The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, Volume L, Issue 42, 25 October 1923, Page 3

The Storyteller

(By C. J. Kiokham.)

Kiiocknagow OB The Homes of Tipperary

CHAPTER XXXVl.— (Continued.) “Good-night, Billy; sit down,” said Phil Lahy, mildly, the words being thrown in parenthetically to the peroration of his discourse on home < manufactures, which, he contended, could, never be revived under a foreign government. Billy Hcffernan was about declining the invitation, but seeing it was seconded by Norah Lahy’s dark eyes* he couldn’t. ... “I don’t know,” was Tom Hogan’s comment at the conclusion of the speech. “I never minded them soart uv things. An’ though I gave my shillin’ as well as another to O’Connell, to plaise the priest, I never could see the good uv id. If people’d mind their business an’ industhre, they cl be able to hould on, barrin’ sich as’d be turned out be the landlord.” Tom, said Phil Lahy, with a sort of solemn indignation, “ t is wastin’ words to be talkin’ to you.” Tis thirty years now,” continued Tom Hogan, “since I came into my little spot, an’ SO' long as God spared me my health I never lost half a clay; an’ signs on, look at id, an where would you find a more compact little place in the country ? An’ what was id but a snipe farm the day I came to id. But I worked airly an’ late, wet an’ dhry , an’ glory bo to God, I’m milkin’ six cows now where Billy Heffernan’s mule ’d perish the day I came into id. An’ if others done the same they’d have the same story.” “An’, Tom, what rent hre you paying now?” Well, tis a purty smart rint,” replied Tom Hogalr seriously. “But the land is worth id,” he added, proudly, “An’ who made id worth id, Tom? Answer me that.” “/ did, he replied, ■ with something like a swagger. “ Thim two hands did id for the first ten years, barrin’ what help my wife gave me; an’, begor, so far as diggin’ stubbles and w ork uv that sort, she done ridge for ridge wild me of en an’ of’en. But I 'made the dhrains, an’ sunk the dykes, an’ riz the ditches single hand. But now,” he continued consequentially, “I can keep a servant boy, an’ hire a few men. AqP I ate my own bit uv butther now an’ then,” added Tom Hogan, with the air of a lord. An’ what rent are you payin’ ?” “Well, thirty-eight shillin’s, since the last rise.” “An’ suppose the next rise puts it up to forty-eight?” Tom Hogan stared at his questioner with a frightened look. If he was the divil,” he exclaimed, after a pause, he couldn’t put id up to forty-eight shillin’s an acre.” “An’ what was id when you came there first?” “About fifteen shillin’s an acre all round. _ But ’tis , betther worth thirty-eight now - .” “Have you a lase?” “Nq, nor I don’t Avant a lase so long as I Have a gentleman for my landlord that won’t disturb any poor man that’ll pay him his rent fair' and honest.” An as fast as you improve your land, putting the whole labor uv your life into id, he’ll rise the rint on ye.” “An’ why not, so long as he don’t rise id too high?” . “Tom Hogan,” said Phil Lahy, surveying him from head to foot, and then looking him steadily in the face Tom Hogan, I’ll see you scratch a beggarman’s back yet.”. v ; , ; /■ Tom Hogan looked astonished, quite unable to comprehend why he should be called upon to perform such-an office for a beggarman or any one else. But Phil Lahy meant to convey, in this figurative and unnecessarily roundabout way, that Tom Hogan would be a beggar himself. <£ partly see what Phil is at,” observed Mat Donovan. “Whin ’tis his own labor an’ his own money made the land what id is, the rint had no right to be riz on him. ' Sure he has his place just if he took a piece uv the Golden - Vale an’ laid id down among the rising an’ yallow clay all

around id. An’ because he wint on dhraining’, an’ limin’, an’ fencin’, an’ manurin’ for thirty years, is 'jthat the raison the rint should be riz on him, wherein more uv -em that never done anything at all is on’y payin’ the ould - rint? That’s a quare way to encourage a man.” f ‘ % “An’ Tom,” said Phil Lahy, “what would you take for the good-will of that farm?” \ “I wouldn’t take a million uv money,” he replied, in ■ Vv. a husky voice. “My hpart is stuck in id.” ' His chin dropped upon his chest, and his hands began to tremble as if he had the palsy. • . • - Ah, though we cannot help sharing Phil Lahy’s contempt for Tom Hogan’s slavishness, we heartily wish he had a more secure hold of that little farm in which “his heart was stuck” than the word of a gentleman who went on raising the rent as fast as Tom Hogan went on with his draining, and fencing, and liming, and manuring -■—to say nothing of the new slated barn and cow-house. Norah looked at him with surprise, as if she could scarcely believe he was the same Tom Hogan who, a few minutes before, seemed so full of consequence as he boasted of eating his own butter now and then. She then turned an appealing look to her father, which checked the sarcasm and the bitter laugh that Phil Lahy was on the point of indulging in at the expense of the poor tenant-at-will, who tried so hard to persuade himself and others that he was not only satisfied with his serfdom, but proud of it. “Good-night to ye,” said Tom Hogan, rising from his chair. “ ’Tis time to be goin’ home.” “ ’Tis time for all uv us,” said Mat Donovan. “I’ll . i ' come down to-morrow night,” he added, “and lend a hand to that chair of Norah’s. ’Tis sinkin’ too much at the side.” Norah thanked him with a grateful look. Every little act of kindness made her happy. “Come out, Honor, and get me a herrin’,” said Billy Heffernan. “Faith, I’m afeard the spuds’ll be broke. I hnug ’em down to bile when I was cornin’ out.” “Good-night,” said Tom Hogan, when he came to his own gate. His hand trembled so much that he could not raise the hasp, and Mat Donovan stopped and opened and closed the gate for him. “God help him,” said Mat, as he rejoined Billy Heffernan, “if ever it comes to his turn” “What?” “To be turned out.” “There’s no danger uv that,” Billy replied. “He’s the snuggest man in the place.” ' “All he’s worth in the world,” returned Mat, “is buried in the land. He couldn’t give a fortune to Nancy. An’ as for Jemmy, he tells me he’ll run away an’ list; he makes him work so hard, and wouldn’t give him a shillin’ for pocket-money. An’ ’tis a hard thing, Billy, to think that any man could come up to you and tell you to walk out uv the house an’ place you wor afther spendin’ the labor uv your life on.” “Begor, Mat,” returned Billy, “I could stick the man, as ould Phil Morris says he’d do, that’d turn me out of that ould cabin there, not to say a snug house and farm > like Tom Hogan’s.” “Peg Brady was tellin’ me,” said Mat, “that you • called into Phil Morris’s last night when you wor passim’ ” “I turned into redden the pipe whin I see the doore open.” , •v “She was goin’ on about somethin’ that I couldn’t pick head or tail out uv,” continued Mat Donovan. “On’y she said if I knew id I’d be surprised. She said you kem in to light the pipe afther, but I couldn’t understand her. / J But she was dhrivin’ at somethin’.”- : vs,l Billy Heffernan put his finger and thumb into his waistcoat pocket, and was on the point of saying that he had passed Phil Morris’s without remembering to give , the - little box to Bessy, but he felt instinctively that he' ought not to speak v of it, though he had no particular Ijv' reason for supposing that it concerned Mat Donovan more than anybody else. , “Did you see Bessy?” Mat asked, seeing that his | ••. companion had offered no remark upon what he had just :; said. ; f . .. '■ ti'l■ “I diet. Billy replied: “the two uv ’em wor siltin' ~v * * : . at the fire.” - /■, 1 , , .

“What two?” ' “Peg an’ Bessy;'” “Wasn’t there any wan else?” ,• T- “Divil a wan —whin I wint in. The ould man was in bed.” “Peg is sich an innocent soart uv a girl,” said Mat, as if to himself. “I suppose she wanted to take a rise . out uv me. She was hintin’ at somethin’ or other, but the not a wan uv me knows what id was. She tould me,” he added, after a pause, “that Bessy was cornin’ over to cut a new gownd or somethin’, for Miss Mary to-morrow.” - “Begqr,” said Billy Heifernan, putting his hand again in his 1 pocket, “I may as well give you a message I have for her.” v “What is id?” Mat asked. “I won’t mind id,” returned Billy, as it occurred to him that if he gave the box to Mat, he should tell from whom he got it. , Billy Heffernan • was in the habit of making little purchases for his neighbors in Clonmel, and Mat Donovan attributed his change of mind regarding the message, to what he considered a very natural desire on Billy’s part to deliver it to the fascinating Bessy himself. “Come in an’ rest,” said Billy, when they had come to his house, “Oh, ’tis all hours. My mother’ll think the mickilleenS is afther ketchin’ me,” replied Mat, as he quickened his pace with all the appearance of a man in a great hurry. But Billy saw him stop almost immediately, and, after hesitating for a moment as if he thought of turning back to renew the conversation, walk on again very slowly towards his own house. “By my word,” thought Billy Heffernan, as he took the “spuds” off the firewhich “spuds,” to his great relief, he found were not broken, owing, perhaps, to the length of time the fire had taken to kindle“by my word I’m afeard he’s a bad case too.” He lighted his bog-pine candle, and examined the little ; package the dragoon had given him with considerable ’ curiosity. .• “Now, I wondher what might be in id,” he thought, ' as he tried to judge of its weight by moving his hand up and down. “ - Tisn’t heavy, whatever id is. But what is id to me what’s in id ? I’ll give id into her own hands, for maybe if any wan els© got id they might make harm uv id, as little as id is. An’,” added Billy Heffernan, with a shake of his head, “ ’tis a d n little thing some people couldn’t make harm uv. Well, ’twouldn’t be aisy to make me b’lieve any bad uv Bessy Morris; though she is the divil for coortin’.” He strained the water off the “spuds” into the pool outside the door, and leaving the pot on the floor to let them cool, he sat upon his block and shook the little bos close to his ear. “Now, as sure as I’m alive,” said he, “ ’tis a thimble. An’ sure Nelly Donovan tould me ’twas to larn to be a manty-maker that Bessy stopped in Dublin so long. But ’tis thinkin’ uv my two-eyed beefsteak I ought to be.” And, considering that he had eaten nothing since he breakfasted in the cellar in Clonmel, it was not surprising that Billy Heffernan should now think of his supper. And while ho is roasting his herring on the tongs, we will go back for a moment to Bessy Morris, whom we left sitting in her grandfather’s arm-chair, with a flush upon her forehead, and nervously tapping with her fingers on the table. “When did he come?” she asked, without raising her eyes. / ‘ . ' ; “A little start , afther you goin’,” replied Peg Brady, who had returned to her seat, and was occupied in taking some of the partially burnt turf from the fire and quenching it in the ashes in the corner. “I was goin’ to tell him to run afther ye, an’ have his share uv the fun.” Bessy looked at her with surprise, and, drawing a long - breath, as if she had escaped a great danger—for she shrank from the idea of the sensation the dragoon’s appearance in search of her would have created’at the wedding—she said , with forced ’calmness, “You had no right to let him stay.” “Was id to turn him out the doores ( I was? An’ how was I to know that ye’d stay so late. ' I thought you’d be home before twelve o’clock ■at the farthest. An’ he afther - cornin’ for nothin’ else in the world but to- see yon.” “But didn’t you know how my. grandfather hated the

266 QUEEN STREET (opp. Strand, Theatre) and SYMONDS STREET (opp St Crown

'sight of a soldier? There’s no knowing what he might say or do if he saw him.” - ' s There s my thanks for sendin’ him into' your own room till your grandfather was gone to bed, whin I hear ye cornin’.” . you are very foolish.” And Bessy commenced tapping the table more nervously than ever. “What would be said if he was seen in my room?” _ “Faith, you’re losin’ your courage,” returned Peg Brady. “I .thought you wouldn’t mind what any wan’d say.” "t. Bessy Morris . closed her lips tightly and gazed into tiie fire. v “He said he wrote a letter to you from Dublin,” said Peg Brady. “So he told me,” Bessy replied, absently. “But I did not get it. Maybe ’tis at the post-office.” “Begor he’s a fine, handsome man, anyhow; an”he’s a sergeant.' He said that in all his thravels he never see’ the like uv you.” " The compressed lips parted, and a flash of light shot from Bessy Morris’s eyes; and, bending down her head, she covered her face with her hands as if she wished to hide symptoms of gratified vanity from her companion. “I don’t know how you manage to come round the whole uv ’em,” said Peg Brady, with sigh. “I wish you’d make up your mind an’ take wan an’ put the rest out uv pam V An’ maybe thin some uv us might have a chance.” u . ,^ eB ’ Peg,” said Bessy, as she rose from her chair, don t say anything about it. You don’t know how hard the world is.” , yes i that’s the way. Purtend. to the whole uv em there’s no an but himself, and keep ’em all on your hands.” “There it is,” said Bessy, stopping, before she had reached the door of her room, as if Peg’s remark was a foretaste of what she had to expect. Well, you may depend on me,” returned Peg- “I’ll say nothin’.” ’ Bessy Morris retired to her room .greatly excited. cco “ E 1 , what is there to be frightened at?” she thought. Sure he s not the first bachelor that ever came to see me. But people are so bad-minded.” v , Yet “ever occurred to her that if she had not been such a diyil for coortm’,” as Billy Heffernan had expressed it, the dragoon, in all probability, would never have heard of the existence of Knocknagow, where he found himself the previous evening, and-learned from Mat Donovan’s mother that he had passed Phil Morris’s house and left it a mile »r two behind him. “May heaven direct me!” exclaimed Bessy Morris, as she knelt down to say her prayers. “I feel as if some misfortune was hanging over me.” “I wish to the Lord,” said Peg Brady, as she raked the ashes over the embers on the hearth, “that he was afther whippin’ her away. An’ sure what betther match could she expect? An’ who knows but—well, there’s no use in countin’ our chickens afore they’re hatched. What a fool poor Mat is!” And Peg Brady broke off with a sigh as she put the back-stick to the door. (To b© continued.) St. Mary’s Tennis- Club, Invercargill St. Mary’s Tennis Club, Invercargill, held an opening day the other Wednesday, when a large number of players and spectators turned out (writes our own correspondent) Mrs. Haigh, a vice-president of the club, played the first ball and declared the courts open, after which many enjoyable sets were played. During the afternoon the ladies served refreshments. The club has a good membership ■and everything promises well for a successful season