"Don't be superst.i.tious, Phil _a-wochal_," said Emon; "white is a cowardly color all over the world, and red is the best contrast we can have to their color."

"So be it," said Phil.

"So be it," re-echoed the rest of the deputation; "sure, Emon has a right to the choice. Lend us the handkerchief, that we may match it as near as possible."

"And welcome, boys; here it is; but take good care of it for me, as it is the only one I have _now_."

The deputation did not know, but the readers do, that he had given the fellow to it--off the same piece--to Winny Cavana with the dog. Hence his emphasis upon the last word.

No time was lost by the deputation when they left Emon. They had scarcely got out of hearing, when Phil M'Dermott said, "Boys, you all know that Tom Murdock has bestowed his men with a pair of sleeves, and half a yard of ribbon each. Now if he was as well liked as he lets on, he needn't have done that; and in my opinion he done it by way of casting a slur upon our man's poverty. Tom Murdock can afford a hundred yards of green calico and fifty yards of tuppenny ribbon very well;--at least he ought to be able to do so. Now I vote that amongst the best of us we bestow our man with a pair of silk sleeves, and a silk cap and ribbon, for the battle. There's my tenpenny-bit toward it."

"An' I second that vote, boys; there's mine," said another.

"Aisy, boys, an' listen to me," broke in a young Solon, who formed one of the deputation. "There's none of us that wouldn't give a tenpenny bit, if it was the last he had, to do what you say, Phil; but the whole thing--sleeves, ribbon, and cap--won't cost more than a couple of crowns; an' many's the one of the Shanvilla boys would like to have part in it. I vote all them that can afford it may give a fippenny-bit apiece, an' say nothing about it to the boys that can't afford it. If we do, there isn't a man of them but what id want to put in his penny; and I know Emon would not like that. It wouldn't sound well, an' might be laughed at by that rich chap, Murdock. Here's my fippenny, Phil."

There was much good sense in this. It met not only the approbation of the whole deputation, but the pockets of some, and was unanimously adopted. The necessary amount of money was made up before an hour's time; and a smart fellow--the very Solon who had spoken, and who was as smart of limb as he was of mind--was despatched forthwith to C.O.S.

for three yards of silk and two yards of ribbon, to match as nearly as possible Emon-a-knock's handkerchief, which was secured in the crown of his cap.

The very next afternoon--for Shanvilla did not sleep on its resolve-- there was no lion in the street for them;--the same deputation walked up to Emon's house at dinner-hour, when they knew he would be at home.

He had just finished, and was on his way out, to continue a job of planting "a few gets" of early potatoes on the hill behind the house, when he met them near the door.

M'Dermott carried a paper parcel in his hand.

"Well, boys," said Emon, "what's the matter now? I thought we settled everything yesterday morning."

"You did, Emon _a-wochal_; but we had a trifle to do after we left you. I hope you done nothing about your own sleeves as yet."

"No, Phil, I did not; but never fear, I'll be up to time. But I don't wish to change the color, if that's what brought you."

"The sorra change Emon; it is almost too late for that now. But some of the boys heerd that Tom Murdock is givin' his men, every man of 'em, sleeves an' ribbon for this match. We don't expect the likes from you, Emon; and we don't mind that fellow's puffery and pride. We think it better that the Shanvilla boys should present their leader with one pair of sleeves than that he should give a hundred pairs to them. We have them here, Emon _a-wochal_; an' there isn't a boy in the parish of Shanvilla, or a man, woman, or child, that won't cheer to see you win in them."

"An' maybe some one in the parish of Rathcash," whispered Solon to Phil.

Here Phil M'Dermott untied his parcel and exhibited the sleeves, finished off in the best style by his sister Peggy. What would fit Phil would fit Emon; and she was at no loss upon that point.

"Here they are, made and all, Emon. Peggy made them on my fit; and we wish you luck to win in them. Faix, if you don't, it won't be your fault nor ours. Here's your hankicher; you see there isn't the differ of a _milthiogue's_ wing in the two colors."

Perhaps it was the proximity to Boher-na-milthiogue that had suggested the comparison.

"Indeed, boys, I'm entirely obliged to you, and I don't think we can fail of success. It shall not be my fault if we do, and I'm certain it won't be yours. But I'm sorry--"

"_Bidh a hurst_, Emon; don't say wan word, or I'll choke you. But thry them on."

Emon's coat was forthwith slipped off his back and thrown upon the end of a turf-stack hard by, and Phil M'Dermott drew the sleeves upon his arms, and tied them artistically over his shoulders.

"Dam' the wan, Emon, but they were med for you!" said Phil, smoothing them down toward the wrists.

"Divil a word of lie in _that_, any way, Phil," said Solon. "Tell us something we don't know."

"Well, I may tell them that you have too much wit in your head to have any room for sense," replied M'Dermott, seemingly a little annoyed at the remark.

Solon grinned and drew in his horns.

"They are, indeed, the very thing," said Emon, turning his head from one to the other and admiring them. He could have wished, however, that it had been a Rathcash girl who had made them instead of Peggy M'Dermott. "But I cannot have everything my own way," sighed he to himself.

M'Dermott then quietly removed Emon's hat with one hand, while with the other he slily placed die silk cap jauntily upon his head. There was a general murmur of approbation at the effect, in which Emon himself could not choose but join. He felt that he was looking the thing.

After a sufficient time had been allowed for the admiration and verdict of the committee as to their fit and appearance, Phil M'Dermott took them off again, and, folding them up carefully in the paper, handed it to Emon, wishing him on his own part, and that of the whole parish, health to wear and win in them on Patrick's Day-- "Every man of as will have our own colors ready the day before," he added.

Emon then thanked them heartily, and turned into the house, to show them to his father, and the deputation returned to their homes.

CHAPTER XXIII.

The long-wished-for day appointed for this great match had now arrived, and there was not a man of a hundred in each parish beside the two leading men who had not on that morning taken his hurl from the rack before he went to prayers, inspected it, weighed it in his hand, to ascertain if the _set_ lay fair to the _swipe_, as he placed it on the ground.

Two o'clock in the afternoon had been appointed for the men to be on the ground, and punctual to the moment they were seen in two compact ma.s.ses beyond opposite ends of the common. They had a.s.sembled outside, and were not permitted to straggle in, in order that their approach toward each other, in two distinct bodies, amidst the inspiring cheers of their respective parties, might have the better effect. This great occasion had been talked of for weeks, and was looked upon, not only by the players themselves, and the two great men at their heads, but it might be said by the "public at large," as the most important hurling-match which had been projected for years in that or perhaps any other district. The friends of each party, beside hundreds of neutral spectators, had already occupied the hills round what might be called the arena.

Conspicuous at the head of the Rathcash men as they advanced with their green sleeves amidst the cheers of their friends, Tom Murdock could be seen walking with his head erect, and his hurl sloping over his shoulder. He kept his right hand disengaged that he might fulfil the usual custom of giving it to his opponent, in token of goodwill, ere the game began.

He was undoubtedly a splendid handsome-looking fellow "that day."

Upwards of six feet high, made in full proportion. His shirt tied at the throat with a broad green ribbon, having the collar turned down nearly to the shoulders, showed a neck of unsullied whiteness, which contrasted remarkably with the dark curled whiskers above it. His men, too, were a splendid set of fellows. Most of them were as tall and as well made as himself, and none were under five feet ten; there was not a small man among them--the picked unmarried men of the parish. Their green sleeves and bare necks, with their hurls across their left shoulders, as in the case of their leader, elicited thunders of applause from the whole population of Rathcash upon the hill to their right.

A deep ditch with a high gra.s.s bank lay between the common and the spot where Emon-a-knock and his men had a.s.sembled.

Phil M'Dermott was silent. He was not yet reconciled to the color which their leader had chosen. Of course he could not account for it, but he did not half like it. To him it looked sombre, melancholy, and prophetic. But Phil had sense enough to a.s.sume a cheerfulness, if he did not feel it.

Emon himself, though five feet ten and a half inches high, was about the smallest man of his party. In every respect they equalled, if they did not exceed, the Rathcash men.

"Come, boys," said Emon; "Tom Murdock is bringing on his men; we'll have to jump the bank. Shall I lead the way?"

"Of course, Emon; an' bad luck to the man of the hundred will lave a toe on it."

"No, nor a heel, Phil," said the wit.

"Stand back, boys, about fifteen yards," said Emon. "Let me at it first; and when I am clean over, go at it as much in a line as you can. Give yourselves plenty of room and don't crowd."

"Take your time, boys," whispered the prophet, "an' let none of us trip or fall."

"Never fear, Phil," ran through them all in reply.

Emon then drew back a few yards; and with a light quick run he cleared the bank, giving a slight little steadying-jump on the other side, like a man who had made a somersault from a spring-board.

The Shanvilla population--the whole of which, I may say, was on the surrounding hills--rent the air with their cheers, amidst which the red sleeves were seen clearing the bank like so many young deer. Not a mistake was made; not a man jumped low or short; not a toe was left upon it, as the prophet had said--nor a heel, as the wit had added. It was an enlivening sight to see the red sleeves rising by turns about eight feet into the air, and landing steadily on the level sward beyond the bank.