The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, Volume LII, Issue 46, 2 December 1925, Page 3

The Storyteller

Kg (By Charles J. Kicjkham.) If

CHAPTER V. Ned Cormack's Wife's Piano —A Music Revolution —Which Does Not Interfere With the Production of' Butter —A Connubial Confab. Martin Dwyer's prosperous neighbor was not a tenant-at-will, yet he too, on hearing -of the step taken by the Hon. Horatio, rubbed his hands gleefully and repeated the words, "by gad, I'm glad of this," so often that his wife looked at him with some surprise. "I thought," said Mrs. Cormack, "you had your mind made up?" "Yes," he replied, "I'd go with my landlord, but I know what a cry would be raised against me. "Do you think Father Feehan would have minded much?" Mrs. Cormack asked, thoughtfully. Her husband shrugged his shoulders, but made no reply. "He is such a friend of ours," she added, "and such an amiable man, I don't think he would be unreasonable. He did not seem very angry when you said you would make no promise." "Didn't he?" rejoined Ned Cormack, with another shrug. "I thought you were a closer observer." "Well, I'd be very sorry that he should fall out with us," returned Mrs. Cormack, "and it would be a great shock to Margaret and Alice, who have been such favorites with him. In fact, I'd almost rather see you incur the displeasure of the landlord. What harm could he do yon, as you have a lease?" "Ah ! I have laid out a great deal of money on this place," her husband replied. "You know I could only get a twenty-one years' lease; and only for the old house was going to fall I'd never think of building with such a lease. But, as you said yourself, when it should be clone at all I might as well do it well." "The old house was very nice after all," she remarked. "Yes, for a picture," returned Ned Cormack, glancing at a sketch in water-colors that hung framed and glazed over the chim-ney-piece. "You made a very nice picture of it." But he looked back regretfully for all that, to the early years' of their married life, which passed happily under the thatched roof, fully a yard deep, that looked so well, in the picture; the "first coat" of which had been grasped in the horny hand of the reaper, before Cromwell cast his eyes upon the slope where it grew, and pronounced. Ireland "a country worth fighting for." Mrs. Cormack, too, looked regretfully at the picture, and smiled as she remembered how her parasol, used to come into contact with the eve, bringing down a shower of broken brown and black straw upon her. A bit of one of them was detected upon her bonnet in the chapel one Sunday by the lynx-eyed and —though sensible and industrious Julia Flaherty; and she

| For the Old Land & A TALE OF FIFTY YEARS AGO. Mil , T . ~

and some other young ladies were afterwards heard expressing their wonder how Ned Cormack's wife could "come in such style out of a cabin." But, as has been before indicated, the '"whole country" was 1 talking, of the "style" of the young bride from*Cork, and her "gold chain," and the absolute certainty 'of her "breaking Ned Cormack, horse and foot." All this "talking," however, was thrown away, for fortunately Mrs. Cormack never heard a word of it. That extraordinary young woman amazed and, indeed, frightened Molly Manogue by telling her one day, just as Molly was coming to the kernel of a toothsome bit of gossip, that she "did not like story-telling." This was a staggerer. But the piano! That quite knocked the breathx out of social criticism, so far as Mrs. Cormack was concerned. There was a general stare of incredulous astonishment, a. lifting of the hands, and a turning up of the whites of the eyes when Molly Manogue announced the arrival of the piano; and henceforward Ned Cormack's wife was looked upon as a privileged person who might do just what she liked —drive in a coach-and-four over Corriglea Bridge,.- for instance, or invite "Lady Oakdale to an evening party—without exciting the least surprise, or calling forth remark or comment other than complimentary, even from Miss Julia Flaherty and her particular friends. It must, however, be borne in mind that at the time of Ned Cormack's marriage, the parson's daughter was the possessor of a piano, not the envied possessorpeople would as soon have thought of envying an angel for having wings of the only stringed instrument in the whole parish, of course, ex- " cepting fiddles, which were more numerous than they have ever been since. We were going also to except a guitar, the property of an old lady, the widow of a Waterloo officer. But that had long ceased to come under the category of stringed instruments ever since the veteran, during his last attack of gout, brought it into violent collision with his physician's head for hazarding the opinion that the famous phrase "Up Guards, and at them," belonged to the region of fiction rather than that of history. Both the doctor and the guitar were silenced; the one for the time being, and on subjects having reference to the Battle of Waterloo; the other for ever. But the "soul of music," which was knocked out of the guitar, seemed to have been knocked into the cranium, for .the doctor for many years after was troubled with a singing in the head. At least in the matter of music we have been making' wonderful progress those dozen years past. Only the other day a young friend, at our request, counted no less than three-and-twenty pianos within the boundaries of the parish. But we must confess that the gratification afforded us by those statistics was modified considerably by the further

information, incidentally added, that the ( three-and-twenty pianos were "all out of tunc." We learn, however, that a. movement has been set on foot by the dispensary I doctor to secure the occasional services of a , tuner from the county town. And from our ""TJlersonal knowledge of the doctor's popularity -•■.. Vand energy—and bearing in mind the intrinsic goodness of the cause he advocates venture to predict that harmony will reign from end to end of our parish long before the Phooka takes his next annual gallop over : the summits of the surrounding hills. ' Cynical people may ascribe the harmonious revolution just chronicled to an unhealthy hankering after "gentility," but we are satisfied that a genuine love of music has been at the bottom of it. Nor is this love of music confined to the fair performers themselves. The Scotch agriculturist who would only consent to his daughter's "getting a piano on the express condition that - she should "do her practising while he was out about the farm," has not had a single imitator in the whole parish of Shannaclough. Though perhaps the "practising" is sometimes most agreeable when softened by distance, and listened to in the intervals of a, sKannachus with an old neighbor from the kitchen chimney corner. And doubtless "the concord of sweet sounds," with which at such moments the bucolic soul is "moved," loses nothing of its sweetness from the reflection that it in no way interferes with the : more-serious domestic duties. "I never filled so many firkins as since I bought the piano for my daughter," 'a thriving farmer was heard to soliloquise in the market-house a week or two ago, while --»-his eyes dwelt complaisantly upon the "butter ticket." "A little education, after all, doesn't do the least harm to a girl," he added, as he put the ticket into his pocket. But better still, the humblest homeeven the hearth of the poor laboring man —is vocal. with the sweetest music below the stars' Irish children's voices attuned to the melodies of their own land of song. *•.... , After a silence of some minutes, during which both Mr. Cormack and his wife unconsciously continued to gaze upon the picture over the chimney-piece, the latter said : "I am very glad you are not to be troubled about your vote." She took the silver thimble from her finger and laid it in its place in the work-box on the table beside her, and waited to see whether the husband happened to be in a conversational mood. It was evident she had something particular to speak about, but did not wish to" introduce it too abruptly. "It is strange," she remarked, closing the lid of the work-box noiselessly, "that Father Feehan should be so anxious for the return of men like this young O'Mulligan, who only want to get places or something for themselves." "And their friends," said her husband with a smile, in which there was more than a ~\ .suspicion of sarcasm. " - • , |R-; • "Do you think," she asked —evidently ',-.-' apropos of the last remark —"do you think does Mr. O'Keeffe mean anything particular } •':.-"-. by coming here so often lately?" "'"' :••:".'.'_ "Yes," was the reply; "I have got a pretty :-'-i~ broad"hint of it." * - ; -

"And what do you think?" "1 don't like it," he answered almost harshly, drawing his little son —who was turning over the leaves of a picture-book at the —quickly towards him, and running his fingers through the boy's crisp auburn curls. "He is too deeply in debt." "I thought that was not his own fault, but his father's," said Mrs. Cormack. "And what difference does that make when he is in debt?" her husband asked with a look of surprise. "Oh, it makes a great difference," she replied. " "Well, you are right," said Ned Cormack, looking admiringly at his wife, of whose clear good sense he was very proud. "It does make a great difference. But he'd be expecting too much money." And Ned Cormack passed his hand over his little son's face, and pressed the curly head against his waistcoat. Six or seven years before Ned Cormack would have contemplated the possibility of Mr. Robert O'Keeffe, of Cloonmore, becoming bis son-in-law with more than satisfaction. But that little curly head leaning against his waistcoat was not in the world then. And since its coming—all unhoped for as it was —a complete change had come over the spirit of the father's dreams. To get his daughter well and respectably married was now a very secondary ambition with Ned Cormack, of Rockview. He began to think with dismay of that "big fortune" so often spoken of in connection with his handsome daughter; and sometimes wished that she, like his first love, Ellen Dwyer, would go into a convent. "Well, what would you think of Mr. Delahunty?" Mrs. Cormack asked after another interval of silence. "Mr. Delahunty has plenty of money," cried little Eddy. "He gave Jerry a halfcrown for holding his horse." "Oh! Eddy," exclaimed his mother after exchanging a glance with her husband, "there is the young ass coming towards the paling. He'll put his head in and crop some of the flowers. Run out and drive him away." "He, too, is looking for money," Ned Cormack replied, when Eddy had run out into the lawn, "and besides, business men are so uncertain. There are few of them now like your uncle." "That's true," replied Mrs. Cormack. "But still you see it is business men who are purchasing estates everywhere." "Yes, but what kind of business men? Men who began at the beginning, and lived over their shops till they had made their fortunes. They did not commence with a country house 'and a carriage, like Delahunty." "Oh, I must say," returned his wife, "that I'd be always uneasy if Margaret was married to him. He is too fond of display, and so is she. I could see that the carriage had its effect upon her. But I fancy she'd prefer Mr. O'Keeffe. He is really a very nice man; and his being. a 'gentleman "goes a great way with Margaret. She .is really quite ambitious, but I think Alice is the very contrary." Mrs. Cormack, as she spoke, turned her eyes towards the ivy-clad farm-

house at the foot of the mountain, which at one time seemed to look down almost scornfully upon Ned Cormack's humble roof-tree, but never appeared homely, even compared with the modern mansion that had taken the place of the old thatched house. And Martin Dwyer's farmhouse had a great charm for Mrs. Cormack. She often walked with Nannie and Nellie in the orchard on summer evenings when the trees were in blossom, and liked to sit upon Mr. Armstrong's rustic seat and contemplate her own handsome residence, which year by ear was growing into greener beauty, and putting off by degrees that look of bareness which at first displeased her; the while her two graceful daughters walked up and clown by the hazels on the river bank. And when Terry Hanrahan, the apple-man, had taken up his abode in the orchard house, and the eve apples and queenings were ripe, Mrs. Cormack always came herself to make purchases and pluck the fruit with her own hand. And this she continued to do up to November-eve, when, assisted by Tom Dwyer, she selected the winter supply, taking all the Nonpareilles—the right name of which Terry Hanrahan took pains to assure her was "Moss umberells." Yes, Mrs. Cormack liked that old orchard; and had a great liking also for young Tom Dwyer. Perhaps that was why she looked towards the orchard just now when she remarked that her younger daughter was not ambitious like her sister. It used to annoy her to see how little either of them seemed to appreciate Tom Dwyer. "Did you ever think of Tom Dwyer at all?" she asked turning to her husband, who was watching little Eddy driving the young.ass away from the flowers. "I used to think of it," he replied. "His aunt would have like it so much. And it would pleasant to have Margaret settled so near us. But there's no use of thinking o f it now The place is not fit for her." "It would be easy to make it fit for anybody," she replied. "Yes, if you only mean the house. But how would it be with the family?" he asked. "That's true," Mrs. Cormack replied with a shake of her head; "I fear she could never get on with his mother. But if it was not for that, and if she really liked Tom, something tells me she'd be happier as his wife than she would be with any man I know. Don't you think there is something above the common in him?" - ' It "He has stuff in him if he got a fair chance," Ned Cormack replied. "I'd be glad -to give him a helping hand if I saw any way of serving him." Ned Cormack was not only considered "lucky" himself, but the cause of luck in others as well. It was remarked that the man he helped was always sure to prosper. But it was only a knowing few who were able to see that the help, was only given to those who possessed the qualities that made success almost a certainty. "Why wouldn't you ask Ned - Cormack to secure you,, and. get a hundred pounds from the bank, as he got for Dick Shea?"' Mrs. Dwyer persisted.for a long time in dinning into her husband's ears — at last Martin gave way and made the request. ')

“No, Martin,” said Ned Cormack firmly,'

"I'd be glad to serve you if I could. But, take my word for it, I'd be only injuring you I did what- you ask me," i* Poor Martin Dwyer couldn't see the matter ' in this light at all, and returned home think- ., ing very hardly of his neighbor, who would ILe "leaving it all behind him" some day. ; Mrs. Cormack was then very glad to hear her husband say that he would wish to give Tom Dwyer a helping hand. It was a proof to her that Tom possessed worldly prudence in addition to the other good qualities with which she herself had always credited him. "I declare," said her husband, observing the bright, animated expression of her face at the moment, "you look as young as ever you did. I am not surprised that strangers take you for your daughter's sister. I must take care of myself, or you will be a formidable rival to them. I'd bet my life Tom Dwyer would prefer you to Margaret. But • what do you really think about O'Keeffe?" Before replying, she took a field-glass from the table and going to the window directed it towards the mountain. "Yes," she remarked, "I guessed it was Tom. He is leaning against Corrigdhonn. He seems to be rather given to loitering about lately. I though you might have set . him down as an idler, and was rather surprised at what you have just said about him." "He does all he has to do that is worth doing," returned her husband. "He requires a motive for exertion. But he really does more than many young fellows I know, who make a great show of industry. I have often watched him doing two men's work, and yet when he'd stroll over to the bridge after, you'd think by him that he had spent the day rambling about. I'd like to see him get a fair start." "Ah!" his wife replied with an unconscious sigh, "there is more in Tom Dwyer than you think." But lowering the glass, she added somewhat absently, as if she wished to change the subject, "I see Mr. Armstrong with the two children in the orchard; lam really very glad to see him able to fish again. I. hope he will come over by-and-by. There is Alice singing one of his songs. I sometimes think she is fairly in love with him. She does not seem to care about the society of young men. But she always brightens up when she sees Mr. Armstrong or Father Feehan." "I think she is very like her poor aunt Aileen in many ways," said Mr. Cormack thoughtfully; "you must be careful of her health." "Oh, she is quite strong now," was the rather hastily uttered reply. "She seems to be quite unlike Margaret," the father observed. "She'll probably be a nun." "You asked me what I thought of Mr. O'Keeffe," Mrs. Cormack remarked, turning from the window and replacing the field glass on the table. "I confess I am beginning to feel uneasy. People will talk — that's not what I care most about. If Margaret really liked him, and if you were >, opposed to the match, I'd be very anxious about the result." "You don't mean," said her husband, smiling, "that Margaret is the sort of girl that would pine away and die of a broken • heart?"

"No, indeed," she replied. "Perhaps, I'd rather she was. But I fear that Mr. O'Keeffe is not over scrupulous." "Do you mean to suggest that she might elope?" her husband interrupted in evident astonishment. "Well, not quite so bad as that," she rejoined. "But things might turn out very unpleasantly if she set her heart upon marrying him, and if you refused to give whatever fortune he required." "Oh, nonsense," returned Ned Cormack,

rising and buttoning his coat across his chest. "I'll probably be able to come at what he means to-night. Hillo! Eddy! Get your hat till we go and see the young lambs." "Don't forget that Father Feehan and Mr. O'Keeffe are to be here early,"" said Mrs. Cormack as her husband passed the window. Ned Cormack replied merely by a nod, as, holding his son by the hand, he murmured to himself "My little boy! My little boy!" in tones of the deepest tenderness. (To be continued.)