New Year's Day is always a holiday. And well it is for the girls and
boys of a parish, of a district, of a county, ay, of all Ireland, if
it should rise upon them in the glowing beauty of a cloudless sun.
Then, indeed, the girls "are drest in all their best." Many a new
bright ribbon has been purchased on the previous market-day, and many
a twist and turn the congregation side of their bonnets has had. A bow
of new ribbon, blue or red, according to their complexion--for these
country girls are no more fools in such a matter than their
betters--has been held first to this side of their bonnet, then to
that; then the long ends have been brought across the top this way,
then that way, temporarily fastened with pins in the first instance,
until it is held at arm's-length, with the head a little to one side,
to test the final position. Their petticoats have been swelled out by
numbers, not by crinoline, which as yet was unknown, even to the
higher orders. But "be this as it may," the girls of the townlands of
Rathcash, Rathcashmore, and Shanvilla made no contemptible turn-out
upon the New Year's day after Tom Murdock had returned from Armagh.
The boys, too, were equally grand, according to their style of dress.
Some lanky, thin-shanked fellows in loose trousers and high-low boots;
while the well-formed fellows, with plump calves and fine ankles,
turned out in their new _corderoy_ breeches, woolen stockings, and
_pumps_. I have confined myself to their lower proportions, as in most
cases the coats and rests were much of the same make, though perhaps
different in color and material, while the well-brushed "_Caroline_"
hat was common to all.
Conspicuous amongst the girls in the district in which our story
sojourns, were, as a matter of course, Winny Cavana and Kate Mulvey,
with some others of their neighbors who have not been mentioned, and
who need not be.
Winny, since the little episode respecting her refusal of Tom Murdock,
and his subsequent departure, had led a very quiet, meditative life.
She could not help remarking to herself, however, that she had somehow
or other become still more intimate with Kate Mulvey than she had used
to be; but for this she could not account--though, perhaps, the
reader can. She had always been upon terms of intimacy with Kate; had
frequently called there, when time would permit, and sat for half an
hour, or sometimes an hour, chatting, which was always reciprocated by
Kate, whose time was more on her own hands. In what then consisted the
increase of intimacy can hardly be said. Perhaps it merely existed in
Winny's own wish that it should be so, and the fact that one and the
other, on such occasions, now always threw a cloak round her shoulders
and accompanied her friend a piece of the way home. Sometimes, when
the day was tempting, a decided walk would be proposed, and then the
bonnet was added to the cloak. What formed the burden of their
conversation in these chats, which to a close observer might be said
latterly to have assumed a confidential appearance, must be so evident
to the reader's capacity, that no mystery need be observed on the
subject. To say the least, Emon-a-knock came in for a share of
it, and, as a matter of almost necessity, Tom Murdock was not
altogether left out.
Kate Mulvey, after the _éclaircissement_ with Winny, believed she
could do her friend some good without doing herself any harm, a
principle on which alone most people will act. With this view she took
an early opportunity to hint something to Emon of the result of the
interview between herself and Winny, and although she did it in a very
casual, and at the same time a clever, manner, she began to fear that
so far as her friend's case was concerned, she had done more harm than
good. The fact of Tom Murdock's proposal and rejection subsequent to
the interview adverted to, had not become public amongst the
neighbors; and before Winny had an opportunity of telling it to Kate,
Emon had left his father's house, to seek employment in the north. It
is not unlikely that he was tempted to this step by something which
had fallen from Kate Mulvey respecting Winny and Tom Murdock, although
the whole cat had not yet got out of the bag.
Hitherto poor Emon's heart had been kept pretty whole, through what he
considered a well-founded belief that Winny Cavana, almost as a matter
of course, must prefer her handsome, rich neighbor to a struggling
laboring man like him. Tom, he knew, she saw almost every day, while
at best she only saw him for a few minutes on Sundays after chapel.
Emon knew the meaning of the word propinquity very well, and he knew
as well the danger of it. He knew, too, that if there were no such
odds against him, he could scarcely dare aspire to the hand of the
rich heiress of Rathcash. He knew the disposition of old Ned Cavana
too well to believe that he would ever consent to a "poor devil" like
him "coming to coort his daughter." He believed so thoroughly that all
these things were against him, that he had hitherto successfully
crushed every rising hope within his breast. He had schooled himself
to look upon a match between Tom Murdock and Winny Cavana as a matter
so natural, that it would be nothing less than an act of madness to
endeavor to counteract it. What Kate Mulvey, however, had "let slip"
had aroused a slumbering angel in his soul. He was not wrong, then,
after all, in a secret belief that this girl did not like Tom Murdock
over-much. Upon what he had founded that belief he could no more have
explained--even to himself--than he could have dragged the moon down
from heaven; but he did believe it; he even combatted it as a fatal
delusion, and yet it was true. But how did this mend the matter as
regarded himself? Not in the slightest degree, except so far as that
the man he most dreaded, and had most reason to dread, was no longer
an acknowledged rival to his heart. Hopes he still had none.
But Emon-a-knock was now in commotion. The angel was awake, and his
heart trembled at a possibility which despair had hitherto hidden from
his thoughts.
For some time past he had not only not avoided a casual meeting with
Winny, but delighted in them with a safe, if not altogether a happy,
indifference. He looked upon her as almost betrothed to Tom Murdock;
circumstances and reports were so dovetailed into one another, and so
like the truth.
Although there was really no difference in rank between him and Winny,
except what her father's well-earned wealth justified the assumption
of, his position as a daily laborer kept him aloof from an intimacy of
which those in circumstances more like her own could boast; and poor
Emon felt that it was a matter for boast. Thus had he hitherto
refrained from attempting to "woo that bright particular star," and
his heart was comparatively safe. But now--ay, _now_--what was he to
do? "Fly, Fly" said he; "I'll go seek for employment in the north.
To America, India, Australia--anywhere! Kate Mulvey may have
meant it as kindness; but it would have been more kind to have let me
alone. This horrible knowledge of that one fact will break my heart."
And Emon-a-knock did fly. But it was no use. There were many reasons
quite unconnected with Winny Cavana which rendered a more speedy
return than he had intended unavoidable. A stranger beyond the
precincts of his own pariah, he found it impossible to procure
permanent employment amongst those who were better known, and who
"belonged to the place"--a great consideration in the minds of the
Irish, high and low. The bare necessaries of life, too, were more
expensive in the north than about his own home; and for the few days'
employment which he got, he could scarcely support himself, while his
father and family would feel the loss of his share of the earnings at
home. No; these two separate establishments would never do. He could
gain nothing by it but the gnawing certainty of never seeing, even at
a distance, her in whom he now began to feel that his heart delighted.
Besides, he could manage to avoid her altogether by going to his own
chapel; yes, he felt it a duty he owed to his father not to let him
fight life's battle alone, and--he returned. We question whether this
_duty_ to his _father_ was his sole motive; and we shall see whether
he did not subsequently consider it a _duty_ to prefer the good
preaching of Father Roche, of Rathcash, to the somewhat indifferent
discourses of good Father Farrell in _his own_ chapel.
Emon had not been more than ten days or a fortnight away, and he was
now following the usual routine, of a day idle and a day working,
which had marked his life before he went.
But we were talking of a New Year's day, and it will be far spent if
we do not return to it at once, and so we shall lose the thread of our
story.
The day, as we had wished a few pages back, had risen in all the
beauty of a cloudless sun. There had been a slight frost the night
before, but as these slight frosts seldom bring rain until the third
morning, the country people were quite satisfied that the promise of a
fine day on this occasion would not be broken. The chapel-bells of
Rathcash and Shanvilla might be heard sounding their dear and cheerful
call to their respective parishioners that the hour of worship had
drawn near, and the well-dressed, happy congregation might be seen in
strings along the road and across the pathways through the fields, in
their gayest costume, laughing and chatting with an unbounded
confidence in the faithfulness of the sky.
Tom Murdock, the reader knows, had returned, but he had not as yet
seen Winny Cavana. One Sunday had intervened; but upon his father's
advice he had refrained from going "for that wan Sunda' to chapel."
Neither, on the same advice, had he gone near old Ned's house. The old
man--that is, old Murdock--had endeavored to spread a report that his
son Tom was engaged to be married to a very rich girl in Armagh. He
took his own views of all matters, whether critical or simple, and had
his own way of what he called managing them. He was not very wrong in
some of his ideas, but he sometimes endeavored to carry them out too
persistently, after anybody else would have seen their inutility.
On this New Year's day, too, he had hinted something about his son's
not going to mass, but Tom would not be controlled, and quickly "shut
up'" that is the _fashionable_ phrase now-a-days--the old man upon the
subject. His opinion, and he did not care to hide it, was, "that he
did not see why he should be made a mope of by Winny Cavana, or any
other conceited piece of goods like her." His father's pride came to
his aid in this instance, and he gave way.
Rathcash chapel was a crowded place of worship that day. Amongst
the congregation, as a matter of coarse, were Winny Cavana and Kate
Mulvey, both conspicuous by their beauty and solemnity. Tom Murdock,
too, was there; doubtless he was handsome, and he was solemn also, but
his solemnity was of a different description. It was that generated by
disappointment, with a dream of villany in perspective.
Tom was not a coward, even under the nervous influence of rejected
love. Physically, he was not one in the matters of everyday life; and
morally, he wanted rectitude to be one when he ought. He therefore
resolved to meet Winny Cavana, as she came out of chapel, as much as
possible as if nothing had happened, and to endeavor to improve the
acquaintance as opportunity might permit. He purposed to himself to
walk home with her, and determined, if possible, that at least a
friendly intercourse should not be interrupted between them.
Emon-a-knock had steadily kept his resolution, notwithstanding our
doubts, and had not gone to Rathcash chapel for the last four or five
Sundays; he was even beginning to think that Father Farrell, after
all, was not quite so much below Father Roche as a preacher.
At length there was a rustling of dresses and a shuffling of feet upon
the floor, which proclaimed that divine worship had ended; and the
congregation began to pour out of Rathcash chapel--men in their dark
coats and Caroline hats, and women in their best bonnets and cloaks.
Tom Murdock was out almost one of the first, and sauntered about,
greeting some of the more distant neighbors whom he had not seen since
his return. At length Winny and Kate made their appearance. Winny
would have hurried on, but Kate "stepped short," until Tom had time to
observe their approach. He came forward with more cowardice in his
heart than he had ever felt before, and Winny's reception of him was
not calculated to reassure him. Kate was next him, and held out her
hand promptly and warmly. Winny could scarcely refuse to hold out
hers; but there was neither promptness nor warmth in her manner. An
awkward silence ensued on both sides, until Kate, with more anxiety on
her own behalf than tact or consideration on her friend's, broke in
with half a score of inquiries, very kindly put, as to his health--the
_very long_ time he was away--how the neighbors _all_ missed him so
much--what he had been doing--how he left his aunt--how he liked
Armagh, etc, ending with a _hope_ that he had come home to _remain_.
Winny was glad she had so good a spokeswoman with her, and did not
offer a single observation in her aid. To say the truth, there was
neither need nor opportunity; for Kate seemed perfectly able, and not
unwilling, to monopolize the conversation. Tom endeavored to be
sprightly and at his ease, but made some observations far from
applicable to the subjects upon which his loquacious companion had
addressed him. He had hoped that when they came to the end of the lane
turning up to their houses, that Kate Mulvey would have gone toward
her own home, and that he must then have had a word with Winny alone;
but the manner in which she hastened her step past the turn, saying,
"Kate; you know we are engaged to have a walk 'our lone' today,"
showed him that no amelioration of her feelings had taken place toward
him; and without saying more than "Well, this is my way," he turned
and left them.
Bully-dhu was standing near the end of Winny's house, looking from
him; and as he recognized his mistress on the road, commenced to wag
his huge tail, as if asking permission to accompany them. "Call him,
Winny," said Kate; "he may be of use to us; and, at all events, he
will be _company_," and she laid a strong emphasis upon the last word.
Winny complied, and called the dog as loud as she could. Poor
Bully wanted but the wind of the word, and tore down the lane with his
mouth wide open, and his tail describing large circles in the air. He
had well-nigh knocked down Tom Murdock as he passed, but he did not
mind that; and bounding out upon the road, cut such capers round Winny
as were seldom seen, keeping up at the same time a sort of growling
bark, until the enthusiasm of his joy at the permission had subsided.