Part 45 (2/2)

”It'll be dark at her, though,” said Pete.

The company tried to draw him into conversation about the ways of life in the countries he had visited, but he answered absently and jerkily, and kept going to the door.

”Suppose there'll be Dempsters enough where you're coming from?” said Jonaique.

”Sort of Dempsters, yes. Called one of them Ould Necessity, because it knows no law. He rigged up the statute books atop of his stool for a high sate, and when he wanted them he couldn't find them high or low.

Not the first judge that's sat on the law, though.... It's coming, Caesar, d'ye hear it? That's the rain on the street.”

”Aisy, man, aisy, man,” said Caesar. ”New dresses isn't rigged up in no time. There'll be chapels now, eh? Chapels and conferences, and proper religious instruction?”

”Divil a chapel, sir, only a rickety barn, belonging to some-ones they're calling the Sky Pilots to. Wanted the ould miser that runs it to build them a new tabernacle, but he wouldn't part till a lump of plaster fell on his bald head at a love-feast, and then he planked down a hundred pound, and they all shouted, 'Hit him again, Lord--you might!'... D'ye hear that, then? That's the water coming down from the gill. I can't stand no more of it, Grannie.”

Grannie was at the door, struggling to hold it against the wind, while she looked out into the gathering darkness. ”'Deed, but I'm getting afraid of it myself,” she said, ”and dear heart knows where Kirry can be at this time of night.” ”I'm off to find her,” said Pete, and, catching up his hat and whistling to the dog, in a moment he was gone.

X.

The door was hard to close behind him, for it was now blowing a gale from the north-east. Caesar slipped through the dairy to see if the outbuildings were safe, and came back with a satisfied look. The stable and cow-house were barred, the barns were shut up, the mill-wheel was on the brake, the kiln fire was burning gently, and all was snug and tight.

Grannie was wringing her hands as he returned, crying ”Kate! Oh, Kate!”

and he reproved her for want of trust in Providence.

People were now coming in rapidly with terrible stories of damage done by the storm. It was reported that the Chicken Rock Lighthouse was blown down, that the tide had risen to twenty-five feet in Ramsey and torn up the streets, and that a Peel fisherman had been struck by his mainsail into the sea and drowned.

More came into the house at every minute, and among them were all the lonesome and helpless ones within a radius of a mile--Blind Jane, who charmed blood, but could not charm the wind; Shemiah, the prophet, with beard down to his waist and a staff up to his shoulder; and old Juan Vessy, who ”lived on the houses” in the way of a tramp. The people who had been there already were afraid to go out, and Grannie, still wringing her hands and crying ”Kate, Kate,” called everybody into the kitchen to gather about the fire. There they bemoaned their boys on the sea, told stories of former storms, and quarrelled about the years of wrecks and the sources of the winds that caused them.

The gale increased to fearful violence, and sometimes the wind sounded like sheets flapping against the walls, sometimes like the deep boom of the waves that roll on themselves in mid-ocean and never know a sh.o.r.e.

It began to groan in the chimney as if it were a wild beast struggling to escape, and then the smoke came down in whorls and filled the kitchen. They had to put out the fire to keep themselves from suffocation, and to sit back from the fireplace to protect themselves from cold. The door of the porch flew open, and they barricaded it with long-handled brushes; the windows rattled in their frames, and they blocked them up with the tops of the tables. In spite of all efforts to shut out the wind, the house was like a basket, and it quaked like a s.h.i.+p at sea. ”I never heard the like on the water itself, and I'm used of the sea, too,” said one. The others groaned and mumbled prayers.

Kelly the Thief, who had come in unopposed by Grannie, was on his knees in one corner with his face to the wall, calling on the Lord to remember that he had seen things in letters--stamps and such--but had never touched them. John the Clerk was saying that he had to bury the Deemster; Jonaique, the barber, that he had been sent for to ”cut” the Bishop; and Claudius Kewley, the farmer, that he had three fields of barley still uncut and a stack of oats unthatched. ”Oh, Lord,” cried Claudius, ”let me not die till I've got nothing to do!”

Caesar stood like a strong man amidst their moans and groans, their bowings of the head and clappings of the hands, and, when he heard the farmer, his look was severe.

”Cloddy,” said he, ”how do you dare to doubt the providence of G.o.d?”

”Aisy to talk, Mr. Cregeen,” the farmer whined, ”but you've got your own harvest saved,” and then Caesar had no resource but to punish the man in prayer. ”The Lord had sent His storm to reprove some that were making too sure of His mercies; but there was grace in the gale, only they wouldn't be patient and trust to G.o.d's providence; there was milk in the breast, only the wayward child wouldn't take time to find the teat.

Lord, lead them to true stillness----”

In the midst of Caesar's prayer there was a sudden roar outside, and he leapt abruptly to his feet with a look of vexation. ”I believe in my heart that's the mill-wheel broken loose,” said he, ”and if it is, the corn on the kiln will be going like a whirlingig.”

”Trust in G.o.d's providence, Caesar,” cried the farmer.

”So I will,” said Caesar, catching up his hat, ”but I'll put out my kiln fire first.”

When Pete stepped out of the porch, he felt himself smitten as by an invisible wing, and he gasped like a fish with too much air. A quick pain in the side at that moment reminded him of his bullet-wound, but his heels had heart in them, and he set off to run. The night had fallen, but a green rent was torn in the leaden sky, and through this the full moon appeared.

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