THE FORGE.

Press, Volume LIII, Issue 9515, 7 September 1896, Page 6

THE FORGE.

Br Kathakine Tysax Hinkson.

The forge stood witli its back to the mountains and its face to the valley. From eai'ly morning to late evening the anvil rang and golden showers of sparks rose and fell, while the smith in hie shirt-sleeres whistled at his work. There was a duck-pond at tho forge-door ; all spring the frog-spawn lay on the water till the spawn became young frogs and the water was alive with the quivering of multitudinous life. In summer evenings, after the noise of the anvil was done, and great-footed beasts no more threatened the froga' home ami families, the snoring of the frogs was like an army of sleeping drunkards. Sometimes the ducks waddled in a long line to the pond, and greedily gobbled a few dozen froge much in the manner we eat our oysters. Then the remainder of the froge would, dive out of sight into the deep mud below the duck-weed and the flag lilies, and the ducks, "with a quack of disappointment, would waddle back to the fowl-yard. Young Michael Morrissy was in his grave, and old Michaol, that ought to be there in his stead, still cumbored the ground. None grudged the old man his seat in the chimneycorner nor his hour in the sun. Most time 3 he hardly remembered about Michael's being dead, and took Patsey—Michael's son—for his dead father. Patsey and Jemmy carried on the forge for their mother. Steady, willing boys they were, and good at their trade. Their father's end had steadied them. He had been kicked in the head by a horse he was shoeing in a state of half-drunkenness. Patsey had been fond of his pint and the card-playing before that, and Jemmy wae beginning to follow in his footsteps, but the shock of the father's death had sobered them. It was in the family to be good at smith's work. Then the lads were always to be found at the forge, and even in off-hours were not unwilling to turn out and put on a shoe in case of emergency. They get Elenty of work. All day the open space efore the forge was full of horses, couples of them, led by a tiny urchin scarcely up to their knee joints and very important, or horses in harness led out from the ehafts of the carts to get a shoe replaced that had been knocked off by the rough shingle of the road. Patsey had a way with the horses. The most nervous and tricky of them would be quiet in his hands as he half-knelt holding the great hoof, and uttering a low caressing susurrus, at the sound of which the large eyes of the creatures would gaze at him full of contentment. Old Michael, crawling about like a winterovertaken fly on a warm pane, would nod his head a great many times as he watched Patsey at the work. " Good boy, "Michael," he would say, mistaking him for hie father. "You're raeself over again with the horses. They're knowledgeable cratures, but terrible auy frightened. Horses is like some women. They require the soothin , word an' the gentle touch. But there's not many has the sense to give it to them." " Thrue for you, sir," his grandson would reply. " Not that I'm to be named in the same day wid yourself. Twas only yesterday Mr Doolan was savin' • There's not a smith in the country to aqual Mr Morrissy as I knew him. Yez are good boys,' he says, ' but smith's work is not the same as I remember it.'" " Saa that now, my «I?ar," saya the old fellow, hugely pleased. "A daciut mau

Terry Doolan always was, an , I remember him, man an , boy, a matter of—l diaremember how many years now. My memory is not what it was." " I think herself is callin' you-in to your tay," says the other, irrelevantly. " Not at all, my dear. She's gone wid a, basket of eggs to the village : and she won't b« in a hurry back, for she knows Fm well employed about the forge. Michael, dear," wheedlingly, " let mc shoe a horse to meself. I'm often hungry for the feel of the hoof in my hand." "Don't be talkin' of the like. Shure I know I'm not in it wid you, an' the people 'ud be only dissatisfied with my work if they got a bit of yours." The old fellow smiled and nodded, but after a minute or two grew restless. " 'Tis tired I am sittin* widin there wid herself, like as if I was a-past my work. Tis hard, Michael dear, to be only in the way, an' an idle ould block, after bein' the biggest man, an , the best hurler, an , the finest smith in the country. It is so. I'm good for nothiu , but catchin' the sparks in my fingers like the little childher, an' the younger men has the werk." "Listen to him ! You're no more a-past your work nor I am. Sure you're wiichin' mc mc trade. There you sit snug in the corner w*tchin' mc, an' if I wasn't doin , right I'd be bound 'tis yourself would soon be down on mc. Woa, Sheila, there now, mc beauty !" to the mare. He was up on his feet now, and rubbing down her sleek neck. "Come here, Patsey Connor," he shouted. " The mare's shod. Tell your father to bring mc in Boholaun." The urchin led away the mare, and in a minute the door of tlie forge was darkened by the big iron-grey horse Boholaun. " Here's work for you how, sir," Patsey called cheerfully to the old man. " Just blow the fire into a hate for mc." The old fellow took the handle of the great smith's bellows halt unwilling. " 'Tis a gossoon's job," he grumbled. " Anywftn can blow the bellows, but anywan can't put on the shoe. I rnred you to be terrible hard-hearted and uubiddable to your elders, Michael." " Whisht, jewel. Don't be say in' the like. Sure you wouldn't be makin' a show of mc, takin the work out of my hands. Aisy, Boholaun, hould up now —this foot, my fine fellow." He began whistling to himself, and forgot the old man. After a minute or two he looked up and missed him. " He's got tired, poor ould soul ! " he said, "an' has gone back to his settle. I must tell herself to keep a closer eye on him, and not have him walkin , about among the horses. His likin' for them is terrible strong slill." The man who had le»l in Boholaun had joined his fellows at the little shebeen dv«r the way. In front of the forge there were ! still twenty horses standing. The urchin j supposed to be in charge was sitting by the well-side trying to catch minnows with a primitive hook. Patsy worked away at Boholaun's shoes. It was a quiet day, and Jemmy was oft' at the market with his mother's two calves. A door at the side of the forge opened, and a pleasant brown face looked in. It was Mro Morrissy back from her excursion to the village. Behind her you could see a white, well-scrubbed table, and a white di*esser full of crockery, and a square window in the smoke-browned wall with geraniums in pots. The woman peered about anxiously. " Is th' ould man wid ye, Patsey V , " Isn't he widin' ? He got tired divartin' himself, an' went off a while ago. Maybe he's ramblin' about wid himself in the sun." He stood up and looked out of the forgedoor, and then uttered an exclamation — " The crature ! Look whei'e he's sittin' like a child !" He made a couple of strong strides to the door. In between the long line of horses old Michael Morrissy was sittiDg on the ground. He held a horse's hoof in his hand, and was anxiously scrutinising it. He gave a little start when his grandson approached him, and began to struggle up. " You'll never be the smith your father was, my boy," he said. " They'd wear the shoe thin before they'd loee it in my day." - " Sure enough, sir. But there's herself home an' lookin' for you. I'm frighted to see you sittin' down there among the horses. You'll be gettin , hurt some day.- Why, that one you were handlln' is one of the greatest divils for kickin' in the countryside." "They'd never kick mc," said the old fellow, allowing himself to be led away. " An' if they did, what odds, so long as I was sober an' fit to go ? There was a poor boy I knew once—l disreniember now ; he had a look o' you, Michael—was killed by a kick, but he had drink taken, God forgive him, an' wasn't fit to appear before his Maker. I'm gettin' ould, Michael; I feel it in mc bones. But I yas always terrible fond o , the horses, an' 1 think I'll die when I'm kep' from them." He followed his daughter-in-law into the comfortable kitchen, where the kettle was boiling on the hob. As the door closed behind him Boholauu's owner came in for hie steed. " Where d'ye think I found th' ould man," said Patsey, " but betune the feet of the horses, an , Rooney's kickin , mare wid her hoof in his lap ! Jemmy'll be in a fine state when he hears it. He'll be killed some day. He won't be kep' from the horses, an' he's that cute ; take your eye oft him an , he's among them. He's a fine ould man, but he's a great care on the mind." " They say the likes of him is took care of," said Boholaun's owner ; " little childher or helpless ould aged mta and women. Meself, I'd trust the bastes wid them. The bastes know, an' I don't believe there's wan o' them 'ud let fly a kick at an ould child like him."— The Westminster Budget.