MISS O'GRADY'S VICTORY.
Crouching behind the stone wall, Katy enjoyed the effect of what she
had done. She particularly enjoyed the bewildered look, of Mr. Craven,
who, bare-headed, looked on this side and on that, unable to conjecture
who had thrown the missile.
Pompey, unconscious of the danger he had escaped, walked up to the
tumbler and smelt of it. This attracted the attention of Mr. Craven,
who stooped and picked it up. His bewilderment increased. If it had
been a stone, he would have understood better, but how a tumbler should
have found its way here as a missile was incomprehensible.
It slowly dawned upon him that the person who threw it must be
somewhere near. Then again, on examining it further, he began to
suspect that it was one of his wife's tumblers, and he jumped to the
conclusion that it was Frank who threw it.
"If it is he, I'll wring his neck!" he murmured, revengefully. "I mean
to find out."
"Pompey," he said, calling the dog, "do you see this tumbler?"
Pompey wagged his tail.
"Who threw it?"
Pompey looked up, as if for instructions.
"Go find him!" said Mr. Craven, in a tone of command.
The dog seemed to understand, for he put his nose to the ground and
began to run along, as if in search.
"Oh, murther! What if he finds me?" thought Katy, crouching a little
lower. "Won't he be mad, jist?"
Katy might have crawled away unobserved, very possibly, if she had
started as soon as the missile was thrown. Now, that dog and man were
both on the lookout, escape was cut off.
"Will he find me?" Katy asked herself, with some anxiety.
The question was soon answered.
Pompey jumped over the wall, and a joyous bark announced his discovery.
He knew Katy, and seemed to fancy that she had concealed herself in
joke. He jumped upon her, and wagged his tail intelligently, as if to
say:
"You see, I've found you out, after all."
Mr. Craven hurried to the wall, eagerly expecting to detect Frank in
the person concealed. He started back in astonishment as Katy O'Grady
rose and faced him. Then he became wrathful, as he realized that his
own hired servant had had the audacity to fling a tumbler at his hat.
"What brings you out here, Katy?" he demanded, with a frown.
"Shure, sir," said Katy, nonchalantly, "I was tired wid stayin' in the
hot kitchen, and I thought I'd come out and take the air jist."
"And so you neglected the work."
"The worruk will be done; niver you mind about that."
"Did you fling this tumbler at my head?" demanded Mr. Craven, sternly.
"Let me look at it, sir."
Katy looked at it scrutinizingly, and made answer:
"Very likely, sir."
"Don't you know?"
"I wouldn't swear it was the same one, sir, but it looks like it."
"Then you admit throwing a tumbler at my head, do you?"
"No, sir."
"Didn't you say you did just now?"
"I threw it at your hat."
"It is the same thing. How came you to have the cursed impudence to do
such a thing?" asked her master, wrathfully.
"Because you was goin' to shoot the dog," said Katy, coolly.
"Suppose I was, is it any business of yours?"
"The dog doesn't belong to you, Mr. Craven. It belongs to Master Frank."
"I don't think it expedient for him to keep such an ill-natured brute
around."
"He calls you a brute, Pomp," said Katy, caressing Pompey--"you that's
such a good dog. It's a shame!"
"Catherine," said Mr. Craven, with outraged dignity, "your conduct is
very improper. You have insulted me."
"By the powers, how did I do it?" asked Katy, with an affectation of
innocent wonder.
"It was an insult to throw that tumbler at my head. I might order the
constable to arrest you."
"I'd like to see him thry it!" said Katy, putting her arms akimbo in
such a resolute fashion that Mr. Craven involuntarily stepped back
slightly.
"Are you aware that I am your master?" continued Mr. Craven, severely.
"No, I'm not," answered Katy, promptly.
"You are a servant in my house."
"No, I'm not. The house don't belong to you at all, sir. It belongs to
my mistress and Master Frank."
"That's the same thing. According to the law, I am in control of their
property," said Mr. Craven, resolved upon a master-stroke which,
he felt confident, would overwhelm his adversary. "After the great
impropriety of which you have been guilty this afternoon, I discharge
you from my employment."
"You discharge me!" exclaimed Katy, with incredulous scorn.
"I discharge you, and I desire you to leave the house to-morrow."
"You discharge me!" repeated Katy, with a ringing laugh. "That's a good
one."
Mr. Craven's cadaverous face colored with anger.
"If you don't go quietly, I'll help you out," he added, incautiously.
"Come on, then," said Katy, assuming a warlike attitude. "Come on,
then, and we'll see whether you can put out Katy O'Grady."
"Your impudence will not avail you. I am determined to get rid of you."
"And do ye think I'm goin' to lave the house, and my ould misthress,
and Master Frank, at the orders of such an interloper as you, Mr.
Craven?" she cried, angrily.
"I don't propose to multiply words about it," said Mr. Craven, with
an assumption of dignity. "If you had behaved well, you might have
stayed. Now you must go."
"Must I?" sniffed Katy, indignantly. "Must I, indade?"
"Yes, you must, and the less fuss you make about it the better."
Mr. Craven supposed that he had the decided advantage, and that Katy,
angry as she was, would eventually succumb to his authority. But he did
not know the independent spirit of Catherine O'Grady, whose will was
quite as resolute as his own.
"And ye think I'm goin' at your word--I that's been in the family since
Master Frank was a baby?"
"I am sorry for you, Katy," said Mr. Craven, in triumphant magnanimity.
"But I cannot permit a servant to remain in my house who is guilty of
the gross impropriety of insulting me."
"I know why you want to get rid of me," said Katy, nodding her head
vigorously.
"Why?" asked Craven, with some curiosity.
"You want to p'ison the dog."
Mr. Craven started. How had his secret leaked out?
"What do you mean?"
"Mane! I mane that I saw you lavin' the p'isoned mate for the dog three
days agone, and if it hadn't been for me he'd have eaten it, and the
poor creetur would be stiff in death."
"He did eat it. I saw him," said Mr. Craven, hastily.
"No, he didn't. It wasn't the same mate!" said Katy, triumphantly.
"What was it, then?"
"It was a piece I cut off and carried out to him," said Katy. "The
other I wrapped up in a piece of paper, and buried it in the field."
Mr. Craven's eyes were opened. Pompey's cast-iron constitution was
explained. After all, he was not that natural phenomenon which Mr.
Craven had supposed him to be. But he was angry at Katy's interference
no less.
"Say no more," he said. "You must go. You have no right to interfere
with my plans."
"Say no more? Won't I be tellin' the misthress and Master Frank how you
tried to kill the poor dog, first with p'ison, and nixt wid a pistol?"
There was something in this speech that made Mr. Craven hesitate and
reflect.
He knew that Katy's revelation would provoke Frank, and make him an
enemy, and he feared the boy's influence on his mother, particularly
as he was concocting plans for inducing his wife to place some of her
money in his hand under pretext of a new investment. He must be careful
not to court hostile influences, and after all, he resolved to bear
with Katy, much as he disliked her.
"On the whole, Katy," he said, after a pause, "I will accept your
apology, and you may stay."
"My apology!" said Katy, in astonishment.
"Yes, your explanation. I see your motives were good, and I will think
no more about it. You had better not mention this matter to Mrs. Craven
or Frank, as it might disturb them."
"And won't you try to kill Pomp agin?" asked Katy.
"No; I dislike dogs, especially as they are apt to run mad, but as
Frank is attached to Pompey, I won't interfere. You had better take
this tumbler and wash it, as it is uninjured."
"All right, sir," said Katy, who felt that she had gained a victory,
although Mr. Craven assumed that it was his.
"I am very glad you are so devoted to your mistress," said Mr. Craven,
who had assumed his old suavity. "I shall propose to her to increase
your wages."
"He's a mighty quare man!" thought the bewildered Katy, as she hurried
back to her work, followed by Pompey.