HORT STORY

Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 405, 11 February 1904, Page 7

HORT STORY

Ik the farm at Ballynacuish Mike O'Began was writing an important document. His tongue was in his cheek, hie eyes round with excitement as he watched his chubby fingers laboriously curving bis capital letters and running aslant of the lines that he had ruled for himself, with a thick qui l ! nib out of his old pocse's tail feathers. He was making his will, and aa he was what is termed a 'warm'man it had to be done very carefully, for if he forgot to numerate anything, what would become of the fleck of geese, six turkeys, fire pigs, cow, grey maze, and all the appendage of the thatched farm where he lived in state with his only daughter Molly ? Outside the window, in the garden, Molly herself was walking up and down in a patch of sunlight between the rosemary bushes. She was a slight wisp of a girl, and the November light outlined her face softly with its grey* black lashed eyes, it rosy curve of lip, and the bright chestnut hair upon her low, white forehead. Her akin was the milk-white complexion of the Irish country, where the air blcwi soft and sweet and the roees of I its women's cheeks are aa bright as those on the cottage walL She was walking with her lover, Peter Maloney—a well-set-up young fellow, handsome and talL but in O'Began's eyes 'just a thrifts of a scallywag.' since he preferred a city effice to the 'ould counthry* and the scrape of a pen to the heave of a mattock. He was down staying with his mother, who kept the little public house on the cliffs in the next village, and he would remain there over Christmas, in spite of Mike O'Began's sworn hostility, spending every day some hours with Molly. O'Began looked out of the window with a frown. 'Lord, preearveusr he muttered; 'sore, and the spalpeen has a cheek upon turn. He with his arm round my Molly's waist! Ah, but hell get a Christmas card that'll take his sauce. down a bit.' And, indeed, it seemed as though Mr O'Began was beat in remembering his friends with a kindness that represented industry on his part, for on tne table lay three copies of the document that was at the same time a statement of his feelings and of his testamentary intentions. 'And it's wiahin' yon a happy Christmas I am, Peter Maloney, and if a hopin' that when you reads this screed you'll take yonx face from Baßynacmsh and leave my Molly far men as is better than yon." In the name of the saints, hallelujah! This is my old and new testament, and I wish to remark first that Peter Maloney shall never have my Molly unless by tins Christmas Day—and Pm givin* him twinty-four hours to do it into has completed Borne dade that'll make the world talk of him as they niver will >-of a white-livered scribbler. 'Eleven acres of good peaty land withe white sow goes to Molly, if so be as she keeps the rule as I laid down in the forefront of this document; and she may have her pick of the poultry too. The house I lave to the landlord, for it belonss to him, and he can have the arrears of rint a 1 so for it—a fine sum. -1 was niver fond of Tim Boouey, for he did me a quare torn over the bay horse, but he can have the lame turkey and the dregs of the last cask o* potheen I got from Peter Maloney'e mother, for they wasn't fit for a man of taste to drink—but Tim' 11 like them. And now no more, except a happy Christmas to me and all as has to do with this old and new testament—Tours truly, 'Miss O*BIGAH.'

The documents completed, Hike folded them op and sealed them into three dirty envelopes, which he thrust into the pocket of his cost to get more ditty in company wiih a ping o! tobacco, a screw of snuff, and some hairs from the cross on a donkey's back, which were supposed to be a sue specific against rheumatism. " Then he sauntered oat into the garden, and snarled at the keen air touched with a suggestion of frost, which, since Ballynacuish was on the sea, sever came to the actuality of ice. * Fine day,' said Peter pleasantly aa he came abreast with him. •None the finer for seeing you here!' grunted Mike in reply. ' Father, yon are cross.' Molly slipped ut her little hand inside his sleeve—such a ■ f coaxing little hand it was. *II is nearly r Christmas time, dear; yon ought to be kinder in your words.* Mike looked down at her face under his bushy brows. He loved her with a wild affection, that could not endure the shadow of parting to rest upon them. Peter, if he married her as he was, would take her away to Dublin, andßallynacuiah would knew hex no more. It would have been a different matter if he had taken to the land, for then Molly would have remained within a stone's throw of her old home, and Molly's children would have grown up and played under the shadow of the old farmstead. But now Peter should nit have her unless he conformed with the condition of his Christmas card, and at BsJrynacnish-by-the-Sea there is no chance of a man distinguishing himself—yea. though he spend hours sitting upon the deserted cliff waiting for an adventure. 'Ton are always down on me, Hr. O^Began,'said Peter, in his full, pleasant voice, 'it is only Kitty who does me justice.* ' Shore, and I'd be harder upon yon if I could, like a nightmare sittin" on your cheat.' retorted the other spitefully. 'lt may be but a wake off the blissid Christmas, but it's not me that'll be saying you Bhall have Molly, for unless you'll be fol- *. lowin' my conditions you'll niver be my sotf-in-law.' 'Andwhat may your conditions be, Mr CBeganf' * Jest wait till Christmas Eve.' CBegan's mouth shut like a steel trap, and he refused to say more, hobbling off on the plea that his pigs were hungry asd the grey mare fretting for hex feed. Molly looked at Peter ruefully when ner father had departed. She had been educated at the Convent School, and the good nuns, finding the lady in her. had developed her refinement uhtil she was more cultivated than any of her old friends and acquaintances and quite a fitting mate for a rising Dublin clerk in the firm of Davin and CLeary, ship chandlers.

A STRANGE CARD.

• Yen must forgive him, Peter j it is all his love for me,' she cried. And although Peter shook his head whimsically, he half believed her. Christmas Eve came, and with it an .envelope, directed in Mike's round and laboured hand, to Peter Maloney, at the ' Goat and Compasses * Alehouse, Knockamore, and to Molly Its duplicate shoved in under, her bedroom door, which she read with a Bmile and a tear, and then set herself down to think. When Peter Maloney. had read -the ■creed, he started off for the farm, with wrath in his heart, to thresh the matter out with Mike and to hold Molly to her promise. It was very cold, and the afternoon sky was reddening to the sunset; the purple bars OTer the sea showing up the grey anger of the waves that a stiff northeaster was lashing into foam. He came on to the house by the back way. Molly was invisible, though he whistled under her window. No lovely head pushed its way through tangle of Bweet briar and honeysuckle to smile at him, and he went his way. But before he left the farm precincts he tore up into little pieces the Christmas card which he had just received;_ for, with the new sensation of sympathetic pity that he bore in his heart for Mike O'Began, he could not endure to think that such a document might be preserved in evidence against him. He turned the corner of the road, and almost ran into the portly figure of Father Morris, the priest of Ballynacuish. • And hoVs everything with you, my son —the blessing of the blessed season upon youl* said the priest cheerily. 'lt's beaxin' of the Mass jou'U be to morrow, I'm hopit', like a good Christian, you as used to serve the altar and sing as lusty as a cherub ia the ' Gloria in Excelsis' when you were no higher than my elbow.' • Til be there, Father,* Baid Peter gently. ' An'are ye epeedin'well in yobr courtin', Peter, my sonP' said the priest aB he turned to walk back in the way that Maloney was taking. Then, as the other's face fell : • He's a quare, curious sort of a fellow, but you can take heart, Peter, my man, for Rome was niver built in a day.' 'l'm aware of that, your reverence,' said Peter moodily. 'And you'll have the prettiest wife in all the countryside,' suggested the priest Then with a quick change of tone, ' Lord save ua! There's Tim Bafferty's youngest in some trouble 1' Up the straight, dusty road a child was flying, crying out piteously as she,ran, with her long yellow hair streaming in the wind behind he/, and after her in the dust a mongrel black and white doer, with a torn ear and matted coat, was cantering along at a round pace. One glance showed Peter that the dog was mad. The straining, blood-shot eyes, blood-streaked saliva dripping from his mouth, the fierce, wild fashion in which he turned his head, snapping from side to side in his uneasy, jerky stride, told its own story. The child, with outstretched arms, seeing help before her, shrieked out as the dog, swinging round, caught her by the pinafore, Without hesitating for one single second, Peter sprang forward, seizing the infuriated dog by the throat with his naked hands. He had no weapon, not even gloves, to save him from the beast, and when Father Morris had disentangled himself from the fainting, frantic child, he hurried forward to assist in the unequal fight between man and dog. There were half a dozen men, with sticks and hatchets, coming up the road now in pursuit, but they would be too late. Even the squire himself, from the great house, to whom the dog belonged, could do nothing, though he was panting along, remembering the 'Varsity races, in fine style. Father Morris caught up a jagged stone from the roadside, and went to Peter's assistance. It was a marvellous sight, horrible in its deadly earnest; the great dog, wild to fasten his fanrrs anywhere in those rigid hands, to Blacken tbeir iron .grip upon his snarling, tortured throat, and Peter, cool and determined, covered with blood and foam, with his eyes set upon the mad thing under his hands, every muscle in his sinewy frame tense with the efforts of his struggle. The priest struck at the jerking, restless head; but Peter shouted to him to desist for the attempt only, maddened the tortured brain afresh. Just as Lord Demsinane came up with a big blackthorn in his hand, blown and voiceless, Peter flung the dead dog away from him, and turned, pale but triumphant, in the road to meet the squire, : Are you hurt, Maloney F Lord save us! What a thing to happen!' he panted, catching Peter by the arm. Peter looked at his hand. On the right forefinger the re was a scratch, where the tearing, worrying teeth had caught him, and with admirable promptitude, he seized the hatchet from the man nearest him, and chopped the finger off to the first joint. Lord Demsinane shivered a little. •By Jove!' he said, 'My lad, the world shall know of this! Do you know that you have acted the part of a hero ?' * I don't know about that, my lord,' said Peter; 'but I know one thing—that I've won Molly O'Began, for a man without the writing finger is no good in the office. I've lost my place, I have, with this day's work.'

Lord Damsiaane was a little puzzled by Peter's apparent cheerfulness, which seemed to him part of the delirium of mania, until Father Morris, busy in binding up and dressing the Btump, explained the matter in a few words. •Well, my lad/ said hiß lordship, thumping Peter on the back with right good will, ' you may have lost your plase in Dublin, but you shall have the best firm on the Ballynacuish estate, or a place in my agent's cfEce, and maybe a step into his shoes some day, if you will.' « And I'll marry you for nothin', Peter, my boy P' said the old priest, dashing the moisture from hia eyes. 'And your banns shall be up to-morrow in the Chapel, for this blessed Chrlstmastide shall see you rej oicin' I* And Peter hardly knew which of his friends to thank first * * * i But the real happiness was the moment in which he faced Mike O'Began in the and Molly clinging to him, and Lord Demsinane, with a hand upon his Bhoulder, while the priest told the history of tiiemaddogof Ballynacuish; and a handful of neighbours looked in at the door, wondering. O'Began heard him through, and, •Ming, took a paper from his breast,

which be thrust into the heart of the peat fire. •I'm thiekin' neither you nor Molly set much store by them Christmas cards, Peter/ he said dryly. * I've done with mine, if you've done with yours, and as I'm straDgely fond of the writin' art, I'll make a new one to-morrow as ever is, and it'll be short, for the words of it will stand like this: ' Everything to Molly.''