was done wid her," and that "poor Mike
+must be fetched out o' gaol widout the loss of a minute."
+
+Roseen, rushing to the scene of action, found indeed a prodigious
+uproar going on. Old Pat, who until then had been thoroughly convinced
+that his son had accomplished the destruction of Peter Rorke's
+hayrick, could not now restrain his indignation on learning that he
+had been wrongfully accused; and in the intervals of proclaiming at
+the top of his voice more energetically than even "Herself" in the
+past that "anybody wid a grain o' sense 'ud know poor Mike 'ud be the
+last one in the world to go disgracing himself that way," was shaking
+Judy backwards and forwards till, as she subsequently declared, she
+nearly lost her life.
+
+"'Pon me word," he cried, when with some difficulty and a certain
+amount of physical force he had been separated from his victim,
+"that's the ould scut yez ought to be clappin' into gaol! Did anybody
+ever hear the like? She must go smokin' her dirty ould pipe under the
+loveliest rick in the country--sure, that rick is worth its weight in
+gould these times--an' settin' it on fire an' bringin' ruination an'
+destruction on her misthress as well as on me poor innocent boy! I
+declare hangin' 'ud be too good for her!"
+
+"Didn't I tell ye," cried Mrs. Clancy triumphantly, "that Mike never
+went next or nigh that rick?"
+
+"Of course ye did. Anybody 'ud know that. Bedad, Mike 'ud know better
+nor do anythin' that senseless an' mischeevious. Sure, what good 'ud
+it do anybody to go burnin' that beautiful hay? 'Pon me word, Roseen,
+if I was you I'd walk that lady straight off to the magisthrate."
+
+Judy, meanwhile, with shrill wails and much rocking backwards and
+forwards, was incoherently declaring that she wouldn't sit there to be
+murdhered, an' she didn't know why they was all shoutin' at her that
+way, an' that--as the culmination of woe--she'd lost her lovely pipe.
+
+After some time Roseen succeeded in calming the belligerents, and in
+gathering the sense of their various statements.
+
+Trembling with eagerness and excitement, she led Judy to the
+stackyard, and there, after much coaxing and persuasion, induced her
+to describe her position on the fateful night in question.
+
+"I was sittin' here," announced Judy, pointing to a certain spot.
+
+"You had your back to the rick then?" said Roseen, "ye can't see the
+haggard gate at all from here. No wonder ye didn't see Mike."
+
+"I was tired waitin' for him," said Judy. "I just put me pipe out o'
+me hand," she added meditatively. "I was thinkin' of goin' to look for
+him--and when I woke up it was black night an' I couldn't find--"
+
+Suddenly she uttered a shrill scream, and darting forward, stooped
+over one of the stone supports which had formerly upheld old Peter's
+beloved rick, eagerly groping in a certain little fissure in the rough
+stone, almost hidden beneath the horizontal slab which surmounted it.
+
+"Sure, there it is!" she cried triumphantly, producing indeed the
+grimy little object so dear to her heart. "I have it now! there's me
+darlin' pipe! I was afther forgettin' I put it there; it was turned
+upside down in the crack an' all me baccy's spilt on me!"
+
+Roseen could at first scarcely believe her own eyes and ears; this
+then was the solution of the mystery which had so long baffled them.
+Poor old Judy, growing sleepy and tired after her long wait, had laid
+her pipe on one side intending to rise and look for Mike, but,
+overcome by drowsiness, she had slept instead, and on awaking had
+forgotten the spot where she had stowed her treasure. The little pipe,
+slipping downwards in the crack, had turned over, upsetting its
+contents upon the loose hay beneath the rick, which being, as Judy had
+related, dry as tinder, quickly caught fire from the smouldering
+embers. A strong breeze had arisen that night, and the flame had
+spread to the stack itself with the results which Roseen knew. The
+pipe that had done all the damage, being snugly stowed away beneath
+the overhanging slab of stone, had told no tales; but now its evidence
+was conclusive, and while Judy rapturously embraced and mumbled over
+it, Roseen fell upon her knees and thanked God.
+
+It was on a bright October morning that Mike was released from prison,
+but in spite of the joys of regained liberty and the warm
+congratulations of his friends, the poor fellow looked downcast and
+bewildered enough when he came forth into the sunshiny world. Roseen
+had sent her car for him to the prison door, and Mike, releasing
+himself at length from the handshakes of the friends who awaited him
+outside, and being anxious to dispense with their escort, had induced
+the driver, with a hasty whispered word or two, to whip up the
+fast-trotting mare, which had thereupon started at a break-neck pace
+down the street, soon leaving the astonished convoy far behind.
+
+"Bedad, ye are in a terrible hurry altogether," remarked Jack McEvoy,
+who happened to be driving. "I suppose ye are in a hurry to get to
+Monavoe." He laughed and winked. "Begorrah, if the ould Masther could
+lift his head out o' the grave, I wonder what he'd say at me goin' to
+fetch a husband for his granddaughter out o' Mount Kennedy gaol?"
+
+Mike flushed to the roots of his hair and turned his back more
+completely on his opposite neighbour.
+
+"Sure, ye needn't think shame o' that," went on Jack, quick to
+perceive that the joke was not appreciated. "If ye burnt the rick
+itself, there's nobody hereabouts but 'ud say ye done right. But your
+father's breaking his heart now bekase the loss o' the rick 'ull be
+out o' your own pocket."
+
+"What call has he to say any such thing at all?" said Mike, glancing
+round fiercely.
+
+"Och, bedad, doesn't every one know the way it is between the two of
+yez? Sure, there never was a fellow in such luck as yourself, Mike
+Clancy! Ye'll be the richest man between this and County Cork, an' let
+alone the fortun', ye'll be havin' the greatest jewel of a wife. 'Pon
+me word, if ye was to see the Misthress now of a Sunday!"
+
+"Who's that?" said Mike absently.
+
+"The Misthress--Miss Rorke!"
+
+"Oh, aye, of course, Miss Rorke is the Misthress now," mused Mike to
+himself.
+
+"Well, if ye was to see her in her black silky dress an' the beautiful
+feathers in her hat, an' her gould watch and chain an' all--'pon me
+word, ye'd think it was the Queen."
+
+Clancy did not answer, and McEvoy, more and more anxious to retrieve
+his former error, waxed eloquent on the subject of Roseen, her beauty,
+her wealth, and the bounties she lavished all round her.
+
+"Look at the way she whipped off your father and mother there," he
+remarked at last, "and the comfort she keeps them in! I b'lieve the
+improvement in them since they went up above there is somethin'"--Jack
+paused for an adjective and finally selected "outrageous." "Tay, they
+do be tellin' me, at two and thruppence a pound no less, an' mate
+wanst and twice in the day, an' a sup o' punch at night the way
+they'd sleep sound! Sure, it's somethin' altogether"--again a
+pause--"unmintionable!"
+
+Jack actually leaned across the well of the car to peer into Mike's
+face, but alas! the more choice and picturesque was his language, the
+deeper seemed to be the gloom of Michael Clancy. At last, when within
+a few yards of Donoughmor, Mike abruptly requested to be set down
+there, and after thanking the man in somewhat tremulous tones, walked
+away rapidly in the direction of his former home.
+
+"Sure, what's the good of your going there?" shouted McEvoy, "the roof
+is off of it yet, an' not a soul about. Come on home wid ye, can't
+ye?"
+
+"No, thank ye," said Mike, without turning his head. The car drove on,
+and soon Mike stood within his dismantled home. There had been some
+delay in procuring wood for the new rafters and the poor roofless,
+smoked-begrimed walls looked very forlorn. Mike glanced round him and
+groaned aloud; he could have wept, so great was the turmoil in his
+heart and in his mind. Everything was changed, it seemed to him;
+everything was gone. Could this poor little place ever be home again?
+How silent it was now that the old father was not cracking his jokes
+in the corner! How empty now that the mother's spare form was absent!
+They were safe and sound at Monavoe, he knew, "well looked after," as
+the driver had told him, by "Miss Rorke" herself, but for the time
+being it almost seemed to him as though they were dead. As for Roseen,
+she was Miss Rorke now, the Mistress, the owner of Monavoe--_his_
+Roseen was gone too!
+
+His heart was still sore at the recollection of his bitter
+disappointment on the fateful evening when the rick was burnt. She had
+not come to meet him on that night of all nights in the year! He knew,
+through Jack McEvoy, that she had promised her grandfather never to
+speak to him again. She had broken faith with him. All through these
+weary weeks in prison, the anguish of this thought had deadened all
+his other sufferings and anxieties, but in any case, how could he ever
+expect her, amid her new grandeurs, to think of him as she used to do?
+She had the best heart in the world, he knew that, and wouldn't ask to
+do anything that was not kind; she'd try to make up as well as she
+could for the "differ of things" by doing all in her power for his
+father and mother and by befriending him. It had been mainly through
+her exertions that he had been released, and she had sent her own car
+to meet him--oh, to be sure she had done that! But as to consenting to
+be his sweetheart again, sure, goodness knew, Michael could never
+expect that.
+
+"Afther me bein' in prison an' all!" he said to himself mournfully. "I
+had a right to be givin' up thinkin' of her altogether."
+
+He left the cabin presently and climbed the hill, entering the ruins
+and seating himself on the great stone slab on one side of the
+banqueting-hall. By-and-by, he would have to go to Monavoe to see his
+parents, but he would wait for a little while first; he shrank from
+the meeting with Roseen. He intended to convey to her straightway his
+sense of the distance between them, and his determination to take no
+advantage of their former intimacy; but it was hard, and Mike, crushed
+and shaken by the trouble and anxiety of mind which he had recently
+undergone, suffering in every fibre from an unaccountable sense of
+desolation, felt that his heart failed him.
+
+But all at once a light foot sounded on the stone steps behind him,
+and Roseen came quickly forward to the rocky recess. Her face was
+pale, and there were tears in her eyes; her attire, by no means so
+magnificent as that which Michael had depicted to himself, was
+somewhat disordered; she had not even taken the trouble to assume a
+hat, and her curly hair was blown about her brow, so that she looked
+very like the little Roseen of old.
+
+"Michael Clancy," she cried, "what did I do to ye that ye wouldn't
+come to see me?"
+
+Mike rallied all his self-possession.
+
+"Ye never done anything that was not kind, Miss Rorke," he said,
+standing up and removing his hat, "and I am truly grateful."
+
+Roseen's face quivered. "Why are ye talkin' to me that way, Mike? I'm
+no more Miss Rorke to you now nor I have ever been. Sure, ye are not
+angry," she added piteously, "at me not goin' to meet ye on the car? I
+was afeard that every wan would be talkin' an' tormentin' us."
+
+"Indeed, it wouldn't have become you at all," responded Mike, still
+standing, hat in hand, and speaking with a kind of aggressive
+humility, "and it 'ud be far from me to be expectin' such a thing."
+
+Roseen knit her brows and tapped her foot impatiently, the angry tears
+now standing on her cheeks.
+
+"What is it ye are driving at at all?" she cried; "I can't for the
+life of me make out what it is ye be up to. It 'ud have become me well
+enough to go meet ye, if it wasn't for the way people 'ud be goin'
+on."
+
+"Indeed, of coorse, ye'll have to be mindin' yourself," agreed Mike,
+with cold politeness. "People's always ready enough to be gossipin'
+and gabbin' about any young lady."
+
+"Young lady, fiddlesticks!" cried Roseen. "If ye go on that way I'll
+take ye by the two shoulders an' shake ye--it's all I can do now to
+keep me hands off o' ye! What in the name of goodness would ye be at?
+I'm not a young lady no more nor ye are, I am just Roseen, the same as
+ever I was. It's you that's turned nasty and contrairy."
+
+"Not at all!" replied Mike, still frostily. "I'm only wishful to let
+ye understand that I know me place, miss, an' would never think of
+being presumptious."
+
+Roseen suddenly collapsed on the stone slab and began to sob, making a
+good deal of noise over it and drying her eyes with the corner of her
+skirt, not being at that moment equipped with an apron.
+
+"Ye're a nasty, bitther, disagree'ble ould fellow," she remarked
+inarticulately, "an' I hate ye."
+
+Mike had turned his back to her the better to intrench himself in his
+fortress of reserve, but now he could not help stealing a glance at
+her from over his shoulder. There sat Roseen, still vigorously
+sobbing, her feet dangling downward as she sat on her high perch, her
+shoulders heaving, her ruffled brown head drooping, the tears forcing
+their way through fingers that were just as sunburnt as of old. Many a
+time had Mike seen her give way to paroxysms of childish woe, and
+comforted her with loving words and no less loving kisses. The
+recollection flashed across him now, and he immediately looked away
+again, stiffening himself more than ever.
+
+"I thought the day 'ud never come," lamented Roseen, "when ye would be
+back wid me. I never closed an eye last night countin' the time an' me
+heart leppin' that much for joy, that the bed shook undher me--an'
+this is the way ye go trate me when ye do come home!"
+
+Mike turned round quickly. "Ah, Roseen, can't ye whisht?" he cried;
+"sure it's twice as bad for me as for you. Sure, asthore,"--he
+couldn't for the life of him prevent that little word from slipping
+in--"it's only thrying to do me duty I am; it 'ud never do at all for
+you an' me to be goin' on the same as we used to do, and I wouldn't
+like yourself nor any wan to be thinkin' I'd be forgettin' the differ
+there is between the two of us now."
+
+Roseen looked up, her blue eyes still drowned in tears, but just the
+suspicion of a smile beginning to creep about her mouth.
+
+"Troth!" she said with a toss of her head, "the on'y differ there is
+in it is that I am the same as ever I was, an' you have turned crabby
+an' cranky."
+
+"'Deed then, I'm not," rejoined Mike, adding hotly, "I'd have ye
+remember, Roseen, it's you that changed first. Why didn't ye come to
+me that evenin' at the haggard gate the way you always did? And me in
+throuble wi' all an' breaking me heart for a word from ye!"
+
+The dignified hero was gone for the nonce, and look and tone were
+those of a youthful and offended lover. Roseen immediately fired up
+too.
+
+"God give me patience!" she cried, "I never come acrass such a
+contrairy boy in me life! Didn't I nearly lep out o' the windy to come
+to ye? Sure, me grandfather had me locked in!"
+
+"Oh that, indeed!" said Mike, his face brightening for a moment, but
+immediately clouding over again, "but a man told me that same night,
+that he h'ard ye sayin' ye'd never spake to me agin nor so much as
+look at me."
+
+"He tould you a lie then," said Roseen with flashing eyes; "I never
+said that--oh, aye, to be sure, I believe I did though, but ye have no
+call to be castin' that up at me, Mike; if I did itself, I done it for
+love of you. Now! When me grandfather tould me he was goin' to put
+your father and mother out on the road I begged and prayed an' done
+everythin' I could to persuade him to give up the notion, an' at last
+says I, 'Well, grandfather,' says I, 'I'll promise never to speak to
+Mike agin,' says I,' nor so much as look at him,' says I, 'if ye'll
+only let them stop in it.' Sure, whoever it was went carryin' stories
+to ye must have been hard set to find somethin' to say if they brought
+up that, an' you had no call to be listenin' to them. I'd soon stop
+the mouth of any wan that went about makin' out tales about you."
+
+Never had she looked more bewitching than in her anger; her great blue
+eyes, open to their fullest extent, were flashing with scorn and wrath
+though the big tears still hung on their long lashes. The little
+curled upper lip showed glistening white teeth, the colour came and
+went in the pretty dimpled cheeks--cheeks that looked so soft and
+inviting. Mike bit his lips and thrust his hands in the depths of his
+ragged pockets, clenching them in the effort to preserve his
+self-control. He could not help a flash of joy lighting up his face
+for a moment, but he turned away to hide it. Wasn't she the jewel of
+the world altogether, an' how could he ever have been such a gomeril
+as to doubt her? But all the same he must mind himself. It was not for
+the likes of him to be thinking of her that way. Sure, what matter if
+she had been his sweetheart twenty times over in days gone by--she
+could never be his sweetheart now. Stiffening himself therefore and
+again resuming his lofty tone, he proceeded: "Indeed I am truly
+grateful to you, Miss Rorke, for all your goodness an' all ye done for
+me father and mother. Jack McEvoy's afther tellin' me that they are in
+the height o' comfort. Indeed I'd never have thought of lookin' for
+them there at all; I never have expected you to be puttin' yourself
+about that way for them."
+
+"An' why wouldn't they be with me?" cried Roseen quickly. "Isn't it
+the right place for them to be? They had a right to be stoppin' there
+altogether, on'y that they are that fond of their own little place I
+don't think they 'ud ever contint themselves."
+
+Mike suddenly sat down on the slab, but at a very discreet distance
+from Roseen. He cleared his throat and looked towards her, but seemed
+to find a difficulty in speaking. Roseen began to swing one of the
+little pendant feet and looked away into the blue distance.
+
+"Sure," she resumed in an indifferent tone, after a moment's pause,
+"when their own house is not ready for them, the best place for them
+to be in is their son's."
+
+The colour rushed over Mike's cheek and brow; his heart began to beat
+violently, and his limbs to tremble. There was a long silence, broken
+only by the old familiar song of the lark sounding jubilantly from
+above their heads; the rustling of the tall fawn-coloured grasses that
+grew among the stones, and the distant faint lowing of cattle.
+
+The outline of Roseen's pretty face and head stood out cameo-like
+against the background of sunlit stone; Mike's gaze fastened itself
+there and could not detach itself. There was a long pause, then with a
+great effort he forced himself to speak.
+
+"Roseen, darlint, there's not a ha'porth of good the two of us goin'
+on this a-way; we may as well talk out plain. Ye're the best-natured
+an' kindest-hearted little girl in the wide world, God bless ye!--"
+
+Roseen drooped her head a little demurely, the colour mantling in her
+face now, and dimples coming and going about her mouth.
+
+"But," resumed the young man, steadying his voice, "I wouldn't take
+advantage of ye, alanna, an' let ye do what ye'd be apt to be sorry
+for afther a while. It wouldn't do at all for ye to be takin' up wid
+the likes o' me now. Sure ye'd be the laughingstock of the place, if
+ye went an' got married to a poor fellow like meself that hasn't a rag
+to his back nor a penny in his pocket, an' just stepped out o' prison
+more by token--sure, that alone 'ud make a deal o' differ!"
+
+"Aye, indeed," interrupted Roseen, throwing up her head, "it 'ud make
+that much differ, Mike, that if a girl was fond of a boy before, she'd
+be apt to be ten times fonder after. Now lookit here, Mike Clancy, I
+have had enough of this--'pon me word, isn't it too bad for a poor
+girl to have to go beggin' an' prayin' a fellow this way! Ye ought to
+be ashamed of yourself! Saints presarve us, this is the third time I
+am afther axing ye! I declare I'm out o' patience wid ye altogether.
+Sure, didn't we have each other bespoke ever since we could say a word
+at all, an' what matter in the name of goodness, if ye haven't a penny
+in your pocket? Haven't I plenty for the two of us? And sure, good
+gracious, if me poor grandfather, God rest him! put ye in gaol for
+what ye never done, isn't it me that ought to be ashamed an' not
+yourself? There now, I'll never say another word to ye, good or bad,
+if ye don't make up your mind at wanst an' lave off talkin' that
+rubbish!"
+
+Apparently Mike did make up his mind, for he left his particular
+corner of the stone bench and came close to Roseen, his face aglow
+with happiness and his arms outstretched. And there they sat and
+talked among the ruins till the birds flew twittering to roost and the
+golden light faded from the hill-top: yet, as hand in hand they came
+down the path and wandered homewards through the dewy grass, it seemed
+to them that they still were walking in a glorified world.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of North, South and Over the Sea
+by M.E. Francis (Mrs. Francis Blundell)
+
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