That happened to be the tree under which Andrew Coffey was sitting.
"Better see than be seen," he thought. Then he swung himself up by a
branch and was soon snugly hidden away in the tree.
The rain and wind had ceased and there was light enough for Andrew
Coffey to see four men carrying a long box. They brought it under the
tree, set it down, and opened it. Then, what should they take out but
Patrick Rooney? Never a word did he say, and he was as pale as
new-fallen snow.
The men gathered brushwood and soon had a fire burning. Then they stuck
two stakes into the ground on each side of the fire, laid a pole across
on the tops of them, and on to the pole they slung Patrick Rooney.
"He's all fixed now," one said, "but who's to take care of the fire
while we're away?"
With that Patrick opened his lips. "Andrew Coffey," he said.
Then the four men, each speaking the name once, called out, "Andrew
Coffey! Andrew Coffey! Andrew Coffey! Andrew Coffey!"
"Gentlemen, I'd be glad to oblige you," Andrew Coffey said, "but I know
nothing about this sort of roasting."
"You'd better come down, Andrew Coffey," Patrick said.
It was the second time he spoke, and Andrew Coffey decided he would come
down. The four men went off, and he was left alone with Patrick. He sat
down by the fire and kept it even, and all the while Patrick looked at
him.
Poor Andrew Coffey couldn't understand the situation at all, and he
stared at Patrick and at the fire, and thought of the cabin in the wood
till he felt quite dazed.
"Ah, you're burning me!" Patrick said, very short and sharp.
"I beg your pardon," my grandfather said, and hastened to fix the fire.
He couldn't get the notion out of his head that something was wrong.
Hadn't everybody, near and far, said that Patrick had fallen overboard?
"_Andrew Coffey!_ _Andrew Coffey!_ you're burning me!" Patrick
exclaimed.
My grandfather was sorry enough, and he vowed he wouldn't do so again.
"You'd better not," Patrick grumbled, and he gave him a cock of his eye,
and a grin of his teeth that sent a shiver down Andrew Coffey's back. It
certainly was odd that Andrew Coffey should be there in a thick wood
that he had never set eyes on before, roasting Patrick Rooney. You can't
wonder that my grandfather thought and thought and forgot the fire.
_"Andrew Coffey!_ _Andrew Coffey!_ I'll punish you for the way you're
neglecting me!" Patrick Rooney cried.
He was unslinging himself from the pole now, and his eyes glared and his
teeth glistened. My grandfather got up in haste and ran off into the
gloomy wood. He stumbled over stones, the brambles tore his clothes, the
branches beat his face.
Presently he saw a light and was glad. A minute later he was kneeling by
a hearth-side, dazed and bedraggled. The flames leaped and crackled, and
he was beginning to get warm and feel a little easy in his mind when he
heard a voice shouting, "Andrew Coffey! Andrew Coffey!"
It's hard for a man to jump after going through all my grandfather had,
but jump he did. When he looked around, where should he find himself but
in the very cabin in which he had first met Patrick.
"Andrew Coffey! Andrew Coffey! tell me a story," the voice said.
"Is it a story you want?" my grandfather said, as bold as could be, for
he was tired of being frightened. "Well then, here's one."
And he told the tale of what had befallen him from first to last that
night. The tale was long and he was weary. He must have fallen asleep,
for when he awoke he lay on a hillside under the open heavens, and his
horse grazed at his side.