A smile crept into the corners of Nancy's mouth at the compliment, and she let it rest there a few minutes before replying.

"Ye've noticed that young John's a regular visitor at the tavern lately?" she asked.

"I have."

"Doubtless ye think I'm profitin' mightily with the money he pa.s.ses over my bar."

"The gain will do you no good if you are," Moore declared, stoutly.

His hostess was a very plain-spoken woman, and he knew that he could be equally outspoken and yet incur no disfavor.

Nancy lingered over his remark, carefully revolving its significance in her mind before attempting to defend herself.

"Tavern-keepin' is a mighty peculiar business, Mr. Moore. Ye're open to a lot o' criticism, and sometimes ye know in yer heart it's not quite fair. When I was married, my friends thought the inn would be a foine chance fer us to get along, so McVeigh bought it. I cooked good vittals, and waited on table meself in those days, an' times were brisk, because the railroad was bein' built past our door. Then McVeigh died, an' I had to stay by the old place, because I had nowhere else to go. 'Twas after that people began accusin' me o' fattenin' on the bones o' their misfortunes. And d'ye know why?"

Moore remained silent, but his looks were expectant, so Nancy continued: "Because I was makin' enough money to pay me debts with and keep a respectable house. I have always endeavored to give honest value, and let no man go beyond his means in the spendin'. Of course, I must have my trade, fer my expenses are high, seein' that I keep a few children about me whom n.o.body else wants, an' I have my Corney to do fer occasionally, but I never made more'n I could comfortably get along with. My interest to John Keene is no such a small item, an' why should I refuse if the son helps me to pay it with his trade? It's no so unjust, ye see. But, for all that, I have a mother's love for young John. Ever since he was ten years old I have carried him into town in me buggy, wheniver he had a mind to go. Ye see, he an' me had some great talks then, an' since he brings all his troubles to me. While other people have been blamin' him fer his capers I've been makin' up my mind whether he will turn into the right again or no."

"And what think you about him now?" questioned Moore, won into a more conciliatory frame of mind.

"Ye can mark my words, Mr. Moore, the day is not far distant when young John Keene'll be the most respected man in the country."

Moore laughed doubtfully as he said, "I hope so," and then hurried out, for it was past the hour when he should be at work. The day was very warm, and the sun's rays smote the grey sand of the Monk Road, reflecting back with trebled intensity. The traffic had ceased completely, and the quietness of Nancy McVeigh's tavern was undisturbed. Old Donald lay asleep in the haymow above the barn. Will Devitt had gone to town early in the morning, and Jennie and Katie Duncan were over at the cool edge of the lake, which lay a half-mile down the side road. Nancy was still sitting in the little parlor, but her knitting had dropped from her fingers, her eyes were closed, and her head pillowed against the chair-back.

A sudden noise awakened her, and going to the top of the stairs she saw two ladies hesitating in the entrance, as if they wished to come in but were somewhat doubtful of their welcome. One she recognized as Miss Sophia Piper, the housekeeper for James Piper, who owned the big house down the road; the other was a much younger woman and a stranger.

"Come up to my parlor, ladies," she invited, wondering what meant this unexpected visit.

"Thank you, Mrs. McVeigh," called Miss Piper, and the two of them ascended the stairs and took the seats which Nancy pushed into the middle of the room, dusting them carefully with her ap.r.o.n as she did so. Miss Piper had shown a kindly feeling to Nancy ever since the death of her brother Tom, and she addressed the tall, grey-haired woman before her with a cordiality of manner and a lack of reserve unusual in her conversations with the commoners of the countryside.

"I hope you are well, Mrs. McVeigh," she began, as she seated herself comfortably.

"I'm not complainin', miss," Nancy answered.

"I've brought my dear friend Miss Trevor with me because we are both very anxious to do a little missionary work for the benefit of a mutual acquaintance whom we are interested in," Miss Piper explained with winning directness.

"Indade, Miss Piper, an' ye think I can help ye, doubtless."

"Yes, we are sure of it. It's Mr. Keene that we wish to speak about."

"Ye mean young John, of course," Nancy interrupted, as a smile gathered slowly over her rugged face.

"Young Mr. Keene, yes. I was his Sunday-school teacher, years ago, but since then, I am afraid, I have lost touch with him, until recently, when Miss Trevor brought him back to my mind."

"It's about his drinking," Miss Piper continued, nervously, as if at a loss to know how to broach the subject without giving offence.

"Ye come to blame me fer servin' him, I suppose?" Nancy suggested, without the slightest trace of animosity in her tones.

"We don't blame you, Mrs. McVeigh. Please do not misunderstand our intentions. The fact is, we know you to be--er--different from most women, and your house is your living, but Mr. Keene is a young man with an exceptionally bright future, if he will only settle down to it. I have heard a great deal about you, Mrs. McVeigh, and I know the goodness of your heart from the part you took at Brother Tom's death.

We were sure of your co-operation, and that is why we have come to you."

"And what can I do?" Nancy asked, kindly.

"Stop his drinking, please," burst out the younger woman, impetuously, and then she blushed furiously, while Miss Piper frowned. Nancy, however, let the remark pa.s.s unnoticed, and asked, with feigned innocence, "Is he yer young man, Miss Trevor?"

The girl, for she was easily under twenty-one, was more embarra.s.sed than ever at the keen intuition of the old tavern-keeper, and an awkward silence ensued, during which Miss Piper vainly tried to say something to bring the conversation back to more conventional lines.

"Do you love him?" Nancy questioned further, relentless in her desire to enjoy the privileges of being a confidant in Miss Piper's plans.

Miss Trevor would have answered haughtily enough if it had been an ordinary acquaintance who thus probed into her secrets, but the strong, trustful influence of this woman humbled her into a school-girl demeanor.

"Yes," she answered, simply, and Miss Piper became more uncomfortable.

"Does he know it?" Nancy persisted.

"No,--er--perhaps. Oh, Mrs. McVeigh, you seem to have taken all my sense out of me," the girl gasped, helplessly, and covered her crimson face with her handkerchief.

"I'm glad to know this. Begging your pardon, Miss Piper, but if you come to me fer advice I must have more than half-truths. I've known Johnny Keene since he was a baby, and it's little good I've to his credit either, but I'm no sayin' it's not there. He takes after his mother, ye know. He's about run his course, and if Miss Trevor will take the word of an ould woman, who has learned from long experience, I'm thinkin' he'll be a good man fer her."

"You think so?" asked Miss Piper, brightening up.

"I'm sure of it, miss; it's in the blood, so it is."

The three women were now on a basis of plain understanding, and the balance of the conversation was easier and productive of results.

After the two had departed, Nancy sat a long time gazing out of the window, and pondering the situation which had arisen. She did not entertain a doubt as to the ultimate fulfilment of her prophecies, but she wondered how long. The afternoon waned into evening, and she had a grand opportunity to knit and think, which two occupations were her chief enjoyments.

After supper, the usual company dropped into the bar. It was the common meeting-place for gossip and good-fellowship, and during the early hours Will Devitt did a lively business. But a curious change was taking place within Nancy McVeigh. From her rocker, in the rear apartment, where she and the girls spent their evenings, she could hear the loud laughs and talking that pa.s.sed between her customers, mingled with the clink of gla.s.ses, and the noise was offensive to her. The thought repeated itself in her mind, Was the continued hara.s.sing of her teetotaller friends awakening a new phase in her life? For the first time, perhaps, since her deceased husband had bought the tavern, her surrounding's appeared distasteful, and almost sordid. More than once she arose and walked into the bar, where her presence was the signal for doffing of caps and a lowering of voices. She went for no particular purpose, and the men who were buying her liquor were surprised at the frown and curt replies which they received to their greetings.

"Nancy's in a bad humor," blurted one old fellow, who was a nightly caller, as she turned her back. Mistress McVeigh heard the remark, and it aroused her anger more than she would have cared to admit. She retraced her steps, and her glance wandered severely over the half-dozen men present.

"Ye should be at home with yer wife, Mr. Malone, and not wastin' yer toime waitin' about my premises fer some one to buy ye a drink," she said to the man who had spoken.

Malone laughed foolishly, and treated her words as a joke. He was on the verge of a maudlin state, and prepared to contest his rights to be there.

"Another drink, Mr. Devitt, and a gla.s.s all round," he bl.u.s.tered, throwing a piece of silver on to the bar.

"No, Mr. Malone, ye have had yer fill, an' it's no more ye'll git the night," Nancy insisted.

Malone grumbled a reply, and some of the others took sides with him, and their demands were aggressively loud.

"I tell ye, it's no more liquor'll be served in this bar to-night,"

Nancy again declared, and stepping from behind, she began a steady movement towards the door. The men shot a few irresolute glances at Will Devitt, but his face gave no encouragement to disobey, and gradually they dispersed, all but Malone, who had a wish to be troublesome. His mutiny was short-lived, however, for Nancy's fingers suddenly clutched his collar, and she precipitated him on to the verandah, with scarce an apparent effort.

"I'm not well the night, Will, and the noise hurts my head," she explained to Will Devitt, as she pa.s.sed into her sitting-room.

A crunching of wheels sounded from the roadway, and presently a rig came to a stop in the open sheds. Boisterous talking ensued, and then four young men came into the light of the hallway. They were all well dressed, and of a different cla.s.s to the usual run of custom.

"Ho, Mistress McVeigh, a room please, and a few bottles of the best in your house." Almost simultaneously Nancy appeared, and a tolerant smile again hovered in the corners of her mouth.

"Faith, an' are ye back again, John Keene?" she asked.