The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1900-04-22
cor gone nshing. Henry?,

and stood looking out across the big
meadow towards Bilboa. He felt beaten,
thwarted, puzzled. AS well might he have
talked TO the ditch or shouted at the
Crockran there beyond the river. He had
| tried hints. insinuations, had been gentle.
sympathetic, rough in the end and plain as
a pikestaf. and all without avail. Nothing
could touch the man. He was like wood.
| Somethng-trouble, or pain, or mortal
| sickness-had laid callous grip upon him.
had changed and left him grim. imperturb-
| able as a stricken tree. Had he feelings?
| Did he think? Did he know? Did he care
| for his children? Had he fear for him
| self? Did it matter to him straw that
| Ellen, his wife, had gone elsewhere than
| for firing? Did he know. or was he ig-
norant. or had sickness numbed him, or
was he only hiding behind this mask Of in
difference? The master was puzzled. What
was he to do. or say, or think? asked he
of himself, and in answer found a great
pity swell in his heart, rise and go out
rushing towards that battered figure of a
man. Pity? oh. surely a dog must have
given him that!
Henry! Henry!' cried the master; 'go
home to your bed. Man. you're not fit to
| be out. Go home and let jimmy give you
| something to eat and get you to your bed.
| I'll send you something. I'll send for the
! doctor"
| Henry turned his eyes slowly. almost
| contemptuously.
at want no DOCTOR" he said. There's
nothin' ailin' me-nothin' but bit Of a
cowld'
well go home then to the fire." pleaded
the master. do, Henry, like a man.
I'm goin'." said Henry. and straight
| ened his back, and pulled his hook from
the clay and stepped for his ditch; "rm
| goin' when I'm finished. Yis."
CHAPTER H.
The master left the ditch again and took
| to the road. Soberly he trudged along, nor
| lifted his eyes from the stones at his feet.
| The day kept good, wind sporting, clouds
| speeding gaily, the sun flashing as he sped
| for the mountain; but in the day or Its
| beauties the master had no pleasure, had
| not even an eye right or left across the
willows for the wide-spreading fields. Not
| often before In broad day had he walked
| blindly from Kilfad gate to the Currach
| bridge: never before. maybe. walked in
| distressed; a hand of gloom was between
| him and the sun; he had sense of fore
| boding always before him. there between
| the ruts at his feet, stood that weary fig
ure of a man that unfortunate of Henry.
| The poor life-crushed creature! Surely life
was for him a pitiless burden; death the
sweetest mercy he might implore! Death.
| death, death! Was it coming-coming
quick with the gathering months? The un-
| fortunate of a mani Something must be
done for him: something for those helpless
children, that weary drudge of a jimmy.
| Something-but what? Something-but
how? Help might be given them. bread.
| clothing, fire; but who might save them
| from themselves, their fate, their shame?-
| the shame wrought by that-"Oh, the
| devil!' cried the master within himself;
''the DEVIL" Why had he not long ago
| hunted her from the land, driven her out
to seek her kind. She was disgrace. The
| countryside reeked of the scandal OF her
| doings. Her name was a by-word in the
| parish, herself a pollution. And In this
| land-his. oh, but this must end it, cried
| the master; this day must end II all; then,
| in flare of indignation, rounded the bend
! CT the road, faced Emo hill-and there
coming down it was the woman herself,
and with her the man, her companion.
| In a narrow red and blue cart, drawn
| by a jennet, they came slowly down, the
| man driving. the woman seated by him on
| plank that stretched across from edge to
| edge of the sideboards. The woman wore
| brown shawl, black dress, large straw
| bonnet with long strings and single blue
| flower; her face was large. heavy, flushed.
| with low forehead, and thick loose lips
The man was dressed in tweed trousers
and waistcoat, a blue coat, brown hat and
| faded black and white necktie. He had a
| bad face square. black, with narrow eyes
| that cleaned viciously. Both sat crouched
over their knees, heads and hands forward
| their bodies swaying in and out as the
car jolted Straight before them they
| stared with beady eyes. They looked sui
| len, dissipated Not word passed be-
| tween them. At sight of the master COM
| ing UP hill they sat upright, the woman
| with hands spread on her knees and lips
| a-quiver, the man plucking viciously at the
reins and prodding the jennet with a stick
"Gwan," he shouted, with prod; "gwan
| to blazes out O. that
The masters first impulse counseled his
| standing aside to let them pass; his second.
/ born at closer sight of their faces, drove
| him to the middle of the road and left him
| standing there, legs spraddled. jaw set,
| thumbs hooked in the armholes of his
| waistcoat.
"Gwan," shouted the man, with a slash
| and an oath; "gwan to blazes out O. that;
| then, to the master: us it over We
| want to be? Stan aside, then. or he the
piper"
| The master stood firm, raised hand.
STOP" he called. The cart came on.
| STOP" shouted the master; stop, say!'
| The man glared at him: then rose to his
| feet storming and cursing.
stop" he roared we tell me to stop!
Who are you? we ugly haveral ye!' The
woman pulled at his coat tails, crying him
| to be quiet He turned upon her. his arm
| crooked as II TO strike, his jaw set brutally.
you he shouted; ''you!'-then. turning
| suddenly and with a storm of oaths, drew
himself up and with all his strength smote
the jennet twice across it's back. The ami
NAL started, jumped plunged forward.
| Just in time the master sprang aside.
''whirroo-whirroo.' roared the man, with
a skirl and a twirl; the woman cried.
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