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JOA NNA TRAILL, SP INSTER. By A NNKBE. HOLDSWORTH.

GEORGE MA NDEVILLB ’S HUSBAND.By C. E. Ru mou r) .

THE W INGS OF ICARUS. By LA URENCEALMA TA DBMA .A N A LTA R OF EA RTH. By Tm mox.

MONK .

THE GREEN CARNATION. By Ronx a'r S.c w ms.

A STREET IN SUBURB IA. By Enwm W.P uma.

THE NEW MOON. By C. E. RMMOND.MILLY'S STORY (The New Moon ). By

Mrs.M. CRA CK A NTHORPB .

MRS. MUSGRAVE A ND HER HUSBAND.By R ICHA RD MA RSH.

THE DEMA GOGUE A ND LADY PHA YRB.By W. J. Locus .

THE RED BA DGE OF COURAGE. ByS‘rnm zu Cu ms .

HER OWN DEV ICES. By C. G. COMPTON.PAP IER Mkcné. By Cau m s A m m.THE NEW V IRTUE. By Mrs. OSCA R

a mc x n.

A CROSS A N ULSTER 8 00. By M.H A MI LTON.

“3 Other Volume: are inMfam h

’

on , and will

be issued a t short in tw als.

LONDON: WILLI A MHEINEMA NN.

A cross an Ulster Bog

CHAPTER I

THE rain was falling with a soft, persisten t sound.When Ellen wen t to the door to look out forher father

,she could distingu ish little save a

brown blur of bog- land , with a grey, misty background. The dark pools of turf—water were fullto overflowing, and the dripping rushes besidethem ben t and clung together ; the cotton -grass,With all its fresh whiten ess gon e, was beatendown in to the heather in pitiable , soiled masses.Near the lake , a straggling row of poplars stoodout with ghostly indistinctness.A sen se of u tter isolation weighed upon Ellen ;

the rain seemed to shut her out from humansight or sound , a solitary human creature. Sheknew that if the mist lifted she would be able tosee the smoke from half—a—dozen chimn eys acrossthe bog, and as many distan t groups coming backfrom their work along the damp road ; but thekn owledge on ly gave a background of relief tothe strange , un real feeling of alon en ess.She held the door open , that her father might

see the light of the fire as he came across thebog. A few drops of rain drifted in and touched

A

A CROSS A N ULSTER BOG

her hair, and she drew back a little farther in tothe shelter of the cottage.Her work for the day was not very heavy, and

she had finished it long ago. She had broughtin both the goats, after her usual difficulties withthe grey one, which was no respecter of person s ,and .butted at Ellen as readily as at any one else ;she had fed the chicken s on the potatoes left overafter dinner

, and brushed up the earth floor inthe kitchen to leave no three-corn ered marks oftheir wet little feet. Then , just after the rainhad come ou , she had made up a bright fire, putthe kettle on to boil

,and got everything ready for

her father’s tea.Most of the live creatures had gon e to bed

early, in disgust with the weather. The oldmother pig was still out for an airing ; she wasof an obstin ate disposition , and did n ot allowher regular aftern oon walk on the midden tobe lightly in terfered with. But her temper wasruffled, and she stopped to quarrel viciously witha couple of dissipated-looking chicken s over aremnan t of potato.Ellen in terfered and drove her back to her

children , grun ting ill-humouredly.In side the house a brown puppy and a couple

of kitten s were having it all to themselves, andwere squabbling in a warm corner with smallyelps and growls. The father’s seat was readyfor him— a wooden chair drawn in closely to thefire, where a brown tea-pot was warming in theashes.When Ellen caught sight of him

,a shadowy

figure drawing out of the mist , she wen t in toget his thick delf cup and saucer and little jugof goat’s milk from the dresser.


Lindsay came in heavily, leaving a little poolbehin d him with every step. He was a tall man

,

and would have been taller but for a decided stoopof his shoulders. He had merry blue eyes, likehis daughter’s , in a face which would otherwisehave been stern , with large features and highcheek-bon es.He drew a stool to the fire and began to nulace his wet boots.

“ I’ll hold you’re ready for your tea,da, said

Ellen ; it’s a saft even ing.

She had a pretty voice , with less than theu sual tendency of her class to speak too loud

,

and a quick, gen tle way of moving, which waspeculiarly her own .

“A y ; it

’

s terrible coorse, Lindsay said.He was n ot a man of many words. He shookthe rain from his coat

,and warmed his hands

over the fire in silen ce.Ellen kn elt down on the hearth and put onsome more turf

,with the puppy sprawling over

her dress and biting at her bare feet, in immin en tdanger of getting burn ed . When it jumped upand caught her hair, she pushed it away andlaughed.

“ Quit,will you ! Suchan a dog ! It would

take on e to have n othing to do but to mind him.I have washed a bucketful of spuds for the dinn erto-morrow , da. Would you like on e to yourtea

Lindsay shook his head. I’ll do rightly. Did

you mind about changing the goat’s straw in thebyre

Sure it’s n ot much I forget. Is it, now ?Lindsay kicked off his boots an d put his feetto the fire with a sigh of satisfaction .


We had to give over work a bit early, hesaid. “ It

’s as well the rain held off so long,or

it’s a quare lin t-pulling they’

d have had at Dawson ’s. What kep’ you from going up, daughter ?You’ll miss all the dancing and sport.”

I thought I would as lieve stop at home whenit come to the time

,said Ellen in a low voice.

She kn ew that her father would be surprised.Dawson ’s lin t—pulling was something looked forward to all through the year

,n ext to, even if a long

way after, the 1 2th of July. Last year she hadtalked about it for weeks before and mon thsafter.Why, what ails you , Ellen ? he said , as she

kn ew he would say. You ’re not overly fon d ofsetting at home when there’s sport going. I hada sight of them in the field, and there

’s fifty ifthere ’s on e. They say there ’s foreign ers fromacross the lake, and a wheen of boys out ofSloughan . I

’

m not willing for you to miss it.Clane yourself up, and I

’ll take you over whenI ’ve don e my tea. We

’ll be there by six o’clockclever

, and it’s not as if Eccles andWully weren

’

t

there to fetch you home.“ You’re just going to set still and dry yourself

,said Ellen

,with a forced laugh. I’ve no

mind to go, and I Wouldn’t like to go for the

dan cin ’ when I ’d worked n on e. A nd forby that,

I’

ve a sore head. Will I get your pipeLindsay said no more. Perhaps, being human ,

and exceedingly wet and reasonably tired, he wasnot particularly anxious to go out again .Ellen brought him his pipe , and drew in a stoolto the fire for herself. She sat with her elbowson her kn ees, watching the light flame w ithtroubled eyes. She had something to say to her

ACROSS A N ULSTER BOG

father,but she waited to say it till the dusk had

drawn , so that he should not see her face.A long silen ce fell between them. The raindrifted again st the window ; the clock ticked ; someburn t-out turf fell together with a soft n oise.Lindsay scarcely moved , except to kn ock the ashesout of his pipe, and the kitten s had crawled in toEllen ’s lap and fallen asleep. On ly the puppywas restless

,and finding himself un noticed, pro

ceeded to amuse himself after his own fashion .With much fuss and effort he dragged the

cushion of a rough wooden arm-chair in to themiddle of the kitchen , and collected things fromall parts of the room to put on the top— an apronof Ellen ’s , a long feather dropped by one of thehen s , an old hat of Lindsay

’s,and some odd bits

of n ewspaper. He proceeded with little run s andguilty pauses, marvelling at his impun ity , andwhen he could find nothing more he collapsed in toa fat

,brown heap on the floor

,pan ting and worn

out with his exertion s.Very gradually the tall , delf-filled dresser grewto a dim blur, and the blue check curtain s of thebed which filled on e corn er became vague.Ellen waited till the geran iums in the window

were n othing but dark blots. Then she spoke ,breaking the silen ce with an uncomfortableabruptn ess.Father, I

’ve been wan ting to ask you aboutletting me go to service.

”

Her father changed his position with a startand let his pipe drop. Her words came to himas a complete surprise. Six mon ths ago there hadbeen some question of sending her to Australia toher sisters

,but he had en tirely opposed it, an d

had hoped it was forgotten . Ellen was on ly six


teen , and she was more to him than all his otherchildren put together.He did not an swer for a momen t or two ; hestooped with great deliberation to pick up his

Pipe, and drew several long whiffs. Then heooked across at his daughter ; her head was ben t,and he could on ly distinguish the thick plait offair hair which lay down her back

,and on which

the firelight shon e.What’s been putting that in your head ? he

said roughly.“ I’ve been thinking, said Ellen , with a littlehurry in her voice

,that when Eccles marries

and if all the sough’s true

,it won ’t be long first

— when Eccles marries, if he brings her herethere’ll be naught for two of us to do— I ’d just belossing myself. A nd what’s the weaving now ?not worth keeping me at home to bc windingbobbin s for you. Mrs. Baring would likely findme a place.Ellen spoke rather breathlessly ; she had con

sidered over and over again what she must say ,and the words came like a lesson .I thought you were con ten t en ough here ,

Lindsay said. Sure I’ve heard you say timeand again that you wouldn ’t take any money andlive anywhere else .”

Ellen plaited her apron with her fingers, andkept her face turn ed away.But when Eccles marries there’ll be naught

for me to do.”“ Sure , sin ce the time Eccles was that height ,he ’s always been after some girl or other, andn ever the same two weeks following other. A ndif he was married there’s no call for him to bringher here. You’re better at home, daughter.

A CROSS A N ULSTER BOG ‘ 7

Ellen gave a long sigh.But if you’t e set on it — and there was a place

n ear hand. But I wouldn ’t let you go for then e x t year or two, till you are come to your strength.A nd I

’

d be loath en ough to part wi’ you then ,while I ’m fit to keep you at home.

”

Ellen made no an swer. Sheltered by the dusk,she sat looking straight before her with un seeingeyes.There was n othingmore to be said ; her father

’

s

words were en tirely reasonable.

CHAPTER II

A N old man and an old woman sat together overa turf fire.The old man had drawn his wooden stool soclosely to the warmth that a thick pile of asheshad gathered round it ; be spread his hands overthe flame, and looked in to it with vacan t eyes anddown dropped jaw.But the old woman had all her sen ses about

her ; her scan ty grey hair was pulled back fromher face and twisted in to a tight knot at the backof her head ; she was thin and ben t, with sharpfeatures and stern eyes. From the plates on thewooden dresser, which absolutely shone, to theearth floor, which showed in damp patches whereit had been carefully levelled the day before

,the

cottage bore testimony to her active fingers. Theold man could do n othing ; once he had workedthe loom which stood in the kitchen , filling it andleaving little but a passage ; now he could noteven be trusted to watch the bread and turn itat the right momen ts.There was a batch of round soda-cakes baking

over the fire now on a flat piece of iron whichhung from the chimn ey by a long hook.Mrs. Mawhinn ey watched them while she

stitched at an old coat, and now and then pausedto lift and turn them.Windows and doors were hermetically closed

8

A CROSS A N ULSTER BOG 9

the Mawhinn eys had no undue partiality for freshair , or even for sun shin e.The old woman looked up sharply when thehalf door swung open , bringin g a rush of lightin to the cottage, and giving a glimpse of the lake,where it lay just below, glittering in the morn ingsun .

A very old woman stood in the doorway,a very

dirty old woman , clothed in in numerable garmen ts,which were all ragged , and which, in the courseof unwashed years and enduran ce of all weathers,had faded to a un iform brown ish tin t. It was asif, on the wearing ou t of each article of attire, shehad placed another on the top of it, till she hadgrown to be little but a mass of clothes.It was not on record that Mary A n n Brenn an

had ever been kn own to take ofi’

a garmen t,even

temporarily,much less to cast it away.

She was a very small old woman , and ben tn early double ; there was little to be seen overthe half door except a wrinkled , cheerful old face ,with very bright twinkling eyes

,surmoun ted by a

succession of caps and bon n ets, which had grownto a con siderable height.The tap of the morn ing to you, said the old

woman cheerfully.Mrs. Mawhin n ey greeted her with sufficien tcordiality. As a rule Mary A nn received afriendly welcome wherever she wen t ; she broughtwith her the n ews of the coun ty, and she wasalways cheerful

,with a word for everybody.

Come in and rest yourself but pull to thedoor after you , for I wan t to keep the chicken soff the floor till it’s dried.”

“ A nd indeed and it’s fine drying weather theday. I ’ll be glad enough of a rest, for I haven

’

t

Io A CROSS A N ULSTER BOG

set down since I left Wilson ’s up by the mill, andit

’

s a long road for an old body, and wearyin’

on

the childer too.Mary A n n found a stool for herself, and satdown with a breath of satisfaction , displaying agood deal of wrinkled bare leg, which the raggedends of her petticoats failed to cover. Behin dher half-a-dozen small dogs tumbled themselvesin to the cottage , and formed themselves in to adecorous row by the fire .Mary A nn distributed a few light taps andreproofs.

“ Now , wean s, you must be quite, and not betroublin

’ the good woma11,if she lets you set by

the fire. Whisht, Charlie, not a word out of you !How’s himself the day , Mrs.Mawhin ney ?Mrs.Mawhinn ey had drawn her skirts well out

of reach of the dogs. She did not like dogs ,though

,like everybody else, she tolerated those

of Mary A nn .Well

,he just doitcrs about— that’s all he

’s fitfor. The doctor has very bad behopes he

’

ll putover the win ter. I ’ll be sorry enough when it

’

s

the Lord ’s will to take him, but it’

s mortial incon

ven ien t to be always looking after him.”

The old man,crouched up in his corner, showed

n o sign of understanding ; he was muttering andlaughing to himself.Well, well He

’s failed since I was in last,saidMary A nn , shaking her head sympatheticallyQuit

,will you, Charlie ; you

’re an n oying thelittle on es.”

Charlie was the least obedien t of the dogs ; hejumped again st his mistress’s knee, pulling asideher rags

,from which came the whin ing of very

young puppies.

A CROSS A N ULSTER BOG 1 1

A nd it’s the sough of the coun try that you’regoing to have a weddin ’ over in these parts.Mrs.Mawhin n ey shook her head doubtfully.A y, if Eccles Lindsay holds to the same

min d. But I wouldn ’t trust him ; he’ll be taking

up with some on e else before the day. As formyself, I don

’t hold with marrying on foreigners ;there’s no being up to what outlandish ways theymay bring with them.

”

“ You’ll not be thinking that when you seeNan cy Jane She

’

s a fin e swaddy,a real good

wee worker, and not a lazy bone in her bodyA nd then with a fortun e . I think Eccles hasn ’tdone that ill for himself. A nd it’ll be a fin eweddin ’ ; there

’ll be two cars, and her sister tobest maid.

Be that as it may, it’s in my mind that Eccles

would have don e better to suit himself with somedecen t wee girl hereabout , like his father beforehim. What call has he with foreigners fromacrost the lake said Mrs. Mawhin ney trenchan tly. She proceeded to explain that she didnot hold with travelling, and con sidered it anin sult to the Lord to imply , as Eccles had don e ,that there was n obody good enough to marrywithout setting forth in to unknown region s

,eight

or ten miles away.Mary A n n Bren nan listen ed , n odding her head,

with remarks in terpolated when it seemed n ecessary. It’s likely you ’re right.” I wouldn ’t saybut that that’s the way to look at it.” “Well,well ! it be to be like that.”

The old man stretched his hands to a suddenbright jet of flame that came leaping from theturf

, and laughed to himself. It was said that hehad been a very stern man in his middle-age ;

1 2 A CROSS A N ULSTER BOG

stiff in a bargain,stiffer even than his wife in

what he con sidered his religious duties ; but nowthe on ly thing that roused him to in terest was apipe or a cup of tea. Ou days when he could notget out and potter roun d he wou ld ask for histea in cessan tly , and cry if it was delayed.There was something very cheerless about thethree old people sitting there in the semi-darkness ,with the light from two tiny windows almostblotted out by the huge loom.Ellen Lindsay came in with a flash of youth

and sun shin e.She was a pretty girl , with dark blue eyes and

brown cheeks and fair hair, which gleamed whenthe sun shon e on it. Ellen was almost a childstill ; she had not don e growing, and she was halfdeveloped ; but she was not awkward, and thiswas the most n oticeable thing about her. Therewere plen ty of pretty girls about Ballyturbet, butn one who could move and hold themselves likeEllen .She came in quietly, closing the door behind

her in respon se to her gran dmother'

s querulouscommands , and with a n od to the old beggarwoman , knelt down and began to play with thedogs.Her grandmother spoke to her sharply. Ellen

was n ot a favourite of hers .“ What’s come of you these last days

,daugh

ter ? You haven ’t been down this length sin ceSaturday.”

“ I’

m very throng. My father’s out till daily

goin ’,and it’s all on me. I ve the pigs’ food to get

,

and that keeps me busy, said Ellen in her soft ,pleasan t voice .

A nd I ’ll hold you you were at the lin t-pulling

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her father just spoils her, and she can come roun dhim any road she likes .

”

“ It’s not easy to keep the place clean , saidEllen in a resolutely cheerful voice , with thesow and the little ones in and out

,do what you

like ; and there’s no keeping the chicken s off the

flure un less the door 18 aye shut.”“ A nd you can ’t expect the house to be minded

if you’

re always runn ing. If you were half asready to Spare the time

t

lior the Lord ’8 servicebut there ! it was on ly the day I was speaking toMr. Dufiin about your missing church and Sabbath-school the twa-three Sundays

,and I wasn ’t

going to tell a lie , and says I , To the best of mybelief, your reveren ce , it

’s n ought but idle-set.’

The colour flamed sudden ly in to Ellen ’s cheeks.She pushed back her stool from the fire , and gotup abruptly , to the great discomfort of a coupleof the little dogs which had established themselves comfortably on her knee. For a momen tshe thought of walking out of the cottage ; thenrecalling with an effort her half-indifl

'

eren t toleration for these accustomed reproofs, she wen t overto the corner of the dresser which was con secratedto her grandfather’s pipe . Him

,at least

,she could

easily make happy.My da sen t you over a grain of tobacco,

grandpa,she said.

The old man was eager and alert at on ce .Ellen made her way to him with some difficulty ,as passage between her grandmother’s seat andthe loom was decidedly scan ty ; she kn elt downbeside him and began to fill his pipe, with thecolour slowly dyingo ut of her face.Her grandmother, whose atten tion had been forthe momen t engrossed with taking the soda-scon es


off the fire and getting a piece ready forMaryA nn , woke up to what she was doing, and askedher sharply if she hadn ’t more sen se than to giveher grandfather his pipe when the tea was downto wet. The justice of the reproof was un doubted

,

and Ellen ackn owledged it with her usual goodhumour. She was very ready to be useful, andjumped up at on ce to fetch four substan tial cupsfrom the dresser ; the old man , who had a ten .deney to lay his piece on his kn ees butter sidedownwards

,was also supplied with a plate, re

joicing in the picture of a little girl skipping infron t of What was apparen tly a church tower inodd perspective ; there was A Presen t fromPortn ar written underneath , and certain ly,though in an artistic poin t of view the platemight leave something to be desired

,it had been

a con stan t source of satisfaction ever sinceEllen had brought it back from a temperanceexcursion .Mary A n n , after a tender in quiry for Ellen

’spuppy, which had been an offering from her, badfloated oil? to talk of Eccles’ marriage. As shetalked she mun ched away con ten tedly at herpiece of soda-bread

,share and share about with

the . dogs, who were well accustomed to meals ofbread soaked in tea. The mother of the threelittle puppies that travelled in Mary An n ’s apronwas engaged in her maternal duties

, and had herlun cheon laid aside for her, hit by bit . Shewatched her mistress with sharp black eyeswhich followed every morsel.Mary A n n wan ted to know all about Eccles’

marriage— when it was to be ; was he going tobring her home ? was Ellen to have a new dressfor the occasion ? It gave her an open ing for

16 A CROSS A N ULSTER BOG

sundry jokes of the kind she foun d her audiencegenerally appreciated.

One wedden brings an other — I don’t doubt

you’ve heard tell of that, Ellen ? We’ll be hearin ’of you with a strapping boy of your own then ext. It’s just wonderful how a wedden setsfolk thinkin ’. Give me your cup, dear, till Ilook in the tay-leaves, and see if I can

’t promise

you a handsome husband .”

Mary A nn stretched out her hand, but Ellendrew away her cup with a hasty movemen t.It’s all havers

,she said.

Not as much havers as you think , maybe.You wouldn ’t believe that I can see more thanyou fan cy about the past and the future, andmaybe name him you ’re thinking about now.With a quick turn of her wrist Ellen flung the

tea-leaves from her cup in to the fire. She laugheduncertain ly.Mrs.Mawhin ney had more or less dropped outof the conversation she was very scorn ful offortune-reading and such-like foolishness ,

”and

she was kept bu sy en ough drinking her own tea,

and watching that the old man did not chokeover his.But just as Mary A nn was begin n ing to

chuckle at Ellen ’s eviden t dread of her powers,

the grandmother looked up with a sharp exclamation .

“ Who’s that going by the window ? One ofO

’Neil’s ones, I’ll be bound. Heth ! it ’s a quare

thing a body can ’t have the way between the irdoor and their midden to themselves ! But it ’slike them Catholics — they’re that crookit an don raisonable. But come by our door to the we llthey shall not


Sure,Mrs.Mawhin n ey, it’

s the min ister, saidMary A n n .Mrs. Mawhinn ey was on her feet in a momen t.Sure, then , he

’ll be coming in . Ellen , take thetea-thin gs ben , and bring a chair from the room.Where was it I laid that clean apron . Sit up,you ould gomerkal — to her husband andgive over licking your fingers. Ellen — in anunderton e give Mary A n n a look of mealshe’ll not go tillshe gets it. There

’s his reverenceknocking— open the door till him

,wean — what

ails you ?But Mrs. Mawhinn ey had to open the door

herself ; Ellen made no movemen t to obey hergave no sign , indeed, that she heard.The gran dmother was one of the few left ofthe older generation who had been brought up togreet the quality ” with a curtsey. She droppedher curtsey n ow

,and held out a hand of warm

welcome , resolutely ign oringMary An n’s attempts

at greeting,which in the presen ce of her superiors

she con sidered impertin en t.Your reverence is kindly welcome. Will you

come forrard to the fire and lain down . Ellen,

did you hear me telling you to bring his reveren cea chair from the room ? You ould fool — to herhusband where are your mann ers ? Rise upwhen you see his reverence. You ’ll excuse him,Mr. Duffin ; he

’s a poor foolish old body, and

doesn ’t rightly understand.The old man laughed so heartily at this descrip

tion of himself that he had to be picked out ofthe fire and rearranged on his stool before conversation could proceed.Mr. Duffin seated himself awkwardly, with a

few half-muttered words. He was a short , broadB


set young man , with a coarse, good-lookin g face ,and black hair and a black moustache, whichwaslong and unkempt, and stood away from his lips.When he spoke he showed a row of small cruelteeth ; his n ose was a good one , but was inden tedwith pimples, and his n arrow, deep-set eyes wererather too close together. He wore his hair lon g

,

and plas tered with oil, and was obviously n on e toocareful about the brushing of his coat and thechanging of his lin en .With it all the man was, in his way, handsome ,

and in the eyes of his parishion ers, who admiredblack hair and red cheeks, he was beautiful.That he was not a gen tleman they knew perfectly well , and he had an uncomfortable suspicionthat they kn ew it. But he was a clergyman , an das such deserving of all respect and atten tion .He had come in to the cottage witha suggestionof hurry in his mann er

,and a wan t of ease which

was habitual in him ; after one quick , almostfurtive glan ce round , he sat with his eyes castdown , his head a little ben t forward, and hisbroad, coarse hands, with their dirty n ails, resting on his kn ees.Old Mary A n n had had her portion of meal

poured in to her sack,and un derstood it as a sign al

to go. She collected her little puppies, shakingthem back in to their travelling-bag, from whichtheir bright eyes gleamed out among her rags ,and summoned the troublesome Charlie, who hadgon e of? round the kitchen on an expedition ofhis own .May Heaven

’s blessings light on your reveren ce

,

” she began as she moved towards the door.It’s a sight for sore eyes to see you, and yougetting so stout— isn ’t that so, Mrs.Mawhin n ey ?


I’

m thinking your reverence wouldn ’ t have theprice of a grain of tea about you 2

Now , Mary A nn , you mustn’t be troubling

his reverence.”“ Well

,I’ll be givin g him a call one of these

days,

” Mary A nn assen ted cheerfully. Longlife to your reveren ce, and may you soon brin ghome a mistress. Come, childer, we must begetting ou . I suppose your reverence wouldn ’tlike to hear the childer cheer for King WilliamGod bless him — or give you their opeen ion ofthe Pope .7That’ll do, Mary A n n , said the unyielding

Mrs. Mawhin ney.“Well

,it’ll be for another day. Good even ing

to you, Mrs. Mawhin ney,and thank you kin dly.

May the blessingsMary A n n got herself out of the house to a

dropping fire of blessings, and tottered awaydown the road, with her

“ ch1ider keeping closeto her bare legs.Mrs. Mawhin n ey en tered in to voluble ex pla

n ation . There was a complain ing whin e in hervoice , which had come there through long yearsof taking the worst view of everythin g, an d whichwas too habitual to be got rid of even on the rareoccasion s when she was not complain ing.That’s a foolish , godless old body, Mr. Buflin ;

it’s a terrible thing to think how it will be withher when the Lord takes her. She has no moresen se than to treat them dogs like Christians, andmany’s the time you might see her talking awayto them, and singing light songs to them. A ndn ever a word of her latter end, which would bemore fitting an old woman like her. Times andagain I tell our Ellen it should be a warn ing to


her— she’s overly fond of treats and pleasurings.Ellen

,rise up, daughter, and come and speak to

his reverence— why,where’s the wean gone

Ellen was not in the cottage ; her grandmotherhad not seen her go, and marvelled how she couldhave slipped away so quietly. Mr. Duffin did notthink it n ecessary to state that he had been moreobservan t.Mrs. Mawhinn ey apologised profusely for her

gran ddaughter’s wan t of manners.You will excuse her

,your reveren ce ? she ’s

that backward and petted,and maybe she thin ks

shame you should see her with her bare feet.Her father can

'

t make enough of her ; you see ,she favours the mother, and he

’s brought her upfrom a baby. The mother died when she wasborn . A nd Eccles and Willy are wild boys ;Eccles is always after some petticoat or other

,

and Wully’

s very crabbit when the drink ’s inhim.

The old man had finished his pipe, and after afutile attempt to fall in to the fire , had taken uphis tea-cup

,and was amusing himself by lickin g

up the few drops that remain ed with a smackin gn oise of satisfaction . His wife in terrupted herse l fto take away the cup and reprove him sharply.Have don e now ! Quit, will you ? and his

reveren ce talking to me . You ’ll excuse hismaking so free ? I was telling you about Ellen .Her head is full of foolishness

,and I blame it on

the reading ; she still has her head in some sil lystory-book , but she won

’t be said by me . WhenI was like her it was very differen t . I fwe wan tedto read , the one book was good en ough for u s ;we just took down the Bible and read what wasn ecessary for us.


she would have con sidered it due to politen ess tosay this however long his visit had been . Sheescorted him to the door, still talking volubly.It’s been overly kind of your reveren ce calling

in again so soon , and you are most kindly welcome.I t

’

s lonesome enough down here , and I em notone that cares to kaly with everybody. A ndwhat’s that poor old man but a care and a troubleThen

,you see , there

’s n on e of our own sort roundhere. Not but what for the most part they

’reagreeable enough, but you can

’t trust a Catholic ;you never know when they

’ll turn on you. There ’smany a story I could tell you— but I see yourreverence is pressed for time.”

Mr. B ulhu fiddled impatien tly with his stick ;he could not get his hand away from the oldwoman , who held it and patted it approvingly.It often comes as a trouble to me to think

how it would have been if the battle of the Boyn ehad gon e otherwise than as the Lord allowed itshould,

” said Mrs. Mawhin n ey meditatively, fortrue it is He does sometimes allow the devil ’s on estheir way for the pun ishmen t of His people

’s sin s.A nd it in trigues me to thinkA sudden rush of chicken s , en couraged by the

Open door, in terrupted Mrs. Mawhin ney’

s speenlations, and gave Mr. D ufiin a chance of escapeof which he was not slow to avail himself.He took his departure with more haste than

ceremony.

CHAPTER III

THE Reverend Samuel Dufiin walked straight ondown the lan e till he was out of sight of Mrs.Mawhinn ey as she stood by her door

, and hadreached the road by which he had come. Thenhe paused.H e stood in the middle of a wide-stretchingbog

,with a n arrow strip of road runn ing through

it, broken down and deeply rutted by the wheelsof hundreds of turf-carts. Yesterday’s rain hadturn ed the cart-tracks in to puddles, and evenstreams of water, between banks of velvety greymud.The wet bog had gained a brighter brown

,with

thick purple patches of heather and white cottongrass , still a little dishevelled and dirty, to markthe soft places. Here and there were dark, stillpools of bog-water outlin ed by tall rushes. Nearwhere Mr. D ufiin stood a drunken man had methis death on ly a few weeks ago ; he had beenfoun d on e morn ing with his face in the water

,and

his legs deeply embedded in the soft brown turf— quite dead.Where the bog had been en tirely cut awaythere were yellow fields of corn , and others greenw ith flax . Over to the right a lin t-pulling wasgoing on . It was dinn er-time , and the workershad gathered in a group at on e end of the field ;

23


two of the women had bright red petticoats,and

white handkerchiefs tied over their heads to keepoff the sun . Their talk and laughter floated overtoMr. Duflin where he stood, through the still air.The smoke rose up ahnost straight from the

cottage chimneys. The Lindsays ’ cottage lay then earest, and was all by itself, with bog on everyside. The lake was almost out of sight ; just agleam of it showed behind the poplars. Therewas sun shin e on everything, making every bit ofcolouring vivid and defin ite. Mr. Dathu couldeven distinguish the green moss on the Lindsays

’

thatched roof ; in a corn er n ear the chimney agrowth of half-ripen ed corn shon e like gold.He hesitated, looking over the bog, himsel f

an in congruous little patch of black in the middleof it.He saw Ellen Lindsay come out at the house

door and gather an apron ful of turf from a stackin the yard. She stopped on her way to driveback a brood of half-grown chicken s that clustared round her, suspecting food.Mr. B uthu ’s eyes followed her. Shewas certainto be alone ; her father worked every day for afarmer calledM‘Cance, and Eccles andWilly wereboth hired out , and did not sleep at home. Shehad looked very pretty half-an -hour ago , withflushed cheeks and a strange look in her blue eyeswhich had made him vaguely un comfortable .He took a few un certain steps in the direction

of the cottage ; as he did so he caught sight of awaggonette which was coming towards him ata quick trot, and he turn ed and came to a fu llstop

,with a sudden change of ideas.

The waggon ette was followed by a dog-cart an da pony-carriage, and all were full of people— a


very festive party. It was a way the Baringsand the Lawson s had of improving the last summer days. Having practically on ly each other todepen d on for society, they often un ited and wen tfor picn ics and excursion s. I t was the dream andthe ambition of Mr. Duffin ’s existen ce to be included in on e of these expedition s.He took a few steps in the direction of the

carriage,frown ing meditatively and pullin g at

his coarse moustache . I f they saw him therein their way, as it were— and if he made it eviden t by his man n er that his time was by n omean s filled, would it n ot be likely that Mrs.Baring at least would ask him to join them ? H ewen t slowly towards them

,subduing his pace to a

saun ter, swinging his stick, and cutting at thethistles and tufts of heather by the roadside.Nelly Baring, who was sitting in the fron t of

the waggonette,caught sight of him first, with

an exclamationThere’s that awful man ! I shouldn ’t wonder

at all if he tried to in sist on join ing us ; he’s quite

forward and thick-skinn ed en ough for that.A t that momen t, had she on ly known it, Mr.

Duflin was meditating a light, half—joking profferof his society.Perhaps we ought to have asked him

,Mrs.

Baring said. He certain ly 18 very objectionable,but it’s a lon ely lifeIt would have just spoiled it, said her daugh

ter. For my part, I don’t see why the mere

fact of a man’s having reverend before his

n ame— a man you would otherwise send to thekitchenThere was a gen eral Hush. Nelly ’s voicewas very loud and had well-kn own carrying


properties,and they were quite close to Mr.

D uffin .

He had almost made up his mind to say something— something that must be very light andcasual— but at the last momen t the words remain ed un said. Perhaps his courage failed him ;perhaps the time was too short , and Nelly

’s curtnod too discouraging.However that might be , a momen t later hefound himself standing alone on the road , a littlesplashed by the mud from the passing carriages .Their laughter and words faded slowly, andmingled with the voices of the lin t-pullers.Between them Mr. D uflin stood , a solitary

figure. If Nelly Baring had seen the look onhis face as they passed out of sight, she mighthave doubted his being so thick-skin ned.Samuel Duffin was the son of a farmer in the

South of Ireland , who had succeeded in makingfarming pay. Samuel had been sen t to a moderately good school , where most of the boys wereabove him in station , and where he had learn ta smattering of many things, and to despise hisfamily. H e had also become imbued with anambition — which in such circumstances is not

,

perhaps,un common — to become a gen tleman .”

A n adoring father and mother had taught himdiligen tly to think on ly of himself, and to thin kn othing beyond his power. A t the same timehe was no fool, and he understood that there we redifficulties.

He set about making himself “ a gen tlemanmethodically and doggedly, sacrificing much witha resolution worthy of a better cause. It was asmall and petty ambition — a poor thing to mak ethe desire of a life, as this young man understood


the word. Still, it was the on e thing which ,being as he was, was utterly beyond his reachin every sen se. Samuel Duffin would n ever beeither outwardly or inwardly as a gen tleman .But

,n ot un naturally, he did not realise this.

The desire grew up steadily year by year inhis mind

,and became a resolution ; be con sidered

the matter carefully and to a great exten t dispassion ately perhaps as dispassion ately as it waspossible for any one to con sider a thing so personal. N0 man is pron e to recogn ise that he isirredeemably coarser

,more narrow-minded

,less

capable,than his fellows. Samuel Dufiin saw

clearly enough the defects in his speech andman n er, and the disadvan tages of his connection s and surroundings, bu t thousands had overcome worse difficulties than these.His father and mother were well-to-do for their

class,but that was all. He realised— certain ly

unwillingly— that it was n ecessary for him practically to separate himself from them, and fromtheir friends.He persuaded his father without much ditficulty to sen d him to Dublin , where he passedwith credit through the divin ity school in Trin ityCollege ; he worked so well, in fact, and broughtw ith him such a good record as to character anddiligen ce, that he found no difficulty in obtain inga curacy. It was a first step, and turn ed out tobe much less of an advance than Mr. Dufiin hadhoped. His two years as a curate had provedemin en tly satisfactory to his rector, but veryun satisfactory to himself ; he had not foun d himself sought after by the people he wished to seekhim.

But he was by nomean s beaten or turn ed aside


from his object ; he had given up too much, sacriticed too much , for that.One of his fellow- studen ts had laughingly

accused him of living the life of an old woman .What it cost this coarse-blooded, passionate youn gSouthern peasan t so to live on ly he himself kn ew— the struggles with his temperamen t at everystep

,the many pleasan t sin s which tempted him

almost beyon d enduran ce.But there was no medium for him, and he

knew it ; the stern life to which he condemn edhimself was his on ly safeguard. Without frien dsor in terest, a character to which the most censorious could take no objection was his on ly waytowards the object which had become almost amonomania.A t the same time , as far as his light wen t ,

Samuel D uffin did his duty as a clergyman ; heworked hard and n eglected nothing. Where thelin e was drawn between an hon est desire to dowhat lay before him and a selfish regard for hisown in terest he himself honestly did not know .He had not much advanced himself as ye t .The better things he had hoped for on bein gappoin ted to Ballyturbet living a year ago hadnot yet come . Certain ly it was a lonely place

,

and as rector of the parish he held a positionwhich could not be ignored ; Mr. Baring and SirWilliam Lawson , who were parochial n omin ators ,and had had most to say to his election , hadcalled, and in the summer Mr. B ulhu had bee non ce or twice invited to ten n is parties , but theacquain tan ce had not grown more in timate .Mr. D uffin had don e his best ; in the sec lu sionof the rectory he had rehearsed easy speechesand dignified but pleasing manners. But when


dreary and depressing, with its four square wallsand ill-kept avenue and steps. The church an dmeeting-house were almost opposite, and viedwith each other in hideousness, and from thetop windows of the rectory there was a glimpseof the chapel graveyard . Methodists , Plymou thBrethren

,and a kind of mixture of the two called

dippers,” carried on their séances at the other

end of the one straggling street, which also boastedof eight public-houses. There was no lack of opportunity for quenching both spiritual and temporal thirst in Ballyturbet.Mr. and Mrs. M‘Cune lived at the Manse. A s

politics n ow were , Mr. M‘Cune and Mr. Duflinwere con strained to meet frequen tly at theUn ion ist Club, and at Orange and other politicalmeetings. They were ceremon iously polite toeach other, and un ited in condemnation of RomanCatholics, but in their secret hearts they hatedeach other worse still.A dozen years earlier the sharp class distin ction

between Church and Presbyterian clergy hadmade everything simple ; now the jealousy wasof the bitterest , and cropped up in little thingsevery day.As Mr. Duflin turn ed up what he called theavenue

,

”and what an Englishman would have

called the “ drive ,” to his house , he exchan ged

a ceremon ious bow with Mr. M‘Cune, who wascomin g out of the Man se .They met un avoidably almost every day, an d

jealously n oted all each other’s doings.Mr. D ufiin opened his hall-door with his latchkey and wen t in n oisily , tramping down the littlepassage that did duty as a hall.It was a most un in teresting little passage , with


a door to the right and left, and in fron t the stairsand another door which led to the kitchen . Therewere no possibilities for adornmen t, even hadMr.Dutfin been a man capable of adornmen t.A n old woman ’s head was poked out of thedin ing-room to greet him— a dishevelled head ofun tidy hair over a queer, red old face.She gave him a wavering smile, showing the

absence of teeth so common in Irishwomen of herclass.

“ I have just been putting out the dinner foryour reveren ce,

”she began effusively.

He cut her short impatien tly ; he was exceedingly tired of old women , and this old woman wasto him particularly tiresome

,because from her he

could not escape.I see you

’

ve been at the whisky again,Betty.

I tell you I’ll get a decen t lock put on the side

boardThe old woman waved a deprecating hand .Well now , I

’ll in sen se you in to the reason ofthat, dear,

” she said, with un rufiled amiability ;it’s this terrible stuffing I have had ever sincethe brown katies last win ter. When I have awake turn I kn ow it’s not you would grudge mea taste of the on ly thing to relieve it.Mr. Duffin pushed roughly past her.You ’ll have to go, that

’s all,he said. He

had said it so often that the mean ing had gon eout of the words.Betty Pollock was a legacy left him by the

last rector, or at least she so con sidered herself,an d a very troublesome legacy she had proved.Mr . Dufiin had made several attempts to get ridof her, but in vain . She had been there all herlife

,and her mother before her, and she con sidered

3: A CROSS A H ULSTER BOG

the rectory a great deal more hers than his .l’uectors might come and rectors might go, bu tshe wen t on for ever. A s she told Mr. Duflinon ce , the rectory had n ever been without theblood of the l’ollocks, and as long as she livedn ever should be . He had in some sort given in ,and had tried to get girls under her to securea certain ty of having his bed made and gettingsomething to eat with a fair amoun t of regularity ;but this had not proved a success ; Betty wasbitterly jealous of the girls, and would not allowthem to do anything, and it always ended in theirdeparture in floods of tears.He had become more or less used to Betty

, bu t

it was very dreary.Mr. Dullin was a man who liked good food an d

comfort and cheerful faces.The fire had gone out in the din ing-room , an dBetty had made an erratic attempt to lay thetable . He knelt down on the hearth-rug andtried to light the turf with benumbed fi ngers .Betty staggered after him, and wept when shewas not allowed to help. When a blue flamesprang up at last , he wen t to fetch his coldmutton and forage for potatoes for himself, an dfoun d her asleep in his chair when he cameback.That such a man en dured it without turn in g

her ou t of the house was a proof that Betty wasthe one person in the world he was afraid oi.

CHAPTER I V

WOULD your reverence be wan ting anychicken s ? Wee Matty Bruce is at the doorwith a basketful.”

No,I don ’t wan t any.

But there are but two pair left in the yard,

and I’ll hould you these are good onesI don ’t wan t any.

”

But you mightn ’t get a chanst of such fineon es again

“ I don ’t care if I n ever see a chicken again ;I won ’t have them.Mr. Dufiin was sitting over the din ing-room

fire with a pipe in his mon th ; he kept his backturn ed upon Betty, and drummed impatien tlyon his knee with a broad flat han d which wasn ot so clean as it might have been .It was a dreary day, a day on which Betty,

and the fact that he could n ot be secure of theroom to himself for five con secutive min utes,seemed particularly unbearable. A drizzling rainwas falling every n ow and then , en ough to makethe prospect of an objectless walk un tempting,andMr. Duffin had been dragging out the aftern oon dismally en ough .The room had a stale smell of ale and mutton ;

Betty had made several on ly half successfulattempts to take away the dinn er-things. She

33 C

34 A CROSS A N ULSTER 8 06

had left the cover of the potato-dish and Mr .B ulhu ’s plate on the sideboard , and had made n oattempt to remove a cloth which was n on e tooclean . What was the use, she would have said,when she would on ly have to put it back againfor tea .7Perhaps with a similar idea, she had n ot

troubled to dust the room for the last few days ;when Mr. Dullin put up his hand on the man te lpiece to look for matches, he brought it backcoated.Matty says that soon er than take them

ou , she’ll give you the chicken s for shillin

’

s

apieceThe reappearance of B etty

’s smiling, dishevelledhead was too much for hi1n . He walked to thedoor

,pushed her out, and slammed it hopelessly ,

for he had long mm learned that a struggle withBetty was hopeless.When he was alon e his thoughts were not toopleasan t . He had spen t a year in this placein this holc— and how had he advanced himself ?That morn ing he had come upon a selection ofLawson s and Barings in eager conclave n ear the13111mo s gate , and he had not failed to see thechange — the sudden stiffen ing in the groupas he came up. What they said and thoughtmattered to him on ly because they were a mean stowards an end, but in this way it matteredvery much .It was impossible for a man to exist in the

society of old Betty alon e.Mr. Duflin was not imaginative, but as he satlooking in to the fire a face seemed to grow out ofthe coals— the face of a g irl with dark blue eyesand fair hair and a ready smile— a face which


flushed and brighten ed when he was near. Therewas on e person at least to whom he was the mostwonderful, awe-in spiring, gracious person in theworld .ButOuld Mrs. Roon ey’s at the door.He had n ot n oticed Betty come in ; now shehad propped herself comfortably again st the sideboard

,and was smiling upon him benevolen tly.

“ Ould Mrs. Rooney wan ts to see your reveren ce .”

What forShe’ll be wan ting help. She says she’s had a

sore brash or she’d have been here soon er ; andshe says she ’ll n ever be back again

,for she’ll not

see many more weeks.”

Mr. Dufiin tossed Betty a pen ny impatien tly,w ith an in timation that he wished to see no moreof her ; but she was back with him in about twomin utes, still smiling and amiable .

“ She wouldn ’t take the pen ny at all , yourreverence . She says she is down in the books,and she n ever got less than a Sixpen ce. A ndindeed it’s not muchMr . Duffin got up and turn ed on Betty with an

expression in his eyes which was by no mean spleasan t.

“ A nd she’ll be going to the Man se,and I

wouldn ’t like them to say“ She may go where she likes— and you too.

Didn ’t I tell you I wouldn ’t have you in here inthis condition ? You ought to be ashamed ofyourself IBetty waved her hands in reproachful den ial ,

an action which was fraught with danger to herbalance ; she turn ed deprecating, watery eyes


upon her master, and showed her wrinkled, emptygums in a smile which was not a pretty one.Is it me ? The Lord forgive you, dear ! Me ,

that have n ever rested sin ce your din ner e x ceptto sit down for a min it and read my Bible ! Me ,that can ’t thole the taste of whisky— not evenwhen I had the brown katies and the doctorordered it to me. If it wasn 't for the wake turn sand the toothache, never a drop would pass myli sp

“ Get out of this , you drunken old beastBetty began to weep profusely, withmany sn ifi

'

s

and sobs, applying her apron impartially to eyesand nose. It may be she had found tears use fulto soften her former master, but on a man likeMr. Dullin they were wasted.

“ A nd sooner than have them say ill w ords Iwould give a sixp ence myself for the hon our ofthe house ; and w e been here these forty yearsand n ever a complain t ! But it’s well said

, the

way of the righteous is thorny. Now I’

m an oldwoman , I

’ll have to make place for some impiten tcutty l But you

’ll be sorry for it ; for al l youmiscall me you’ll be sorry for it, and you

’ll missme sorely. The Lord will provide ; even if I amcast forth in my old age , I can trust in HimMr. D uflin turned upon her with a set un der

jaw and an angry flush in his coarse face.“ Hold your tongue ! ” he said. If you are

n ot out of this in extra quick time you’

ll be sorryfor it — ye ould divilThere was n obody but old Betty to n otice howstrongly the Southern accen t came out in hiswords, and she was a great deal too full of herown con cern s . She was sufficien tly herse l f torealise that her master looked dangerous, and

3s A CROSS A N ULSTER BOG

scious that all was not as it ought to be , w ithoutknowing how to se t it right. Had he known it ,Dr. Morton was the las t person to remark anydeficiencies , or to heed them if he had.He came in like a breath of fresh air, a tall ,

hread-shouldered man , w ith a cheery voice andthe pleasan test manner in the world. I t is to besupposed that Dr. Morton had troubles like therest of the world ; but if se , they sat upon himl ightly, and by instinct it was the brightest sideof everything and everybody that he saw. Hislaugh was most in fectious.H e came in to the room shaking raindrops from

his coat , and wen t forward to greethi111 , 11e 1 \ ously anxious to seem complete ly at hiscase. lle thought of addressing his visitor asMorton ,

”l1ut was unequal to the effort. Cer

tain ly l)r. Morton was a very much older man ,but as rectors their position was an equal one,he told himself , but he found it impossible to acton this assu111ptiou.

I t’

s a shame to come in upon you in this wetconditiou , l)ulli11. I t

’

s a disagreeable drizzle, and

I am afraid it will in terfere with the flax -pulling.I have got min e all 111 , I um glad to say.

’

This 1s a great pleasure , Dr. Morton .Mr. Bullin ’s mann er of speaking was very deliberate , with hesitation s and words carefully chosenand pronounced. H e gave the impression , whichwas possibly a true one

,of con sidering every word

before he said it, to see if it was safe and suitable.Betty was more hearty and less guarded . She

in sisted on being allowed to shake Dr.Morton ’shand warmly, and burst in to voluble speech .

“ I t warms my heart to see your reveren ce'

I ’ve been thinking you'

d forgotten us altogether.


A nd how’s the mistress — and Miss Katie andMaster JamesAll flourishing, thank you , Betty.It’s aye a heartsome thing to have a lock of

wean s about a house. I can ’t but say I find itlon esome here with no stir about. Your reverenceshould come over often er, for sure I am you

’remore than welcome. I ’m still telling the masterhe should visitmore. When Mr. Dawson was wi’

me , he was for ever going down to the Castle toplay games of ten n is and such-like , or they wereup here

,and it kept a stir. But now there’s n ever

one coming or going.”“ That is sufficien t, Betty. You may go, saidMr. Duffin hopelessly.

“ There’s no rank of life,said Betty, lean ing

again st the sideboard and waving her hands, butn eeds divarsion s at times. The lik e of me— thecommonality , as one might say— has their tripsand their treats, and the quality has their ownways of amusing themselves. It’s yourself thatlikes a bit of Sport as well as any on e , for all yourblack coat, Dr. MortonOh

,you and I are one in objecting to all work

and no play.”

Deed your reveren ce and I for ever thinkalike . I m that uplifted to see you again ,dearBetty was seized with a further affectionate im

pulse ; she staggered forward with outstretchedhan d.Mr. Duffin came to the rescue in despair.“ Look here

,Betty. Dr. Morton and I wan t

to talk, and you must leave us in peace. Yousee what a disagreeable day it is, and how it israin ing. Well , if you won

’t go away , Dr. Morton


and I will have to go out, and you surely don’

t

wan t to drive us to thatIt may be that this pathetic appeal touched

Betty ; at any rate , a little later Mr. Dufi n didcon trive to get the door shut with her on thewrong side of it. He felt bitterly foolish andashamed.Dr. Morton turn ed to him with his hearty

laugh .Your Caleb Balderstone is rather troublesome ,

I em afraid ,” he said.

Mr. Duflin had not the remotest idea who CalebBalderston e might be . He said

,Yes

,certain ly

,

and smiled un easily.I suppose you do find it a bit lonely ?Well , the parish is a small one ; my time isn

’

t

half filled.A nd run over with old women , isn

’

t it ? Iknow Dawson used to complain that they n eve rdied .”

Mr. Dufliu smiled respon sively ; his idea ofextreme politen ess was to smile frequen tly.

The people are all so poor,

” he said,

“ especially now that the weaving has practicallystopped. All the richer farmers and shopkeepe rsare Presbyterian s. There ’s a fair Sunday-schoolattendance in the morn ing , but Mrs. M‘Cun eworks a good deal among the girls, and some ofour girls will go to her in the aftern oon . I thin kI shall be obliged to start an aftern oon Sun dayschool, and I am afraid the attendan ce will bevery poor.I dare sayMrs.M‘Cun e won ’t hurt them. W e

Northerns are pretty stiff in our conviction s,

said Dr. Morton , with a laugh. “ Well, I mustget to business. I called to-day chiefly to ask if


you are going up to the Protestan t Orphan meeting n ex t week , and also about the Susten tationFund. The Archdeacon has asked me to suggestthat at your n ext vestry meetingDr.Morton lean ed back in his chair, with hiselbow on the dirty table-cloth , and plunged in toChurch matters. It was difficult n ot to be atease with him

,he was so en tirely at ease him

self and he grew so hot and eager over everything, thatMr. Dutfin un con sciously foun d himselfgrowing in terested too. Dr. Morton got vehemen tly angry in discussing the en croachmen ts ofPresbyterian s and the misdoings of troublesomevestrymen ; but in the middle of his anger thecomic si

’

de always struck him, and he laughed.Towards the end, during a hot description ofthe woes of a rash curate

,who had put up an

altar- cloth with LE S. worked on it , and hadfound the letters cut off time after time— at themost exciting poin t of this taleMr. Dutfin ’s attention began to wander.There were certain sign s of departure aboutthe other man he had picked his stick from thefloor and his hat from the table, and was sittingupright on his chair, in stead of lean ing back comfortably.

Ought he to be asked to stay for a meal ofsome kind ? Ifso

,what should the meal be, and

how would Betty serve it ? Was there anythingpresen table in the house in the way of eatables ?Would it seem very inhospitable if he let hisvisitor start upon his eight miles’ drive withoutany offer ?I n the midst of his hesitation Dr. Morton gotup to go, and Southern in stincts got the better ofdoubts.


Won ’t you stay to— tea ? Mr. Dufiin said.“ No, thanks ; 1 am going to drop in on theBe rings and see if I can find somebody for a

game of billiards.”

How easily it was said ! and yet surely theclergyman of the parish had as good a right todrop in ou the Barings as any one else.

“ I have half a mind to go with you ,” said Mr.

Dutli11 , in a tone which he flattered himself wasboth natural and easy. A t the same time heknew he was talking non sen se ; that even underDr. Morton ’s wing his courage was sure to fail atthe last.They had been sitting almost in the dark forthe last half—hour, Mr . Duffin being unwilling tog ive Betty an excuse for return ing by ringing forlights, and it was very dusky when they wen t outand walked down the street together.l)r. Morton did not find his compan ion in teresting, but he was given to take men as he fou n dthem still , the other

’

s obvious wan t of atten tionas they walked down the street made conversationdifficult.

Mr. Duffin was hoping against hope that theywould meet on e of the Earings on their way, or,failing that , that he would have courage to followhis compan ion in to the house as if it was themost n atural thing in the world.But n either of these things happen ed. As they

came up the avenue he began to remember moreand more keen ly the many discouragemen ts hehad met with from the Barings, and he felt thatbefore Dr. Morton they would be still more unbearable.He an swered on a sudden impulse when Dr.Morton asked if he was coming in


I don ’t think I will this even ing ; I haveseveral things to do

,and there

’

s a Un ion ist Clubmeeting to-n ight.Dr. Morton did not press him. “Well , then ,good-bye , Duffin , he said. Will you drive overto lun ch one of these days ? Mrs.Morton will bedelighted to see you. A nd, you don

’t sing by anychan ce ? We are trying to get up a con cert forthe schools

,and musical talen t is scarce.”

Mr. Duffin said he did not sing, and they shookhands on the hall-door steps.In side

,the lamps were all lighted, but the shut

ters had not yet been closed, and through an openwindow a hum of voices with breaks of laughtercame to Mr. Duffin ; he could hear the momen tarypause, and then the welcoming greeting whichfollowed Dr. Morton ’s en trance.Above them all came Nelly’s clear, loud voiceWe won ’t let Dr. Morton go till after din n er,will we , mammaIt occurred to Mr.Dufiin that any one who saw

him stan ding there in the dusk and the rain mightthin k it odd , and he turn ed away abruptly. Tobe outside seemed his place always— out of allcheerfuln ess and compan ion ship— solitary always.I t did not occur to him to wonder if it was inpart his own fault.Curse it he said between his teeth.

CHAPTER V

IT was a day to make any one feel inclined to beidle

,a wonderful day for September, with soft ,

warm breezes , and sun shine which made the lakelook like silver.Ellen and the puppy had felt they cou ld stayindoors n o longer, and had come out to join thefather and Eccles in the linx-field.Now that the lin t-pullings of larger people

were over, the Lindsays had got a day off toattend to their own little bit of cut-out bog . I twas on ly a strip where the turf had been all cu taway soon er than in other places , but it was the irvery own , and they thought a great deal of it.Ellen lay lazily among the flax , half watchin g

the others, half inatten tive , her water-can s an dwooden hoop bearing witness that she had n otcome ou t en tirely in idlen ess. The path to thewell wen t right through the field—

“ along thecash , and through the slap and out by the shough,

”

as Mrs. Mawhin n ey had on ce directed a bewi ldered Englishman .Ellen had found herself a very comfortablecorn er ; she lay with her arm across her eyes tokeep off the sun shine , which fell warmly on herhair and her bare feet. It was on ly of late tha tshe had begun to feel the lon elin ess of her life.To—day she had a sen se of satisfaction in knowing

44


men t now and again which cost n othing ; for hewas very careful of his money.He was glad now to throw himself down on

the flax beside Ellen , wiping his hot face andtaking out his pipe .Old Lindsay was in a cheerful frame of min d.We

'

ve a tin e crop the year,” he said ; I don

’

t

mind when it was as good. A nd if the potatoesturn out as well— aud I ’ve no reason to thinkthey won ’t— we'll do rightly.

A y but the better the crop the cheaper it isto sell , said Mrs. Mawhinney, shaking her head ;“and them that knows tells me there’ll be n ex tto no weaving the year, and that

’ll come hard.”

There's still something turn s up,” said Lindsay

,

undismayed. Did you hear we’d a lette r froml’hiladelphy last n ight , and Mary and Andy sen ttwo pounds to me and as much to Ellen ? A n dthey

’ll send something more by Christmas. A n dwhat with that and the crop I ’m gey uplifted .”

You needn ’t coun t 011 help from them forlong. I t

’

s all very well at the first, but wait t illthey ’ve begun to forget and got married maybe.That’ll be another story .”

Lindsay gave a good-humoured laugh.llark till her ! I n ever put up a feather that

she doesn ’t pluck it out of me You’re aye se tting offin a coach-and-four to meet your troubles

,

grandma.”“ I

’

ve small n eed to do that, then , said Mrs.Mawhinney dolefully ; they

’re n ot far to seek.If I saw my own following in the Lord

’

s path ,it’s little I ’d think of this world ’s troubles. Bu twhen I see them stubborn and on reason able ,n eglectful of their duties to their God in atten ding the church and the Sabbath-school , n ot con


ten t with the home He has given them,and

wan ting to leave all behind them and go to service The Lord knows, Jamie , if you

’ve beentoo easy with the authority He has put in yourhands, I have done my best.The words fell on silence . Ellen moved impatien tly, and Eccles began to fillhis pipe stolidly.Mrs. Mawhinney

’s harsh voice seemed to destroy

the peace of the day ; but for her it was so stillthat they could hear the soft splash of oars onthe lake , and the cry of the “ peewits that flewover it. The whistle of a train three miles awaysounded shrilly.What call has Ellen to go to service ? I don

’tsay that many as good or better than her don ’t

go and no disgrace about it, but while her fathercan keep her at home she’s better there. If herhead wasn ’t full of foolishn ess she would n everhave thought of it. But there she goes, readyfor any amusemen t , and in for an hour yesterdaycolloguing with those M‘Fadden s just as if theywere her own sort. She ’ll be turn ing n ext.Eccles gave a grun t of disapprobation . You

n eedn ’t even the like to Ellen , he said. Youmight as well say Miss Nelly would be turn ingmany ’s the time she’s in to

“ It’s very differen t for the quality from it isfor the like of us

,

” said Mrs. Mawhin n ey . Shewas fairly started on one of her subjects, andwas in her glory. Times and again I tell Ellenn ever to trust a Catholic, but it’s little she mindswhat I say. They are deceitful to the heart’score. Wasn ’t it J ames Dougherty

,a friend of

my own— married on my father

’s sister— thattook up greatly with a Catholic boy when he wasa lad ? They were always together and as great


as could be. A nd you’d have thought James was

clean out of his mind when the other boy tooksick and was given over by the doctor. He wasfor setting up with him n ight and day. A nd then ight the Catholic boy died, he called J ames tohim, and says he J ames, are we alone andJ ames says, Yes. Then says he, Bend downyour head , James, till I whisper.

’

A nd says he ,‘Never trust a Catholic.’ A nd J ames was allsurprised , and says he, Haven

’t we been greatenough ?

’

A nd the Catholic boy says, A y,J ames, you

’

ve thought so ; but many’s the time ,

when we were out together, I had a kn ife undermy coat ready tomurder you.

’

A nd that’s gospeltru th , and you know it, J amie Lindsay.

”

If he did n ot,it was not for wan t of hearing

it. for the story was by no mean s new to him.Ellen breathed more freely now that the conversation had turn ed from her delin quencies.But Mrs.Mawhinn ey had not n early fin ished.A nd on ly the other day Burnside Overend

was walking twelve miles to some fair lookingfor a cow

,and he was overtook by a Catholic in

his cart. A nd he offers him a lift , and Burn sidewas thankful enough to get it. A nd they hadn ’tgon e very far, and were just down along theLough shore , where they ’re all the wrong sort,when the Catholic began to shout, ‘To hell withthe l’ope ! ’ and No Home Rule ! ’ and everyProtestan t cry he could think oi. You see , heknew that , if any Catholics heard it, they

’d comerun n ing out and take it to be Burn side that wascalling , and him sitting quite. By luck n obodyheard him, or Burn side would hardly have seenhis home again

,and you may be sure he was

out of the cart pretty quick. But that’s the


sort they are,Jamie. There ’s a bad drop in

them all.Lindsay n odded his head assen tingly. I n the

main he agreed with his mother-in -law, and was .as bitter again st the Catholics in a body as shecould wish

,though he was too good-natured to

share her an imosity to individuals.“ You’ll n ever find a Catholic to be trusted,Mrs. Mawhinney reiterated ; if I had my will ,n ever one of them should cross my step. I wasj ust saying to the min ister yesterday

,

‘Yourreverence,

’ says I , ‘if it’s not making too free,

I ’ve been thinking a soft hat would be more becoming to you.’ A nd says he ,

‘Why’s that,Mrs,

Mawhin n ey He’s a pleasan t-spoken gen tleman en ough. A nd says I , Sure it used to giveme pleasure to see you walking down the road

,

but now in the distan ce I can hardly tell whetherit

’

s you or the priest.’

The min ister and you seem very great. He’saye dropping in for a kaly with you,

” said Lindsay,

laughing.He

’

s a religious man and a good preacher— avery serious speaker, and preaches the true gospel .I t would do Ellen a wheen of good if she would

go to hear him con stan t. I hid him speak to herthe very last time I saw him about her n eglect ofthe school of a Sabbath and her wan ting to go toservice . A nd I hope you’ll min d what he saysto you, Ellen .Ellen ’s head was ben t over the puppy ; she

murmured something in distin ct, and did notraise it.

Ellen ’s well en ough , her father said shortly.I t

’

s ill don e of her to go again’ the min ister

,

and him so good to her at the first.”

So A CROSS A N ULSTER BOG

I wouldn ’t like that. I hope the ministe r’snot ill-pleased with you, daughter ?There was a short pause

,a pause just long

enough to be perceptible.Don ’t trouble yourself about that, said Ellen

in a rough voice.For he ’s been very good about Wully, and I

’

d

like you to do your best to please him.Ellen jumped sudden ly to her feet with an

abruptness of movemen t which was quite unusualto her.

I’

m just wearied with having you all at me !she said passionately. You ’d think I was thatill-mannered that n obody could put up with me !I

’

m— I’

m fit enough to mind myselfShe turn ed from them sharply with a move

men t of uncon trollable nervous irritation , an dhurried across the field with quick

,uncertain

steps, leaving aston ishmen t behind her ; Ellen ,as they knew her, was so sweet-tempered, so littleinclin ed to be touchy.Eccles gazed after her with wide eyes.Keep us l what ails our Ellen he said.Heth she ’s in a quare pucker

,

” said her father.I

’

m ignoran t what has come over her these lastweeks. She was finely set up at the first w iththe min ister thinking well of her in the choir.”

A nd Ellen was aye one that liked to be takenn otice to,

” the old grandmother said . I m in dwell

,when she was a wee wean , she came home

from the school roarin’

and cryin’

fit to break herheart

, and for long en ough we couldn’t get out of

her what ailed her. A t last says she , Sure,grandma,Mr.Wilson — him that was the min isterthen — ‘he come in to the school when we werereadin ’, and he wrote something in Ann ie Cregg

’

s


copy-book, and he pulled Eva Jackson’

s ear, andhe took no n otice to me though I was right forn enst him.

’

A nd with that she to the roarin ’ and

During this thrilling anecdote Eccles’ atten tionhad wandered ; he had his own troubles to thin kof, and they drove Ellen out of his head as he satand puffed at his pipe. On ly her father’s eyesfollowed her in to the cottage.Ellen wen t in hastily, slamming the door after

her,and n arrowly avoiding making an end of the

puppy, which had foun d some difficulty in keepingup with her rapid movemen ts.But with this her en ergy seemed to go. She

sat down on a stool by the fire, heedless of thepuppy, which had had its foot pinched, and wasvery sorry for itself, and making a great fuss incon sequen ce.She sat with her hands clasped together till

they hurt,and her soft lips set. For the first

time in her life she was facing a trouble whichseemed unbearable

,and realising that it had come

to her with the surprise and rebellion of all youngcreatures again st their first pain . She knewthere was sufi

'

ering— plen ty of it - in the world ;

but that it should come to her !The puppy

,in a small way, was going through

the same ex perien ce.

CHAPTER VI

WELL, bring them as soon as they are fit tokill. You haven ’t done well with your chickensthis year.”

The early ones throve rightly ; you’ll min d I

broughtMrs. Baring some fine birds in the spring,

Miss Nelly. But I don’t know what come over

these two last clatchings.Your ducks are better than ours, I see. We

must get a setting from you n ex t year. A ndnow, Ellen , what has happened to you lately ?You haven ’t been to Sunday-school or church forweeks

, and you missed the last girls’ friendly

meeting.”

Miss Baring stood in fron t of Ellen , a brisk ,decided little figure , with short petticoats an dthick boots, and a dog—whip and whistle, whichwere supposed to keep in order a couple oflawless setters , at presen t poking with eagercuriosity through the Lindsays’ yard. She tookEllen to task in a clear, rather hard voice.Ellen had been filling her basket from the turfstack ; she lean t again st the brown backgroun ddrawing lines in the mud with her bare feet ; adull red crept gradually in to her round, childishface.She said n othing till Nelly Baring repeated herquestion rather sharply


Nice girl , isn’t she ?

He assen ted shortly.But such a baby still. I have seen her play!

ing with that little red-headedM‘Gloughlan as if

they were both the same age , and certain ly Ellendoesn ’t look six teen . One would have thoughthaving to keep house for her father would makeher in to a woman , but I am sure I don

’t knowwhat will.”

Mr. Dufiin said nothing. Perhaps he did.Well , I supn

ose I mustn ’t keep you if you areparish visiting,

’

said Nelly,still w ith much con

descension . I am going to see poor M‘Fadden,

but he belongs to Father Dymond. Good morning ; wonderful weather for this time of year,isn ’t itMiss Baring wondered why she had found him

so much more speechless and less objectionablethan usual in truth ,Mr. Dufl‘in had not had timeto collect himself or bring himself from the moodin which he had made his way to the Lindsays.”

When Ellen had been called out to say goodbye

, and Miss Baring had whistled to her settersand disappeared down the lan e , a long pause fellbetween the other two.Mr. Dutfin played with his stick as if his chief

object in life was to make it draw an exact circlein the mud ; from time to time he gave rapid ,half-stealthy glances at the girlEllen , he said softly .Ellen drew her breath sharply.I

’

m skeared at your coming.Non sen se ; it

’s safe enough— there’s no fear.I’ve black fear at my heart. There

’s no callfor you to come lt’s a foolishness. There wasa hurry in Ellen s soft voice ; she looked roun d


her n ervously,and

’

the colour came and wen t inher face.Mr. Duffln wen t closer to her

,and laid his

hand roughly on her arm.Meet me this even ing, then , he said, and she

in terrupted with a sharp cry of pain .No, no, no

' Didn ’t you give me your solemnwordI can ’t keep it.The two stood looking in to each other ’s faces

in a momen t of silen ce ; then Ellen drew back,quivering and hiding her face from what she sawin his eyes.I don ’t care what I promised— you must come.Ellen ’s words came in hurried , passionate ap

peal, with sudden pauses where her breath failedher.

“ I couldn ’t do it, sir ! For God’s sake don ’t

ask me— till I try to be a good girl— but I can ’tbe— never, n ever again .

”

Don ’t be a little fool , saidMr. Duffin hoarselyI tell you I can ’t stan d much of this. EllenThe girl recoiled in sharp terror.Don ’t come n ear me. I wish I was dead,

God forgive me ! For your own sake and mine,go away , sir. There

’d be murder done if myfather or the boysI’ll go if you

’ll meet me this even ingI can ’t, I can

’t,I can ’t— God help me

Ellen broke in to bitter sobbing, but she wouldnot yield ; Mr. Duffin tried passion ately , withrough words, to beat down her resistan ce. Hewas excited beyond his own con trol, and almostforgot his fear of observation — almost, but noten tirely.Ellen had always given in in the end ; perhaps

56 A csoss A N ULSTER BOG

she would have given in now had not a suddenremembran ce that when Miss Baring left theM‘Faddens’ cottage she must see them made Mr.Dufiin

’

s patience break down sudden ly. He let

go his hold of her arm and pushed her from himroughly, with a coarse word of anger.You little devil, do you wan t to drive me

mad he said. You are setting up to be particular— a trifle late .”

Ellen watched him,as he made his way hastily

down the lan e, with vague , almost in differen t ,eyes. It was impossible that it was to her, EllenLindsay, that this thing had happen ed , that herlife was spoilt just as she was coming to a fullenjoymen t of it.She felt in a strange way outside herself, as if

it was an other person she pitied— an other poorgirl for whom she was so sorry, that sharp, pain fultears sprang to her eyes ; it could not be herself.It was time to bring in the goats. Ellen , byforce of habit , shut the house-door to keep ou tthe chicken s , and picked up a stick in case thegrey goat should be troublesome.She had a little way to walk across the bog tothe green patch where they were tethered, andshe surprised herself actually singing softly as shewen t, picking her way roun d bogholes and softplaces.Yet it was true— it was real— it had happen edto her.She had tried , tried so hard to forget , to pu t

away all thought from her and just live in thepresen t. She was so very young— she had remain ed such a child— that sometimes she hadsucceeded.But Miss Nelly. Ellen had been very fond of

ACROSS A N ULSTER BOG 57

Miss Nelly, after whom she had been named , andwhom she had kn own all her life. But n ever,n ever again would she go to Sunday class or toMiss Nelly ’s meetings .Ellen was on ly just begin n ing to realise her

misery that even ing as she walked over the bog ;at first the overmastering excitemen t which hadbeen brought in to her life had driven out otherthoughts.She had grown up so quietly and drably. She

had n ever been free like other children , thoughher father had don e his best for her ; but she hadhad to min d the house almost before she couldreach up to lift the pot off the fire.A nd she had been very strictly brought up— tobelieve almost everything in the shape of amusemen t was wrong. The greatest excitemen ts ofher life— n ext always to the twelfth — hadbeen occasion al Methodist or Plymou th Brethrenmeetings, as a variation of the usual round ofweek-day work and Sunday-school and church.Then this had come in to her life

,upsetting and

bewildering all her ideas of right and wrong,and

throwing her among problems n either her age norher education fi tted her to face.Protestan ts who wen t regularly to church were

good and were saved ; others were bad, and certainly not among the elect. Clergymen wereto be reverenced

,and at the same time to be

sharply watched lest they shou ld fall in to HighChurch errors

,but in n owise to be regarded as

on the plan e with the rest of mankind.This easy classification was upset.Ellen was exceedingly capable of tak ing careof herself with young men of her own class ; sheheld her head high and kept them at a distance.

5 8 A CROSS A N ULSTER BOG

But when the min ister — the min ister whopreached to her in church and taught her inSunday-school— who sometimes wen t to have hisdinn er at the Castle ,” and talked to Miss Nellyon terms of equality— when he began to n oticeEllen a little more than the rest, she was pleasedand flattered.

Never for an in stan t did she think of herselfand him as woman and man till he absolutelyforced her to think. Then , in a whirl of van ityand bewildermen t , it seemed to her now she hadfor the time lost her sen ses, and lived withoutthought, in a mad, hidden excitemen t.She had been proud— yes, proud— oi her con

quest of this demi-god, who left Miss Nelly tocome to her. To Ellen he was the handsomest,most fascinating, most irresistible person in theworld , and she was a girl to feel the full influenceof difference of ran k .On ly lately the shame had broken upon her,

and begun to crush her down ; she had not beenashamed at first.Necessarily in Ellen

’s class everything wasunderstood. She had often heard the neighbourstalk of girls— such as she was.She knew exactly what they would say , and

the tone in which they would say it— their contemptuous in terest and pity , their un tiring discussion of this choice bit of scandal .Her grandmother— Ellen knew how bitter, how

un forgetting her tongue could be ; and her father— she liked to think of him least of all— it would

just break his heart.She did not distinctly blame any one. I n her

class no question of equal morality for men andwomen had ever been raised. A girl who did

A CROSS A N ULSTER 8 00 59

not know how to take care of herself was a fool ,and worse.Men were— as God made them.The white goat came the length of her tether

to meet Ellen . She was surprised to find howlong her mistress took to un fasten the r0pe , andcame to poke her n ose in curiously and see whatthe difficulty could be. Ellen got to her feet andwalked slowly back, very slowly, though the white

goat tugged at the tether to hasten her.It was un bearable

,unbearable. She was a

wicked girl, and God pun ished the wicked but shewould be good— so very good— ii she could haveanother chance— just on e more chance ; she hadbeen such a child

, and so foolish before. Was itjust to let her spoil her whole life before sheunderstood what she was doing ? Was it justto leave her hopeless at sixteen ? A nd all shewan ted must be such a little thing to God— justone more chance.From how many poor souls this prayer of

Ellen ’s has gone as an exceeding bitter cry— theuseless prayer for one more chance.

CHAPTER VI I

THEM‘Faddens’ cottage lay close to the bog road .Barclay M‘Fadden ’s bed was drawn up to a window in the kitchen which looked out upon it

,and

from which he could see passers-by when therewere any.Sometimes a n eighbour stopped his turf-cart

in an swer to the patien t face by the window , andleft his old horse to s tand with hanging head and

quivering legs while he wen t in to chat with Barclay. Often enough on e of the Lindsays woulddrop over to smoke a pipe by the fire.Ellen never forgot to give him a nod and smile

as she passed, and whenever she gathered a bun chof golden gilgowans, or primroses, or sweet whiteviolets

,half at least wen t to stand in a blue jug

by his bed.It Was four years ago now since Barclay had

had his back injured by a fall of iron from a carthe was loading. He had only kept to his bed fora fortn ight at the time

,and had then gon e back

to his work,with in tervals and irregularities, for

n early a year. Then gradually the days on which ,with the best will in the world, he could draghimself out grew fewer, and at last ceased altogether, and he was reduced to spending his timein a chair by the fire.A mon th or two later even this had become an

60


and soup, and linen for his back , and producedan occasional unasked half-crown .That was three years ago.But the illness had gon e on so long— mon ths

and years had passed with so little change.Even Nelly Baring was ashamed to find herselfoften forgetting him for weeks together, thoughshe liked to walk over the hogs, and kn ew thatthe books she brought him were all the help hehad to pass the days.When she had said good-bye to Mr. Duffin shediscovered that the setters had preceded her in tothe cottage ; and as they were an imals of restlessdisposition , with lax n otion s of honesty, the firstthing to be don e was to turn them out.Miss M‘Fadden said, “ Sure , n ever you mind ,Miss Nelly dear ; if they do take a drop out ofthe hen s’ bucket there ’s no great harm.”

But her protest was obviously made on ly forpoliten ess’ sake.You are looking bravely

, Miss Nelly , saidBarclay from the bed. “ It’s heartsome enoughwhile this weather lasts.

No rheumatism now , I hope ?Heth he ’s just dwin ing away. You ’d think

he’d been blinked. He’ll n ever see another lin tpulling.”

Miss M‘Fadden spoke as if she was making ajoke ; she was handicapped by n ature with a fat,irremediably cheerful face . She was an exceedingly stout person , with a soul above toilet cares.Her hair was partly encased in plaits, partlyhanging down her back. and partly standing upon end, but en tirely unkempt. Her red bodicehad been en larged by in sertion s of a differen tcloth under the arms, and even with this assist


an ce burst away from the button s and pin s whichheld it across her ample breast . Ben eath it thebrown skirt gaped open at the side with a vistaof petticoats , ending abruptly half-way down apair of stout legs encased in wrinkled blackstockings.When Miss M‘Fadden got up to bring Nelly achair she had an air of holding on her clothesduring the effort.I was badly taken yesterday with pain s under

the oxter— saving your presence,” said Barclay ;

but it ’s aye up and down,and we must be con

ten t with what the Lord sends us. That lastbook was very in teresting reading, Miss Nelly.They were right and quarrelsome in them days.

“ Barclay was finely taken up with it,” said

› en › download › across...a cross an ulster bog chapter i the rain was falling with a soft,...

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