The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, Volume LI, Issue 14, 3 April 1924, Page 3

The Storyteller

(By C. J. Kiokham.)

~wizr^ _ ~i OB The Homes of Tipperary

CHAPTER LIIL—THE HURLING IN THE KILNFIELD.—CAPTAIN FRENCH THROWS THE SLEDGE AGAINST MAT THE THRASHER,— BARNEY IN TROUBLE.—FATHER McMAHON'S ~ " PROUD WALK," "What a pity it is," said Mrs. Kearney, "that Mr. Lowe is not a Catholic. Ton my word he's good enough to be one. And 'tis often my uncle Dan said the same of his uncle." Grace, who sat with Mr. Kearney on one side of the car, laughed as she turned quickly round and looked at Mary, who was with her mother on the other side. They were returning from last Mass, and' Mr. Lowe stood outside the door to hand the ladies off the car. "I wonder Richard would be making such a fool of himself about that Kathleen Hanly," continued Mrs. Kearney; "walking by the side of their old phaeton all the way from Kilthubber, instead of driving home with Hugh in the gig, and leaving poor Mr. Lowe by the morning." "Where is Wattletoes?" Mr. Kearney called out as ho got off the car. "This was his day to be at first Mass," Mrs. Kearney observed, "and he ought to be at home an hour ago." "He was'nt at first Mass then," said the dairymaid, who ran out on hearing her master's voice, and who had a grudge against Barney for a reason of her own. ' "He spent his mornin' at Kit Cummins's, card-playin' wud the lads." Mrs. Kearney raised her hands in horror and amazement at this damning proof of Barney's wickedness. Running after . ballad-singers, peep-shows, and Punches-and-Judys, were mere venial sins compared with losing Mass on Sunday; and spending the time with "the lads" deepened the offence to the darkest hue of guilt, A certain little club or fraternity, of whom one Andy Dooley (alias Andy Meeawe) was the leader and oracle, who frequented Kit Cummins's, were universally known as "the lads" or "the school"; and with them, we grieve to say, Barney was tempted to spend the morning, sitting upon a skillet, and playing "scoobeen" upon the bottom of Kit Cummins's wash-tub, which was turned upside down for the purpose. Barney, however, was hurrying home early enough to escape detection, counting his coppers on the way, when, in an evil hour, he espied Brummagem (who, owing to early impressions, could.never be persuaded that anything more was required to keep holy the Sabbath-day than washing his face in the pool in the quarry, and drying it with his' cap) placing a small stone on the smooth part of the road, | : and, after moving backwards half-a-dozen yards, pitching a penny at it. Barney pitched a penny at the "bob" too. It required a critical eye to judge which was the better pitch; but Brummagem, taking a bit of iron hoop from his pocket, used it as a rule, making it plain that his penny was the eighth of an inch nearer to the "bob." This Barney admitted by a nod of assent in reply to a look from Brummagem. The hopeful youth then laid a halfpenny on the bit of hoop and held it towards Barney, who placed another halfpenny beside it; and Brummagem, after solemnly spitting upon them for good luck, whirled both halfpence into the air with a peculiar movement of the wrist. They came down "heads," and Brummagem pocketed them in silence, and pitched again. So the pitching and tossing went on with varying luck till Tom Maker announced to Barney that the family were home from Mass '.'this hour," and that the mistress had found out'how Barney had been engaged during the morning. ."Begob, I'm done for now for ever," exclaimed Barney. • And he began to debate with himself whether it was to his mother's cabin above Glounamuckadhee, or to his relations near Ballydunmore, he had better fly to escape Mrs. Kearney's wrath.. ' ■...--

But the roll of the big drum reminded him of the great hurling match that was to come' off in the kiln-field that day, and of the sledge-throwing between Mat Donovan and Captain French, and of' the "high-gates" and "hell-and-heaven"; and, above all, of Peg Brady, whom Barney pronounced to be '"tuppence a pound before any girl in the parish"—and a kiss from whom, he assured Tom Maher in confidence, was '''eating and drinking' 1 ; and Barney was a happy man once more! "Begob, Tom," he exclaimed, his eye glistening with delight, "the be no show but all the b'ys an' girls we'll have in the kiln-field to-day. Look up thowar's Bohervogga. The road is black wud 'em." " 'Twill be a great gatherin'," returned Tom Maher. "Do you think will Mat bate the captain?" Barney asked, anxiously. "I'd rather we'd lose the hurlin' than have Mat bet at the sledge." "There's no danger, wud the help uv God," Tom replied, "though Phil Lahy is unaisy. An' the captain is a powerful man. I never see such a pair uv arms. An' Tom Doherty tells me he never stopped practisin' for the last week. But, never you fear, but Mat'll open his eye for him. An' we're purty sure uv the hurlin', too, as we have Tom Doherty. I never knew Tom to fail on a pint. He says he'll depind upon Miss Mary to get his pardon for him from Father Carroll, as he had to stale away at the first light, an' he's afeard Father Carroll couldn't find any wan to serve Mass. An' Miss Mary promised, for she's.as anxious about the hurlin' as any uv us." This was quite true; and when Tom Doherty told her how, every evening, when he went to water Father Carroll's horse to the weir, he was sure to see Captain French in the Priest's Walk, with his coat off, throwing a sledge "for the bare life," and that he'd give "a twenty pound note" to beat Mat Donovan, Mary became quite nervous lest the laurels were at last to be snatched from Mat Donovan's brows. "What is it in that letter," Grace asked, "that brings that happy look into your eyes ? This is the third time you have read it within the past half-hour; and you always look so glad." Mr. Lowe had remarked, too, that he had never seen her look so animated—though it was the last day of his stay! "Read it yourself," said Mary, offering her the letter which was from her sister Anne. "I read it before, and couldn't see anything to account for your delight. It scarcely can be this piece of news about Arthur O'Connor." *"" But it was the piece of news about Arthur O'Connor. And every time Mary read it she felt (or fancied she felt) a great load taken off her heart, and said to herself that "now she could write to him," and explain why she was not at the window that snowy Christmas Eve when he waited so long and so patiently for her. "I'm so glad," said Grace, "that Richard and-Mr. Lowe are to leave the same day I am going myself. It is quite a coincidence." "And why are you so glad?" "Oh, I have a plan." "What is it?" "Well, Lll get papa to ask them to spend the evening with us; and we'll have Minnie Delany and the ' Brehon ' and ' Shamrock ' and a few others, and I think it will be very pleasant." "I suppose Eva will take them by storm." "Well, I rather think not. She requires time in spite of her beauty and her golden ringlets. You are far more striking." "And does no thought of me enter into your plan?" "Didn't you say there was no use thinking you would come?" Grace asked in surprise. "Yes j but does it not occur to you that I'll be very lonely when you are all gone?" Grace was silent for a minute, and then said: "Mary. I am the incarnation of selfishness. That is the essential difference between you and me—l think of myself first, and you think of yourself last. You will be dreadfully lonely without a soul with you. And now that I see it I'd. gladly stay if I could. But why did it not occur to me before? Because lam selfish—that's the why."

"You are too severe upon yourself," : "But why do you say I'll be ' without a soul }?s Do Hugh, and my father and mother, : and g Ellie and Willie «ount for nothing ? And that remind! mefthat I have left'Ellie altogether to her story-books and her birds for some time; and you know she is to be.sent to school 'when Anne comes home in summer." . -«• --* . "™— "«*-« "Oh, you'll be all right when Anne comes home. She is so blessed with animal spirits. I expect she'll go wild after the gaol-like discipline of that convent. I'm sure she'll be as great a flirt as Bessy Morris." ; "Why do you suppose Bessy Morris is a flirt?" "Well; that soldier's letter was pretty strong circumstantial evidence; and, besides, I heard them discussing her" character in the kitchen last night, when I was helping your mamma with the pudding.". . "What did they say of her?" "Barney said she'd court ' a haggart o' sparrows '.; but the general opinion was that she was «a nice crack '— whatever that means." "A ' crack ' is a person who dresses too stylishly. But Bessy's taste is so exquisite, it is impossible to find fault with her in that respect." "Yes, that brown stuff dress is perfection," returned Grace. "I must get one like it. And how Mat Donovan worships her! But I suppose she would not have him." 'Oh, Mat is what might be called a universal lover " said Mary "He has quite a number of sweethearts." Ah, but there's something more than that in Bessy's case. But I can hardly reconcile myself to the idea of her becoming the wife of a laborer. Yet the little house is verv pretty. The garden and the beehives would do very well • But Bessy ought to have a nicely furnished little parlor with white curtains to the window, and some books, and a bird in a cage to sing for her all day long." "Like Norah Lahy's linnet," Mary added u "No/' rejoined race "he is too grave and sober for Bessy. Elbe's goldfinch would be more suitable or a canary. But Mat himself would be for a thrush that would awaken the Seven Sleepers. Bessy, however, hasTl think more ambitious views than to be the mistress of that little house." "I'd be sorry to think you are not mistaken," returned Mary thoughtfully. "Mat is just the sort of man who would feel such a disappointment deeply. I can't help laughing at myself," she added, "I am so anxious about the hurling, and this trial of strength with Captain French I would not wish for anything that Mat should be beaten. And yet of what consequence is it?" "The reason is, you sympathise so strongly with those around you," Grace observed. "I have often noticed it. there, now, your eyes light up because that bevy of girls crossing the lawn are showing their white teeth—and very white teeth they have, and very beautiful and luxuriant' hair But why do they all prefer scrambling over the ditch to going through the gate a few yards lower down? Oh, yes! Those youths will pull them up, and I suppose they like that. There goes the big drum and the fifes. And, my goodness! what a number of people! 'Tis like a races." "And is it not pleasant to see them all so happy?" said Mary, with sparkling eyes. "But to my mind the prettiest sight of all is that long line of children, joined hand in hand, and winding round and round in that way." "You might call them a wreath of rosebuds," returned Grace; "though that play they are at is known by the unpoetical name of thread the needle.' You see the two tallest hold up their joined hands like an arch, through which ,the whole line runs. The ' Brehon ' told me there is a most poetical description of the same game in an old Irish manuscript, in which the king and queen are at the head of the line of youths and maidens, who glide under their majesties' arms to the music of the harp. But I hope it was not called ' thread the needle '.in those happy days. But mind the wide circle of children of larger growth at the upper end of the field." ." ° " y-~% "That's 'high-gates,'" said Mary, i "And behold Barney Brodherick in full chase after some fair one of large dimensions, who, I fancy, is too fat to hold out long," Grace continued. "Yes, there; he has. the prize captured already;" ■■ ; : ;"'

"That is Bessy Morris's cousin, Peg Brady," said Mary laughing. "Barney is a great admirer of her." "There go the next pair," continued Grace. "Ha! she won't be caught so easily. She's as fleet as a deer." "I think it is Nelly Donovan," said Mary. "So it is," returned Grace. "There is something gaz-elle-like about Nelly. I often think what a huntress she would make. She is like one of Diana's nymphs. There, she has distanced her pursuer, and is now walking at her leisure, till he comes nearer. But he is trying to get her into the corner and catch her as she doubles, back. What a happy, lightheaded girl Nelly is!" "And a good girl, too," returned Mary.. "It is quite affecting to see herself and poor Norah Lahy together; one so strong and healthy, and the other so weak and helpIe ! :«. They love each other like sisters. But surely that is Nancy Hogan's golden hair! I'm so glad to see poor Nancy out among them again." "Yes; and she is evidently not indifferent to the conversation of her companion," Grace remarked. "That is her old. admirer, Tom Carey the carpenter," returned Mary. "I am really very glad." "I thought you'd go in for dying of a broken heart in such a case?" said Grace. "No, not when a man proves unworthy," Mary answered. 'And Ned Brophy acted very badly." "I'm trying to find out Bessy Morris among them," said Grace; "but I don't think she is there. Perhaps she is too grand? But look, there is Mr. Lloyd riding backwards and forwards over the new ditch; and I suppose that is Captain French with him." Here we are reminded that we owe an apology to the "new ditch." When we first had occasion to refer to this freak of Maurice Kearney's, we stated that it never was and never would be of the slightest earthly use. But, in justice to the "new ditch," we feel bound to admit that it was the best, and the "firmest,'' and in every way the most suitable ditch in the neighborhood for training a horse to "topping," and was availed of for that purpose by professional and amateur trainers for miles around. And few equestrians could, when passing the way, resist the temptation of taking a few jumps over the "new ditch" ; so that a strip of the field at either ( side of this admirable fence generally presented the appearance of a race-course between the ropes after the last heat for the "consolation stakes." Most humbly do we beg the "new ditch's" pardon for asserting that it was of no earthly use. "I think we ought to go out, and get near them," said Grace. "I see the hurlers falling into battle array. And there are the Hanlys on the road above the grove, and Richard holding the pony by the head, lest he should set off for home backwards, as he sometimes does, by way of a practical joke." "I have no objection to a walk,'! returned Mary. "But you never thought you were not near enough till you saw Captain French and Mr. Lloyd." "Well, I have some slight curiosity in that way," rejoined Grace, putting on her. bonnet. "I want to see what sort of looking person he is." Q "And to be seen," Mary added, laughing. "Certainly." "Well, come then. I see Hugh and Mr. Lowe are going and we may as well join them." By the time they reached the phaeton — the occupants of which bowed condescendingly to them —the high-gates and other games were suspended, and the children and young girls stood upon the fences round the field out of the. way of the hurlers. There was a hush, and an eager, anxious look in every face, as Mat Donovan moved from the crowd towards the middle of the field, followed by .his twenty picked men. He pulled the ball with some difficulty from his pocket, and, throwing it with bis burly on the field, took off his coat slowly, and with a quiet smile. The others pulled off their coats, too; but some of them were quite pale, while their teeth chattered with excitement. "What's delayin ye, boys?" Mat called out, seeing with surprise that the hurlers at the other side were not taking their places. .

The party whom he addressed made no reply; litit they

whispered among themselves, and one or two got upon the ."new ditch" and looked towards the Three Poplars. "Is there anything wrong, boys?" said Mat, after leaving his place at the head of his men, and mingling with the crowd, from which "the farmers" had not yet separated. "Tom is not here," was the reply, slowly and reluctantly given. "Tom Cuddehy not here!" exclaimed Mat Donovan, as if a thunderbolt had fallen at his feet. "Where is he?" "We don't know," was the reply. "We thought he'd he here before us. But we're afther sendin' for him." "Here they are," cried the young men on the ditch; and three swift-footed youths were seen hurrying down the hill. "Is he comin' ?" a dozen voices asked together. "He's not," the foremost of the three scouts replied, gasping for breath and dashing the perspiration from his face. "Well, if 1 hadn't the sight uv my own eyes," Mat Donovan observed with the deepest sorrow, "I'd never b'lieve Tom was the man to do a mane act. Afther givin' me his hand an' word on id!" "He couldn't help id," said one of the messengers. "Maybe; 'tis to break a leg or an arm he did?" returned Mat, somewhat anxiously. "For, if I'm not mistaken, nothin' less'd keep Tom from his post on such an occasion as this." "Well, no," the youth replied, with a grin. "But I don't know but he might be afther injurin' wan uv his ribs." "How so?" Mat asked. "Begor, becase he's afther gettin' a new wan," was the reply. "Onld Paddy Laughlan's daughter is afther run-, nin' away wud him." "Well, I'm not sorry to hear that," said Mat. "But when 1 tould him the field was to be broke this week, he had a right to put id off for another time." "Mat," said Phil Lahy, "human nature is human nature. Where is the man that hasn't his wakenesses? So don't be too hard on Tom. Make it your own case." And Mat happening to look towards the little group on the roadfor he had noticed with pleasure that Miss Kearney had got upon the fence in her eagerness to see the match begin—his eye caught sight of a figure on the fence at the other side of the road, dearer to him than all the world beside, and he forgave Tom Cuddehy. "Will ye hurl wudout him?" he asked. "We'd rather not," was the reply. "Well, I'd rather not myse'l," returned Mat. "There'd be .no satisfaction. I suppose we may as well put on our coats." "I think, Mat," Phil Lahy suggested, "you ought to make a promiscuous match." * "Do you mane over and hether?" Mat asked. "I do," replied Phil. "Make a match, you and Mister O'Donnell, wudout any regard to the two sides." "Very well; I'm satisfied," said Mat, whirling his burly up'in the air, and calling out, "Right or left for first call." - "Left," cried Mr. O'Donnell. "You lost," returned Mat, as the hurly fell upon the field with the handle outwards the right. He ran his eye along the line of hurlers, and said quietly, "Come here, Jemmy Hogan." / . Jemmy Hogan's eye flashed with pride as he advanced and stood beside Mat Donovan. Captain French's servant pointed to him, and whispered something into his master's ear that made his eye flash almost as bright as Jemmy Hogan's. Captain French was a soldier, and the son of a soldier, and, as one by one the hurlers stepped forward as their names were called, and pulled off their coats, he thought what a sin and a shame it was that such splendid "material" should be, going to waste in that way. "There is Bessy Morris and Judy Brophy," said Nelly Donovan. "I wonder why don't they come into the field?" "She. tould me she wouldn't come at all,'" returned Peg Brady, with something like a scowl. "But I suppose Judy Brophy oailed in for her, and she came wud her." "I'll go call 'em over/' said Nelly, starting off at the

top of her speed. Now, Billy Heffernan happened to be standing all alone not far from the corner of the grove near which the ladies had taken their places, and whether it was that Nelly looked at him instead of looking before her, or whatever else might be the cause of her carelessness, her foot was caught iii a bramble, and she was flung forward upon her face and hands with such violence that both Grace and Mary uttered an exclamation and looked frightened. "0 Nelly, did you fall?" said Billy Heffernan. "Come here till I take you up." "Well, Billy Heffernan is a provokingly ungallant young man," Grace exclaimed with her ringing laugh. Nelly Donovan, who was quickly on her feet again, laughed-too, and flinging back her dark hair and twisting it into a knot behind, came towards them more slowly, and called to her friends to come into the field. Judy Brophy, who was radiant with smiles—and well she might, for since Ned's marriage she had had no less than three proposals—came down from the fence, and crossing the road at a run, climbed over the other, and was immediately shaking hands vigorously with Nelly Donovan. Bessy Morris seemed half afraid to descend from the fence, which was unusually high, and Kathleen Hanly's frown was even darker than Peg Brady's, when she saw Hugh Kearney hand her down as carefully as if Bessy Morris were a lady. "Thank yon, sir," said Bessy; and after returning Mary's smile with a little bow, she got over the other fence without* Hugh's assistance, pretending not to notice that it was proffered. (To be continued.)