THE O'FARRELLY FEUD

Wairarapa Times-Age, 25 May 1940, Page 10

THE O'FARRELLY FEUD

COPYRIGHT. PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

By

GEORGE A. BIRMINGHAM.

Author of “General John Regan,” “Up the Rebels,” etc., etc.

CHAPTER; 111. ♦Continued). “Oh, if it’s a duty--.” Poor Mousie sighed deeply. The ways of duty are often thorny ways and doing right is seldom agreeable', which is perhaps the reason why few people attempt it. “1 suppose we can have a couple of sticks, Aunt Margaret?” said Daphne. “Your poor dear Uncle’s blackthorn is in the hall,” said Lady Margaret. “I never had the heart to move it since he died and I expect Quinn will find you another stick somewhere.” “Must I have a stick?” said Mousie. “I’d rather not.” “If I can find a sword anywhere you shall have it,” said Daphne. “Perhaps you'd like that better.”

That threat decided Mousie. If she must be armed, better a stick than a sword. And after all, she had good reason to be thankful that she had got off without a gun. Rennie hated the idea of a scrimmage between the two girls anc O'Farrelly. Daphne might turn out to be a match for Peter, who woulc naturally dislike using his full strengtl against a very pretty girl. But tlu boy, Danny, would have no scruples in revenging himself on anyone, girl or man, who struck him with a stick; and Mousie—Ronnie felt sure of this—would get the worst of the encounter. She seemed a feeble girl. There would be unpleasant consequences however the fight went, and he himself would certainly be dragged into it. While Daphne was collecting the sticks, he gazed out of the window in perplexity, seeing no way of avoiding serious trouble in the future. He saw, to his immense relief, that the O’Farrellys had finished their work with the net, and had got their boat to row home.

“You may put away those sticks," he said to Daphne when she returned. “You can’t do anything, not now anyhow. Peter O’Farrelly and that boy of his are oft', rowing home to Ballycon. They'll not be back until low water and that’s six hours oil from now.”

"Funked it, I suppose,” said Daphne. “Simply ran away. Poachers and trespassers are always cowards. Aren't they Mousie?” “I don’t knew,” said Mousie. "I never met one.”

“If you were to ask me,” said Ronnie Mac. “It’s not so much fear of being shot, as want of their dinner that has taken them off. Look at the way that boy Danny is rowing. Would he put his back into it like that if he didn’t know there was boiled bacon waiting at home and him as hungry as a seagull?” ■ There was no doubt ’ about the rowing. Whether through fear or' hunger the O’Farrellys, pulling an oar apiece, were making a fast passage to the little harbour in Ballycon. What Ronnie said about the O'Farrellys set Daphne's mind working on another subject. She ceased to think about poachers or poaching, and became conscious that she was very hungry. It was Ronnie’s mention of the boiled bacon, perhaps awaiting the boy Danny, which roused the feeling in her. She realised that food would be much more agreeable even than the prospect of shooting a poacher. “Aunt Margaret,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind my asking. But what time is luncheon? Mousie and I haven't tasted food since yesterday, and one of the drawbacks to Elizabeth College is that you get accustomed to meals at regular hours. “If you expect meals at regular hours,” said Lady Margaret. “You’ve come to the wrong place. There are no regular meals in Carrickduv. Lunch is whenever 1 choose to ring the bell for it, or if I don’t ring the bell, it’s whenever Quinn chooses to bring' it, which may be any time between twelve and three, depending chiefly on when the potatoes are boiled.” “May I ring, the bell?” said Daphne. “Or shall I send Mousie to speak to Quinn?” “Ronnie,” said Lady Margaret, “ring the bell. It’s there beside you. Ring it hard to show that you mean something by it.”

Carrickduv has not been fitted with electric bells, and still depends on the pulling of cords or long belts of embroidered silk for the conveyance of summonses to servants. There are some advantages about this old fashioned plan. It is possible as it is not with electricity, to put some expression into the sounding of a bell. Ronnie, deeply sympathetic with Daphne in her hungry state, managed to convey to Quinn the idea that the matter was urgent.

“I wonder,” said Mousie timidly, “if I might wash before luncheon?” “You might,” said Lady Margaret. “And you can too Daphne. I don’t as a rule encourage girls to be too finicky about their appearance, and in my opinion one good wash in the day is enough for anyone. But trains arc dirty things, so perhaps the dab of a sponge will do no harm. “Ring the bell again, Ronnie, and we'll get Sabina to fetch some hot water for them, if there is any hot water. There generally isn't; for whatever there is is used up making tea for the maids. But there may be some. Anyhow we can try. If the worst comes to the worst we can skin that girl Sabina afterwards.” CHAPTER IV. Ronnie's vigorous ringing of the bell was quite effective. Luncheon was on the table a quarter of an hour after the summons. Daphne was in excellent time for it, appearing in her Aunt’s room in a fresh blouse and a neat blue skirt. She had managed to unpack these garments, put them on and do such washing as seem to her necessary in a little over ten minutes a tribute to her vigour and efficiency. Poor Mousie was in a different case. Perhaps she had more washing to do.

Perhaps she was moi e deliberate in changing her clothes. She was ten minutes late.

The party had not waited for her. Lady Margaret was in any case disinclined to consider the feelings of laggards; and Daphne, false to her friend, urged her Aunt to begin lunch without Mousie. There was just this much excuse for her. She was very hungry and hated the idea of waiting any longer for her food. “Mousie,” she said, “may be hours and hours. She loves prinking in front of a looking glass.” This was unjust. Mousie was no more given to prinking than other girls of her age. If she took longer than Daphne to dress, it was because she was conscious that her face and figure required special attention. In the end the poor girl had to walk into the dining-room by herself. It;was a huge room designed to suit the boundless hospitality of an eighteenth century Irish gentleman. The table, a small round table, stood nearer one of he windows. Mousie had to walk half the length of the room, after entering it through a lofty and impressive mahogany door, and she had to walk over a polished floor, only saved by rugs here and there which seemed more of an embarrassment than a help. The luncheon was solid and satisfying. Daphne’s spirit rose as she ate. The effect on Mousie was different. She too was hungry. She too ate heartily, but towards the end she became almost uncontrollably sleepy.' When Quinn after handing round the coffee, left the room, Lady Margaret took pity on the girl. “That child.” she said, watching one of Mousie’s naif stifled yawns, “ought to go to bed at once and have a good sleep.” There was no doubt about ' the wisdom of the advice. After her long and sleepless journey Mousie was thoroughly tired. Half a glass of port, forced on her by Lady Margaret, had reduced her to a condition in which she found it very difficult to keep her eyes open. But she was a loyal and well-disciplined girl with a strong sense of being under Daphne's control. There vias nothing in the world she desired more than a bed in a quiet room and permission to relax the effort to remain awake. But she looted at Daphne for permission. She received it.

“Off with you Mousie,” said Daphne, “and sleep till somebody wakes you.” “And you too. Daphne,” said Lady Margaret. “You ought to get a sleep too.”

“Me?” said Daphne. “I never sleep except at night.” Lady Margaret looked at her. No one could have been more wide awake than Daphne was. Neither the journey nor the port nad had the least effect on her though the journey had been long and she had drank a whole glass of port, a full-bodied port for Lady Margaret despised the kind of wine described by wine merchants as “light luncheon.” Her evident vigour and eagerness pleased Lady Margaret, who had once —some fifty years before —been herself a tireless girl. Yet she felt it right—an aunt, feels all sorts of queer things to be right—to persuade Daphne to rest,, if persuasion were possible. She had reasons for this altogether apart from her solicitude for Daphne's health. It was her habit to sleep for a while after her midday meal. She had no wish to forgo this, even in order to spend the time talking to an agreeable and lively niece. “I always take a nap after luncheon,” she said. “I expect you feel you want it,” said Daphne.

“If you mean that I am a decrepit, doting old woman ” Lady Margaret snapped out the words. There was nothing she disliked more than a suggestion that she was growing old. Daphne hastened to apologise. “I didn't mean anything of the sort, what I meant was an aunt, especially an elderly aunt, might find pleasure where a niece only found boredom, in a midday nap for instance. But this was something which she could not well say without irritating Lady Margaret. “What I mean,” she went on, “is that everyone ought to do exactly what they like best.” This was very much Lady Margaret's own philosophy of life, so she could not very well quarrel with it.

“Very well,” she said. “I’ll do as I like, but whether you’ll like being left alone to amuse yourself is another matter. I shall be in my room. The child Mousie will be in hers, and Ronnie has to go back to his office.” There is no doubt that he ought to have gone back to his office, where, perhaps, eager clients were awaiting him. And Ronnie always did go back to his office after lunching at Carrickduy, making the clients his excuse. But this time he did not seem to feel the call of duty as strongly as usual. “I don't think I need start just yet," he said. “I don’t somehow expect there'll be much to do after this afternoon. A few letters to sign perhaps. Nothing more. It's not market day in Ballycon and there’ll be very few people in the town.” Lady Margaret was not in the least deceived by his plea. “What you mean to say,” she said, “is that you want to stay here all the afternoon and play about with Daphne. Well. I don't altogether blame you. If you like to neglect your business, that's your affair, not mine. But I don’t see how you expect to make a living if you never go near your office and won't take on a thoroughly profitable case when it’s pushed under your nose. I'd have paid you. and paid you well, for prosecuting O'Farrelly, and you won’t do it.”

“I’d prosecute Peter O'Farrelly like a shot," said Ronnie, “if I had any sort of case against him. but 1 haven't.” "Fiddlesticks.” said Lady Margaret. (To be Continued).