The moment it had been ascertained that Emon-a-knock had been so
seriously hurt, _somebody_ thought--oh, the thoughtfulness of some
people!--that some conveyance would be required, and she was
determined to take time by the forelock. Jamesy Doyle it was who had
been despatched for the jennet and cart, with a token to the only
servant-woman in the house to put a hair-mattress--she knew _where_ to
get it--over plenty of straw in the cart, and to make no delay.
Jamesy Doyle was the very fellow to make no mistake, and to do as he
was bid; and sure enough there he was now, coming up the boreen with
everything as correct as possible. Phil M'Dermott and Ned Murrican led
poor Emon to the end of the lane just as Jamesy Doyle came up.
"This is for you, my poor fellow," said he, addressing Emon. "An' I'm
to lave you every foot at your own doore--them's my ordhers from th'
ould masther himsel'."
Emon was about to speak, or to endeavor to do so; but M'Dermott
stopped him.
"Don't be desthroyin' yourself, Emon, strivin' to spake; but let us
lift you into the cart--an' hould your tongue."
Emon-a-knock smiled; but it was a happy smile.
Of course there was a crowd round him; and many a whispered
observation passed through them as poor Emon was lifted in, fixed in a
reclining position, and Jamesy Doyle desired "to go on," while Phil
M'Dermott and big Ned Murrican gave him an escort, walking one on each
side.
"It was herself sent Jamesy Doyle for the jennit, Judy; I heerd her
tellin' him to put plenty of straw into the cart."
"Ay, Peggy, an' I heerd her tellin' him to get a hair-matt_ress_, an'
pat it atop of it. Isn't it well for the likes of her that has
hair-matt_resses_ to spare?"
"Ay, Nelly Gaffeny, an' didn't I hear her tellin' him to dhrive fur
his life!"
"In troth an' you didn't, Nancy; what she said was, 'to make no
delay;' wasn't I as near her as I am to you this minute?"
"Whist, girls!" broke in (as Lever would say) a sensible old woman--
"it was ould Ned Cavana himself sent Jamesy off; wasn't I
lookin' at him givin' him the kay of the barn to get the sthraw? Dear
me, how pleasant ye all are!"
"Thrue for you, Katty avrone; but wasn't it Winny that put him up to
it, an' the tears coming up in her eyes as she axed him? an' be the
same token, the hankicher she had in her hand was for all the world
the very color of Emon-a-knock's cap an' sleeves."
There was a good deal of truth, but some exaggeration, in the above
gossip.
It was old Ned Cavana himself who had despatched Jamesy Doyle for the
jennet and cart, and he had also given him the key of the barn--old
Katty was quite right so far.
Now let it be known that there was not a man in the parish of
Rathcash, who was the owner of a horse and cart, who would not have
cheerfully sent for it to bring Emon-a-knock home, when the proper
time arrived to do so--and Winny Cavana knew that; she knew that her
father would be all life for the purpose, the moment it was mentioned
to him; and she was determined that her father should be "first in the
field." There was nothing extraordinary in the fact itself; it was the
relative positions of the parties that rendered it food for the gossip
which we have been listening to. But old Ned never thought of the
gossip in his willingness to serve a neighbor. Winny had thought of
it, but braved it, rather than lose the chance. It was she who had
suggested to her father to send Jamesy for the jennet, and to give him
the key of the barn where the _dry_ straw was. If the gossips had
known this little turn of the transaction, doubtless it would not have
escaped their comments.
But we must return to the common, and see how matters are going on
there.
Tom Murdock had witnessed from no great distance the arrival of the
jennet and cart; and of course he knew them. He did not know, however,
that it was Winny Cavana who had sent for them--he only guessed that.
He saw "that----whelp"----he put this shameful addition to it in his
anger--lifted into it; and if he had a regret as to the accident, it
was that the blow had not been the inch-and-a-half lower which Father
Farrell had blessed his stars had not been the case. This was the
second time his eyes had seen the preference he always dreaded. He had
not forgotten the scene with the dog on the road. He had not been so
far that he could not see, nor so careless that he did not remark, the
handkerchief; nor was he so stupid as not to divine the purport of the
amicable little battle which apparently took place between them about
it. The color of Lennon's cap and sleeves now also recurred to his
mind, and jealousy suggested that it was _she_ who made them.
But his business was by no means finished on the common. He could not,
as it were, abscond, deserting his friends; and ill as his humor was
for what was before him, he must go through with it. It would help to
keep him from thinking for a while, at all events. Beside, the sooner
he saw Winny Cavana now the better. He would explain the accident to
her as if it had happened to any other person, not as to one in whom
he believed there was a particular interest on her part. To be silent
on the subject altogether, he felt would betray the very thing he
wished to avoid.
The hurling match over, it had been arranged that the evening should
conclude with a dance, to crown the amicable feelings with which the
two contending parishes had met in the strife of hurls. The boys and
girls of Rathcash and Shanvilla, whichever side won, were to mingle in
the mazy dance, to the enlivening lilts of blind Murrin the piper,
who, as he could not see the game, had been the whole afternoon
squealing, and droning, and hopping the brass end of his pipes
upon a square polished-leather patch, stitched upon the knee of his
breeches.
There now appeared to be some sort of a hitch as to the dance coming
off at all, in consequence of the "untoward event" which had already
considerably marred the harmony of the meeting; for it would be idle
to deny that dissatisfaction and doubt still lingered in the hearts of
Shanvilla. Both sides had brought a barrel of beer for the occasion,
which by this time it was almost necessary to put upon "the stoop;"
Tom Murdock superintending the distribution of that from Rathcash, and
a brother of big Ned Murrican's that from Shanvilla.
Blind Murrin heard some of the talk which was passing round him about
the postponement of the dance. Like all blind pipers he was sharp of
hearing, and somewhat cranky if put at all out of tune.
"Arra, what would they put it off for?" said he, _looking_ up, and
closing his elbow on the bellows to silence the pipes. "Is it because
wan man got a cut on the head? I heerd Father Farrell say there
wouldn't be a haporth on him agen Sunda' eight days; an' I heerd him,
more be token, tellin' the boys to go an' ask the Rathcash girls to
dance. Arra, what do ye mane? Isn't the counthry gotthered now; an'
the day as fine as summer, an' the grass brave an' dhry, an' lashin's
of beer at both sides, an' didn't I come eleven miles this mornin' a
purpose, an' what the diowl would they go an' put off the dance for?
Do you mane to say they're _onshioughs_ or _aumadhawns_, or--what?"
"No, Billy," said a Shanvilla girl, with good legs, neat feet, black
boots, and stockings as white as snow,--"no, Billy; but neither the
Shanvilla boys nor girls have any heart to dance, after Emon-a-knock
bein' kilt an' sent home."
"There won't be a haporth on him, I tell you, agen Sunda'. Didn't I
hear Father Farrell say so, over an' over again? arra _badhershin_,
Kitty, to be sure they'll dance!"
While blind Murrin was "letting off" thus, Phil M'Dermott was seen
returning by a short cut across the fields toward them.
"Here's news of Emon, anyway; he's aither better or worse," continued
Kitty Reilly; and some dread that it was unfavorable crept through the
Shanvillas.
"Well, Phil, how is he? well, Phil, how is he?" greeted M'Dermott from
several quarters as he came up.
"All right, girls. He's much better, and he sent me back for fear I'd
lose the first dance--for he knew I was engaged;" and he winked at a
very pretty Rathcash girl with soft blue eyes and bright auburn hair,
who was not far off.
"Arra, didn't I know they'd dance?" said Murrin, giving two or three
dumb squeezes with his elbow before the music came, like the three or
four first pulls at a pump before the water flows.
It then ran like lightning through the crowd that the dance was going
to begin, and old Murrin blew up in earnest at the top of his power.
He had, with the help of some of the best dancers amongst the girls on
both sides, selected that spot for the purpose, before the game had
commenced; and he had kept his ground patiently all through, playing
all the planxties in Carolan's catalogue. But not without wetting his
whistle; for as he belonged to neither party, he had been supplied
with beer alternately by both.
Phil M'Dermott whispered a few words to the pretty Rathcash girl, and
left her apparently in haste. But she was "heerd" by one of our
gossips to say, "Of course, Phil; but I will not say 'with all my
heart;' sure, it is only a pleasure postponed for a little,--now
mind, Phil."
"Never fear, Sally." And he was off through the crowd, with his head
up.
Phil's expedition was to look for Winny Cavana, to whom Emon-a-knock
had been engaged for the first dance; and as he knew where the
bonnet trimmed with broad blue ribbon could be seen all day, he made
for the spot. As he came within a few perches of it, he saw Tom
Murdock in seemingly earnest conversation with the object of his
search, and he hung back for a few minutes unperceived.
Tom Murdock, we have seen, was not a man to be easily taken aback by
circumstances, or to stand self-accused by any apparent consciousness
of guilt. Guilty or not, he always braved the matter out, whatever it
might be, as an innocent man would, and ought. As the dance was now
about to begin, and old Murrin's pipes were getting loud and
impatient, Tom made up to Winny. He had watched an opportunity when
she was partly disengaged from those around her; and indeed, to do
them justice, they "made themselves scarce" as he approached.
"They are going to dance, Winny; will you allow me to lead you out?"
he said.
Winny had been pondering in her own mind the possibility of what had
now taken place; and after turning and twisting her answer into twenty
different shapes, had selected one as the safest and best she could
give, with a decided refusal. Now, when the anticipated moment had
arrived, and she was obliged to speak, she was almost dumb. Not a
single word of any one of the replies she had shaped out--and least of
all the one she had rehearsed so often as the best--came to her aid.
"Will you not even answer me, Winny?" he added, after an unusually
long pause.
"I heard," she said hesitatingly, "that, as a proof of the good-will
which was supposed to exist between the parishes, the Rathcash men
were to ask the Shanvilla girls, and Shanvilla the Rathcash."
"That may be carried out too; but surely such an arrangement is not to
prohibit a person from the privilege of asking a near neighbor."
"No; but you had better begin, as leader, by setting the example
yourself. You were head of the Rathcash men all day, and they will be
likely to take pattern by you."
"Well, I shall _begin_ so, Winny; but say that you will dance with me
by-and-by."
"No, Tom, I shall not say any such thing, for I do not intend to do
so. I don't think I shall dance at all; but if I do, it shall be but
once--and that with a Shanvilla man."
"Do you mean to say, Winny, that you came here to-day intending to
dance but once?"
"I mean to say," she replied rather haughtily, "that you have no right
to do more than ask me to dance. That is a right I can no more deny
you than you can deny me the right to refuse. But you have no right to
cross-question me."
"If," he continued, "it is in consequence of that unfortunate
accident, I protest--"
"Here, father," said Winny, interrupting him and turning from him;
"shall we go up toward the piper? I see they are at it."
Tom stood disconcerted, as if riveted to the spot; and as old Ned and
his daughter walked away, he saw Phil M'Dermott come toward them. He
watched and saw them enter into conversation.
The first question old Ned asked, knowing that Phil had gone a piece
of the way home with him, was of course to know how Emon was.
"So much better," said Phil, "that he had a mind to come back in the
cart an' look on at the dancin'; but of course we would not let him do
so foolish a turn. He then sent me back, afeerd Miss Winny here would
be engaged afore I got as far as her. He tould me, Miss Winny, that he
was to take you out for the first dance yourself; an' although Phil
M'Dermott is a poor excuse for Emon-a-knock in a dance, or anywhere
else, for that matther, I hope, Miss Winny, you will dance with me."
"_Ceade mille a faltha_, Phil, for your own sake as well as for his,"
said Winny, putting her arm through his, and walking up to where they
were "at it," as she had said.
Tom Murdock had kept his eye upon her, and had seen this transaction.
Winny, although she did not know it, felt conscious that he was
watching her; and it was with a sort of savage triumph she had thrust
her arm through Phil M'Dermott's and walked off with him.
"Surely," said Tom to himself, "it is not possible that she's going to
dance with Phil M'Dermott, the greatest clout of a fellow in all
Shanvilla--and that's a bold word. Nothing but a bellows-blower to
his father--a common nailor at the cross-roads. Thank God, I put Emon,
as she calls him, from dancing with her, any way. He would be bad
enough; but he is always clean at all events, that's one thing--_neen
han an shin_. See! by the devil, there she's out with him, sure
enough. I think the girl is mad."
Now Tom Murdock's ill-humor and vexation had led him, though only to
himself, to give an under-estimate of Phil M'Dermott in more respects
than one. In the first place, Phil's father, so far from being a
common nailor, was a most excellent smith-of-all-work. He made
ploughs, harrows, and all sorts of machinery, and was unequivocally
the best horse-shoer in the whole country. People were in the habit of
sending their horses five, ay ten, miles to Bryan M'Dermott's
forge--"establishment" it might almost be called--and Tom Murdock
himself, when he kept the race-mare, had sent her past half-a-dozen
forges to get her "properly fitted" at Phil M'Dermott's.
Phil himself had served his time to his father, and was no less an
adept in all matters belonging to his trade; and as to "driving a
nail," there never was a man wore an apron could put on a shoe so
safely. A nail, too, except for the above purpose, was never made in
their forge. If sometimes Phil threw up his bare hairy arm to pull
down the handle of the bellows, it was only what his father himself
would do, if the regular blower was out of the way.
In fact, "Bryan M'Dermott and Son, Smiths," might have very justly
figured over their forge-door; but they were so well known that a
sign-board of any kind was superfluous.
Then as to being a _clout_, Phil was the very furthest from it in the
world, if it can have any meaning with reference to a man at all.
There are _nails_ called _clouts_; and perhaps as a nailor was
uppermost in Tom's cantankerous mind, it had suggested the epithet.
We have now only to deal with the dirt--the _neen han an shin_ of his
spite.
That Phil M'Dermott was very often dirty was the necessary result of
his calling, at which the excellence of his knowledge kept him
constantly employed. But on this occasion, as on all Sundays and
holidays, Phil M'Dermott's person could vie with even Tom Murdock's,
"or any other man's," in scrupulous cleanliness. Now indeed, if there
were some streaks and blotches of blood upon the breast of his shirt,
he might thank Tom Murdock's handiwork for that same.
Such as he was, however, bloody shirt and all, Winny Cavana went out
to dance with him before the whole assembly of Rathcash boys,
speckless as they were.
Kate Mulvey had been endeavoring to carry on her own tactics privately
all the morning, and had refused two or three Shanvilla boys, saying
that she heard there would be no dance, but that if there was, she
would dance with them before it was over. She now _accidentally_ stood
not very far from where Tom had been snubbed and turned away from by
her bosom friend, Winny Cavana. Tom Murdock saw her, and saw that she
was alone as far as a partner was concerned.
Determined to let Winny see that there were "as good fish in the sea
as ever were caught," and that she had not the power to upset
his enjoyment, Tom made up to Kate, and, assuming the most amiable
smile which the wicked confusion of his mind permitted, he asked her
to dance.
"How is it that you are not dancing, Kate? Will you allow me to lead
you out?"
"I would, Tom, with the greatest possible pleasure; but I heard the
Rathcash boys were to dance with the Shanvilla girls, and so by the
others with the Rathcash girls."
"That's the old story, Kate. It was thrown up to me just now; but
there is no such restriction upon any of us at either side. And I'll
tell you what it is, Kate Mulvey--not a Shanvilla girl I'll dance with
this day, if I never struck a foot under me!"
Kate was not sorry to find him in this humor. If she could soothe
round his feelings on her own account now, all would be right. Under
any phase of beauty, Kate's expression of countenance was more amiable
than Winny Cavana's, although perhaps not so regularly handsome, and
she felt that she was now looking her best.
"Fie, fie, Tom; you should not let that little accident put you
through other like that, to be making you angry. I heard that was the
rule, and I refused a couple of the Rathcash boys. But if you tell me
there is no such rule, sure I'll go out with you, Tom, afore any man
in the parish."
"Thank you, Kate; and if you wish to know the truth, there's not a
girl in Rathcash, or Shanvilla either, that I'd so soon dance with."
"Ah,_na bocklish_, Tom; you'll hardly make me b'lieve that."
"Time will tell, Kate dear," said he, and he led her to the ring.
Kate made herself as agreeable as possible; amiable she always was.
She rallied her partner upon his ill-humor. "It is a great shame for
you, Tom," she said, "to let trifles annoy you--"
"They are not trifles, Kate."
"The way you do, where you have so much to make you happy; plenty of
money and property, and everybody fond of you."
"No, not everybody."
"And you can do just as you like."
"No, I can't."
"And there won't be a pin's-worth the matter with young Lennon in a
few days; and sure, Tom, every one knows it was an accident."
"No, not _every_ one," thought Tom to himself. The other interruptions
were aloud to Kate; but she kept never minding him, and finished what
she had to say.
"It is not that all but, Kate," said Tom.
"Oh, I see! I suppose Winny has vexed you; I saw her laying down the
law."
"She'd vex a saint, Kate."
"Faix, an' you're not one, Tom, I'm afeerd."
"Nor never will, _I'm afeerd_," said he, forgetting his manners, and
pronouncing the last word as she had done, although he knew better.
She saw he was greatly vexed, but she did not mind it.
"If I were you, Tom," she continued, "I would not be losing my time
and my thoughts on the likes of her."
This last expression was not very complimentary to her friend; but
Kate knew she would excuse it (for she intended to tell her), as it
was only helping her out.
"You are her bosom friend, Kate," he went on, "and could tell me a
great deal about her, if you liked."
"I don't like, then; and the sorra word I'll tell you, Tom. If you're
not able to find out all you want yourself, what good's in you?"
"Well, keep it to yourself, Kate; I think I know enough about her
already."
"See that, now; an' you strivin' to pick more out of me! This much
I'll tell you, any way, for you're apt to find it out yourself--that
she's as stubborn a lass as any in the province of Connaught What she
says she won't do, she _won't_."
"And what I say I will do, I _will_; and I'll take that one's pride
down a peg or two, as sure as my name is Tom Murdock, and that before
Easter Monday."
"Whist, Tom agra; she's not worth putting yourself in a passion about:
and she's likely enough to bring her own pride low enough. But betune
you an' me, I don't think she has very much. Whisper me this, Tom; did
she ever let on to you?"
"Never, Kate; I won't belie her."
"Answer me another question now, Tom; did she ever do th' other
thing?'
"You are sifting me very close, Kate. Do you mean did she ever refuse
me?"
"I do, just; and what I'm saying to you, Tom, is for your good. I'm
afeerd it's for her money you care, and not much for herself. Now,
Thomas Murdock, I always thought, an' more than myself thought the
same thing, that the joining of them two farms in holy wedlock was a
bad plan, and that _one_ of you would find it a dear bargain in the
end."
"Which of us, Kate?"
"Not a word you'll tell, Tom avic. There's the floore idle; come out
for another dance;" and she gave him one of her most beautiful looks.
He was glad, however, that her volubility prevented her from observing
that he had not answered her _other_ question.
Kate succeeded during this second dance in putting Tom into somewhat
better humor with himself. He had never thought her so handsome
before, nor had he until now ever drawn a comparison between herself
and Winny Cavana as to beauty of either face or figure, neither of
which it now struck him were much, if at all, inferior to that
celebrated beauty; and he certainly never found her so agreeable. He
listened with a new pleasure to her full rich voice, and looked
occasionally, unperceived (as he thought) into her soft swimming eyes,
and were it not for pure spite toward "that whelp Lennon," and indeed
toward that "proud hussy" Winny Cavana herself he would, after that
second dance, have transferred his whole mind and body to the said
Kate Mulvey on the spot. He considered, at all events, that he had
Kate Mulvey hooked, however slightly it might be. But he would play
her gently, not handle her too roughly, and thus keep her on his line
in case he might find it desirable to put the landing-net under her at
any time. He never thought she was so fine a girl.
But then he thought again: to be cut out, and hunted out of the field,
with all his money, by such a fellow as that, a common day-laborer,
was what he could not reconcile himself to. As for any real love for
Winny Cavana, if it had ever existed in his heart toward her, it had
that day been crushed, and for ever; yet notwithstanding the favorably
circumstances for its growth, it had not yet quite sprung up for
another. A firm resolve, then, to see his spite out, at any cost to
himself, to her, and to "that whelp," was the final determination of
his heart after the day closed.
Winny Cavana, having danced with Phil M'Dermott until they were both
tired, sat down beside her father on a _furrum_. Several of the
Shanvilla, and some of the Rathcash, boys "made up" to her, but she
refused to dance any more, pleading fatigue, which by-the-bye none of
them believed, for it was not easy to tire the same Winny Cavana
dancing. After sitting some time to cool, and look on at the neighbors
"footing it," she proposed to her father to go home; and he, poor old
man, thought "it was an angel spoke." He would have proposed it to
Winny himself long before, but that he did not wish to interfere with
her enjoyment. He thought she would have danced more, but was now glad
of the reprieve; for to say the truth it was one to him. He, and
Winny, and Bully-dhu, who had been curled up at his feet all day, then
stood up, and went down the boreen together; Bully careering and
barking round them with his usual activity.
We need not remain much longer at the dance ourselves. In another half
hour it was "getting late," the beer was all out, Murrin's pipes were
getting confused, and Rathcash and Shanvilla were seen straggling over
the hills in twos and threes and small parties toward their respective
homes.
We cannot do better than end this chapter with a hearty Irish
wish--"God send them safe!"