She was about to add a remark that work was just then very slack, as it was the dead time of the year, but that there was always something to be done about the farm; but second thoughts checked the words as they were rising to her lips; and second thoughts, they say, are best.

Old Ned here turned the conversation by "wondering was the dinner near ready."

Winny was not a little surprised, and a good deal delighted, to hear her father talk so familiarly and so kindly of Emon. There never was a time when her father's kind word of him was of more value to her heart. Perhaps it would be an unjust implication of hypocrisy on the old man's part to suggest that he might have only been "pumping" Winny on the subject. She felt, however, that she had gone far enough for the present in the expression of her opinion, and was not sorry when a touch of the _faire gurtha_ put her father in mind of "the dinner."

We, who, of course, can see much further than any of our _dramatis personae,_ and who are privileged to be behind the scenes, could tell Winny Cavana--but that we would not wish to fret her--that Tom Murdock was looking on from his own window at the whole scene between her and young Lennon on the road; and that from that moment, although he could not hear a word that was said, he understood the whole thing, and was generating plans of vengeance and destruction against _one_ or both.

CHAPTER XXI.

Matters were now lying quiet. They were like a line ball at billiards which cannot be played at, and there was nothing "to go out for" by any of the players in this double match. But occasionally something "comes off," in even the most remote locality, which creates some previous excitement, and forms the subject of conversation in all ranks. Sometimes a steeple-chase, "five-sovereigns stakes, with fifty or a hundred added," forms a speculation for the rich; with a farmer's cla.s.s-race for twenty pounds, without any stakes, for horses _bona fide_ the property, etc.

A great cricket-match once "came off" not very far from the locality of our story, when Major W--n lived at Mount Campbell, between the officers of the garrison at Boyle and a local club. We belonged to the major's province of constabulary at the time, and, as members, were privileged to take part therein. The thing was rather new in that part of the world at the time, but had been well advertised in the newspapers for the rich, and through the police for the poor; and the consequence was--the weather being very fine--that a concourse of not less than a thousand persons were a.s.sembled to witness the game. There can be little doubt that some of the younger portion, at least, of our _dramatis personae_ in this tale were spectators upon the occasion. It was within their county, and not an unreasonable distance from the homes we are now writing of.

January and February had now pa.s.sed by in the calm monotony of nothing to excite the inhabitants of the Rathcashes. Valentine's Day, indeed, had created a slight stir amongst some of the girls who had bachelors, or thought they had; and many a message was given to those going into C.O.S., to "be sure and ask at the post-office for a letter for me,"

"and for me," "and for me." A few, very few indeed, got valentines, and many, very many, did not.

It was now March, and even this little anxiety of heart had subsided on the part of the girls; some from self-satisfaction at what they got, and others from disappointment at what they did not.

During this time Tom Murdock had seen Winny Cavana occasionally. It would be quite impossible, with one common lane to both houses, and those houses not more than three hundred yards apart, that any plan of Winny's, less than total seclusion, could have prevented their sometimes "coming across" one another; and total seclusion was a thing that Winny Cavana would not subject herself to on account of any man "that ever stepped in shoe-leather." "What had she to him, or to be afraid of him for? Let him mind his own business and she'd mind hers.

But for one half hour she'd never shut herself up on his account. Let him let her alone."

Tom Murdock was not without a certain degree of knowledge of the female heart, nor of a certain amount of tact to come round one, in the least objectionable way; at all events, so as not to foster any difference which might have taken place. He did not appear to seek her society, nor did he seek to avoid it. When they met, which was really always by accident, he was civil, and sufficiently attentive to show that he harbored no ill-will against her, and respected her enough to make it worth his while not to break with her. He was now certain of a walk home with her on Sundays from ma.s.s. On these occasions her father was generally with her, but this Tom considered rather to be wished for than otherwise, as he could not venture, even if alone, to renew the forbidden subject. But he knew the father had approved of his suit, and his wish was now to establish a constant civility and kindness of manner, which would keep him at least on his side, if it did not help by its quietness to make Winny herself think better of him.

What had pa.s.sed between Winny and Emon was not likely in a human heart to keep up the constrained indifference which that young man had burdened himself with toward her. He had, therefore, upon two or three Sundays ventured again to go to the chapel of Rathcash.

It is not very easy to account for, or to explain how such minor matters fall out, or whether they are instinctively arranged impromptu; but upon each occasion of Emon having re-appeared at Rathcash chapel, Tom Murdock's walk home with Winny was spoiled; more particularly if it so happened that her father did not go to prayers.

Emon-a-knock was never devoid of a considerable portion of self-esteem and respect. Though but a daily laborer, his conduct and character were such as to have gained for him the favorable opinion and the good word of every one who knew him; and apart from the innate goodness of his disposition, he would not lose the high position he had attained in the hearts of his neighbors for the consideration of any of those equivocal pleasures generally enjoyed by young men of his cla.s.s. He felt that he could look old Ned Cavana or old Mick Murdock straight in the face, rich as they were. He felt quite Tom Murdock's equal in everything, mentally and physically. In riches alone he could not compare with him, but these, he thanked G.o.d, belonged to neither mind nor body.

Thus far satisfied with himself, he always stopped to have a few words with Winny, when chance--which he sometimes coaxed to be propitious-- threw him in her way. Even from Rathcash on Sundays he felt ent.i.tled now, perhaps more than ever, to join her as far as his own way home lay along with hers, and this although her father was along with her.

If Tom Murdock had joined them, which was only natural, living where he did, Emon was more determined than ever to be of the party, chatting to them all, Tom included; thus showing that he was neither afraid of them nor ashamed of himself.

The first Sunday after the dog-fight was the first that Emon had gone to the chapel of Rathcash for a pretty long time. But, as a matter of course, he must go there on that day to inquire for poor Bully-dhu, and to ascertain if Winny Cavana had recovered her fright and fatigue.

We have seen that Winny had told her father sufficient of the transaction of poor Bully's mishap to make it almost a matter of necessity that he should allude to it to Emon, if it were merely to thank him for "the trouble he had taken" in saving the dog. When Winny heard the words her father had used, she thought them cold--"the trouble he had taken!" her heart suggested that he might have said, and said truly, "the risk he had run."

But, Winny, there had really been no risk; and recollect that you had used the very same word "trouble" to Emon yourself, when you knew no more of his mind than your father does now.

Tom had walked with them on this occasion, and old Ned's civility to "that whelp"--a name he had not forgotten--helped to sour his temper more than anything which had pa.s.sed between Winny Cavana and him. But all these things he was obliged to bear, and he bore them well, upon "the-long-lane-that-has-no-turning" system.

But now a cause of antic.i.p.ated excitement began to be spoken of in the neighborhood; how, or why, or by whom the matter had been set on foot, was a thing not known, and of no consequence at the time. Yet Tom Murdock was at the bottom of it--and for a purpose.

There existed not far from about the centre of the locality of our story a large flat common, where flocks of geese picked the short gra.s.s in winter, and over which the peewit curled with a short circular flap, and a timid little hoa.r.s.e scream, in the month of May.

It consisted of about sixty acres of hard, level, whitish sod, admirably adapted for short races, athletic sports, and manly exercises of every kind. It formed a sort of amphitheatre, surrounded by low green hills, affording ample s.p.a.ce and opportunity for hundreds, ay thousands, of spectators to witness any sport which might be inaugurated upon the level s.p.a.ce below.

Upon one or two occasions, but not latterly, hurling-matches had come off upon Glanveigh Common. At one time these hurling-matches were very common in Ireland, and were considered a fair test of the prowess of the young men of different parishes. Many minor matches had come off from time to time, but they were of a mixed nature, got up for the most part upon the spot, and had not been spoken of beforehand--they were mere impromptus amongst the younger lads of the neighborhood. The love of the game, however, had not died out even amongst those of riper years; and there were very many men, young and old, whose hurls were laid up upon lofts, and who could still handle them in a manner with which few parts of Ireland could compare. Amongst those Tom Murdock was pre-eminent. He had successfully led the last great match, when not more than twenty years of age, between the parishes of Rathcash and Shanvilla, against a champion called "Big M'Dermott," who led for the latter parish. He was considered the best man in the province to handle a hurl, and his men were good; but Tom Murdock and the boys of Rathcash had beaten them back three times from the very jaws of the goal, and finally conquered. But Shanvilla formally announced that they would seek an early opportunity to retrieve their character. The following Patrick's Day would be three years since they had lost it.

Tom Murdock thought this a good opportunity to forward a portion of his plans. A committee was formed of the best men in Rathcash parish to send a challenge to the men of Shanvilla to hurl another match on Glanveigh Common upon Patrick's Day. Tom Murdock himself was not on the committee; he had too much tact for that. "Big M'Dermott" had emigrated, leaving a younger brother behind him--a good man, no doubt; but as the Shanvilla boys had been latterly bragging of Emon-a-knock as their best man, Tom had no doubt that the challenge would be accepted, and that young Lennon, as a matter of course, would be chosen as their champion. Had he doubted this last circ.u.mstance, he might not have cared to originate the match at all. He had not forgotten the poker-and-tongs jig about four months before. His humiliation on that occasion had sunk deeper into his heart than any person who witnessed it was aware of; and although never afterward adverted to, had still to be avenged. If, then, at the head of his hundred men, he could beat back young Lennon with an equal number twice out of thrice before the a.s.sembled parishes, it would in some degree wash out the humiliation of his defeat in the dance.

Upon the acceptance of this challenge not only the character of the Shanvilla boys depended, but their pride and confidence in Emon-a-knock as their best man.

At once, upon the posting of the challenge, with the names of the committee, upon the chapel-gate of Rathcash, a counter-committee was formed for Shanvilla, and, taking a leaf from their opponents' book, their best man's name was left out. But he at the same time accepted the leadership of the party, which was unanimously placed upon him.

Thus far matters had tended to the private exultation of Tom Murdock, who was determined to make Patrick's Day a day of disgrace to his rival, for since the scene he had witnessed with the dog and the handkerchief he could no longer doubt the fact.

The whole population of the parishes were sure to be a.s.sembled, and Winny Cavana, of course, amongst the rest. What a triumph to degrade him in her eyes before his friends and hers! Surely he would put forth all his energies to attain so glorious a result. He would show before the a.s.sembled mult.i.tude that, physically at least, "that whelp" was no match for Tom Murdock--his defeat Pat the poker-and-tongs jig was a mere mischance.

The preliminaries were now finally settled for this, the greatest hurling-match which for many years had come off, or was likely to come off, in the province. Rathcash had been victorious on the last great occasion of the kind, just three years before, when Tom Murdock had led the parish, as a mere stripling, against "Big M'Dermott" and his men. The additional three years had now given more manliness to Tom's heart, in one sense at least, and a greater development to the muscle and sinew of his frame than he could boast of on that occasion. He was an inch, or an inch and a half, over Emon-a-knock in height, upwards of a stone-weight heavier, and nearly two years his senior in age. His men were on an average as good men, and as well accustomed to the use of the hurl, as those of Shanvilla--their hurls were as well seasoned and as sound, and their pluck was proverbially high. What wonder, then, if Tom Murdock antic.i.p.ated a certain, if not an easy, victory?

As hurling, however, has gone very much out of fashion since those days, and is now seldom seen--never, indeed, in the glorious strength of two populous parishes pitted against each other--it may be well for those who have never seen or perhaps heard of it, to close this chapter with a short description of it.

A large flat field or common, the larger the better, is selected for the performance. Two large blocks of stone are placed about fifteen or twenty feet apart toward either end of the field. One pair of these stones forms the goal of one party, and the other pair that of their opponents. They are about four hundred yards distant from each other, and are generally whitewashed, that they may the more easily catch the attention of the players. A ball, somewhat larger than a cricket-ball, but pretty much of the same nature, is produced by each party, which will be more fully explained by-and-bye. The hurlers a.s.semble, ranged in two opposing parties in the centre between the goals. The hurls are admirably calculated for the kind of work they are intended to perform--viz., to _puck_ the ball toward the respective goals. But they would be very formidable weapons should a fight arise between the contending parties. This, ere now, we regret to say, has not unfrequently been the case--leading sometimes to bloodshed, and on, a few occasions to manslaughter, if not to murder. The hurl is invariably made of a piece of well-seasoned ash. It is between three and four feet long, having a flat surface of about four inches broad and an inch thick, turned at the lower end. Many and close searches in those days have been made through the woods, and in cartmaker's shops, for pieces of ash with the necessary turn, grown by nature in the wood; but failing this fortunate chance, the object was pretty well effected by a process of steaming, and the application of cramps, until the desired shape was attained. But these were never considered as good as those grown _designedly_ by nature _for the purpose_.

The contending parties being drawn up, as we have said, in the centre of the ground, the respective leaders step forward and shake hands, like two pugilists, to show that there is no malice. Although this act of the leaders is supposed to guarantee the good feeling of the men as well, yet the example is generally followed by such of the opposing players as are near each other.

"A toss" then takes place, as to which side shall "sky" their ball.

These b.a.l.l.s are closely inspected by the leaders of the opposite parties, and p.r.o.nounced upon before the game begins. There is no choice of goals, as the parties generally set them up at the end of the field next the parish they belong to. Whichever side wins "the toss" then "skies" their ball, the leader throwing it from his hand to the full height of his power, and "the game is on." But after this no hand, under any circ.u.mstances, is permitted to touch the ball; an apparently unnecessary rule, for it would be a mad act to attempt it, as in all probability the hand would be smashed to pieces. The game then is, to puck the ball through the opponents' goal. Two goal-masters are stationed at either goal, belonging one to each party, and they must be men of well-known experience as such. Their princ.i.p.al business is to see that the ball is put fairly between the stones; but they are not prohibited from using their hurls in the final struggle at the spot, the one to a.s.sist, the other to obstruct, as the state of their party may required.

Sometimes a game is nearly won, when a fortunate young fellow on the losing side slips the ball from the crowd to the open, where one of his party curls it into the air with the flat of his hurl, and the whole a.s.sembly--for there is always one--hears the puck it gets, sending it half-way toward the other goal. The rush to it then is tremendous by both sides, and another crowded clashing of hurls takes place.

When the ball is fairly put through the goal of one party by the other, the game is won, and the shouts of the victors and their friends are deafening.

CHAPTER XXII.

A hurling match in those days was no light matter, particularly when it was on so extensive a scale as that which we are about to describe--between two large parishes. They were supposed, and intended to be, amicable tests of the prowess and activity of the young men at a healthy game of recreation, as the cricket-matches of the present day are that of the athletic aristocracy of the land. In all these great matches, numbers of men, women, and children used to collect to look on, and cheer as the success of the game swayed one way or the other; and as most of the players were unmarried men, it is not to be wondered at if there were many young women amongst the crowd, with their hearts swaying accordingly.

It had been decided by the committees upon the occasion of this great match, that a sort of distinguishing dress--they would not, of course, call it uniform--should be worn by the men. To hurl in coats of any kind had never in this or any other parish match been thought of. The committee left the choice of the distinguishing colors to the respective leaders, recommending, however, that the same manner should be adopted of exhibiting it. It was agreed that sleeves of different colors should be worn over the shirt sleeves, with a broad piece of ribbon tied at the throat to match.

Tom Murdock had chosen green for his party, and not only that, but with a determination to make himself popular, and to throw his rival as far as possible into the background, had purchased a sufficient quant.i.ty of calico and ribbon to supply his men gratis with sleeves and neck-ties.

Poor Emon-a-knock could not afford this liberality, and he felt the object with which it had been puffed and paraded on the other side for a whole week previous. He was not afraid, however, that his men would think the less of him on that account. They knew he was only a laboring man, depending upon his day's wages; and many of those who would wield the hurl by his side upon the 17th of March were well-to-do sons of comfortable farmers. Many, no doubt, were laboring boys like himself, and many servant-boys to the farming cla.s.s.

A deputation of Shanvillas had waited on Emon-a-knock to ascertain his choice of a color for their sleeves and ribbon.

He thought for a few moments, and then taking a red pocket-handkerchief from his box he said, "Boys, this is the only color I can think of. It is as good as any."

"I don't like it, Emon," said M'Dermott, the next best man in the parish.

"Why so, Phil?" said another.

"Well, I hardly know why. It is too much the color of blood. I'd rather have white."