While the "tribe" trotted off in just the same wild spirits to return
the cart and horse, Nessa entered the house with a sudden and not
pleasant recollection that Cousin Jane was there, and would have to be
talked to all the evening.
There was scarcely time to do more than dress for dinner, but she
went to the schoolroom as usual before going up-stairs to see if the
curtains were drawn and the fire bright for the children. To her
dismay she found it full of people. Cousin Jane was sitting by the
fire talking to Mr. Plunkett. Emma had taken down some of the lesson
books from the bookcase, and was showing them to Mademoiselle; Frankie,
looking tired and excited, was curled up in an arm-chair by the window.
"Well, you see we have lost no time," exclaimed Cousin Jane, as Nessa
entered. "I found Mr. Plunkett, and I have just been talking to him
about those children. For poor Launcelot's sake it really goes to my
heart to see the state they are in. To think of children of their
family and position being allowed to run wild with little beggars and
vagabonds! I have been telling Mr. Plunkett he should keep them a
little more strictly. If it were known what associates they have, it
would be very unpleasant for Emma."
Nessa felt very sorry for the children. What Cousin Jane said was
perfectly true, it was time for some one to look after them; but
instinctively Nessa felt that Cousin Jane and Mr. Plunkett together
were likely to prove worse than no one.
"Have they returned from their expedition?" inquired Mr. Plunkett.
"Yes; they have gone to take back the horse and the cart to the
stable," replied Nessa, innocently.
"I will go to them at once," said Mr. Plunkett, turning to Cousin
Jane, "and hear what they mean by taking the horse and cart without
my permission; and I will make that ragamuffin crew of theirs clearly
understand for the future that if they are found trespassing on these
grounds they will be taken up. And, indeed, you cannot feel more
strongly than I do the necessity of breaking off the undesirable
friendships that exist between these children and the vagabonds of the
village. Something should be done. I feel unfortunately my personal
authority to be so vague that I hesitate to act alone, but armed with
your permission there are several steps which I should like to take."
Mr. Plunkett had evidently had a long talk with Cousin Jane, and seemed
to have thawed a little under the influence of her sympathy.
"We must talk it over," replied Cousin Jane. "If they are to spend
months with Frankie, they must mend their ways. They will find they
can't have twenty or thirty dirty followers hanging about my house."
"I feel assured," said Mr. Plunkett, "that stricter measures are
necessary, and separated from their disreputable associates you will
find that much can be effected."
"I'm sure I don't know what is to be done," said Cousin Jane. "All I
know is that I should be ashamed for any of our friends to know that
there are such children in the family."
"Well, I will go now and have an explanation of their present conduct,"
returned Mr. Plunkett.
"Oh, Mr. Plunkett, not now!" exclaimed Nessa. "They are all so excited
now," she added, turning to Cousin Jane, "and when they are, they do
not know what they say--Will you not wait till to-morrow?"
"I'm sure I don't know, my dear. Let Mr. Plunkett do as he likes."
Mr. Plunkett had stood with his hand on the door while Nessa spoke,
but as Cousin Jane answered for him he bowed, said a general "Good
evening," and left the room.
He knew the children would be in the barn-yard, and he walked briskly
in that direction. For a minute or two he had debated in his mind
whether perhaps it would not be better to leave the matter, as Nessa
suggested, till the next day. But he had quickly decided to keep to
his own plan. Murtagh's spirit required to be broken. He ought to
be humiliated, to be shown that his independent ways could not be
tolerated. Nothing short of that would reduce him to submission, and
how would he ever learn to bear the discipline of life if he were
not taught now to obey? "I am the only person who is in any sort of
authority over him," thought Mr. Plunkett, "and if the boy will defy me
in this open manner, I must show him openly that I am stronger than he."
No better opportunity than this would be likely to present itself for
a long time. He would speak to Murtagh before the whole crew, and he
would make the village children understand that he would not have them
hanging about the place. His position in the village as well as in the
immediate household was affected; and in defense of his own authority
it was absolutely necessary for him to show that he was not to be
trifled with.
In this frame of mind he arrived within earshot of the barn-yard.
Scraps of song, shouts, and laughter reached him; some piece of fun was
evidently going on.
The sound of the merriment only strengthened his resolution, and his
anger was in no way abated when he stood at the gate of the barn-yard
by seeing Murtagh and Winnie with stable lanterns in their hands
standing up together on Tommie's back. They were performing some kind
of circus entertainment for the amusement of the assembled crowd; and
Royal, as much excited as the children, was apparently endeavoring to
leap on the horse's back.
They had collected a quantity of straw lying about the barn-yard, and
spread it upon the ground in order that they might "fall soft," but
at the first glance Mr. Plunkett imagined that they had knocked down
part of a corn rick for the purpose, and he advanced at once towards
Murtagh, saying sternly:
"Stop this tomfoolery, sir, and tell me what you mean by destroying
your uncle's property in this wanton manner!"
"Destroy my uncle's granny's fiddlesticks!" retorted Winnie, with a
merry peal of laughter. "We're not destroying anything except our own
bones. Look out, Murtagh, I'm slipping again." As she spoke she slipped
to a sitting position, but Murtagh remained standing, and steadied
himself against her shoulder while a smothered laugh burst from the
crowd, and one incautious--"It's like his impudence," was distinctly
heard.
"I tell you what it is, young gentleman," returned Mr. Plunkett, now
thoroughly angry, "your disobedience and impertinence have gone on too
long. It is time such behavior was stopped, and stopped it shall be in
one way or another. Were you aware when you took that horse and the
cart that I had given orders for them to be employed elsewhere?"
Murtagh surveyed Mr. Plunkett for a minute, and then replied coolly:
"Perfectly aware."
Again an irritating titter ran through the crowd, and Mr. Plunkett
answered hotly:
"Let me tell you, for the future, when you are aware of my commands,
you will be wise if you obey them. I have forgiven you often enough,
and henceforth every disobedience shall be punished as it deserves.
Little boys seldom gain much by setting themselves up in rebellion
against their elders."
He paused. Murtagh's face had grown blacker, but he only twirled a
straw between his lips, and without speaking looked straight at Mr.
Plunkett.
Dead silence reigned for a minute, then Winnie gave a provoking little
laugh. Her face was as distinctly visible as Murtagh's for her lantern
rested upon her knee; her eyes were sparkling, her mouth ready to break
again into laughter; she seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the scene.
At the sound of her laughter Mr. Plunkett continued:
"But I should have thought that even you would have known better than
to drag your sisters into such companionship as this.
"If you choose to pick your own companions from among the rabble of
the village, you might at least have sufficient gentlemanly feeling to
induce you to shield your sisters."
"Well, you are polite," laughed Winnie, while Murtagh replied, with an
angry tone in his voice:
"Don't talk about my friends, if you please, unless you can talk more
civilly."
"Friends!" returned Mr. Plunkett. "They are certainly charming friends
for a young gentleman of your position! But till you learn to choose
your society from a different rank you must hold your entertainments
somewhere else. I give you all fair warning," he continued, turning to
the group of children, "that the next time I catch one of you hanging
about here, I send you off to prison for trespassing."
"You shall do nothing of the sort," retorted Murtagh. "They _are_ my
friends; real, true friends, who love me, and who would do anything I
told them to. Aren't you?" he added, appealing to the followers.
"That are we so!" they cried with one voice, while Murtagh continued:
"I am proud of them; they are honest and real. They love me, and I love
them. What do we care about positions? They shall come here when they
please, and you are not to insult them."
He drew his figure up to its full height, and delivered the last words
with authority. They were received with a hearty shout by the excited
followers; and as soon as Mr. Plunkett's voice could be heard above the
noise, he replied with some irritation:
"Don't talk to me in such a ridiculous manner, sir. I shall do whatever
seems to me to be proper; and I am not joking about this matter. If
I ever again find such a dirty, disreputable crowd assembled on your
uncle's premises, every member of it shall be taken up for trespassing.
Whether you are invited by Mr. Murtagh or not," he added, turning again
to the crowd. "And further, unless you wish me to call a policeman now,
you had better go away to your homes as fast as you can."
The followers huddled silently together, not knowing what to do, but
Murtagh burst out angrily:
"How dare you? Do you know what you are doing? Do you know that if I
chose to tell them, they would take you and duck you in the stable
pond?"
At the words there rang through the crowd an eager movement which made
Mr. Plunkett remember thankfully that he had on one of his oldest
coats; however, he answered coldly:
"When you speak to me in such a manner you forget the difference of
age between us, and the position in which I stand towards you. Such
unseemly outbursts only serve to prove that the society you have chosen
is not likely to fit you for the career of a gentleman, and leave me
no alternative but to take by force the obedience you will not render
willingly. I give you two minutes to clear this barn-yard. If it is
not empty at the end of that time, you and your sisters shall be taken
home, and I will settle the matter my own way with this rabble."
As it happened two of the night police walked up to the gate while he
was speaking and looked into the yard. Mr. Plunkett signed to them to
enter, and continued significantly: "You see my words are not vain; I
mean what I say. Choose your own course."
Murtagh saw that he was overpowered. The sense of being baffled and
defeated by mere armed force was very bitter, and all the roused
passion within him burst forth as he answered:
"Yes; you have conquered this time, because you have got grown-up men
to help you. But you shall see I _will_ be free. If you fight with me,
you will get the worst of it. I will receive my friends wherever I
please, and you had better not dare to interfere with me again. I tell
you when you do it, it makes me feel as if I could kill you."
"That's right, Mr. Murtagh; an' it would be a good riddance to the
country the day ye did it," shouted hot-headed Pat O'Toole, who could
no longer contain his indignation.
Almost before the words were out of the boy's mouth Mr. Plunkett's hand
was on his collar, and some sharp blows from Mr. Plunkett's cane repaid
the speech. An angry murmur ran through the crowd. Murtagh sprang from
the horse's back and threw himself between them, receiving upon his
face and head a part of the swiftly descending shower of blows. For a
moment there was a confused struggle. Bobbo tried to make his way to
the rescue. Winnie had risen to her feet, and with flashing eyes she
called, "At him, Royal; at him!"
The great dog bounded forward, seized Mr. Plunkett's coat-sleeve in his
teeth, and the next minute Murtagh and Pat were standing side by side
defiantly facing Mr. Plunkett.
Murtagh's face was even whiter than usual, and across one cheek a dark
red stripe showed where the cane had struck him.
"Come," he said, turning to the tribe. He led the way to the gate, and
they followed him slowly, the dog holding Mr. Plunkett immovable the
while.
Only Pat O'Toole did not stir. He stood facing Mr. Plunkett. From the
gate Murtagh called to him. Then he turned and followed the others,
but before leaving the yard he stopped, and shaking his fist at Mr.
Plunkett, he exclaimed passionately:
"You shall repent this evening's work; ye haven't struck Pat O'Toole
for nothing."
"Come, Royal; loose him, good dog!" cried Winnie. The dog trotted after
them, and the whole troop of children disappeared into the darkness.