Part 45 (1/2)

He put the stool in the fireplace and sat on it, shouting as he did so between a laugh and a cry, ”Aw, Grannie, bogh--Grannie, bogh! to think there's been half the world between us since I was sitting here before!”

And Grannie herself, breaking down, said, ”Wouldn't you like the tongs, boy? Give the boy the tongs, woman, just to say he's at home.”

Pete plucked the tongs out of Nancy's hands, and began feeding the fire with the gorse. ”Aw, Grannie, have I ever been away?” he cried, laughing, and his wet eyes gleaming.

”Nancy Joe, have you no nose at all?” cried Grannie. ”The cake's burning to a cinder.”

”Let it burn, mother,” shouted Pete. ”It's the way she was doing herself when she was young and forgetting. s.h.i.+llings a-piece for all that's wasted. Aw, the smell of it's sweet!”

So saying he piled the gorse on the fire, ramming it under the griddle and choking it behind the crow. And while the oatcake crackled and sparched and went black, he sniffed up the burning odour, and laughed and cried in the midst of the smoke that went swirling up the chimney.

And meanwhile, Grannie herself, with the tears rolling down her cheeks, was flapping her ap.r.o.n before her face and saying, ”He'll make me die of laughing, he will, though--yes, he will!” But behind the ap.r.o.n she was blubbering to Nancy, ”It's coming home, woman, that's it--it's just coming home again, poor boy!”

By this time word of Pete's return had gone round Sulby? and the bar-room was soon thronged with men and women, who looked through the gla.s.s part.i.tion into the kitchen at the bronzed and bearded man who sat smoking by the fire, with his dog curled up at his feet. ”There'll be a wedding soon,” said one. ”The girl's in luck,” said another. ”Success to the fine girl she always was, and lucky they kept her from the poor toot that was beating about on her port bow.”--”The young Ballawhaine, eh?”--”Who else?”

Presently the dog went out to them, and, in default of its master, became a centre of excited interest. It was an old creature, with a settled look of age, and a gravity of expression that seemed to say he had got over the follies of youth, and was now reserved and determined to keep the peace. His back was curved in as if a cart-wheel had gone over his spine, he had gigantic ears, a stump of a tail, a coat thin and p.r.i.c.kly like the bristles of a pig, but white and spotted with brown.

”Lord save us! a queer dog, though--what's his breed at all?” said one; and then a resounding voice came from the kitchen doorway, saying--

”A sort of a Manxman crossed with a bat. Got no tail to speak of, but there's plenty of ears at him. A handy sort of a dog, only a bit spoiled in his childhood. Not fit for much company anyway, and no more notion of dacent behaviour than my ould shoe. Down, Dempster, down.”

It was Pete. He was greeted with loud welcomes, and soon filled the room all round with the steaming odour of spirits and water.

”You've the Manx tongue at you still, Mr. Quilliam,” said Jonaique; ”and you're calling the dog Dempster; what's that for at all?”

”For sake of the ould island, Mr. Jelly, and for the straight he's like Dempster Mylrea when he's a bit crooked,” said Pete.

”The old man's dead, sir,” said John the Clerk.

”You don't say?” said Pete.

”Yes, though; the sun went down on him a Wednesday. The drink, sir, the drink! I've been cutting a sod of his grave to-day.”

”And who's to be Dempster now?” asked Pete. ”Who are they putting in for it?”

”Well,” said John the Clerk, ”they're talking and talking, and some's saying this one and others that one; but the most is saying your ould friend Philip Christian.”

”I knew it--I always said it,” shouted Pete; ”best man in the island, bar none. Oh, he'll not deceave me.”

The wind was roaring in the chimney, and the light was beginning to fail. Pete became restless, and walked to and fro, peering out at intervals by the window that looked on to the road. At this there was some pus.h.i.+ng and nudging and indulgent whispering.

”It's the girl! Aw, be aisy with the like! Five years apart, be aisy!”

”The meadow's white with the gulls sitting together like parrots; what's that a sign of, father?” said Pete.

”Just a slant of rain maybe, and a puff of wind,” said Caesar.

”But,” said Pete, looking up at the sky, ”the long cat tail was going off at a slant awhile ago, and now the thick skate yonder is hanging mortal low.”

”Take your time, sir,” said Caesar. ”No need to send round the Cross Vustha (fiery cross) yet. The girl will be home immadiently.”