Part 22 (1/2)
”The mist is gone,” he observed, ”from the mountains, and I suppose the boys will soon begin to come.”
”Throth, Frank,” she replied, ”I hate these nightly meetin's that you hould here--all this plottin' and plannin' isn't nor can't be good.”
”You hate them! an' who the ould diaoul cares whether you do or not? I allow them this house to meet in, bekaise it's large and far from the polis. A house down in the country, where they might pop in on them, wouldn't be so safe; here, however, no one would suspect them of meetin', and from the way the house is situated, no one could come upon us widout bein' known or seen. You hate! that indeed!”
”An' what do they meet for, Frank? if it's a fair question!”
”It's not a fair question, an' you have no business to ax; still if you want to know, and if it can make you anything the wiser, you shall hear.
It's to break a Millstone they meet.”
”To brake a millstone, _inngh!_ Oh, sorra a word of that I believe. Sure there's no millstone here?--if you want to break millstones you must go farther up--to Carnmore, where they make them. Sorra millstone's here, I know.”
”You know--oh, how much you know! I tell you, there's a great Millstone that covers and grinds the whole kingdom, or at least the greatest parts of it--that's the Millstone we want to brake, and that we will brake.”
”When did you hear from Mark Ratigan, or see him?”
”Mark Ratigan is snug and comfortable as a laborin' boy wid Magistrate Driscol that's in--hem--but listen to me, now if you should meet Mark anywhere down the country, you're neither to call him Mark nor Ratigan, otherwise you may be the manes of hangin' the poor boy.”
”Throth, an' by all accounts, he'll come to the gallows yet.”
”Well, and many a betther man did. I expect him and Hourigan both here tonight.”
”An' what name does he go by now?” she asked.
”By the name of Phil Hart; and remember when there's any stranger present, you're never to call him anything else--but above all things, and upon the peril of your life, never call him Mark Ratigan.”
”And do you think,” replied his wife, ”that I won't take care not to do it? But, Frank, tell me what was Mogue Moylan doin' here the night before last?”
”Only to let me know that he and a Misthor M'Carthy--a great friend of his and of two good creatures--Magistrate Driscol and Procthor Purcel--wor to come out shootin' on the mountains to-day and to ax if I would prevent them.”
”An' did you give them lave?” she inquired.
A very peculiar expression pa.s.sed over the dark grim features of her husband. ”Did I give them lave?” he replied; ”well, indeed, you may take your davy, I did. Why would I refuse a dacent gintleman, and a friend of Mogue Moylan's lave to shoot? Poor dacent Mogue, too, that loves thruth and religion so well--ha! ha! ha!--whisht!--here's some one.”
The words were scarcely uttered, when our friends, M'Carthy and Mogue, made their appearance in the caretaker's house, both evidently in a fatigued state, especially M'Carthy, who had not been so well accustomed to travel over mountain scenery as his companion.
”Well, blessed be G.o.d that we have got the roof of a house over us at last!” exclaimed Mogue. ”Frank Finnerty, how are you? an' Vread, achora, not forgettin' you--my hand to you both, but we're lost--especially this gentleman, Mr. M'Carthy--a great friend of Mr. O'Driscol's and Procthor Parcel's--but a betther man than either o' them, I hope.”
”I am fairly knocked up, I admit,” said M'Carthy--”in fact, I am more jaded than I ever was in my life.”
”Take a chair, sir,” said Finnerty; ”you are welcome at all events, and I am glad to see you, or any friend of Mogue's; take this chair, sir--and--here, Mogue, do you take a stool; you must be both in a sad state, sure enough.”
”Thank you, Frank,” replied Mogue, ”oh, then, bad cess to it for a dirty mist--G.o.d pardon me for cursin' the poor mist though, for sure it wasn't it's fault, the crathur of a mist we oughn't to curse anything that G.o.d has made, but indeed I'm a great sinner that way, G.o.d forgive me; howandever as I was sayin', only for it afther all, Mr. Francis, it's atin' your comfortable dinner, or rayther drinkin' your fine wine you'd be now at Mr. Purcel's illigant table, instead of bein' here as you are, however, sure it's good to have a house over our heads any way.”
Finnerty and his wife heaped more turf on the fire, and the poor woman, with that kind spirit of hospitality and sympathy for which her countrywomen are so remarkable, told them that they must necessarily be hungry, and said she would lose no time in providing them with refreshment.
”Many thanks,” replied M'Carthy, ”it is not refreshment, but rest we require; we have had more refreshments of every kind with us than he could use, and it is well we were so provident, otherwise we never would or could have reached even this house alive. Such a day I have never spent--we have done nothing but wade through this d--d mist for the last six or eight hours, without the slightest knowledge of whereabout we were.”
”Well, well, Mr. Francis, sure it's one comfort that we're safe at all events,” said Mogue; ”only I'm frettin' myself about the onaisiness they'll all feel at home, I mane in Mr. Purcel's, about you. Do you know now, that a thought strikes me, sir; I'm fresher than you are a good.
deal. Now what if I'd run home and make their minds aisy in the first place, and get Jerry Joyce to bring the car up for you as far as the mountain road? You can rest yourself here in the manetime, and Frank Finnerty will see you safe that far. I'll carry the gun and things with me too--so that you'll have a lighter tramp down the hills.”