'Thramp it out, Paddy, thramp it out, ye scutt ye. D'ye call that
buildin' a haycock? Putt a good head ahn it. Av ye lave the hay
loose yon road at the edges, the first skift av rain will get in
ondher it, an' go right to the heart av it, an' ye'll be havin' the
whole clamjaffrey hatin' on us.'
'Ah! houl yer whisht, ye long-tongued divil, Mick. Give us a dacent
lock at a time, an' don't go pokin' the fork in me eye. Ye nearly
had me desthroyed yon time.'
'Fwhat for are ye buildin' it ahl crucked now? Ye've guv it a tilt
to the North like a thrawler in a shkite av wund or a load of turf in
a shough.'
'An' why for no, ye cantankerous owl' shkibareen. I done it for
purpose, the way it might lane agin the blast that comes up them
hollys. Av ye put a prop or two ondher it, it'll be as firrum as a
house.'
'To blazes wi' ye, Paddy; ye've got too many consates in yer head
ahlthegither. Make the butt livil and stiddy an' the top straight
an' ye can't betther it. It's temptin' Providence ye are to send a
lock of wund from behin' an' toss it on us.'
'Providence is it? Gahn! kape a civil tongue betune yer teeth. Ye
have too much to say for yerself be half. Build a cock is it? Yous
as can hardly tell a cock from a bull's fut. Stan' from ondher till
I slither down.'
'Where's the ropes now? I'll hold ye that ye niver twisted them, an'
divil a thrahook on the groun' to do it wid, nor so much as a sally
rod to make wan.'
'Now ye're too fast enthirely, Mick. The ropes is ondher the wee
grass cock at yer fut. Go to the other side an' catch a hoult av the
ind when I toss it to ye. Are ye ready? Make it tight. Ah! lift
man, can't ye? Put yer shouldher into it. An' now agin for the
other wan. That's well done anyway.'
'What matther to have yon wee taste saved, when there's half av an
acre shuck out, an' a whole wan in the swathe, an' it lukin' like a
shtorrum av rain ev'ry minute.'
'Now quit lamentin'. God sees ahl, an' it's time to knock aff for
dinner. It must be well ahn to one o'clock, the sun's straight over
the tower an' the hill. Shtrike yer graip in the groun' an' come an'
down to the well.'
'It's well ye minded to bring the dinner itself. I wouldn't putt it
past ye to forgit even that. Where war ye last night? At the
spriggin' camp, I'll be boun', stravaguin' about afther them girls.'
'Ay, divil a where else. But I'll be accountable to no man for me
goin's.'
'There's no call to flare up now. It only shows ye've bin coortin'
that Norah Sheehan agin, an' afther I've towl ye times out av' min' I
won't have it. Maybe ye'll tell me where ye intind to putt her whin
ye've got her.'
'You to hell with yer havin's. There's room in the house for ahl,
an' I can arn bread for both av us. We're to be called in chapel
come Sunday, so there.'
'Room in my house, divil a hate! An' where ud I be, I'd like to
know?'
'Your house--I like that whin me father lift it betune us on his last
deathbed. An' who's got a better right to live in it than me own
wife an' no beholdin' to yous?'
'Ay, that's right enough betwixt us two, but not when other folks is
by. Ye've got to prove it. I'm yer eldher brother, an' it's ahl
mine be rights. Where's the paper ye have to show for it? an' my
wurrud's as good as yours an' betther, so putt that in yer pipe an'
smoke it.'
'You chatin' hound, you thry to best me out av me fair rights, an'
I'll be the death av ye, so I will.'
'Them's nice wurruds to use to yer eldher brother, ye onnathural
young limb. Though I wouldn't put it past ye to murdher me; ye've
thried it before now. D'ye mind the day ye threw me aff of the
cliff? But whether or no, divil a fut will that girl putt in my
house. It's bin a respectable house up to now; an' if ye thry to
bring her to it, out ye'll both go, you an' your trollope.'
'Say that wurrud agin, ye scutt. Say it agin, I darr you.'
'Ay, I'll say it as aften as I like, an' I say agin now to yer face,
that neither you nor yer trollope will ever set fut on flure of mine
from this out.'
'Then take that, ye ignorant fule. Ye wud have it. Maybe it'll larn
ye to kape a still tongue in yer head,' shouted Paddy. In his rage
the landscape swam blood-red before his gaze, he plucked the hay-fork
from the ground behind him, and plunged it into his brother's chest.
The sharp steel prongs drove through bone and muscle with a grinding
sound, and stood out a handsbreadth behind his back. The base
stopped with a thud against the breast-bone. There was a shrill
scream, the scream with which the strong man's soul rends itself
apart from the body; he rocked and swayed for a moment, and fell
stiffly upon his back, his arms outspread. The handle of the fork
stood erect, vibrating in the dead man's chest.
The young man put out his hand to grasp it, but it started away from
him with a tremor, and he leaped backward, thinking it had come to
life. What was that word? Murder. It appeared to be written in
letters of brass across the heavens, and all the hills around were
thundering it in his ears. For a long time he stood there with his
eyes fixed straight in front of him, and the perspiration pouring in
streams from his body.
'He dhruv me to it,' he muttered; 'he dhruv me to it.'
It had been coming to this for a long time between the brothers,
though neither of them had seen it. The nagging tongue of the elder
and the uncontrolled temper of the younger made them an ill-assorted
pair. Once in boyhood Paddy, in a fit of anger, had pushed his
brother off a cliff into the sea, and in an agony of contrition had
leapt off after him. Neither was hurt by the fall, and they swam
contentedly together to land, and there fought till neither of them
could stand. Since then it had gradually been getting worse. A word
and a blow was a daily occurrence between them, and latterly the blow
was dealt with whatever instrument came handy. It had come to be
only a question of sufficient provocation and a deadly enough weapon,
and that was bound to happen which had now happened. This time no
remorse would avail. His brother had gone where he could not follow
him.
As the young man stood there beside his dead brother, a dull strange
sense of the injustice of it all began to rise and swell in his
bosom. He couldn't understand it. An ordinary quarrel, resulting in
not quite the ordinary way, and two lives were sacrificed and a third
ruined forever. God help poor Norah! It was not fair. What good
did it do to any one? and why had he and Norah been selected for this
thing to happen to?
After a long time he woke from his trance with a start, and keeping
his eyes carefully turned from the pool of blood that was slowly
drying in front of him, he ran swiftly to the house, as though to
escape some temptation that was behind him. Quickly he put the horse
in the cart, and standing up in it, drove at full speed to the town.
Down the hill of the main street he rattled, as one of the neighbors
said, 'as if the devil was behind him,' and pulled up with a jerk at
the doctor's door.
'Docther dear, hurry for the love av God,' he said; 'ye're wanted
badly out at Michaelstown, there's a man kilt.'
Then he walked across the road to the police station opposite, and
said to the sergeant in charge, 'Me an' me brother was havin' wurruds
in the three-cornered field behind the house, an' I've shtuck the
graip into him. I'm thinkin' it's kilt him I have, an' I've come to
giv' meself up.'