Ballymoy House, save for the occasional presence of a fishing tenant,
has been unoccupied for years. Two men are employed to keep the
grounds tidy, and Mr. Simpkins does his best to see that the work is
done. But in spite of his exertions the place is in a condition of
disorder. There is long grass where there ought to be trim lawns; wild
growths of brambles in nooks originally dedicated to rose gardening;
and a general air of exuberance about the trees and shrubs. Miss King
found all this very charming. She took a walk round the pleasure
grounds on the evening of her arrival, and felt that she had happened
upon the Irish demesne of her dreams--a region of spacious
dilapidation, exquisite natural beauty, romantic possibilities, and an
inexhaustible supply of local colour; a place very different indeed
from the trim Thames-side villas in which she generally spent her
summer holidays. Her maid unpacked a large box of requisites for the
country life supplied by the Stores, and came, at the bottom of it,
upon a very gay hammock made of green and scarlet strings. Miss King
was delighted with its appearance, and the promise it gave of luxurious
rest. After breakfast next morning she summoned the two gardeners to
her presence, and gave orders that the hammock should be securely hung
in a shady place. The men were unaccustomed to hammocks, but with the
help of some advice from the maid, they tied it to two trees in a
corner of what had once been a tennis court. They were so pleased with
it that they stood looking at it with great appreciation until Miss
King came out at about twelve o'clock. She brought with her a bundle
of manuscript and a fountain pen, intending to work into her new novel
a description of Ballymoy House and the demesne.
The men watched her settle herself, and then came forward cautiously
and asked if there was anything they could do for her. Miss King
suggested that they should go away and do their work. They went
obediently, but returned in a few minutes with two scythes.
"If it's pleasing to your ladyship," said the elder of the two, "I was
thinking of cutting the grass beyond, while the weather's fine, and
we'd have a chance of getting the hay saved without rain."
Miss King was not very well pleased. She would have preferred to be
left alone, in order that she might enjoy thoroughly the picturesque
dilapidation she wished to describe. But she did not see her way to
forbid the cutting of the grass. The two men sharpened their scythes
noisily and mowed down several swathes of long grass. Miss King
watched them, mildly interested. At the end of five minutes they
stopped mowing and whetted their scythes again. Then they sat down,
lit their pipes, and looked at Miss King. She busied herself with her
papers, and made some corrections with the fountain pen. When their
pipes were about half smoked, the men rose, whetted their scythes for
the third time, and mowed again. Miss King stopped writing and watched
them. The day grew hotter, and the spells of mowing became shorter.
Miss King gave up the attempt to write, and lay dreamily gazing at the
men, roused to active consciousness now and then by the rasp of the
hones against the scythe blades. At one o'clock the men, guessing it
to be dinnertime, stopped pretending to work and went away. A few
minutes later Miss King, feeling the need of luncheon, disentangled
herself from the hammock, bundled her papers together, and went into
the house.
At two o'clock the men, carrying their scythes, returned to the tennis
court, which was nearly half mowed. At half-past two Miss King joined
them, and climbed as gracefully as she could into the hammock. She
brought a book with her this time instead of her manuscript. The
afternoon was hotter than the morning had been, and there was a very
soothing sound of bees among the branches of the trees. Miss King, who
had eaten her luncheon with a good appetite, went to sleep. The two
gardeners, after a short consultation, sat down under a tree and
smoked. At half-past three Meldon arrived.
"You seem," he said to the men, "to be taking things pretty easy. Are
you supposed to be mowing that lawn, or is Mr. Simpkins paying you to
cut the legs off any tiger or other wild beast that comes up with the
idea of devouring Miss King in her sleep?"
The men grinned pleasantly, and put their pipes in their pockets.
"It's how we didn't like to be disturbing the young lady," said the
elder of the two men, "and her lying there quiet and innocent, maybe
tired out, the creature, with the way she's been travelling to and fro."
"Isn't it Callaghan your name is?" said Meldon.
"It is. Glory be to God! but it's wonderful the way you'd know me, Mr.
Meldon, and you out of the place these three years."
"Send that other man away," said Meldon, "and listen to me while I
speak to you."
"Mickey," said Callaghan to his fellow-labourer, "let you be off with
you and get the potatoes earthed up beyond in the garden. It's
wonderful, so it is, the way you'd take a delight in sitting there all
day and not doing a hand's turn."
Mickey went off, still grinning. He had no intention of earthing up
the potatoes. Digging is hard work, not to be lightly undertaken on a
hot afternoon. Meldon watched him out of sight, and then turned to
Callaghan.
"I'm speaking confidentially to you," he said, "and I hope that nothing
I say will--"
"Take care," said Callaghan, "that you wouldn't wake herself, talking
so loud and all."
Meldon looked at Miss King.
"She seems pretty sound," he said, speaking more softly.
"It's tired she is, the creature,", said Callaghan. "It would be a
shame to wake her, though I wouldn't care myself for the notion of
sleeping in one of them new-fashioned beds."
"What I want to say to you is this," said Meldon. "You know Mr.
Simpkins, of course?"
"I do."
"Is he a particular friend of yours?"
"He is not," said Callaghan. "The Lord forgive me for saying the like!
but I hate him worse than I do the devil."
"I thought you probably would," said Meldon, "and I don't wonder at it.
Any man who works the sort of way you were working when I arrived would
be pretty sure to hate Simpkins."
"Since ever he come to the place," said Callaghan, "there's been
neither peace nor quiet in it. There doesn't a day pass but he's up
here asking why this isn't done, and what's the matter with the other
thing, and whether I couldn't manage to settle up some contraption or
other. Many's the time I've said to myself it would be better for me
to starve out on the bog beyond than to have the life plagued out of me
listening to the way he does be talking."
"I expect," said Meldon, "that he's simply trying to make you do your
work, and a hard job he has of it."
"Any way, it's what I'm not accustomed to; and what's more, won't
stand."
"You'll have to stand it for a while more, any way. That's what I want
to impress on your mind. I can't have a word said against Mr.
Simpkins, in the presence of Miss King."
"The young lady there?"
"Yes, that exact young lady. She's a stranger in these parts, and
you're more or less responsible for the opinions she forms of the
people she comes across. It's to you she'll be looking for guidance
when she's in a difficulty and wants information about any one."
"She will, of course. Why wouldn't she? Amn't I old enough to be her
father and the father of a dozen more like her?"
"Exactly," said Meldon. "So when she consults you about Mr. Simpkins
you'll say all the good you can of him, and you'll praise him up to the
servants in the house in such a way that they'll repeat what you've
said to her."
"Would you have me tell what isn't true?"
"I would."
"Well, then, I'll not do it. I've more respect for myself, let alone
the young lady, than to do the like."
"Don't take that tone with me," said Meldon, "for I'll not stand it.
There isn't a man in Ireland this minute that has a greater respect for
the truth than I have. It's a good thing--one of the best things there
is--in its proper place. But there's no bigger mistake than to suppose
that because a thing is good in one place at one time, it must
necessarily be good everywhere and always. Take the case of bottled
porter. You're not a teetotaller, are you?"
"I was one time," said Callaghan, "after the mission there did be going
round the country last spring. They had me pledged before I rightly
understood what it was they were doing; but, thanks be to God, I'm
through with it now, and can take a drop of drink as well as another."
"Very well. Then you'll appreciate what I say about bottled porter.
It's a good thing when you have it in a tumbler, and the tumbler in
your hand, and you thirsty."
"It is." Callaghan spoke with conviction. He was thirsty at the
moment, and he had some hope that Meldon might possibly have the bottle
of which he spoke in his pocket. He was disappointed when Meldon went
on with his speech.
"But it's not a good thing when somebody jogs your elbow and spills the
whole of it over the legs of your trousers. Now it's exactly the same
with truth. It's all right under certain circumstances. It's one of
the worst things going when it's told to the wrong man at the wrong
time. You follow me so far, I hope. Very well. Now I want to make it
plain to you that the truth about Mr. Simpkins must not be told to Miss
King. I expect he'll be up to call on her tomorrow or next day, and
it's most important that she should not be prejudiced against him."
"Have you a match made up between them?" asked Callaghan.
"I have."
"And why couldn't you have said so before? If that's the way of it, it
isn't likely I'd be saying a word that would turn her against the man
that's laid down for her to marry. There was a friend of my own one
time that had a match made up for his son with a girl that had a good
fortune. But there was only one leg on her, and he was terrible feared
that the boy'd never take her if he found it out. There wasn't one in
the place, only myself, that knew the way the girl was on account of
her father living away beyond the bog. Do you think I said the word?
I did not. And the boy was well enough pleased at the latter end."
"In this particular case," said Meldon, "you'll have to do rather more
than keep your mouth shut. Simpkins' legs are all right, of course,
but--"
"He has the divil of a long tongue."
"Well, don't dwell on his tongue when you're talking about him to Miss
King."
"Beyond saying an odd time that he's a pleasant-spoken gentleman, I
will not."
"That's right," said Meldon. "I shall rely absolutely on you. And you
are to let me know from time to time how they get on together when he
comes up here to visit her."
"If there's any impropriety of conduct between them," said Callaghan,
"I'll speak to your reverence."
"Don't misunderstand me," said Meldon. "I don't want to interfere with
their love-making. The more of that they do, the better I'll be
pleased. Even if they run rather into extremes--"
"It's what I won't be a party to," said Callaghan; "I don't hold with
them ways, and the clergy is against them, all but yourself; and you
ought to be ashamed to be encouraging the like."
"You don't in the least understand the situation," said Meldon. "Mr.
Simpkins and Miss King are both English, and in England they manage
these things quite differently from the way we do here."
"Well, it's yourself ought to know about that, seeing that you're a
Protestant."
"It's not so much a question of religion," said Meldon. "It's
temperament. I don't suppose you understand what that means; but the
fact is, that an Englishwoman wouldn't marry a man who hadn't been
making love to her off and on for at least a week. If he hadn't got
her thoroughly accustomed to his occasionally squeezing her hand, and
offering to pick flowers for her, and picking up anything she dropped
about, and-- But I needn't go into details. The fact is, that if he
hadn't made love to her pretty violently, she wouldn't consider it
decent to marry him. That's the sort of people the English are."
"They're queer," said Callaghan, "and that's a fact."
"They are," said Meldon. "But we've simply got to take them as we find
them. There's no use our trying to teach them better ways, for they
wouldn't listen to us. I'm telling you all this so that you won't be
shocked if you happen to see Simpkins kissing Miss King. It's no
affair of yours, to start with; and, in the second place, there's no
point in comparative ethnology so firmly established as the fact that
morality is quite a different thing among different peoples. What
would be wrong for you and me may be, and is, perfectly right for Miss
King and Simpkins. I needn't go into that more fully. All you have to
do is to crack up Simpkins as a first-rate sort of man that any girl
would be lucky if she married; and then let me know how they hit it off
together when they meet."
"I'll do it. I'd do more than that to oblige your reverence in the
matter of making a match for any boy about the place; for I'm not one
to spoil his chances on a boy, not if I hated him worse than I do
Simpkins."
"Very well. Now I want to speak a few words to Miss King, but it won't
do for me to wake her up. She wouldn't like it; and what's more, she
might suspect that we'd been talking together about her. I'll go back
to the house and walk over here across the lawn. I'll signal to you as
soon as I'm ready to start, and then you go over and wake Miss King."
"I wouldn't like to do it. I'd be ashamed, for fear she might think I
was taking a liberty."
"I don't want you to go and shake her," said Meldon, "or pour cold
water over her, or anything of that sort. Just take your scythe over
close to where she is, and as soon as ever I give the signal, you begin
to scrape the blade of it with your stone and whistle a tune at the
same time as loud as you can."
"'The Wearing of the Green,' or the like?"
"Not 'The Wearing of the Green.' It's a melancholy, soothing sort of
tune which would probably only make her sleep sounder. Whistle a good
lively jig."
"I will," said Callaghan.
Meldon walked away. When he reached the house he stood on the top step
of the flight which leads to the hall door and waved his pocket
handkerchief. Callaghan picked up his scythe cautiously, and went on
tip-toe across to Miss King's hammock. He did not wish to disturb her
prematurely. Then, his hone in one hand and his scythe in the other,
he stood and watched Meldon, The handkerchief waved again, and Meldon
started walking briskly across the lawn. The hone rasped harshly
against the scythe blade, and "The Irish Washerwoman" rang out shrilly.
Miss King woke with a start. Callaghan turned away from her, and still
whistling vigorously, began to mow. Meldon hurried forward.
"How do you do, Miss King?" he said. "I happened to be passing the
gate and I just called in to see how you are getting on, and to see
whether there is anything I can do for you."
Miss King blinked, got her feet out of the hammock, sat up, and shook
hands with Meldon.
"It's very kind of you. Won't you come inside and have some tea, or
shall I get them to bring it out here?"
"No, thanks. No tea for me. I haven't time to stay; and besides, I've
had luncheon with Mr. Doyle. You know what that means."
"No," said Miss King. "I don't."
"Well, I needn't go into details," said Meldon; "but as a matter of
fact when you've lunched with Mr. Doyle you don't want anything more to
drink for a long time. By the way, you're not looking out for a cook
just at present, are you?"
"No, I'm not. What made you think I was?"
"People generally are," said Meldon. "In fact, I've hardly ever met
any one who wasn't. I happen just now to know of a really excellent
girl, called Sabina. With a little training she'd make a first-rate
cook. She's first cousin to the red-haired girl who's with Mr.
Simpkins. That's a recommendation in itself."
"Is it? Who is Mr. Simpkins? Oh, of course, he's the man from whom I
took the house."
"A capital fellow," said Meldon; "young, strong, and vigorous. The
sort of man," he sank his voice impressively, "that it would take a lot
to kill."
Miss King seemed moderately interested.
"But why do you think," she said, "that his servant's first cousin--"
"Sabina is her name," said Meldon. "It's a very attractive name, isn't
it?"
"Yes. But why do you think it likely that Mr. Simpkins' servant's
first cousin can cook?"
"He's a most particular man," said Meldon; "fidgety to a degree about
having everything quite right, always worrying the life out of his
servants, which is excellent for them, of course; but, well, if he was
married"--he sank his voice again--"I expect his wife would consider
herself quite justified in killing him. I daresay he'll be up to call
on you this afternoon."
"If he's as bad as that," said Miss King, "I had better go in and tidy
my hair before he comes."
"Perhaps you had," said Meldon.
"You're very rude," said Miss King.
She smiled as she spoke, blushed slightly, and then looking at Meldon
from under her eyelashes, said,--
"Come now, tell me the truth. Am I an absolute fright?"
Most men would have attempted a pretty speech of some sort. Many men
would have responded to Miss King's eyes with a glance of admiration.
She had very fine eyes, and a singularly attractive way of looking out
of the corners of them. Miss King was, in fact, a little tired of her
own company, and would have liked to hear Meldon say something pleasant
about her appearance. She would have enjoyed herself very well if he
had attempted some slight flirtation with her. But he snubbed her
severely.
"I told you yesterday," he said, "that I'm a married man. I have a
daughter two years old, and I'm a clergyman. I really can't allow
you--"
The soft look vanished in an instant from Miss King's eyes. They
flashed fiercely. Her face became suddenly crimson.
"You are outrageous," she said. "How dare you suggest--? How dare you
even think--?"
She sprang to her feet and started at a rapid pace towards the house.
Her head was poised defiantly. Meldon, though he could only see her
back, felt certain that her chin was in the air. Callaghan, who had
retired with his scythe to the middle of the lawn, stopped mowing and
stared after Miss King. Then he laid down his scythe and approached
Meldon.
"Were you telling her," he asked, "of the match you had laid out for
her?"
"No," said Meldon, with a broad smile, "I wasn't."
"From the look of her," said Callaghan, "I thought maybe you might."
"Well, I wasn't. All I was trying to make plain to her was that she
couldn't marry me."
"I'd say," said Callaghan, "that she seen that plain enough, however it
was that you put it to her."
"I thought it better to make it quite clear at once," said Meldon.
"She was looking at me in a kind of way you'd hardly understand."
"I might, then," said Callaghan, still grinning.
"You would not," said Meldon. "You told me a moment ago that the
priests wouldn't let you!"
"There's many a thing," said Callaghan, "that the clergy might not
approve of, but--"
"Any how," said Meldon, "it was that kind of way she looked at me, and
I thought it better to put a stop to it at once."
"You're right there; and it's no more than what I'd expect of you."
"I don't think you quite grasp my point yet," said Meldon. "In a
general way I shouldn't mind her looking at me any way she liked. I
might have enjoyed it, if she'd done it well, as I expect she could.
But under the existing circumstances I had to stop her; because, if she
took to looking at me like that, she'd look quite another way at Mr.
Simpkins, and then he wouldn't be inclined to marry her."
"You're dead set on that match," said Callaghan.
"I am. It's most important that it should come off."
"She's a fine girl," said Callaghan. "She's too good for the like of
Simpkins. He'll be tormenting her the way he does be tormenting
everybody about the place."
"Believe you me," said Meldon, "she'll know how to manage him."
"She might," said Callaghan. "By the looks of her, when she left you
this minute, I wouldn't say but she might."