Part 9 (2/2)
”Put it in your pocket for the present,” promptly ”or are you afraid of spoiling the shape of your coat?” with a scornful inflection, as he looked vaguely disgusted.
”You can put it so, if you like,” he retorted, ”though. I have many other coats.”
”What's the matter with Peter?” eyeing the ferret affectionately. ”He's a beauty--if only he didn't bite so. I'll take him, if you like. Come along back to the barn and I'll find you another blackthorn. You can't think what sport it is. Fancy sitting in a spick and span little yacht, that could hardly turn over if it tried, and talking about stuffy, uninteresting people like Browning and Carlyle, when you might be _ratting_!” Leading the way up the hill again.
”Fancy!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Lawrence. ”You must really take me in hand. I'm afraid my education has been guided into foolish and worthless channels.”
”You needn't bother to be sarcastic,” hurrying on, with her eyes eagerly on the barn. ”It's all wasted on me. I know what's life and fun. You only know a lot of useless stuff that someone thought about life a long time ago, I don't know how Eileen has the patience to listen to you.
Come on,”--growing more excited--”Jack and Mr Masterman have evidently unearthed some more!”
”I bow to your superior wisdom,” with a little smile that made his face suddenly almost winsome, and straightway threw himself heart and soul into the ethics of ratting, noting with a slight amus.e.m.e.nt, the big, cheery Ted Masterman's evident predilection for the fair ratter.
But it was over Paddy's adventure with the pigs that he won his first real spark of approval from her.
Paddy and Jack had a great friend near by in the person of one Patrick O'Grady, who farmed a small farm with an Irishman's dilatoriness, helped therein by the two playmates. Paddy had sown seed for him, ploughed, harrowed, and dug potatoes--Jack likewise--both considering it their due, in return, to be consulted on all matters pertaining to the farm.
This was how it came about that Paddy was mixed up in the sale of the pigs. She was at the farm when the disposal of those forty-five young pigs was discussed, and naturally took an active part in the impending decision. It was finally decided they should be sold by auction at the next market, and Paddy should mingle with the crowd--Jack also, if procurable,--to run up the prices. She also undertook to turn up the previous afternoon, bringing Jack with her, to help to catch the forty-five little pigs and put them in a wagon. When they arrived on the day in question they were first of all regaled with tea by Patrick O'Grady's housekeeper, who was commonly called Dan'el, though whether from her transparent fearlessness of all things living, or because her enormous bulk was supported on feet that could only, under ordinary circ.u.mstances, belong to a big man, remains a mystery. Paddy had once remarked that if you were out in a storm with Dan'el it didn't matter about having no umbrella, because if you got to the leeward side you were sheltered same as if you were up against a house, but that, of course, was a little of Paddy's Irish exaggeration. Howbeit, having finished tea, the farmer piloted them all to the big barn into which he had driven the pigs ready for catching.
”I thought we'd have 'em all together here,” he remarked, ”but 'tis a pity there's no door to close the entrance.”
”Never mind,” said Paddy slyly, ”Perhaps if there had been you couldn't have got them in.” At which Patrick scratched his head and looked thoughtful a moment before he replied:
”Why, no, begorra! I'd never thought o' that; but how's we goin' to keep 'em in whiles we catches 'em?”
”We must have Dan'el,” said Paddy promptly. ”She shall be Horatio and keep the bridge,” whereupon poor Dan'el was duly installed to fill up the doorway with her accommodating bulk. Then began a rare scrimmage.
Bound, and over, and through dashed those young pigs, with Paddy and Jack and Patrick after them--shrieking with laughter--till Paddy finally leaned up against the wall on the verge of hysterics and begged for a halt.
”Don't let me see Dan'el for a few minutes,” she prayed Jack. ”Come and stand in front of me. When I see Dan'el rolling about in that doorway, like a German sausage on a pivot, it makes me feel as if I should burst.”
By this time half the pigs were safely installed in the wagon, but this, instead of lightening their labour, considerably increased it, for the remaining half had more room to escape their pursuers. Finally a farm youth was called in to help, and the work progressed until only a dozen remained. A brief halt was again called, and then they all returned to the fray feeling refreshed. Unfortunately the pigs were refreshed also, and had apparently taken advantage of the halt to concoct some plan of concerted action. They slipped and scuttled between legs with a lightning speed that suggested a reinforcement of the devils of old time, until the moment came for the grand coup. This consisted in a dash at Paddy's legs, which took her entirely by surprise and tripped her up, she emitting a shriek that made everyone pause a second to see if she was getting killed. In that same second, while the moment of unguarded surprise still held their captors, another concerted rush was made for the mountainous apparition in the doorway. The breach was carried gloriously. Dan'el came down like an avalanche, and in the pandemonium that followed it was discovered she had entrapped one small pig under her person, and its shrill screams were mingled stridently with the helpless laughter of the outwitted captors. Paddy lay on the floor, buried her face, and gave it up. Tears poured down her cheeks, and for very exhaustion she could not look on while the two men, nearly as helpless as she, tried to hoist poor Dan'el on to her feet and release the screaming little pig. They got her to a sitting posture, and then they had to take a rest while Jack leant up against the wall of the barn, hid his face on his arm, and shook with convulsive laughter.
The pigs meanwhile, in a distant corner of the yard, held another council of war, squeaked and grunted their glee and awaited developments. When Jack was moderately calm again, and Paddy recovering, Dan'el was finally hoisted to her feet and prevailed upon to do a little more entry blocking while the pigs were chased round the yard, and after a terrific hunt they were all safely collected in the wagon, ready to start for market at daybreak.
So far all was well, but the next day Paddy's praiseworthy intentions of getting her farmer friend good prices did not have quite the result she had antic.i.p.ated. Again and again the clear young voice rang out with a higher bid, to be outdone satisfactorily by some pig-desiring Pat; but occasionally there was no higher bid, and then the pig was surrept.i.tiously replaced among the rest, to be re-offered presently.
How long, in consequence, the sale of pigs might have proceeded, it is impossible to say. Jack, who was having a little fun on his own, sometimes mingled with the buyers, and disguising his voice, made careful bids after solemnly advising Paddy to go one higher, till a system of buying in and re-offering was in progress that seemed likely to last until doomsday.
At last Jack came up to Paddy with an inquiring air.
”What in the world are you going to do with fifteen pigs, Paddy?” he asked. ”I shouldn't buy any more if I were you.”
”I--buy--fifteen--pigs!” she exclaimed. ”What in the world--”
”Well, of course, you have,” he urged. ”They're all in the wagon waiting for you. Patrick just asked me if you were going to drive them home yourself,” omitting, however, to mention that he had previously impressed upon the doubtful Patrick that the pigs belonged to the fair buyer. ”After robbing him of purchasers, you can't very well leave them on his hands. I don't suppose he'll want you to pay in a hurry, but you must take charge of them.”
Paddy regarded him with a haughty stare, and then turned to encounter the visibly perturbed Patrick.
”They fifteen pigs, miss,” he began hesitatingly. ”Are they to go to The Ghan House?”
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