The morning news., 1894-04-22

picturesque promontory Of Malghold
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 ana sleepily be
hind the shingle or the sands Of the muir
murous shore.
Grave fisher folk, whose wives and
children gather the harvesJs of the land
and whose husbands seek the haryests Of
the sea, live plain, patient, ploddlng 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 superstltlons
of a thousand years; and touched and
thrilled in their whole lives by no diff
ferent 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.
II was but few years ago that the lit
tie feet 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 seek again. For many days
heart broken watchers lined the shore,
straining their eyes for drifting wreck or
floating dead.
Two of these were bent old woman
and fair Manx girl. Often both would
be seen together, silent as the dead they
sought. Then one would 60 away Tor a
One or the other ever stood dogged SEN
tinel 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.
IT'S fawther!' were the only words
the young girl spoke.
"Aw, Densie Quillian, then US be left
alone at last'' said the old woman
softly, coming to where the body lay.
sd almost think he'd speyk T. me, but
know tn deead can speyk no more;"
answer ed Densie, smoothing back the
matted hair and tenderly stroking the
seaweed from the dead mans face and
beard.
He'll neer speyk more this side o.
heaven, .Densie2'
Granny Quillian laid her wrinkled face
piteously against the face of her dead
SON Densie meanwhile took one of his
cold, wet hands in her own and rubbed
its horny palm and fingers for little,
and croodled them within her bosom,
as though she would warm them again to
life.
Thus they remained for little time,
Tlaancfea loclyinr "a ilfr,rr
In dumb, heart-stilled 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
between them and bore it from the shore.
Fishers fixing the gear for their boats :;
women mending the nets; cottagers at
the highway side; villagers as the two
with their burden neared their own home
beyond St. Maughold; even the children
at play, only lifted their eyes for mo-
ment as they passed. reminded of a time
when some other one was brought, like
this one 1now, 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 handsome burial box" So Johnny
Bill Cronk, the coffin maker at St. Maug-
hold, 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 a
sordid miser, too. HIS helper, now a
young fellow in his twenties, had often
heard him mutter, I'm be laird o. half St.
Maughold parish afore dep
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."
It's too bad" whined the old miser.
cunningly regarding his helper, that
Galley Quillian couldn't a lived till he'd
paid me what aw owed. -
And what did he owe you, Master
Cronk2"
What did he owe me2 He owed me for
sw burryin' his wife. Betty Quillian, four
year ago. He owed me for money to clear
sw mortgage on his house and five acres
at Ballakilley. He owed me for money tc
dress up his place; an he owed me for
half aw money for his new nets. A mat.
ter of hundred pound. That's what
Galley Quillian owed Johnny Bill Cronk
an that's what Johnny Billy Cronk ii
get, Mister Harry Summerheld Book
worm.n
All that was known in the village of St
Maughold of Harry Summerdeld, the
coffin makers helper, was that he had
been picked up when a lad from a portion
of wrecked steamer, appropriated i'm
mediately by Johnny Bill Cronk, and
having proven a favorlte at the village
school and finally with the vicar of tine
parish, had poured over books, at every
moment of leisure, 10 the extent that the
name of "Bookworm' had been added to
his own, in Commendation by the vicar
the schoolmaster and the parish clerk
and in opprobrium by his master, the
cotin-maker.
There was a dim sort of legend in tht
minds Of the villagers that his parent.
had been well-to-do LIVERPOOL folk OF
some journey of pleasure, and were lost
when the steamer went down But IL
these remote and primitive parts ther,
was no one TO inquire; no one to care
and the lad had found himself in a no
altogether unpleasant bondage, so long a.
the Wears library held any unread book
and'he had grown to manhood the mastel
of useful trade and the confessed Lover
OF Densie Qulhan, the sweetest lass il
Northern Man, into whose willing ear,