The record-union., 1894-04-21
A NANX PHYNNODDEREE..

Copyright, 1894, by Edgar L. Wakeman. All
rights reserved.l
On the northeastern coast of that sturdy
little bit of sea girt land set in the Irish
Sea which it's natives lovingly call ELAN
Vannin Veg Neen, or Dear Little Isle of
Man." stands the lofty and picturesque
promontory of Maughold Head.
Behind it toward the mountains and
glens are the ancient village and church
of St. Maughold. at either side, circling
towards the cities of Douglas on the south
and Ramsey on the north, are tiny old
hamlets budding snug and sleeply be-
hind the shingle or the sands of the muir
murous shore.
Grave fisher folk, whose wives and
children gather the harvests of the land
and whose husbands seek the harvests of
the sea, live plain, patient, plodding lives
in these little hamlets, content in their
ample homes of stone and thatch, proud
only of their integrity, and that they are
Manxmen, knowing no change and few
ambitions from birth TO death, treasuring
with their endless piety the superstitions
OF a thousand years, and touched and
thrilled in their whole lives by no differ
ent nor greater excitements than the
elections OF parish clerks, their half
pagan Christmas tide festivities, their
weddings and their funerals, and now
and then by the oft recurring dolor OF
wreck and death at sea.
1t was but few years ago that the lit
tie fees of herring boats, sailing out of
Port MOoar, on the southern side OF
Maughold Head, had scarcely got beyond
sight In the evening shadows, when all
the craft were overwhelmed by sudden
storm. Few returned in safety. Most
were never seen again. For many days
heart-broken watchers lined the shore,
straining their eyes for drifting wreck or
floating dead.
Two of these were a bent old woman
and fair Manx girl. Often both would
be seen together, silent as the dead they
sought. Then one would go away for
few hours, while the other would remain
One or the other ever stood dogged
sentinel along the beach for many days
and nights.
One morning while they were thus
watching the girl suddenly sprang from
the old Woman'S side and plunged into
the shallow surf. She returned slowly,
dragging behind her some floating OBJ
ject. Then old Granny Quillian knew the
worst, and quietly came to the waters
edge and waited.
'sIt's fawther!' were the only words the
young girl spoke.
law, Densie Quillian, then US be left
alone at last,'' said the old woman softly,
coming to where the body lay.
''I'd almost think he'd speyk It me, but
I know th' deead can speyk no more,n
answered Densie, smoothing back the
matted hair and tenderly stroking the
seaweed from the dead mans face and
beard.
He'll ne'r speyk more this side o.
heven, Densie!"
Granny Quillisn laid her wrinkled face
piteously against the face or her dead son.
Densie meanwhile took one of his cold,
wet hands in her own and rubbed its
horny palm and fingers for a little, and
croodled them within her bosom as
though she would warm them again TO
life.
Thus they remained for little time,
Densie looking out upon the smiling
ocean in dumb, heart-stilied wonder, as
If TO probe the eternal mystery which
gives TO all ManX folk such harvest of
life and such harvest of death from the
kind and cruel sea.
Then the two women lifted the body be-
tween them and bore it from the shore.
Fishers fixing the gear for their boats;
women mendlng the nets; cottagers at the
highway side; villagers as the two with
their burden neared their own home be-
yond st. Maughold; even the children at
play only lifted their eyes for moment
as they passed, reminded of time when
some other one was brought, like this one
now, up from that cruel shore, and then
resumed their toll or play, so common
are scenes like this in the dear little Isle
of Man.
But even the lowly dead of Man must
have Il handsome burial box" So,
Johnny Bill Cronk, the coffin-maker at
ST. Maughold, had thriven.
He loved to hear the tempest roar about
old Maughold Head, for this was the
sound which called him up nights and
left his window and door ajar that wall
ing widow or bereft and breathless chill
dren might easier bid him come with his
lantern and yard stick to measure dead
Fisherman Billy Nick, Bobby Loo, Or
Johnny Bill-Jack for his last strong
jacket
Johnny Bill Cronk, the coffin maker
and village carpenter of St. Maughold,
was sordid miser, too His helper,
now young fellow in his twenties, had
often heard him mutter, '.Pn be laird o.
half St. Maughold parish, afore dIeH,
The two were now in the little shop
where the helper worked and ate and
slept, putting the finishing touches on
Galley Quillian's box"
Its TOO bad." whined the old miser,
cunningly regarding his helper, shat
Galley QuiIlian couldn't lived till he'd
paid me what aw owed"
And what did ne owe you, Master
Cronk?'
''What did he owe me? He owed me
for aw burryin' his wife, Betty Quillian.
four year ago. He owed me for money to
clear aw mortgage on his house and five
acres at Ballakilley. He owed me for
money to dress up his place, an he owed
me for half aw money for his new nets.
A matter of hundred pound. That's
what Galley Quillian owed Johnny Bill
Cronk. an that's what Johnny Billy
Cronk III get, Mister Harry Summer
field Bookworm."
All that was known in the village of st.
Maughold of Harry SummerfieId, the
coffin makers helper, was that he had
been picked up when a lad from por-
ton of a wrecked steamer, appropriated
Immediately by Johnny Bill Cronk, and.
having proven a favorite of the village
school and finally with the vicar of the
parish, had pored over books at every
moment of leisure, to the extent that the
name of "Book kworm'' had been added 10
his own. in commentator by the vicar,
tba schoolmaster anu the parish clerk.
and in opprobrium by his master. the
coffin maker.
There was dim sort of legend in the
minds OF the villagers that his parents
bad been well-to-do Liverpool folk on
some Journey of pleasure, and were lost
when the steamer went down. But IN