Paddy’s Pigs.
A spell of beautiful autumn weather brought Lawrence often to the beach
as of old to get his boat, but Kathleen and Doreen no longer
accompanied him. They were not asked, and had they been would have
declined the honour. A nameless feud was waging between the
_dilettante_ brother and the two lively Irish girls, scarcely less wild
than Paddy, who resented his cool superiority and cutting sarcasms to
their inmost core.
It did not interfere with anyone’s pleasure, however, as they had hosts
of friends all over the countryside, and Lawrence preferred having
Eileen to himself. It was hardly realised by the elders that with so
many young folks about two should have much opportunity of being alone,
or a little more discretion might have been shown. They were all
supposed to be out together, and probably were at the start-off, but a
moment’s thought might have suggested Paddy and Jack most unlikely
occupants of Lawrence’s trim yacht.
However, they were mellow, dreaming days, and an atmosphere of peaceful
dreaminess seemed to pervade them all—like the calm before a storm.
To do Lawrence justice, he did not go out of his way to win Eileen’s
love. On the contrary, he did go a little out of his way to shock her,
but since she possessed divination enough to realise something of this,
it had the opposite effect. She was so simple and natural herself that
she was incapable of understanding deception. She believed Lawrence
wanted her to know him at his worst—to know all the thoughts he
harboured so directly opposed to her dearest beliefs—and so let her
love him as he was instead of as she would have him.
And the mere idea only stimulated her love. Pained she inevitably was,
but the offered up her pain at the shrine of Love, and went deeper into
the maze.
If Lawrence dimly perceived this, he blinded himself to it. To him
love-making was a very different process to this calm interchange of
ideas, and he certainly refrained from much that he would not have
thought twice about with any other pretty girl who interested and
pleased him. Could any more be expected? No one could ever say he made
love to Eileen. He did not make love to her, but he sought her
companionship beyond all other, and looked his admiration of her quiet
loveliness, regardless that to such as she these delicate attentions
were almost a declaration. For the rest, a man must have something to
amuse him, and her _naïvété_ really was rather refreshing, and of
course it wouldn’t hurt her to learn a little more about the world
generally from a less narrowed horizon. So he sought her day by day,
and made no further allusion to that projected Eastern tour, till
Eileen forgot all about it, and waited in a dreaming ecstasy for her
joy to take actual shape.
The only two who seemed at first to scent danger were the
harum-scarums, Paddy and Jack. Such glorious days could not, of course,
be wasted in a piffling little sail on the Loch or mooning on the
beach, but there was time occasionally for a passing thought of the two
who sailed and mooned so contentedly.
“I can’t think why Eileen doesn’t pack him off,” Paddy said once. “He
makes me want to stamp, with his calm superiority. Fancy spending hours
listening to the drivel he talks when she might be ratting with
us,”—which somewhat remarkable comparison would no doubt have rather
astonished the Oxford B.A.
As a matter of fact, he was enlightened with it the following day, for
while leaving The Ghan House to go home, he was suddenly knocked nearly
silly by a flying, furious apparition, who charged into him round a
sharp corner, carrying a blackthorn in one hand and a ferret in the
other.
For one second Paddy regarded him with unmistakable disgust for staying
her progress, then her face suddenly grew excited again, as she
exclaimed: “There! there, see, there it goes. Come on—we’ll have him
yet,” and dragging the astonished Lawrence after her, charged on down
the hill. “Here! you take the ferret,” she gasped, “but mind how you
hold him. He bites like old Nick,” and she thrust the offensive little
beast into his hand. Lawrence took it with as good a grace as he could!
command, and when they ran the rat to earth exhibited a momentary
enthusiasm nearly equal to hers.
“There!” said Paddy, holding up the slaughtered vermin, with shining
eyes. “Wasn’t that a good catch?”
“Very. What shall I do with this!” and Lawrence held up the ferret,
with which he had again been unceremoniously saddled, with a comical
air of martyrdom.
“Put it in your pocket for the present,” promptly “or are you afraid of
spoiling the shape of your coat?” with a scornful inflection, as he
looked vaguely disgusted.
“You can put it so, if you like,” he retorted, “though. I have many
other coats.”
“What’s the matter with Peter?” eyeing the ferret affectionately. “He’s
a beauty—if only he didn’t bite so. I’ll take him, if you like. Come
along back to the barn and I’ll find you another blackthorn. You can’t
think what sport it is. Fancy sitting in a spick and span little yacht,
that could hardly turn over if it tried, and talking about stuffy,
uninteresting people like Browning and Carlyle, when you might be
_ratting_!” Leading the way up the hill again.
“Fancy!” ejaculated Lawrence. “You must really take me in hand. I’m
afraid my education has been guided into foolish and worthless
channels.”
“You needn’t bother to be sarcastic,” hurrying on, with her eyes
eagerly on the barn. “It’s all wasted on me. I know what’s life and
fun. You only know a lot of useless stuff that someone thought about
life a long time ago, I don’t know how Eileen has the patience to
listen to you. Come on,”—growing more excited—“Jack and Mr Masterman
have evidently unearthed some more!”
“I bow to your superior wisdom,” with a little smile that made his face
suddenly almost winsome, and straightway threw himself heart and soul
into the ethics of ratting, noting with a slight amusement, the big,
cheery Ted Masterman’s evident predilection for the fair ratter.
But it was over Paddy’s adventure with the pigs that he won his first
real spark of approval from her.
Paddy and Jack had a great friend near by in the person of one Patrick
O’Grady, who farmed a small farm with an Irishman’s dilatoriness,
helped therein by the two playmates. Paddy had sown seed for him,
ploughed, harrowed, and dug potatoes—Jack likewise—both considering it
their due, in return, to be consulted on all matters pertaining to the
farm. This was how it came about that Paddy was mixed up in the sale of
the pigs. She was at the farm when the disposal of those forty-five
young pigs was discussed, and naturally took an active part in the
impending decision. It was finally decided they should be sold by
auction at the next market, and Paddy should mingle with the crowd—Jack
also, if procurable,—to run up the prices. She also undertook to turn
up the previous afternoon, bringing Jack with her, to help to catch the
forty-five little pigs and put them in a wagon. When they arrived on
the day in question they were first of all regaled with tea by Patrick
O’Grady’s housekeeper, who was commonly called Dan’el, though whether
from her transparent fearlessness of all things living, or because her
enormous bulk was supported on feet that could only, under ordinary
circumstances, belong to a big man, remains a mystery. Paddy had once
remarked that if you were out in a storm with Dan’el it didn’t matter
about having no umbrella, because if you got to the leeward side you
were sheltered same as if you were up against a house, but that, of
course, was a little of Paddy’s Irish exaggeration. Howbeit, having
finished tea, the farmer piloted them all to the big barn into which he
had driven the pigs ready for catching.
“I thought we’d have ’em all together here,” he remarked, “but ’tis a
pity there’s no door to close the entrance.”
“Never mind,” said Paddy slyly, “Perhaps if there had been you couldn’t
have got them in.” At which Patrick scratched his head and looked
thoughtful a moment before he replied:
“Why, no, begorra! I’d never thought o’ that; but how’s we goin’ to
keep ’em in whiles we catches ’em?”
“We must have Dan’el,” said Paddy promptly. “She shall be Horatio and
keep the bridge,” whereupon poor Dan’el was duly installed to fill up
the doorway with her accommodating bulk. Then began a rare scrimmage.
Bound, and over, and through dashed those young pigs, with Paddy and
Jack and Patrick after them—shrieking with laughter—till Paddy finally
leaned up against the wall on the verge of hysterics and begged for a
halt.
“Don’t let me see Dan’el for a few minutes,” she prayed Jack. “Come and
stand in front of me. When I see Dan’el rolling about in that doorway,
like a German sausage on a pivot, it makes me feel as if I should
burst.”
By this time half the pigs were safely installed in the wagon, but
this, instead of lightening their labour, considerably increased it,
for the remaining half had more room to escape their pursuers. Finally
a farm youth was called in to help, and the work progressed until only
a dozen remained. A brief halt was again called, and then they all
returned to the fray feeling refreshed. Unfortunately the pigs were
refreshed also, and had apparently taken advantage of the halt to
concoct some plan of concerted action. They slipped and scuttled
between legs with a lightning speed that suggested a reinforcement of
the devils of old time, until the moment came for the grand coup. This
consisted in a dash at Paddy’s legs, which took her entirely by
surprise and tripped her up, she emitting a shriek that made everyone
pause a second to see if she was getting killed. In that same second,
while the moment of unguarded surprise still held their captors,
another concerted rush was made for the mountainous apparition in the
doorway. The breach was carried gloriously. Dan’el came down like an
avalanche, and in the pandemonium that followed it was discovered she
had entrapped one small pig under her person, and its shrill screams
were mingled stridently with the helpless laughter of the outwitted
captors. Paddy lay on the floor, buried her face, and gave it up. Tears
poured down her cheeks, and for very exhaustion she could not look on
while the two men, nearly as helpless as she, tried to hoist poor
Dan’el on to her feet and release the screaming little pig. They got
her to a sitting posture, and then they had to take a rest while Jack
leant up against the wall of the barn, hid his face on his arm, and
shook with convulsive laughter. The pigs meanwhile, in a distant corner
of the yard, held another council of war, squeaked and grunted their
glee and awaited developments. When Jack was moderately calm again, and
Paddy recovering, Dan’el was finally hoisted to her feet and prevailed
upon to do a little more entry blocking while the pigs were chased
round the yard, and after a terrific hunt they were all safely
collected in the wagon, ready to start for market at daybreak.
So far all was well, but the next day Paddy’s praiseworthy intentions
of getting her farmer friend good prices did not have quite the result
she had anticipated. Again and again the clear young voice rang out
with a higher bid, to be outdone satisfactorily by some pig-desiring
Pat; but occasionally there was no higher bid, and then the pig was
surreptitiously replaced among the rest, to be re-offered presently.
How long, in consequence, the sale of pigs might have proceeded, it is
impossible to say. Jack, who was having a little fun on his own,
sometimes mingled with the buyers, and disguising his voice, made
careful bids after solemnly advising Paddy to go one higher, till a
system of buying in and re-offering was in progress that seemed likely
to last until doomsday.
At last Jack came up to Paddy with an inquiring air.
“What in the world are you going to do with fifteen pigs, Paddy?” he
asked. “I shouldn’t buy any more if I were you.”
“I—buy—fifteen—pigs!” she exclaimed. “What in the world—”
“Well, of course, you have,” he urged. “They’re all in the wagon
waiting for you. Patrick just asked me if you were going to drive them
home yourself,” omitting, however, to mention that he had previously
impressed upon the doubtful Patrick that the pigs belonged to the fair
buyer. “After robbing him of purchasers, you can’t very well leave them
on his hands. I don’t suppose he’ll want you to pay in a hurry, but you
must take charge of them.”
Paddy regarded him with a haughty stare, and then turned to encounter
the visibly perturbed Patrick.
“They fifteen pigs, miss,” he began hesitatingly. “Are they to go to
The Ghan House?”
“They’re not mine,” she declared stoutly. “I bought them for you.”
“Very good of you, miss; but what would I be wanting with ’em, when I
be selling ’em?”
Paddy looked perplexed. “Whose in the world are they?” she asked
doubtfully. “They’re not mine—and they’re not yours—I give it up.”
“Begorra! I’m shure I dunno, miss,” and Patrick fell to scratching his
head in great perplexity; “but it seems as if, seeing I sold ’em and
you bought ’em—”
“But I bought them for you.”
“But if I was selling ’em, how could I want for to buy ’em?”
“If Patrick doesn’t want them,” put in Jack, “of course you must take
them home, Paddy. I’ll help you drive them.”
“Oh! don’t be an idiot!” stamping her foot. “They don’t belong to me.”
“But you’ve just said you bought them.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did; you said you had bought them for Patrick.”
Paddy stamped her foot more impatiently still and grew more perplexed.
“Share, and it’s beyond me,” and Patrick fell again to his
head-scratching. “If you bought ’em it seems as if they ought to be
yours, don’t it?”
Paddy looked round with a worried air, and at that dreadful moment
descried Lawrence, in the very act of dodging two small pigs that had
escaped their owner and were making tracks back to the wagon as fast as
they could go. She signalled to him, and he came up at once.
“I don’t know what’s happened to Newry,” he said, “but every third
person seems to have acquired a small pig. I’ve been dodging them for
the last half-hour. They’re all over everywhere.”
Jack began to chuckle in a most annoying manner.
“Paddy’s bought fifteen,” he said.
“I haven’t. Be quiet, you—you—great, silly clown.”
“Now, don’t get cross, Paddy,” soothingly; “and you’ve said so many
times that you did buy them that it sounds dreadfully like a fib.”
Paddy looked as if she were not quite sure whether to laugh or cry, and
Lawrence asked:
“What’s the matter, Paddy? Why does he say you’ve bought fifteen pigs?”
“It’s just this way—” began poor Paddy.
“The real trouble,” put in Jack, “is that Patrick O’Grady doesn’t know
whether he’s been _selling_ pigs or, buying them, and Paddy doesn’t
know whether she’s been _buying_ pigs or selling them. For the last two
hours they’ve been doing both in a sort of cycle, and now they’re left
with fifteen on their hands, and we want a Solomon to say who they
belong to,” and he exploded again.
“If you don’t shut up, Jack—I’ll—I’ll throw a pig at your head,” said
Paddy furiously.
“And I offered to help you drive them home,” in an aggrieved voice.
“I’ll help instead,” volunteered Lawrence. “I’m a positive genius at
pig-driving.”
“Or I could take them to The Ghan House on my way back,” said Patrick
cheerfully.
“But they’re not mine, I tell you. I don’t want the things. What in the
world could I do with fifteen pigs?”
“They certainly wouldn’t be very nice in your bedroom, and I don’t see
where else you could hide them,” put in Jack.
“Come, what’s it all about?—don’t mind him,” as Paddy again looked
furiously at her tormentor. “Perhaps I can help?”
Wherewith, turning her back on the delinquent, who continued to chuckle
audibly, Paddy related the history of the fifteen pigs, and the Gordian
knot she and Patrick had managed to tie between them.
Lawrence had a good laugh—not the least at Paddy’s mystified air as to
whether she had bought the pigs or not—and then he nobly offered to
solve the difficulty by taking them off her hands.
“You can take them to the Mourne Lodge farm,” he told the no less
bewildered Patrick, “and call for the money in the morning.”
Paddy was instantly all smiles. “And don’t forget my commission, Pat!”
she cried.
“Your commission was for _selling_,” was Jack’s parting shot. “You
_bought_ these, so you can’t claim it.”
“Let’s all go and have coffee at the café,” suggested Lawrence. And ten
minutes later Paddy and Jack were again chuckling uproariously over the
relation of the whole episode from first to last.
And it was then that Paddy, under the spell of a certain sense of
gratitude, decided Lawrence was very nice when he liked, and, of
course, if Eileen was growing to care for him, and thought she would be
happy with him, it was no use worrying about things. It was, of course,
too much to expect that Lawrence could do other than love Eileen if she
would let him.