The chief was well aware of the reputation which the priest had
obtained through the parish for medical skill, and was himself
convinced of how well he deserved it. Indeed, had the alternative
rested in any case between Father Farrell and the dispensary doctor,
there was not a parishioner who would not have preferred his pastor's
medical as well as spiritual aid.
The chief, instead of ordering off the dispensary doctor to see young
Lennon upon a rumor that he was worse, went quietly to Father Farrell,
who must know the truth, and be able to give good advice as to what
steps, if any, were necessary to adopt.
The matter turned out to be another black-crow story. Father Farrell
had also heard it in its exaggerated form, and had not lost a moment
in proceeding to the spot. Young Lennon had gone out to assist his
father in planting some potatoes--so far the rumor was correct. But he
had been premature in his own opinion of his convalescence. The very
first stoop he made he felt quite giddy; and although he did not fall
forward on his face, he was obliged to lean upon his father for
support for a few moments. This little experiment served to keep him
quiet for a while longer; but Father Farrell assured the chief that
matters were no worse than they had been--he might make his mind easy;
there was no injury beyond the flesh, which, of course, had become
much sorer, and must do so for a few days still.
The chief, however, suggested the prudence, if not the necessity, of
having a medical man to see him. "Not," said he, "but that I have as
much, if not more, confidence in your own skill and experience than in
any which is available in this wild district."
"That is rather an equivocal compliment; but perhaps it is fully as
much as I deserve," said the priest.
"Well, I don't mean it as such, Father Farrell; but you know a great
responsibility would rest upon me, should anything unfortunate occur."
"I see. It would not do in a court of justice to put a priest upon the
table in a medical position. I certainly could not produce a diploma.
You are quite right, my dear sir; you would be held responsible.
However, I can go the length to assure you that at present there is
not the slightest necessity for medical aid, particularly--between you
and me--under existing circumstances, which I understand very well.
The matter was a mere accident I am fully persuaded. Bat, supposing
for a moment that it was not, I know young Lennon since he was a child
running to school in his bare feet, with 'his turf and his
read-a-ma-daisy;' and I am convinced that no power on earth would
induce him to prosecute Tom Murdock."
"Why? are they such friends?"
"No; quite the reverse, and that is the very reason. But ask me no
more about it. Another objection I see to calling in the dispensary
doctor is this--that I am aware of an ill-feeling existing between him
and Tom Murdock about a prize at a coursing-match, which the
doctor thinks was unfairly given to Tom Murdock through his influence
with the judge; and the doctor was heard to say in reference to it,
'that it was a long lane that had no turning.' Now here would be an
open for the doctor to put a turn on the lane, however straight it
might be in fact. He would not certify that Lennon's life was out of
danger--you would have to arrest Tom Murdock; young Lennon would go
distracted, and the two parishes would be in an uproar. Ill-will would
be engendered between all the young men of opposite sides, and all for
nothing; for young Lennon will be as well as ever he was in ten days.
These are my views of the case. But if your official responsibility
obliges you to differ with me, I am ready to hear you further."
This was a great oration of Father Farrell's, but it was both sensible
and true from beginning to end, and it convinced the chief of the
propriety of "resting on his oars" for a few days longer at all
events.
The result proved at least that there was more luck in leisure than
danger in delay. Emon-a-knock grew better; but it was by degrees. He
could not yet venture to attend to his usual daily labor, by which he
so materially contributed to the support of the family. The weather
was fine, and "the spring business" was going forward rapidly in all
directions. Poor Emon fretted that he was not able to add his
accustomed portion to the weekly earnings; but Father Farrell watched
him too closely. Once or twice he stole out to do some of their own
work, and let his father earn some of the high wages which was just
then to be had; but his own good sense told him that he was still
unable for the effort. At the end of an hour's work the old idea
haunted him that an attempt had been made to murder him, and if he had
been made a merchant-prince for it, he could not recollect how it had
happened. The only thing he did recollect distinctly about it was,
that Shanvilla won the day, and that he had been sent home in Winny
Cavana's cart and jennet--_that_, if he were in a raging fever, he
could never forget.
But it was a sad loss to the family, Emon's incapacity to work. He had
been now three weeks ill; and although the wound in his head was in a
fair way of being healed, there was still a confused idea in his mind
about the whole affair which he could not get rid of. At times, as he
endeavored to review the matter as it had actually occurred, he could
not persuade himself but that it was really an accident; and while
under this impression he felt quite well, and able for his ordinary
labor. But there were moments when a sudden thought would cross his
mind that it had been a secret and premeditated attempt upon his life;
and then it was that the confusion ensued which rendered him unable to
recollect. What if it were really this attempt--supposing that
positive proof could be adduced of the fact--what then? Would he
prosecute Tom Murdock? Oh, no. Father Farrell was right; but he had
not formed his opinion upon the true foundation. Emon-a-knock would
not prosecute, even if he could do so to conviction. He would deal
with Tom Murdock himself if ever a fair opportunity should arise; and
if not, he might yet be in a position more thoroughly to despise him.
In the meantime Lennon's family had not been improving in
circumstances. Emon was losing all the high wages of the spring's
work. Upon one or two occasions, when he stealthily endeavored to do a
little on his own land, while his father was catching the ready penny
abroad, he found, before he was two hours at work, the haunting idea
press upon his brain; and he returned to the house and threw himself
upon the bed confused and sad. In spite of this, however, the wound in
his head was now progressing more favorably, and returning
strength renewed a more cheerful spirit within him. He fought hard
against the idea which at times forced itself upon him. The priest,
who was a constant visitor, saw that all was not yet right. He took
Emon kindly by the hand and said: "My dear young friend, do you not
feel as well as your outward condition would indicate that you ought
to be?"
"Yes, Father Farrell, I thank God I feel my strength almost perfectly
restored. I shall be able, I hope, to give my poor father the usual
help in a few days. The worst of it is that the throng of the spring
work is over, and wages are now down a third from what they were a
month or three weeks ago."
"If _that_ be all that is fretting you, Emon, cheer up, for there is
plenty of work still to be had; and if the wages are not quite so high
as they were a while back, you shall have constant work for some time,
which will be better than high wages for a start. I can myself afford
to make up for some of the loss this unfortunate blow has caused you.
You must accept of this." And he pulled a pound-note from his breeches
pocket.
If occasionally there were moments when Emon's ideas were somewhat
confused, they were never clearer or sharper than as Father Farrell
said this. It so happened that he was thinking of Winny Cavana at the
moment; indeed, it would be hard to hit upon the moment when he was
not. Shanvilla was proverbially a poor parish; and Father Farrell's
continual and expressed regret was, that he was not able personally to
do more for the poor of his flock. Emon was sharp enough, and stout
enough, to speak his mind even to his priest, when he found it
necessary.
He looked inquiringly into Father Farrell's face. "No, Father Farrell,
you _cannot_ afford it," he said. "It is your kindness leads you to
say so; and if you could afford it there are--and no man knows it
better than you do--many still poorer families than ours in the parish
requiring your aid. But under no circumstances shall I touch _that_
pound."
The priest was found out, and became disconcerted; but the matter was
coming to a point, and he might as well have it out.
"Why do you lay such an emphasis upon the word _that_?" said he. "It
is a very good one," he added, laughing.
"Well, Father Farrell, I am always ready and willing to answer you any
questions you may choose to ask me, for you are always discreet and
considerate. Of course I must always answer any questions you have a
right to ask; but you have no right to probe me now."
"Certainly not, Emon, but you know a counsel's no command."
"Your counsel, Father Farrell, is always good, and almost amounts to a
command. I beg your pardon, if I have spoken hastily."
"Emon, my good young friend, and I will add, my dear young friend, I
do not wish to probe you upon any subject you are not bound to give me
your confidence upon; but why did you lay such an emphasis just now on
the word _that_? If you do not wish to answer me, you need not do so.
But you must take _this_ pound-note. You see I can lay an emphasis as
well as you when I think it is required."
"No, Father Farrell. If the note was your own, I might take the loan
of it, and work it in with you, or pay you when I earned it. But I do
not think it is: there is the truth for you, Father Farrell."
"I see how it is, Emon, and you are very proud. However, the truth is,
the pound was sent to me anonymously for you from a friend."
"She might as well have signed her name in full," said Emon, sadly,
"for any loss that I can be at upon the subject--or perhaps you
yourself, Father Farrell."
"Well, I was at no loss, I confess. But you were to know nothing about
it, Emon; only you were so sharp. There is no fear that your
intellects have been injured by the blow, at all events. It was meant
kindly, Emon, and I think you ought to take it--here."
"You think so, Father Farrell?"
"I do; indeed I do, Emon."
"Give it me, then," he said, taking it; and before Father Farrell's
face he pressed it to his lips. He then got a pen and ink, and wrote
something upon it. It was nothing but the date; he wanted no
memorandum of anything else respecting it. But he would hardly have
written even that, had he intended to make use of it.
The priest stood up to leave. He knew more than he chose to tell
Emon-a-knock. But there was an amicable smile upon his lips as he held
out his hand to bid him goodby.
Oh, the suspicion of a heart that loves!
"Father Farrell," he said, still holding the priest's hand, "is this
the note, the very note, the identical note, she sent me?"
"Yes, Emon; I would not deceive you about it. It is the very note;
which, I fear," he added, "is not likely to be of much use to you."
"Why do you say that, Father Farrell? You shall one day see the
contrary."
"Because you seem to me rather inclined to 'huxter it up,' as we say,
than to make use of it. Believe me, that was not the intention it was
sent with; oh, no, Emon; it was sent with the hope that it might be of
some use, and not to be hoarded up through any morbid sentimentality."
"Give me one instead of it. Father Farrell, and keep this one until I
can redeem it."
"I have not got another, Emon; pounds are not so plenty with me."
"And yet you would have persuaded me just now that it was your own and
that you could afford to bestow it upon me!"
"Pardon me, Emon, I would not have persuaded you; I was merely silent
upon the subject until your suspicions made you cross-examine me. I
was then plain enough with you. I used no deceit; and I now tell you
plainly that if you take this pound-note, you ought to use it;
otherwise you will give her who sent it very just cause for
annoyance."
"Then it shall be as she wishes and as you advise, Father Farrell. I
cannot err under your guidance. I shall use it freely and with
gratitude; but you need not tell her that I know who sent it."
"Do you think that I am an _aumadhawn_, Emon? The very thing she was
anxious to avoid herself. I shall never speak to her, perhaps, upon
the subject."
The priest then left him with a genuine and hearty blessing, which
could not fail of a beneficial influence.