WAITING
 
 MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED 
 
 LONDON BOMBAY CALCUTTA 
 MELBOURNE
 
 WAITING 
 
 GERALD O'DONOVAN 
 
 AUTHOR OP "FATHER RALPH " 
 
 NEW YORK: MITCHELL KENNERLEY : 1915
 
 WAITING 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 " HAVE you done papering the room, Mary ? " 
 
 " I have then, and the paint has dried out nicely 
 on the chairs. There's not the least fear of them 
 sticking to any one in the morning. The eggs are 
 gathered and the priest's cake is in the cupboard. 
 Maurice is bringing home a couple of pound of beef- 
 steak from the butcher within at Liscannow. I never 
 rose to the like before at a station breakfast, but a 
 neighbour told me Father James has a great liking 
 for it as a relish with his tea." 
 
 " The Lord send it might put him in good 
 humour," Mike Blake said, puffing a short, black, 
 clay pipe thoughtfully. 
 
 " Amen, amen to that," his wife said, lifting the 
 lid, laden with smouldering sods of turf, off a 
 bastable on the open hearth. " It's doing grand," 
 she added, peeping under the lid, "as brown as a 
 berry, and no signs of burning on it." 
 
 " It's little people'll care for soda cake when 
 they'll have lashings of white bread and their share 
 of the priest's currant cake as well." 
 
 " Don't you be always looking at the black side 
 of things, Mike Blake. When I was borrowing the 
 cups and saucers off Mrs. Maloney beyond at 
 
 B 
 
 2065740
 
 2 WAITING 
 
 Lissfad, she said the young curate had a liking for 
 soda cake. He was reared in a town, and no doubt 
 got his fill of white bread in his time, and he was 
 never seen to touch the priest's cake. His own 
 servant girl told Mrs. Maloney that, through dint of 
 fasting for the late masses, his stomach is that weak 
 that it rises against currant cake in the mornings." 
 
 Mike watched the turf blaze on the hearth for a 
 few minutes. 
 
 "That's queer now," he said, his eyes fixed 
 abstractedly on the pipe which he held out at 
 arm's length. " I'm always able to eat what God 
 sends." 
 
 Mrs. Blake took the cake out of the oven, laid 
 it end up against a ledge of the dresser, sniffing the 
 odour appreciatively. 
 
 " I know by the smell of it that it's as light as 
 a feather," she said, with a sigh of satisfaction. 
 " Everything is ready now for the morning, thanks 
 be to God." 
 
 " Sit down on the creepy there and take your 
 ease now, poor woman. It's on your feet you were 
 all day," Mike said, making elaborate preparations 
 for re-filling his pipe. 
 
 " I can't abide an untidy hearth. Wait till I 
 put the broom to it," she said, taking a broom 
 from beside the back door and brushing outlying 
 embers and ashes on to the fire. 
 
 She sat on a three-legged stool opposite her 
 husband, shaded her eyes from the blaze and 
 watched him scrape out his pipe with a broken blade 
 of an old pen-knife. He emptied the scrapings on 
 to the hob beside him, carefully replacing them in 
 the pipe when he had re-filled it with fresh tobacco. 
 Her gaze wandered to his face as he lifted a live sod
 
 WAITING 3 
 
 of turf with the tongs, blew it to a flame, and pro- 
 ceeded to light his pipe. As the flame glowed on 
 his face a short stubble showed on his clear, ruddy- 
 skin. 
 
 " 'Twould never do not to be shaved in front 
 of the priests," she said anxiously. 
 
 He rubbed his chin with his hand, put down the 
 tongs and said dolefully 
 
 "True for you, Mary. That's the worst of a 
 station or a fair or the like, a man has to face the 
 razor twice in the one week. I'll bring myself to it 
 sometime between this and the bed." 
 
 He puffed his pipe slowly, his eyes following 
 the shifting figures in the fire. Now and again a 
 troubled look flitted across his hard grey eyes, his 
 lips tightened on the pipe stem, giving prominence 
 to his strong chin, and the lines on his forehead 
 deepened. 
 
 His wife followed the changes in his face with 
 some anxiety. Once she opened her lips as if to 
 speak, but shut them again. He broke the silence 
 after a few minutes. 
 
 u 1 wish I hadn't to face the big man," he said, 
 puckering his forehead till his shaggy brows almost 
 covered his eyes. 
 
 " Sure, he can't eat you, Mike," she said 
 encouragingly. " And if Father James is hard to 
 deal with itself, we might make it worth his while to 
 be pleasant and accommodating." 
 
 She glanced round the kitchen complacently. 
 The hammered-earth floor was swept clean. The 
 light of the fire glinted on old lustre jugs hanging 
 from the well-stocked dresser. Little curtains of 
 cheap lace, looped back with pink ribbon, encased 
 the one small window. The feeble rays of an
 
 4 WAITING 
 
 oil lamp on the window sill showed up the well- 
 scoured deal table in front of the window, and 
 lost themselves in the dim shapes of a few hams 
 and flitches of bacon suspended from the newly 
 whitened ceiling. 
 
 "Whist, woman," he said, looking round 
 cautiously. " In a matter of the kind you mustn't 
 let one hand know what the other hand is doing. 
 We're fairly snug, thank God, but for all that we 
 mustn't be too free with the few pence we have. 
 There's Tom to think of, and Hanny will have to 
 be fortuned. Besides, it cost us a power of money 
 already to make Maurice a schoolmaster." 
 
 " It's little good that'll do him or us unless he 
 can get a school," Mrs. Blake said moodily. 
 
 " True enough," Mike said, tapping his pipe on 
 the heel of his shoe to loosen the tobacco ; " though 
 Maurice himself told me that up and down the 
 country everywhere there's plenty of priests giving 
 schools to masters for a knowledge of book-learning 
 alone, and without the compliment of a penny." 
 
 "What's the use of talking like that, Mike 
 Blake ? And the whole world knowing it was never 
 Father James Mahon's way to give anything for 
 nothing. Maybe it's how you want to break my 
 heart," she added, raising her voice, " by sending 
 my son roaming the nation in search of a cheap 
 school, and you having dry money, enough and 
 more to get him into Bourneen, lying idle in the 
 Liscannow bank. And me wearing myself to the 
 bone, too, for the last week, to ready the house for 
 as fine a station as will ever be seen in the townland 
 or for that matter, in the whole parish and all to 
 pave the way for you to broach the matter decently 
 to Father James."
 
 WAITING 5 
 
 She wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron. 
 
 " "Tis you always had the tears handy, Mary. 
 Accusing me in the wrong, too ! And I only sur- 
 veying the ground on all sides, so as to argue the 
 affair proper with Father James," he said with an 
 aggrieved look. 
 
 " I might get the young curate to put in a 
 good word with Father James," Mrs. Blake said 
 in a calm, tearless voice, smoothing her apron 
 carefully. " He's taken with Maurice greatly over 
 the Irish." 
 
 " You might drop a tear or two at him," Mike 
 said dryly. " If you got round the curate itself, 
 sorra much good it'd do you with Father James. 
 As long as I remember, the one thing he can't abide 
 above everything else is a curate sticking his nose 
 into the affairs of the parish." 
 
 " It's a pity we didn't make a priest of Maurice 
 when we were about it. We wouldn't have to be 
 going hat in hand for him now," Mrs. Blake said 
 with a sigh. 
 
 " Hear the woman talk ! " Mike said despairingly 
 to the fire, spreading out his hands and shaking his 
 head vigorously up and down. "It's hard set enough 
 we were to spare the money to make a schoolmaster 
 of him, let alone making a priest of him." 
 
 " There's no use crying over spilt milk anyway. 
 Here, take the kettle off the crane, and scrape the 
 beard off yourself while the house is quiet. There's 
 nothing you'd ever do right only that I'm always at 
 your elbow." 
 
 " You're a caution at the tongue, you are, Mary," 
 Mike grunted. 
 
 He stood up, stretched himself, yawned, and 
 set about his preparations for shaving in a leisurely
 
 6 WAITING 
 
 fashion. Taking the lamp off the window sill he 
 put it on the corner of the table, whence it shed 
 a faint light on a small handglass hanging on the 
 wall. He laid a tin basin of hot water on the 
 dresser, and, after much fumbling, found his razor 
 in one of the lustre jugs. 
 
 " If you make a mess of the dresser, you'll get a 
 taste of Hanny's tongue when she comes back from 
 the Reardons," Mrs. Blake said, as he began to splash 
 the water. 
 
 She mended a rent in the back of his sleeved 
 waistcoat while he shaved with much spluttering and 
 grunting. He had just put some cobweb on a cut 
 on his chin, and was stropping his razor on the leg 
 of his corduroy trousers, when the yard gate was shut 
 with a bang. 
 
 "That's Maurice, or them other galivanters, 
 Tom and Hanny though it's early for them yet," 
 Mrs. Blake said, pausing in her sewing and listening 
 intently. " There's only one footstep it must be 
 Maurice." 
 
 " Not a word to him about our little dealing with 
 Father James," Mike said hastily. " The less said 
 about a thing like that the soonest mended." 
 
 She nodded. The latch of the front door was 
 moved and the door pushed in. It was soon fol- 
 lowed by the half door, and a young man of about 
 twenty- four came in excitedly. 
 
 " It's true about the Bourneen school," he said. 
 " I got a lift home from Father Ned Malone, and 
 he told me for certain that the old master resigned 
 to-day." 
 
 His blue eyes gleamed and lit up his whole face, 
 giving a boyish softness to his strong jaw and firm 
 lips. He held up a discoloured newspaper parcel,
 
 WAITING 7 
 
 smiled with the corners of his lips, and threw the 
 parcel on the table. 
 
 " I don't think I'll ever be able to eat meat again 
 after bringing that all the way from Liscannow," 
 he said, wiping his hands on the roller towel at the 
 back of the door. 
 
 " I was afeard you might forget it, and we must 
 lose no chance of getting the right side of Father 
 James now," Mrs. Blake said, her eyes fixed on him 
 in admiration. " It's no surprise to me," she went 
 on, again plying her needle rapidly, " that Master 
 Driscoll is giving up. He gave me a hint of it 
 early in the summer, and you still up in Dublin at 
 the Training College. ' I'm growing old, Mrs. 
 Blake,' he said, c and by Christmas I'll lay the cane 
 aside. With the help of God, and approaching 
 Father Mahon in the right way, Maurice'll step 
 into my shoes,' he said." 
 
 Maurice took a seat in the chimney corner and 
 gazed at the fire. 
 
 " When I think of asking the big man I get 
 nervous," he said. " He's very distant with me 
 when he passes me on the road ever since I came 
 home. Though he knows I'm fully trained and all." 
 
 " Priests do have a lot on their minds," his 
 mother said eagerly. " I wouldn't mind his black 
 looks at all. Sure, you wouldn't, Mike ? " 
 
 " Sorra bit," Mike said, emptying the basin of 
 water with an emphatic dash through the back door. 
 "It comes natural to a man that has the ruling of 
 several hundred families in a big parish like this to 
 carry himself stiff"." 
 
 " It's not my idea of a priest," Maurice said, with 
 a slight frown ; " Father Ned, now, is different " 
 
 " Oh, he's only a new beginner. When he fills
 
 8 WAITING 
 
 out and gets a parish of his own, you'll see he'll be 
 important enough," Mrs. Blake said, holding up the 
 waistcoat to the light. 
 
 " He's not that sort," Maurice said, laughing. 
 
 " Will ye not leave the priests alone ? They 
 belong to God and let Him look after them," Mike 
 said, drawing a wooden chair across the floor to the 
 front of the fire. "Besides, you'd never know 
 when you'd want them to do you a good turn." 
 
 " He can't do worse than refuse me." 
 
 " Refuse a master with all the prize books and 
 certificates you have ! Did you ever hear the like, 
 Mike ? " Mrs. Blake said, throwing the waistcoat 
 into Mike's lap. "There's your waistcoat for you, 
 and don't be tearing it again in a hurry. Not but 
 that it might be better, maybe, if Mike had a word 
 with the priest first," she added, with a shrewd look 
 at her husband. 
 
 Maurice looked dubiously at his father, who 
 said, as he wriggled into his waistcoat, " It's hardly 
 worth while putting it on and it so near bed- 
 time 
 
 " Did you hear me, Mike ? " Mrs. Blake said 
 sharply. 
 
 " My face is as prickly as a furze field the way 
 I grubbed at it with the razor," Mike said irrele- 
 vantly. When he had buttoned his waistcoat he 
 glanced hesitatingly at his wife. Her stern look 
 seemed to give him courage. He struck his knee 
 sharply with his hand. "I'll do it," he said. "I'll 
 face him like a man." 
 
 " I think I'd rather send in my application and 
 stand on my own merits. After all, I'm well quali- 
 fied," Maurice said shyly. 
 
 " Listen to the dying-away voice of him when
 
 WAITING 9 
 
 he's talking of himself ! " Mrs. Blake said disdain- 
 fully. " If Father James let a bellow at you he'd 
 make you tongue-tied entirely. Be said by your 
 mother, and there's a good boy. Mike can make 
 the most of your good points. He's not much at 
 the talk except when he's worked up, but then the 
 language rises in him like water in a pump." 
 
 Maurice smiled, frowned and muttered some- 
 thing about not liking it. Mike shuffled his feet 
 uneasily and was about to speak when his wife shut 
 him up. 
 
 "Take a look up the road and see if them 
 stragglers are coming home," she said. " Hanny 
 and myself '11 have our work cut out for us in the 
 morning, and we ought to be in bed by now." 
 
 Mike got up with a sigh of relief. " I'll have 
 a look round too, and see that the cattle are safe for 
 the night," he said, moving towards the door. 
 
 Mother and son sat on by the fire. He played 
 with the smouldering sods with the tongs. She 
 watched him hungrily, her hands laid flat on her lap. 
 
 " It's a great chance to have you near me for 
 ever and always," she said, with a break in her 
 voice. 
 
 He looked up with a start, but her face was as 
 he had always seen it, lined and hard. 
 
 " I'll be able to work now. There's so much 
 for a man to do." The glow in his eyes died away. 
 " That is if I get Bourneen," he added doubtfully. 
 
 " I had it in my mind you to be there, ever since 
 the day Master Driscoll said he was going to make 
 a monitor of you," she said gently. 
 
 " I've been a great burthen on ye all, spending 
 and not making anything." 
 
 " Mike itself, and he's sometimes close with the
 
 io WAITING 
 
 money, never grudged the few pounds we spent on 
 you." 
 
 " I didn't mean it in that way, mother," he said 
 impulsively, laying his hand on hers. 
 
 She looked at his hand curiously for a moment. 
 " I don't know what's come over me," she said, 
 rising hastily. " It's the press of work for the 
 station, I doubt, that has taken the wits out of me." 
 
 She moved and replaced several articles on the 
 dresser. " That's your father's notion of cleaning 
 up after himself. He and his shaving ! It's like a 
 litter of pigs about the floor. It's marrying you'll 
 be thinking of now when you get a school of your 
 own ? " she added without turning round. 
 
 Maurice laughed heartily. " It's a queer mood 
 you're in, mother. I've something else to do 
 besides marrying. Moreover, there isn't a girl 
 between here and Dublin that'd take a second 
 look at me." 
 
 " Isn't there then ? " she said, bridling and 
 facing him, her arms akimbo. Her eyes rested 
 on his face, from which his eyes gleamed humor- 
 ously through half-closed lids ; passed with a grow- 
 ing look of satisfaction over his well-knit figure, 
 the lines of which not even his ill-fitting black 
 coat and baggy tweed trousers could conceal. "And 
 plenty, maybe, the hussies ! if you gave 'em any 
 encouragement. Keep ofF them, Maurice, agra, 
 it's only supping sorrow you'd be with the half ot 
 'em. Not that people heed that very much when 
 the fit is on 'em," she added half to herself. 
 
 The sound of laughter came through the open 
 door. Mrs. Blake frowned. She listened a moment 
 and smiled wearily. 
 
 " That's Minnie Reardon's laugh," she said,
 
 WAITING 1 1 
 
 pursing her lips. " She sees Tom and Hanny down 
 the road, and now he'll see her back home. Well, 
 well, sooner or later it comes to every one, and he 
 could do worse. Larry Reardon can give her a 
 good pot of money, and we could fortune Hanny 
 out of it decently, and have some over. What kept 
 you so late, Hanny ? " she said to a shawled girl 
 who stood hesitating in the doorway. 
 
 " The Irish class was late to-night," Hanny said 
 apologetically. " But look at what I've brought, 
 mother." 
 
 " Irish or Rooshan, it's the same the world 
 
 over " Mrs. Blake was beginning, when she 
 
 caught sight of a teapot in the parcel which Hanny 
 was undoing. " Not Mrs. Reardon's best Britannia 
 metal teapot ! " she said in surprise. 
 
 "The very one," Hanny said, displaying it 
 proudly. " Mrs. Reardon forced it on me, for to 
 be the priest's teapot at the station to-morrow. 
 It'll look grand at the head of the table." 
 
 " Six and twenty years I've seen it in her cup- 
 board, or on her room table on station days, but she 
 never proffered it to me before," Mrs. Blake said 
 musingly, holding the teapot between her and the 
 light. 
 
 " It's a grand teapot," Maurice said quizzingly. 
 
 " It is," Mrs. Blake said, snapping her lips. 
 " It shows how the wind blows up at the Reardons, 
 anyway. But sure, it's glad and thanking God I 
 ought to be to have Tom well done for, and not 
 to be flying in the face of Providence." 
 
 " Strawberry and Blacky were lashing at other 
 
 in the stall, and I had to spancel " Mike said, 
 
 coming in. 
 
 His wife interrupted him crossly. " It's all
 
 12 WAITING 
 
 hours of the night. Will you begin the Rosary, 
 Mike Blake, and not be gabbling there ? I'll have 
 to be up before the dawn to ready things for the 
 priests." 
 
 Mike grumbled that there was " no depending 
 on a woman's temper between one minute and the 
 next," but he knelt obediently by the hob, and gave 
 out the Five Glorious Mysteries, to which his 
 family responded, kneeling beside a chair or table. 
 Mrs. Blake looked towards the door as the latch 
 rattled in the middle of the second mystery, and 
 watched Tom, a loose-framed, yellow-haired giant, 
 creep in on tiptoe and kneel by the dresser. " I 
 might as well steel my heart to be parted from them 
 all," she muttered, leaning her head on her arms. 
 In a moment she added a fervent voice to the 
 response, " Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for 
 us sinners.
 
 CHAPTER 11 
 
 HANNY BLAKE'S face was flushed and shining as 
 she stood before the looking-glass in the kitchen 
 and pushed a stray curl into place. 
 
 " What o'clock is it now ? " Mrs. Blake called 
 out anxiously from a room off the kitchen. 
 
 " It's seven by the clock, so it's half-past six 
 at least," Hanny replied, after a few seconds calcu- 
 lation in front of the old, uncased, grandfather clock 
 hanging from the wall beside the dresser. " Every- 
 thing is near done, and there's oceans of time. No 
 one is likely to be here before half-past seven." 
 
 " Did you see that your father had on his clean 
 shirt ? " 
 
 I did." 
 
 " I'm just getting out of my old skirt, and I'll be 
 ready to meet the world in a couple of minutes. 
 Come in and see is there any button loose behind 
 on me ? " 
 
 Hanny stood for a while at the door, admiring 
 the room for the hundredth time. It was all newly 
 done up. Pink tissue paper filled the small grate. 
 Blue cornflowers predominated in the many-coloured 
 wall-paper. A brilliant patchwork quilt covered the 
 four-poster bed in the corner. Bed-posts, wooden 
 chairs, the mantelpiece, the window sill, the huge 
 cupboard, and Mrs. Blake's wooden chest, at the 
 foot of the bed, were all freshly painted in chocolate
 
 i 4 WAITING 
 
 red. The crochet antimacassar on the one hair-cloth 
 armchair, the curtains on bed and window had come 
 spotless from a recent washing. New fibre matting 
 covered the earthen floor. Mrs. Blake's cast-off 
 clothes, strewn around her on the matting, were alone 
 out of place. Hanny picked them up and thrust 
 them into the trunk. She then walked all round 
 her mother and nodded approvingly. 
 
 " You look years younger in them clothes," she 
 said, tightening a hairpin. " Though the apron is 
 white itself, I'd be inclined to leave it off," she 
 added, examining it critically. 
 
 " I'd be lost without it for want of something 
 to do with my hands," Mrs. Blake said, looking 
 round the room carefully. " Everything is right 
 here as far as I can see. There's the chair with the 
 cushion on it for Father James to hear on, and all 
 the things for the room breakfast are on the table 
 there in the corner. Don't forget to come in about 
 the last gospel and pull it into the middle of the 
 room, and lay it out right. Minnie Reardon might 
 help you." 
 
 " She will. I asked her last night ; she said 
 she'd be glad to do anything." 
 
 " She did, did she ? I suppose she thinks any 
 one marrying Tom'll get the room. But sorra foot 
 Mike and me'll budge out of it as long as there's 
 breath in our bodies. If the finest lady in the land 
 came into the house she must put up with the big 
 room upstairs, and I'll be loth to disturb Maurice 
 out of that too, for a stranger. Is there a chair 
 in your room for Father Ned to hear on ? " 
 
 "There is." 
 
 " And everything else ? " 
 
 Hanny ticked off the items on her fingers.
 
 WAITING 15 
 
 " The cows are milked and driven out. The 
 horses are in the cow stalls, and there's a feed 
 of oats in the manger in the stable for the priests' 
 horses." 
 
 " You saw to that with your own eyes ? " 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " I wouldn't trust a man to do anything right on 
 a morning like this. Any trifle of sense they have 
 leaves them. I'm sure your father forgot to put a 
 bundle of rushes in that puddle by the gate ? " 
 
 " He did it near an hour ago. Besides, it's 
 near dried out with the frost." 
 
 Mrs. Blake looked disappointed, but said cheer- 
 fully- 
 
 " It promises to be sunny, and it'll get wet again 
 soon. Them white frosts don't last long." 
 
 They went into the kitchen, where Hanny con- 
 tinued to tick off her list. 
 
 " The kitchen breakfast things are on the dresser, 
 all ready. The big kettle is full to the brim, and 
 on the top crook, well out of the reach of the fire. 
 The eggs are in the skillet, ready to be put on. The 
 beefsteak is in the pan under the hob." 
 
 " Everything is going too smooth to last," Mrs. 
 Blake said dolefully. " You forgot the clean bag 
 for the priest's feet in front of the altar when he's 
 saying mass," she added sharply. 
 
 " I didn't then. It's there rolled up so as not to 
 be walked on by the throng of people. I'll spread 
 it out after Matsey Boylan lays the altar," Hanny 
 said, in a slightly ruffled tone. 
 
 " Don't lose heart, Hanny, agra," Mrs. Blake 
 said, patting her daughter on the shoulder. " I'm 
 not fault-finding. Only making sure that we'll get 
 the full credit out of all our slaving and a credit
 
 1 6 WAITING 
 
 to us it is, if we were up before cock-crow to-day 
 itself." 
 
 She looked around the kitchen complacently, at 
 the cheerful turf fire on the hearth, at the burnished, 
 brass candlesticks on the ledge over the settle. She 
 sighed happily as she took a Prayer-book off a shelf, 
 sat on a creepy and said 
 
 " I might be able to say a few prayers, and 
 prepare for confession before the people come. 
 You'd best rest your limbs too." 
 
 Hanny was too restless to sit down. She took 
 another look in the glass, and refixed the brooch in 
 the lace collar which she wore over her blouse. As 
 she stood at the door the red sun turned to gold as 
 it rose over a low hill in the distance. The bare 
 elm tree at the end of the bawn seemed to hold the 
 sun in the close embrace of one of its huge branches, 
 curved like an arm. It reminded her somehow of 
 Jim Reardon. She blushed, and fell to wondering 
 if he'd admire all she had done to the house for the 
 last week. Would she ever have a house of her 
 own to paper, and whitewash and paint ? Jim 
 Reardon came into her thoughts again, but she 
 said a " Hail Mary " to put him away he was too 
 distracting. With a deep sigh she went in to the 
 kitchen, knelt by the settle and began her preparation 
 for confession. 
 
 Mike Blake and his two sons lounged by the 
 gate, clad in their best clothes. 
 
 " We were turned out of bed hours too early," 
 Mike said resentfully. 
 
 " It was the most wonderful dawn I ever saw," 
 Maurice said dreamily : " the grey pallor of a corpse 
 flushing into this." He waved his hand towards 
 the elm tree.
 
 WAITING 17 
 
 Mike yawned. " It's the promise or a fine day, 
 sure enough, but I wish I wasn't shook out of the 
 blankets so soon, and I wanting all my strength, 
 too, to face Father James." He dragged at his tight 
 collar. " If a man could only take a shough of a 
 pipe itself, but I'm afeard of swallowing the smoke 
 and breaking my fast, and it'd never do for the 
 head of the house not to lead the way to com- 
 munion at a station mass. Look down the road, 
 Tom, and see if there's any signs of the priests' 
 coming." 
 
 Tom stepped out briskly, fingering his tie, 
 rubbing back his shock hair at the sides, and 
 straightening his hat. He looked up the road first 
 and sighed. 
 
 " There's no sign of them," he said dejectedly, 
 when he returned. 
 
 " Nor of the Reardons either, I suppose ? " 
 Maurice said dryly, with a smile. 
 
 " No," Tom said shortly, blushing to the colour 
 of his reddish-yellow hair. 
 
 " You're doing great work about the place, 
 Tom," Maurice said. 
 
 Tom looked pleased, but said gruffly, " It's only 
 a trifle." 
 
 " It's a tower of strength you are to the 
 place " 
 
 " I think I'll wait within," Tom said, interrupting 
 his father. 
 
 " I'd as Kef keep out of the reach of your mother's 
 tongue when she's in a fuss," Mike said, his eyes 
 following Tom's retreating figure. " He's a giant 
 of a man and as biddable as a child a throw back 
 in size to some old ancestor, I suppose, for he's a 
 head above his mother or myself. Not but he has 
 
 c
 
 1 8 WAITING 
 
 the obstinacy of a jackass when he's roused, which 
 is seldom. It's the way with all them quiet-going 
 people. He mightn't have the learning of you, 
 
 Maurice, but he has a powerful grip of things " 
 
 He was settling himself down to a long speech 
 when a young priest drove up to the gate. 
 
 " You're heartily welcome, Father Ned," Mike 
 said, standing, hat in hand, at the side of the trap, 
 while Maurice stood at the horse's head. 
 
 The priest, a tall, fair man in glasses, a heavy 
 frieze coat buttoned to his chin, jumped down and 
 shook Mike's hand warmly. 
 
 "Don't let the grass grow under your feet 
 about Bourneen school," he whispered to Maurice 
 as he passed. " I tried to pump the P.P. last night, 
 but he was a dry well." 
 
 Mrs. Blake, Hanny and Tom met him at the 
 door. 
 
 " God bless the house," he said heartily. 
 "And you too, Father," they said in one voice. 
 Before he had taken off his overcoat half a dozen 
 people arrived. He chatted pleasantly with them, 
 holding his hands towards the blaze. 
 
 " Won't you sit down, Father, and take a real 
 heat of the fire ? " Mrs. Blake said, pushing a chair 
 towards him. 
 
 He shook his head, took a purple stole from the 
 pocket of his soutane and put it round his neck. 
 
 " I'm late as it is," he said, with a regretful 
 glance at the fire. " I must try and hear the bulk 
 of the people before Father James comes. If you 
 show me where I'm to sit, I'll start at once." 
 
 She led the way to Hanny's small bedroom 
 off the kitchen, to the back of " the room." He 
 sat on a chair inside the half-opened door. Mrs.
 
 WAITING 19 
 
 Blake knelt on the clay floor and began her 
 confession. 
 
 " The curate itself stands in fear of the big man," 
 a woman in the kitchen whispered. 
 
 " Faith, and why wouldn't he ? 'Tis Father 
 James has an awesome eye," her neighbour replied. 
 
 A thin stream of people now began to arrive. The 
 queue, opposite the room in which Father Malone 
 was hearing confessions, extended in an irregular 
 curve to the back door, and along the side-wall as 
 far as the settle. Most of the women wore shawls 
 over their heads ; a few were in hats and bonnets, 
 and a few in long, hooded cloaks of dark-blue pilot 
 cloth. Even Hanny donned a shawl before taking 
 her place in the queue. When they had confessed, 
 the women knelt in corners or around the fireplace, 
 and prayed with an occasional whisper to a neigh- 
 bour. " 'Tis Father Ned is easy with the penance." 
 u He's a grand man entirely." " He never puts the 
 blush on your face with an awkward question." 
 The men, after kneeling for a few minutes, retired 
 to the yard in front of the house, where they talked 
 in small groups in hushed tones. Mrs. Blake flitted 
 between " the room " and the kitchen fire, making 
 final preparations. She counted the people in the 
 kitchen and in the yard and whispered to Hanny 
 
 " Do you miss any one ? " 
 
 u They're all here except the Dilleens, and you 
 can count on three of them." 
 
 " Stand you by the door and give me word when 
 Father James appears, so that I can be outside to bid 
 him welcome." 
 
 She placed the Britannia metal teapot, a large tin 
 one, and two made of brown earthenware on the 
 seat within the fireplace.
 
 20 WAITING 
 
 " Keep an eye on them, Mrs. Donlon," she said 
 to a woman kneeling near, " and don't let any one 
 knock over the canister." 
 
 " Here's Father James now, mother. He's just 
 getting down at the gate," Hanny said in a loud, 
 excited whisper. 
 
 There was a general movement throughout the 
 kitchen. The muttering of prayer in the corners 
 ceased. All stood up. 
 
 " Keep the passage to the room clear, and to the 
 fire, too. He might like a heat of it before he begins 
 to hear," Mrs. Blake said, rushing towards the door. 
 
 ''Let me in before you, Bessy," a girl said 
 eagerly to another in front of her in Father Malone's 
 queue. " 1 must get heard before Father Ned stops. 
 I never could face Father James. Sure you have 
 nothing to tell." 
 
 "Little or more, I'm not going to tell it to 
 Father James. The place I have I'll keep." 
 
 Mrs. Blake and Hanny stood on the doorstep. 
 The men in the yard held their hats in their hands. 
 Mike Blake stretched an arm over the wheel of 
 Father Mahon's trap to save his greatcoat. Tom 
 patted the horse's head, while Maurice fidgeted 
 uneasily in the background. 
 
 Still sitting in the trap Father Mahon unwound 
 a long, black, woollen muffler which swathed his 
 neck and the lower part of his face. 
 
 "Hang that near the fire. It might be damp 
 from the touch of frost on my breath," he said, 
 handing the muffler to Mike. 
 
 " Sure I will, your reverence." 
 " Rub the mare down well, and cover her. 
 Don't give her more than a lock of oats, only let it 
 be good."
 
 WAITING 21 
 
 " I'll see to that, sir," Tom said stiffly. 
 
 A slight look of suspicion passed over the priest's 
 steel grey eyes, but he laughed. It was an un- 
 smiling laugh that came in a harsh cackle from the 
 back of his throat, and had a varied effect on those 
 who heard it. Tom twitched at the reins, and, with 
 a sour look on his usually pleasant face, said, " Dang 
 you," to the mare. Matsey Boylan, the clerk, 
 who was fumbling with the station-box at the back 
 of the trap, grasped the box nervously and slunk away 
 towards the house. Mike attempted a sickly smile, 
 but there was no responsive laugh from any one. 
 
 Father Mahon frowned on Tom ; who said 
 cheerfully, " I'm afraid I pulled her mouth, your 
 reverence." 
 
 The frown persisted as he descended from the 
 trap with dignity. It was more pleasant than his 
 laugh and seemed to put Mike at his ease. 
 
 "You're looking grand, your reverence," he 
 said admiringly. 
 
 "Thank you, thank you," the priest said, 
 drawing himself up. 
 
 He was an imposing man of about six feet 
 two, and held his square shoulders well back. He 
 carried himself so well that one hardly noticed 
 the curvature in the front of his overcoat where 
 the middle buttons were somewhat strained. In 
 occasional moments of repose his face looked hand- 
 some. His chin was strong, his nose well formed ; 
 the blue black of his skin, where he shaved, went 
 well with his rather heavy, black eyebrows and thick, 
 black hair flecked with grey. But he had a habit 
 of protruding his under-lip and contracting his 
 forehead and eyebrows that took away somewhat 
 from his good looks.
 
 22 WAITING 
 
 He threw a keen look at Maurice, said " How 
 are you ? " but did not wait for a reply. He looked 
 over the wall of the kitchen garden on his left 
 and said, " Humph ! " as his eyes rested on some 
 flower beds. 
 
 "They're Hanny's," Mike said. "Tom gives 
 her a hand at them an odd time." 
 
 Mrs. Blake was already curtseying at the door ; 
 but Father James, after waving his hand carelessly 
 to a few men in the yard who greeted him, stood 
 inspecting the house, his eyes passing through and 
 over her without recognition. 
 
 "You're getting up in the world every year, 
 Mike," he said. 
 
 " God is fairly good to us," Mike said cautiously. 
 " I don't hold myself with whitewashing to that 
 extent. And them window boxes are only throwing 
 away money. It cost a power, too, to move the 
 manure heap out of the bawn, and shut up the 
 doors of the stable and cowhouse on this side, 
 and make new doors into the new yard at the 
 back." 
 
 " Humph ! " Father James said, walking on. 
 
 Mrs. Blake curtseyed again, saying, "You're 
 welcome, Father." 
 
 "Well, Mrs. Blake," he said, shaking hands 
 with a preoccupied air, " how is all your care ? " 
 
 " Finely, your reverence, and thank you kindly," 
 she said, following at his heels. "There's a nip of 
 frost in the air. Won't you take a heat of the 
 fire ? " 
 
 He made no reply to this. He nodded and 
 waved his right hand in a blessing to those who 
 bowed and curtseyed in the kitchen, as he walked 
 into the room.
 
 WAITING 23 
 
 " For God sake let some one go in to him ? 
 He'll be vexed to be kept waiting," Mrs. Blake said 
 anxiously. 
 
 " I suppose I'll have to go in," Mike said with 
 a sigh, laying his hat on the floor. 
 
 " 'Tis Mike has the bold spirit," a woman said 
 admiringly. 
 
 " Sure if the man of the house wouldn't give 
 the good example, who would ? " another said. 
 
 " Himself isn't in the best of tempers to-day," 
 Mrs. Blake said to Matsey Boylan, busy over the 
 station-box, jerking her thumb towards the room 
 door. 
 
 " If it's Mike you mean, I see no loss on him ; 
 if it's the priest you mean, he's as cross as two sticks," 
 Matsey said, lifting the collapsible station-box on to 
 the kitchen table, and giving his attention to the 
 arrangement of the temporary altar. 
 
 " Put a splinter of wood, one of ye, under that 
 front leg of the table to steady it," he said. " That'll 
 do now. Let ye keep back," he added to several 
 willing helpers, " and don't ye put a finger near any 
 of the blessed things, the chalice or the altar stone 
 or the like, or maybe ye'd find yourselves turned 
 into a beast or something worse." 
 
 " Glory be to God," an old woman said, " and 
 it's gospel truth, for I often heard it said in my 
 young days." 
 
 Mrs. Blake was busy dragging people from the 
 end of Father Ned Malone's queue and pushing 
 them forcibly through " the room " door to confess 
 to Father Mahon. She soon tired of this and spoke 
 generally 
 
 " Ye might as well go first as last. The more 
 of ye that go to him the better chance there'll be
 
 24 WAITING 
 
 for the rest of ye to be heard by the young priest. 
 For if ye leave long gaps Father James'll think 
 ye're all done, and give orders to Father Ned to 
 begin the mass. And where'll ye be then ? Ye'll 
 have to go to Father Mahon whether ye like it 
 or no." 
 
 "There's something in what you say, Mrs. 
 Blake, but I don't see how 'twould benefit me," 
 a woman said doubtfully, making an effort to resist 
 Mrs. Blake's pull on her arm. " I don't like to be 
 disrespectful to the woman of the house, but you 
 took good care, ma'am, to make your soul yourself 
 with the young curate." 
 
 " Is the altar ready ? " Father Mahon called out 
 from the room. 
 
 " It is, your reverence. I'm just lighting the 
 candles," Matsey said. 
 
 "Then ring the bell and tell Father Malone to 
 begin mass. I'll hear the few that are over." 
 
 " Let me in first, Matsey, and I'll not forget it 
 to you," whispered the man nearest Father Malone's 
 door as Matsey approached. 
 
 " It'd be as much as my place is worth, if him- 
 self came to know of it," Matsey said, after a 
 moment's hesitation ; " and he has eyes in the back 
 of his head." 
 
 There was a general sigh from the penitents 
 as they crossed over reluctantly to Father Mahon's 
 door. 
 
 While Father Malone was praying in front of 
 the altar, Matsey rang a small bell at the kitchen 
 door. The little groups in the yard broke up and 
 the men entered the house. The large kitchen was 
 soon packed, an overflow extending into Hanny's 
 bedroom. Mrs. Blake lowered the kettle nearer
 
 WAITING 25 
 
 to the flame, drew the pot of eggs close to the fire 
 and ladled tea into the teapots. 
 
 Before putting on his chasuble Father Malone 
 sprinkled the little congregation with holy water. 
 All stood up to receive it. For a moment there 
 was a re-shifting of places. Hanny knelt near the 
 room door. Mrs. Blake beckoned to Maurice and 
 whispered 
 
 " I'll keep handy to the fire myself to lift on the 
 things when the time comes. Keep convenient to 
 the front door you. Though you shut the half- 
 door itself, them hens have a way of jumping up on 
 it when they're least wanted. Hoosh them off the 
 minute you catch sight of one, or they'll be drowning 
 the voice of the priest and Matsey." 
 
 Maurice knelt in the corner between the dresser 
 and the door. Not even the warm clasp of old 
 Master Driscoll's hand, nor his assurance, " he 
 must give it to you the whole parish would rise 
 against him if he didn't," had driven away the 
 feeling of depression evoked in him by Father 
 Mahon's manner. He had missed going to con- 
 fession to Father Malone. He watched the people 
 go in and out of the room in which Father Mahon 
 was still hearing, and half got up off his knees. 
 He dropped back again. It would be a mockery 
 with the feelings he had towards the priest. He 
 heard the priest's voice raised in anger addressing 
 some penitent, and felt still more bitter. Stories he 
 had heard from his youth up of Father Mahon's 
 tyranny came into his mind ; and stories of other 
 priests heard from students in the Training College. 
 How could he take a school from him ? A longing 
 to get away from Bourneen came over him. A hen 
 fluttered on to the half-door. He hooshed it away
 
 26 WAITING 
 
 with a smile, and smiled again at a ridiculous mis- 
 pronunciation of a Latin phrase in Matsey's stentorian 
 voice. He looked towards the altar. Father 
 Malone's eyes were fixed with an absorbed look on 
 the missal from which he was reading the Sanctus. 
 Was it the effect of his glasses, or some trick of the 
 sunlight streaming through the window and lighting 
 up the priest's face, that so transformed his common- 
 place features ? An indescribable quality was in his 
 voice too, as if he saw and felt and tried to put into 
 words some vision that made him transcendently 
 happy. 
 
 Matsey tinkled the bell at the end of the Sanctus 
 and the spell was broken. Father Mahon blew his 
 nose loudly in the room. Father Malone read the 
 canon silently. The congregation coughed and 
 shuffled. A voice said impatiently, "Don't be 
 scrooging me, will you ? " The bell tinkled again 
 to announce the consecration. There was a drawing 
 in of breath and a bending of heads. The priest's 
 voice, hardly raised above his breath, filled the whole 
 kitchen. The kettle sang on the hearth, the clock 
 ticked loudly, a cock crowed in the yard. But 
 these sounds only made the silence deeper. The 
 sun danced, as if in joy, on the brass candlesticks 
 over the settle, on the tin basin that hung by the 
 back door, and glittered through the white hair 
 of an old man bending forward over the stick with 
 which he supported his shaking body. The priest's 
 voice seemed to have gathered to itself all the pent- 
 up emotion of the congregation as he spoke the 
 words of consecration, and, for a moment, Maurice 
 had the feeling of infinite peace and harmony that 
 he felt, earlier in the morning, when the first saffron 
 tints of the sky in the east flushed into pink.
 
 WAITING 27 
 
 At the last tinkle of the bell the whole congrega- 
 tion breathed a deep sigh in unison, and the coughing 
 and shuffling began anew. As he held back from 
 communion Maurice felt that he had missed much, 
 and regretted that he had not gone to confession, 
 even to Father Mahon of whom he now thought 
 more gently. 
 
 At the last gospel Mrs. Blake elbowed her way 
 towards Hanny. 
 
 " Why aren't you laying the table ? " she said 
 impatiently. 
 
 " He's walking about the room, and Minnie 
 and myself were afraid to venture it." 
 
 " You haven't the spunk of a cat. Go up and 
 wet the tea you, and I'll do it." 
 
 As Father Malone was taking off his vest- 
 ments, Father Mahon stood in front of the altar, 
 facing the people, and spoke what he called a few 
 words in season. He gave a vivid picture of hell, 
 of its many torments, especially of its heat, which 
 was so great that if all the oceans, seas, rivers and 
 lakes of the world were poured into hell they would 
 dry up in a moment, quicker than a spit in a 
 limekiln. He was in the middle of an illustration 
 in which a little boy in torn breeches was sliding 
 down a red-hot banister, when the frizzling and 
 odour of beefsteak filled the room. 
 
 " Bedad, I can smell the gossoon burning," some 
 one whispered. 
 
 There was a smothered laugh. Father Mahon 
 frowned and paused. 
 
 " If he starts again the tea'll be as black as 
 senna," came from near the fire. 
 
 There was a loud clatter of crockery from the 
 room.
 
 28 WAITING 
 
 " It's impossible for a preacher to collect his 
 thoughts in such a pandemonium. I'll take the 
 dues now," Father Mahon said crossly, opening a 
 black note-book which he had been fingering while 
 he was preaching. 
 
 " Mike Blake," he called out. 
 Mike laid a half-sovereign and a half-crown on 
 the table which, by Matsey Boylan's efforts while 
 Father Mahon was preaching, had ceased to be an 
 altar. 
 
 " For the mass ; for the dues," Mike said, as 
 he laid down each coin separately. 
 
 " It's an improvement ; but not enough, not 
 enough," the priest said, protruding his under lip. 
 " A man of your substance too, and your land your 
 own now." 
 
 " And what would you be cessing me at, your 
 reverence ? " Mike said, scratching his grizzled 
 head. 
 
 " Make it the even pound," the priest said, 
 wetting the point of his pencil. 
 
 " Bedad, that's new doctrine, your reverence, 
 and I paying high at the Christmas and Easter 
 collections." 
 
 " There's no compulsion," the priest said laugh- 
 ing, showing his regular, yellow teeth. 
 
 " What are you up to, Mike ? bandying words 
 with the priest, and in your own house too," 
 Mrs. Blake said agitatedly, a teapot in her hand. 
 " He's got into that habit of arguing with me, your 
 reverence, over every trifle, 'tis no wonder he'd 
 forget himself when he's talking to his betters. 
 And the priest of the parish, too ! For shame, 
 Mike 1 " 
 
 Mike drew a dirty linen bag from an inside
 
 WAITING 29 
 
 pocket of his waistcoat, and reluctantly undid the 
 string. He laid another half-sovereign on the 
 table, and was taking back the half-crown when 
 Mrs. Blake pulled away his hand. 
 
 "Is it take back money you would, once you 
 laid it on the altar of God ? You're no better than 
 a heathen savage. He's only an ignorant man at 
 the best, your reverence." 
 
 " God will bless the cheerful giver," Father 
 James said sententiously. " You all know how it 
 grieves me to speak about money. All I shall say 
 is that I hope Mike Blake's generosity will prove a 
 good example to others." 
 
 " I never heard him yet that there wasn't a silver 
 tail to his sermon," Larry Reardon muttered to his 
 wife, in the background. " 'Twas a dirty trick 
 Mike Blake played on the whole of us, giving such 
 a lead as that so readily." 
 
 " I wouldn't be too hard on the poor people. 
 It's easy seen they're making up to him because 
 of Maurice," his wife whispered. " We'll have to 
 rise a little I doubt, but I'd take no pattern from 
 Mike Blake. On account of the purchase of the 
 land, and the whole world knows we got it cheap, 
 I wouldn't grudge him a couple of shillings. 
 But as for gold ! I'd see him in heaven first, the 
 Lord forgive me. There's many a place the 
 station dues is only a shilling, and he's bent on 
 making 'em equal to Christmas and Easter. You 
 haven't the character of a mouse, Larry, unless 
 you put down your foot upon it," she added 
 vehemently. 
 
 " Whist, woman. It's easier said than done ; 
 not but I'll put up a strong fight," Larry said, with 
 doubtful firmness.
 
 30 WAITING 
 
 While Father James haggled with each con- 
 tributor, Mike Blake stood by the front door with 
 hospitable intent. Custom made the house free to 
 all for mass, but breakfast was a matter of private 
 hospitality. Custom also dictated that after payment 
 of the dues all strangers should make an effort to 
 leave. Mike intercepted them at the door. 
 
 " Sorra foot any one'll leave the house without 
 breakfast. Don't be slipping away there, Mrs. 
 Hinnissey," he said, embracing a fat woman who 
 got wedged in the doorway in an attempt to get 
 out. 
 
 "With all the throng you have, I thought I'd 
 better be making myself scarce." 
 
 "There's lashings for all, and besides the wife'd 
 never forgive you for leaving her in the lurch 
 like that." 
 
 " Faith, I wouldn't be offending her for the 
 whole world," Mrs. Hinnissey said, going back 
 cheerfully. 
 
 " I am surprised at you trying to leave without 
 breaking your fast, Teigue Donlon." 
 
 " Mightn't I be let have a draw of the pipe in 
 the yard itself ? " 
 
 Mike looked out. " You might then. Tom is 
 at his post by the gate, so there's no danger of you 
 slipping away. I'd like a few draws myself, but I 
 must do my duty here," with a sigh. 
 
 Mrs. Blake kept up a constant march between 
 the room and the kitchen fire. She chafed at the 
 delay over the collection, complained that the eggs 
 would be as hard as bullets : a hard case for her, 
 she explained, as it was her pride on a station day 
 to have the milk running out of the tops. The 
 steak, too, was done to thraneens and would be
 
 WAITING 31 
 
 as tough as leather, a sore trial for Father Mahon's 
 teeth to get through. It was all to the good, of 
 course, to have the room table laid, but how was a 
 woman to have any peace till the kitchen table was 
 ready ? and that couldn't be touched till the money 
 was cleared off it. She put fresh coals under the 
 teapots, ranged in a semicircle round the hearth, and 
 ordered Minnie Reardon to keep on cutting bread 
 and butter, nice and thick, while she had any strength 
 left in her arm. She gave a sigh of relief when 
 Father Mahon closed the station book with 
 
 " It's not too bad, but it ought to be better, 
 much better." 
 
 " Won't you take the head of the table in the 
 room now, your reverence ? Sure you must be 
 starved to death," she said, curtseying. 
 
 He assented graciously, almost with a smile. 
 " There's no use in leaving this money to Mike 
 he has too much as it is," he said jocosely, gathering 
 up the coins and stuffing them into his trousers' 
 pockets. 
 
 When the priest left the kitchen Hanny spread 
 a cloth on the kitchen table, which was soon covered 
 with dishes of bread and butter, currant cake, eggs, 
 and a varied assortment of crockery. There was 
 much disputing as to who should sit at the kitchen 
 table or in the room with the priests. It needed much 
 persuasion and some pushing on the part of Mrs. 
 Blake to induce her guests to take the more honour- 
 able position. One said that the big man paralysed 
 his tongue ; another, that he could eat more free if 
 the eyes of the clergy wasn't on him. Matsey 
 Boylan said that by rights the clerk of the parish 
 should sit with the clergy it was the way in old 
 ancient days ; but in these days the clerk had come
 
 32 WAITING 
 
 down in the world, and only for the drop of wine 
 that was always left when Father M alone said mass, 
 he'd have no heart in him for his breakfast at all. 
 
 " Is it a fine young man like you, and all the 
 girls running after you, Matsey ? " Mrs. Hinnissey 
 said. 
 
 " They are that. But what's the use, when my 
 mother won't let me have one of them ?" he said 
 dismally. " I'll be fifty-three come Martinmas, but 
 she says she'd take the stick to me if ever I thought 
 of bringing one of 'em in on the floor to her." Tears 
 filled his weak, rheumy eyes and his jaw dropped. 
 
 " And who is she now ? " Mrs. Hinnissey said 
 encouragingly. 
 
 Matsey's eyes brightened and he pushed a wisp 
 of grey hair over his bald forehead. 
 
 " Well, last week it was Ellen Davey ; but I was 
 greatly taken by a likely girl of the Dwyers' at the 
 station we were at yesterday. But, begob, if either 
 Miss Hanny there or Miss Reardon would only say 
 the word, I'd risk my mother and the stick," he 
 said valiantly, though his wizened face blanched a 
 little. 
 
 "It's a pity I'm not a widow woman," Mrs. 
 Hinnissey said with a sigh. " If I could only get 
 rid of Jack you might cast an eye on me, Matsey ? " 
 
 Matsey looked at her critically. 
 
 " There's no denying you're fine and fat and 
 comfortable looking " 
 
 "I'm the best of fat pork," Mrs. Hinnissey 
 shouted, laughing boisterously. 
 
 " Come away into the room out of that, Mrs. 
 Hinnissey," Mrs. Blake interrupted, " and try and 
 raise a laugh there. A funeral is nothing to it for 
 solemn seriousness. And you, too, Mrs. Reardon,
 
 WAITING 33 
 
 there's a place next Father James for you. And 
 who has a better right to sit forenint her own tea- 
 pot?" 
 
 " There's no denying the woman of the house," 
 Mrs. Hinnissey said, making a wry face, " even if it 
 loses me my chances of Matsey itself." 
 
 " Make your mind easy, ma'am," Matsey said 
 graciously, " I think I'll stick to the young ones 
 they're more suited to my sprightly youth. Maybe 
 before I'm done eating I might make up my mind 
 which of them I'll have since I can't have 'em 
 both," he added with a sigh. 
 
 With the coming of Mrs. Reardon and Mrs. 
 Hinnissey the table in the room was full. Father 
 Mahon sat at the head with Father Malone on 
 his right and Mrs. Reardon on his left. The old 
 schoolmaster sat beside Mrs. Reardon, and Mrs. 
 Hinnissey next Father Malone. Mike Blake, 
 Maurice, Larry Reardon, Teigue Donlon and Jack 
 Hinnissey completed the select party. 
 
 " Why don't you take a seat yourself, Mrs. 
 Blake ? " old Driscoll said. " You must have been 
 on your feet all the morning." 
 
 " And who'd look after every one if I did ? 
 Besides, sure the excitement is eating and drinking 
 to me. Is your steak all right, Father James ? " 
 
 " Excellent, thanks, excellent. Do sit down, 
 Mrs. Blake." 
 
 " Troth, if I had the time itself, your reverence, 
 there isn't the place. The kitchen table is crammed 
 full, but through the dint of turning the settle into 
 a table, all the men are seated now, thanks be to 
 God. There's a relay of women to come. But 
 sure they can hold out longer than the men. They 
 wouldn't be worth much if they couldn't do that." 
 
 D
 
 34 WAITING 
 
 t( They won't starve with all the food they're 
 carrying about between their hands," Mike Blake 
 said gloomily. 
 
 Mrs. Blake frowned. " Would you grudge 
 them, Mike, the bite or the sup they can have 
 between times, and all the fetching and carrying 
 they're doing for ye ? Try and swallow that turkey's 
 egg, Father Ned. I boiled it special for you, knowing 
 you were a citizen. It's more delicate within than 
 a hen's egg, for a townsman like you. Mike there 
 has a weakness for a duck's egg, but sure he has the 
 stomach of a horse. Don't be trenching on the priest's 
 lump sugar," she said in a fierce whisper to Mike. 
 " Isn't there plenty of soft sugar at your elbow ? " 
 
 Father James munched steadily at the beefsteak 
 without once laying down his knife and fork. 
 Father Ned fiddled with the turkey egg, and 
 replaced it by a hen egg when Mrs. Blake's back 
 was turned. 
 
 " I'll eat it and put the shell back on your plate, 
 and she'll never know the differ," Mrs. Hinnissey 
 said obligingly. 
 
 " Won't you have more tea ? " Father Ned said, 
 holding up the best teapot. 
 
 " Is it out of the priest's teapot ? The Lord 
 love you, Mrs. Blake'd never forgive me if she 
 thought I did that. I'll wait till Bessy Reilly gets 
 round with the tin one." 
 
 Even Mrs. Reardon, though she eyed her teapot 
 enviously, did not dare to help herself from it. She 
 was somewhat compensated by Mrs. Blake's whisper, 
 " It's shining like a blaze of glory." 
 
 Mrs. Blake's willing helpers were kept busy 
 filling cups, held out to intercept the passing teapots, 
 and serving bread and butter, eggs, and cake.
 
 WAITING 35 
 
 u I had four, and that's not a bad morning's work 
 for a man," Jack Hinnissey said, refusing a fifth 
 egg. " I hear, master, that you're thinking of 
 giving up Bourneen," he added, addressing Driscoll 
 from the end of the table. 
 
 Father Mahon, who had finished with the steak 
 and was just starting on an egg, frowned. 
 
 Driscoll glanced at him. " I'm thinking of it. 
 Yes, I'm thinking of it," he answered, with another 
 look at Father Mahon's lowered eyes. 
 
 " Faith, it's sorry I am that you won't be in it to 
 belt my own children like you ought to have belted 
 me," Hinnissey said heartily. 
 
 " Troth, if he gave you your due, his arm, God 
 bless it, would be sore from trying to knock the 
 devil out of you, Jack," Teigue Donlon said with a 
 grin. 
 
 " It's the pity of the world you didn't banish 
 the old boy out of him when you're hand was in, 
 master," Mrs. Hinnissey said, beaming. 
 
 Driscoll chuckled. " I left that for you, ma'am," 
 he said quietly. 
 
 " Is there any talk of who is to come after you ? " 
 Larry Reardon, with a side glance at Father Mahon, 
 said to Driscoll. 
 
 " I dare say there is. It's his reverence that 
 knows that." 
 
 " Now's your time, Mike, to put in a word for 
 Maurice," Mrs. Blake whispered under cover of a 
 bowl of eggs. 
 
 "Whist, woman, can't you see his eye on 
 you ? " 
 
 Father Mahon took out his handkerchief and 
 wiped the remains of an egg off his mouth. 
 
 " I never discuss secular business at a station
 
 36 WAITING 
 
 house. This is a place for religion only," he said, 
 rising abruptly. 
 
 " After all my trouble, too ! " Mrs. Blake 
 murmured wearily. 
 
 She revived somewhat when Father Mahon said, 
 in bidding her good-bye 
 
 " Your son Maurice is growing into a fine man." 
 
 " He as much as gave me a hint that it would be 
 all right," she whispered excitedly to Mike, while 
 the priest was being helped into his overcoat. 
 
 " I heard the remark," Mike said stolidly. 
 " You'll be reading a tune into an ass's bray next." 
 
 " There isn't much cuteness in you after all, 
 Mike. Take my word that you'll find him ready 
 for you if you run out with him now and broach the 
 matter while Tom is tackling the mare." 
 
 For five minutes Father Mahon and Mike 
 paced the road in front of the gate. The priest 
 said nothing. Mike made two isolated remarks 
 "The harvest was very fine, thanks be to God," 
 and " It's a hot day for this time of year." It was 
 only when the priest's trap was halfway across the 
 bawn that Mike said diffidently. 
 
 " Bourneen school, your reverence my son, 
 Maurice." 
 
 "A fine young man," Father Mahon said. 
 
 " He'd like to get the school, your reverence." 
 
 The priest frowned thoughtfully. "That's a 
 horse of another colour," he said. " I'm not against 
 him, mind you, Mike not by any means. But it 
 needs thinking over and talking over. It's a great 
 responsibility I have in a matter of the kind, to the 
 children of the parish, and to the government, and, 
 last but not least, to the Church of God. Come up 
 to-morrow night after dark and we'll help one
 
 WAITING 37 
 
 another to shed a light on it. I make no promise, 
 but I've an open mind. I can tell you that much." 
 
 " Well ? " Mrs. Blake said eagerly when Mike 
 returned. 
 
 " I'm seeing him to-morrow night about it," 
 Mike said doubtfully. " Anyway, he was more civil 
 than ever I seen him before." 
 
 " I knew there was great virtue in a beefsteak," 
 Mrs. Blake said joyfully.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 AT half-past three in the afternoon of the day 
 following the station at Mike Blake's, Father James 
 Mahon leant over the iron gate of the narrow garden 
 that separated his house from the main road lead- 
 ing from the village of Bourneen to the town of 
 Liscannow. His soft felt hat was pulled well down 
 over his eyes, to shade them from the almost level 
 rays of the sun. A single, bare, elm tree on the 
 other side of the road made a beautiful pattern 
 against the burnished gold of the sky. The patch 
 of sea in the distance by Liscannow glittered like 
 a silver mirror ; while the clefts of the mountain, 
 at the base of which the town seemed to nestle, were 
 already a deep purple. Bourneen chapel and village 
 on his left, usually gaunt and ugly under a pre- 
 vailing grey sky, now glowed with genial warmth. 
 But Father James was not interested in light effects. 
 He had no eye for the brilliant colours, purples 
 and greens and soft pinks, which the mixed slates 
 on his church threw back to the sun. He saw 
 only the stumpy tower of the barn-like building. 
 It occupied his thoughts, in short, jerky spasms 
 of annoyance and relief, at intervals when he 
 was not moodily gazing at the road, thinking of 
 nothing in particular ; or wondering why Father 
 Malone was so late ; or counting the chances of 
 Father Delahunty dropping in to dinner on his
 
 WAITING 39 
 
 way home from Liscannow ; or angrily asking him- 
 self why he had invited Father Delahunty at all 
 when he met him accidentally in the road in the 
 morning, especially as he didn't like him, and, 
 moreover, as he would be in the way when Mike 
 Blake called. The thought of Mike Blake brought 
 him back to the church tower, and he resisted an 
 interesting thought as to how his three bullocks 
 were doing on Larry Reardon's land. It was a 
 nuisance that the priest who built the church and 
 tower didn't build the spire too. Not that the tower 
 needed a spire, but it would have stopped the mouth 
 of that new broom of a bishop, Dr. Hannigan. He 
 scowled as he thought of Dr. Hannigan, an outsider 
 brought into the diocese when he himself should 
 have been made bishop. But, after all, he argued 
 with himself, why shouldn't Hannigan push on the 
 parish priests to build and improve churches and 
 make a good show of activity in his returns to 
 Rome ? It was well known that he didn't intend 
 to settle for life at Liscannow, but had his eye 
 on the bishopric of his native diocese of Droomeen 
 which was richer and more important. No wonder 
 that he'd work hard to create the impression at 
 Rome that he was an active man ; and so pave 
 his way to promotion. Father James tapped the 
 lower bar of the gate with his boot and admitted, 
 with a feeling of satisfaction in his own tolerance, 
 that he would have done likewise in Hannigan's 
 circumstances. And, there would be another chance 
 of Liscannow diocese for him, James Mahon, if 
 Hannigan left. Why not ? The Bishop of Droo- 
 meen was an old man and could not last long. 
 
 He watched with unseeing eyes a dark bank of 
 cloud creep up and clutch the sun. The elm was
 
 4 o WAITING 
 
 again a gnarled tree and no longer a vivid mystery 
 of colour and line. The warmth had gone from 
 the wind that blew in from the sea. Father James 
 buttoned up his coat and walked the short gravel 
 path, with rectangular plots of rank, untended, 
 weedy grass on either side, towards his house. He 
 stood for a moment to admire it. The oak graining 
 on the hall door, the red brick chevron mouldings 
 over the door and windows, the stucco trowelled off 
 into squares, the green paint on the down pipe and 
 eave shoots, were all happy suggestions of his own 
 to the complaisant Board of Works architect who 
 designed the house. Was it Delahunty who said 
 it was stark and ugly ? The fool ! and he living in 
 an old, thatched cottage, without the room or the 
 dignity that a parish priest's house ought to have. 
 The bishop had a word of praise for this beautiful 
 house. That was to Hannigan's credit. After all, 
 why shouldn't he, he thought, do his best to be 
 friends with Hannigan ? The great mistake of his 
 life was fighting with the old bishop, Dr. Murray. 
 It made him popular with some of the parish priests 
 and got him their votes at the election for bishop on 
 the old man's death ; but it gave him a bad name 
 with the bishops of the province, who ignored the 
 priests' votes, passed him over, and secured 
 the appointment of Hannigan. He frowned at the 
 memory of this ; but, in a moment, he laughed his 
 harsh cackle and said aloud, "Pooh, pooh, a man 
 must be sensible." He would build the spire, he 
 decided, as he opened the front door with a latch- 
 key. Or, at least, he would make a show of setting 
 about it. Mike Blake should start the subscription 
 list. He banged the door with a grim smile. If 
 the spire wasn't built the money could go to
 
 WAITING 41 
 
 something else useful. It wouldn't be wasted anyway. 
 And Hannigan would be pleased. Who knew 
 what might happen if there was another election for 
 bishop with Hannigan's good will, and, maybe, the 
 friendship of bishops he might meet at Hannigan's ? 
 All the efforts he had made to curb his temper with 
 the priests, and the dinners he had lavished on them 
 might not be wasted after all. 
 
 He hung his hat on a peg in the hall and was 
 hardly seated in his study when Father Malone 
 came in. 
 
 " I'm sorry I'm late," he said apologetically. 
 t( I had two sick calls running." 
 
 Father Mahon frowned and touched a bell-push 
 by the fireplace. 
 
 " It's not often you find an electric bell in a 
 country parish," he said, with returning good 
 humour. " I like having things up-to-date and 
 I have what I like." 
 
 Father Malone smiled at a bookcase and took 
 out a book. There was a timid knock at the door, 
 and a weary-looking, elderly servant entered. 
 
 " Dish the dinner, Kate. We won't wait another 
 minute for Father Delahunty. He can blame him- 
 self if he finds everything cold." 
 
 " Yes, your reverence." 
 
 "Now, you talk a lot about art and things, 
 Father Malone," he said, when the servant had gone. 
 " These walls are dried out by this, and I'm think- 
 ing of papering them. What colour would you put 
 on them ? " 
 
 Father Malone glanced at the bright green 
 Venetian blinds, the red plush window curtains, the 
 American roll-top desk of light oak, the carpet with 
 chocolate roses on a greenish-yellow background.
 
 42 WAITING 
 
 " I don't know," he said blankly. " Some 
 neutral shade, perhaps it would take some think- 
 ing. The plain grey of the plaster isn't at all bad. 
 Why not let it alone ? " 
 
 " And you're a light of the Gaelic League, no 
 less, and write in the poet's corner of the Liscannow 
 News ! And you can't make up your mind about 
 the colour of a wall-paper ! Why, I'd paper every 
 room in the house in my own mind in a minute, 
 and a different paper on each of 'em." 
 
 " You would," Father Malone said, with an 
 intonation that disturbed Father Mahon and put 
 him on the defensive. 
 
 " I would, and I'd teach you Irish, too," he said, 
 bridling. 
 
 " I know you could, and I only wish you would," 
 Father Malone said, brightening. 
 
 Father Mahon was somewhat mollified by the 
 compliment. 
 
 " The turkey is on the table, I'm sure, by this," 
 he said, rising. " This Irish is a bad business," he 
 added, as he opened the study door, " I'll have to 
 put down my foot " 
 
 There was a loud knock at the front door. 
 Father Mahon opened it. 
 
 " Father Delahunty, you're more than welcome," 
 he said heartily. " I almost despaired of you, but 
 you're in the nick of time. Let me help you off 
 with your coat, and we'll go straight in." 
 
 Father Delahunty held his hands over the fire in 
 the dining-room for a few seconds. 
 
 "The food will heat you up better," Father 
 Mahon said, sharpening a carving knife. 
 
 "I'll be as fit as a fiddle after a nip," Father 
 Delahunty said, taking his seat and helping himself
 
 WAITING 43 
 
 to whiskey. " Here's to you both," he added 
 cheerfully, his merry blue eyes twinkling. He 
 took a few sips and smacked his lips. " If you were 
 out after the hares all day like me, you wouldn't be 
 getting fat, Mahon," he said, laughing. "We had 
 a great day's coursing entirely, near the foot of the 
 mountain beyond Liscannow. I won a couple of 
 pounds, and that puts great heart in a man." 
 
 His open face, tanned russet from exposure, 
 gleamed in the light of the lamp Kate now put on 
 the table. 
 
 (< Don't pull down them blinds, Kate," he said 
 anxiously. " There's the kind of a sky out to-night 
 that Father Malone there'd be making a poem on. 
 I had one in me myself as the horse ambled along 
 the road, but sorra word of prose, let alone poetry, 
 could I find that'd say what I felt. If it was to 
 describe a hound after a hare now, I could do it as 
 well as any man." 
 
 Father Malone blushed, and stole a glance 
 through the window. The elm tree was now a flat 
 intricate pattern against the purple of the horizon, 
 its top branches hidden in a belt of grey, while 
 higher in the sky were the last silver gleams of 
 the sun. 
 
 " It's a nuisance having windows facing the west, 
 the sun bothers you so much in the summer even- 
 ings," Father Mahon said, busy carving and making 
 comparisons between Father Delahunty's slim, wiry 
 figure and his own. " I'm not fat. No one could 
 call me fat with my figure," he added, handing a 
 plate to Delahunty. 
 
 "You were always a bit vain of your figure, 
 James. And sorra much bulge there's in it yet. 
 If you'd only take to coursing "
 
 44 WAITING 
 
 Father Mahon pursed his lips. " Alas ! the 
 cares of a big parish 
 
 " A score of bullocks out on grass they take 
 some looking after. True, they ought to give you 
 exercise enough. Maybe it's age that's coming over 
 us, James ? We're both on the borders of fifty," 
 Father Delahunty said cheerfully. 
 
 " Nonsense. I feel as young as ever I did. 
 Not but I have troubles enough to worry me," 
 Father James said with a frown. 
 
 " Not the curate ? " Father Delahunty said, with 
 a wink at Father Malone. " They're always a thorn 
 in the flesh. I turn the parish over to mine, and 
 he's as meek as a mouse since I let him be boss." 
 
 Father Mahon frowned, glared at Father 
 Malone, opened his lips and shut them with a 
 snap. 
 
 "The people, I meant," he said, after some 
 hesitation. "They're getting beyond the beyonds. 
 Not but that I'm able for them." 
 
 "You might be pulling the reins too tight," 
 Delahunty said seriously. 
 
 " The day the priests of Ireland cease to be 
 masters, it'll be a bad day for the Church and for 
 the country," Father Mahon said emphatically. 
 
 u Phew," Father Delahunty said, making a long 
 face. 
 
 " I find the people easy to work with," Father 
 Malone said, with some determination. 
 
 " Because you let them master you it's a case 
 of the dog wagging his tail," Father Mahon said 
 crossly. 
 
 " Sometimes they wag me, sometimes I wag 
 them ; generally, we trot along comfortably to- 
 gether," Father Malone said, with good humour.
 
 WAITING 45 
 
 " A man after all is very like a greyhound," 
 Father Delahunty said musingly. 
 
 Father Mahon bit his lip to restrain his anger. 
 He laughed harshly. 
 
 " Wait till you've twenty-five years on the 
 mission, like me and Delahunty there, and you'll 
 learn sense." 
 
 " I don't know. Babes and sucklings ! you 
 know, James ? " Delahunty said. " I often learnt a 
 great deal from a litter of young dogs." 
 
 " I'm not going to let any one, curate or people, 
 turn my parish upside down," Father Mahon said, 
 frowning into his plate. He gulped his food for a 
 few minutes in silence. 
 
 Father Delahunty shrugged his shoulders and 
 went on with his dinner. 
 
 " A present ? " he said, nodding at the remains 
 of the turkey, as he laid down his knife and fork. 
 
 " Oh, they're free-handed enough if you keep 
 'em up to it," Father Mahon said gloomily. 
 
 Kate appeared at the door and beckoned eagerly 
 to Father Mahon. When he noticed her he got up 
 hastily and said 
 
 " Draw your chairs round to the fire. The 
 whiskey is at your elbow, and Kate'll bring in the 
 hot water at once. The dinner was a bit late, and 
 I forgot I appointed to see a man. I won't be 
 long." 
 
 "Where is he ? " he said to Kate in the hall. 
 
 " In the kitchen, your reverence. It's Mike 
 Blake, and he said you expected him. Will you see 
 him here in the hall, or in your study ? " 
 
 " What did I tell you before when people come 
 by appointment ? " he said impatiently. 
 
 " You'll find the lamp lit. Sometimes you're
 
 46 WAITING 
 
 vexed at one thing, sometimes at another," she 
 muttered in a flat voice without resentment. 
 
 He stood, picking his teeth, with his back to 
 the fire, and admired his bookcase. The room was 
 called a study partly because it was so marked on 
 the architect's plans, and partly because there were 
 books in it. Father James had been a prizeman in 
 Maynooth, but he seldom read anything now except 
 newspapers. Occasionally he read a text-book on 
 canon law to assure himself of his own rights, and 
 of the limits of a bishop's authority. He also 
 refreshed his memory of moral theology for a few 
 hours before the conferences which were held four 
 or five times a year. He professed a love of litera- 
 ture, but never read any. His anger with Father 
 Malone was often tempered by the contempt he felt 
 for him because he had once found him absorbed in 
 some book of poetry. He sometimes bought a 
 paper-covered sensational novel at the bookshop in 
 Liscannow, but rarely finished it. He was so 
 interested in his own schemes that it bored him to 
 read other people's imaginary adventures. He often 
 sat for hours in front of the study fire, the poker in 
 his hand, thinking of his cattle, or his investments, 
 or the affairs of his parishioners of the latter, 
 always, however, in relation to himself. As he 
 heard Mike Blake's heavy step coming along the 
 linoleum-covered hall his eye rested on a vacant 
 space in one of the walls. Dr. Hannigan had open 
 shelves running round his whole library, he remem- 
 bered. Yes, he would put shelves on that wall, and 
 pick up books enough to fill them, at auctions, where 
 they were always to be had for little or nothing. 
 
 He was so taken by this idea that he began to 
 measure the vacant space by stepping the floor, and
 
 WAITING 47 
 
 did not notice Mike Blake standing at the open 
 door. Mike coughed. 
 
 " Wait a minute, till I step this," the priest said, 
 looking up and balancing himself carefully, one foot 
 touching the other. 
 
 " Sit in front of the fire," he said, as he made a 
 note on a sheet of paper at his desk. 
 
 Mike sat on the edge of a chair and laid his 
 hat beside him on the floor. 
 
 Father James drew an armchair close to the fire 
 and sat so that he could look at the fire or at Mike 
 without altering his position. He crossed his legs, 
 rested them on a corner of the fender, and clasped 
 his hands as if in prayer. 
 
 "Well, Mike," he said, looking at the fire, "and 
 what can I be doing for you ? " 
 
 " Touching our little conversation yesterday, 
 your reverence " 
 
 "Yes, yes. I'm glad you called, Mike. You 
 remember the bishop's sermon at the last con- 
 firmation ? " 
 
 Mike scratched his head. "What with hearing 
 so many of 'em, one every Sunday, and two, maybe, 
 if it's a confraternity night, not to speak of holidays, 
 they oftentimes go in one ear and out the other." 
 
 " About the spire." 
 
 " I remember it well now that you call it to 
 mind. Sure we all thought it was a great romancer 
 he was. And all the calls that was on us lately, too, 
 drawing stone and gravel for this grand house, 
 thanks be to God, and for the new porch in the 
 chapel, and the new schoolhouse " 
 
 " It's the new teacher'll get the benefit of that," 
 Father James interrupted. 
 
 " Sure what I came to talk to you about "
 
 48 WAITING 
 
 "The bishop was quite serious," Father James 
 broke in, looking meditatively at the fire. "That 
 spire has been on my conscience too, this many a 
 year. We must build it, Mike. We must build it. 
 For the credit of the parish, we must build it. I'd 
 have done it long ago, only I didn't like to be 
 putting too much of the substance of my poor 
 people into stone and mortar. If I had the money 
 by me I'd pay for it out of my own pocket. But 
 what's the use of talking about that ? and the drag 
 there's on the few pence a priest has in a parish like 
 this." 
 
 While the priest was speaking, Mike looked 
 alternately at him and at the fire several times. He 
 was puzzled, and thought that the fire, from which 
 Father James seemed to be reading, would enlighten 
 him. The unusual gentleness of the priest's voice 
 troubled him ; all he could say, when Father Mahon 
 stopped, was 
 
 " It's a power of money it'll take." 
 
 " It will. I can't put a public cess on at present 
 it'll give me enough to do to level up the dues. 
 But I'm going to start a private fund to show the 
 bishop we're in earnest. I'll head it with a hundred 
 pounds." 
 
 " It's easy for your reverence to lift money from 
 one pocket into the other," Mike said with an un- 
 easy laugh. 
 
 The priest glared at him angrily, poked the fire 
 and laughed harshly. 
 
 "We'll keep the matter between ourselves for 
 the present. You're the first man I've mentioned 
 it to," he said, ignoring Mike's remark. 
 
 " I'd as lief I wasn't, but as your reverence spoke 
 of it, five pounds won't rob me."
 
 WAITING 49 
 
 Father Mahon stood up and frowned, his under 
 lip for a moment almost touching his nose. 
 
 " I gave you credit for more sense, Mike Blake," 
 he said, turning towards the fire and holding out 
 his hands to the blaze. " You ! a man with your 
 farm bought, and a good slice of grass land thrown 
 in, and your son, the schoolmaster, as good as 
 settled in the world." 
 
 A slow smile crept over Mike's face. He 
 screwed up his lips and fumbled in the pocket of 
 his waistcoat for his pipe. He took it out and put 
 it back hastily. He looked at Father James, who 
 was gazing thoughtfully at the fire. 
 
 " Maybe I made it too little, would twenty- 
 five- 
 
 The priest only protruded his under lip. 
 
 " Forty ? " Mike said tremulously. 
 
 Father James seemed to consider this, turned 
 towards Mike, and shook his head doubtfully. 
 
 " If I make it the round sum of fifty," Mike 
 said, standing up in his excitement, " it's the highest 
 I can go." 
 
 " And a generous subscription it is, Mike. And 
 a credit to yourself and your fine family. And now 
 about this other business. Can you speak up for 
 your son Maurice ? " 
 
 " I can, then." 
 
 " Is he biddable ?" 
 
 " His mother and myself always found him that." 
 
 "And a good warrant to attend mass and the 
 sacraments ? " 
 
 " There's no fault in him on that head." 
 
 " Well, then, tell him I'm glad to give the 
 school to his father's son. And I promise I'll treat 
 him well if he'll be said and led by me." 
 
 E
 
 50 WAITING 
 
 <{ No one could speak fairer, and we're all 
 beholden to your reverence," Mike said, reaching 
 for his hat. 
 
 " I haven't asked you if you had a mouth on 
 you, but I've a few priests within, and I'm too long 
 from them as it is." 
 
 " Sure I never expected that, Father. The 
 blessing of God on you. Mary'll be on the tenter- 
 hooks till I tell her the news. She'll be a proud 
 woman to-night." 
 
 When Father Mahon got back to his guests he 
 was still frowning, but he was rubbing his hands 
 together vigorously. 
 
 " You're as pleased as punch," Father Delahunty 
 said, glancing from his face to his hands. 
 
 " I am. Whatever tricks the young people may 
 be up to, thank God the old are still amenable to 
 their Church and their priests. I've taken your 
 advice," he added, laughingly, to Father Malone, 
 " and given Bourneen school to Maurice Blake." 
 
 "Why that's splendid," Father Malone said 
 excitedly. " I was afraid, from the way you took 
 what I said of him, that you had some one else in 
 your mind." 
 
 " A wise man doesn't rush an important affair," 
 Father Mahon said sententiously. 
 
 u So that was it," Father Delahunty said dryly, 
 holding his glass between him and the light.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 FOR some time after his father had set out for the 
 priest's house Maurice Blake chatted with his mother 
 in front of the fire in the kitchen. Tom was busy 
 in the cowhouse and Hanny in the dairy. Mrs. 
 Blake sat on a creepy, sewing, halfway between the 
 lamp on the window and the fire, so that the light 
 from both fell dimly on her work. Maurice stood, 
 his arm resting on the wooden beam that ran across 
 the top of the open fireplace. 
 
 " He's no farther than the five-acre meadow 
 yet ? " Mrs. Blake said. 
 " Hardly." 
 
 She plied her needle for a few minutes in a 
 silence broken only by the asthmatic ticking of the 
 old clock and the swish of thread through the cloth. 
 " He ought to be past the cross-roads by this ? " 
 " About that. He's not a quick walker." 
 " No. He's getting leisurely on the feet." 
 " Why in the world does Father James want 
 to see my father and not me ? " 
 
 Mrs. Blake fastened her needle in the cloth and 
 measured with the back of her hand. 
 
 " Sure why would you ask me ? It is not easy 
 to fathom what's in the back of Father James's mind. 
 It wouldn't surprise me, though he's dark and 
 haughty itself, if he wanted to pay a compliment to 
 Mike. There'd be small wonder in it if he did, and
 
 52 WAITING 
 
 the way Mike always stood by the clergy, and his 
 father before him. A horse and cart always at their 
 bidding whenever they liked to call for it. And 
 many a load of hay and straw when the priest was 
 scarce, or a lock of oats itself, and the freedom of 
 the gravel pit for any building the clergy had a hand 
 in since the year of one. And quarried and carried 
 by Mike himself for nothing at all. And the priest 
 often getting paid for it, I'm told, by the government 
 or the like. And carts for bringing home the turf. 
 Not to speak of him being always among the fore- 
 most, for his means, at the dues. And the fat goose 
 that I plucked with my own hands at Michaelmas 
 and took to the parish priest's back door every year 
 since I stepped across the threshold of this house, 
 and maybe a pair of hens at Martinmas, and a turkey 
 at Christmas, and an odd thing in between." 
 
 " I hope Father Mahon will be influenced by 
 none of these things," Maurice said, flushing a little. 
 " It's a government appointment, and I ought to get 
 it on my merits or not at all." 
 
 " Sure no one knows better that you deserve it 
 than Father Mahon himself; but you wouldn't 
 grudge your father the satisfaction of being the 
 first to hear the news, and his heart as set on you 
 being in Bourneen as my own is." 
 
 Maurice tapped one of the flagstones with his 
 boot. " I'd rather " 
 
 " He ought to be passing the old mill, by now," 
 Mrs. Blake interrupted. 
 
 " You won't mind if I go up and read awhile, 
 mother," Maurice said with a smile. 
 
 " Sure I won't," she said with relief. " We're 
 only making each other uneasy by our thoughts and 
 the great errand Mike is gone on. Besides, the
 
 WAITING 53 
 
 needle is great company. Wait till I fill the quart 
 bottle with hot water for you to put to your feet. 
 It's chilly above." 
 
 He mounted the flat-runged ladder that served 
 as a stairs, a lighted candle in an old-fashioned 
 brass candlestick in one hand, the hot-water bottle 
 covered with a piece of flannel in the other. The 
 ladder, starting from the foot of the settle in the 
 kitchen, led to the " big room," now handed over 
 to Maurice's use, though usually it served as the 
 dower house of widowed heads of the Blake family, 
 or the bridal chamber of the eldest son if he married 
 in the lifetime of both parents. Opening out of it 
 was Tom's bedroom. 
 
 Maurice sat at a small deal table at the foot of 
 the bed, a large structure enclosed by a wooden 
 canopy on all sides except the front, which was cur- 
 tained, and so placed as to be heated by the kitchen 
 flue. He opened a book and began to read. 
 Though he sat with his back to the warm wall and 
 had the hot-water bottle at his feet he soon felt cold. 
 He put on an overcoat and wrapped a rug about his 
 knees. He turned a few pages of the book, an 
 idealized history of medieval Ireland, but soon gave 
 way to the dreams which this book always evoked. 
 His eyes wandered to the guttering candle which 
 seemed to be blown on by all the winds of heaven. 
 For moments it burned with a clear flame. A 
 blast up the open stair head made it flutter towards 
 the bed, till another blast, creeping round the corner 
 of the bed from the windows, almost set it straight 
 again. A whistling wind from over the low par- 
 tition, dividing the room from Tom's, drove the 
 flame towards the book. Then all the winds seemed 
 to rush to the open space above the rafters, rattled
 
 54 WAITING 
 
 and fought among the slates, swept down in a united 
 phalanx, and for some doubtful seconds threatened 
 to extinguish the candle. Then it burnt clear again. 
 
 Somehow, in some vague way, it typified Ireland 
 for him. Buffeted now by one harsh wind, now by 
 another, until she lay almost prone in the dust. 
 Then, at intervals, the clear flame and the infinite 
 promise ! 
 
 Always in his imagination Ireland had been a 
 woman. In the sad songs he remembered from his 
 childhood she was often old and decrepit, sitting by 
 a fireless hearth, forsaken and weary under a broken 
 roof, but always with haunting eyes that looked 
 straight into his soul. When he saw her young 
 and radiant in other songs she had the same eyes of 
 appealing beauty, sad even in their smile. 
 
 The wind had gone down and the faint light of 
 the candle lost itself in the gloom above the rafters. 
 Curious shadows flitted in dim corners. The fire- 
 light from the kitchen danced on the wall by the 
 stairhead. Maurice saw all the squalid details of 
 the room : the rough uncarpeted floor ; the white- 
 washed walls, stained green in patches where the 
 rain had trickled down from the roof; the few 
 unpainted deal shelves that contained his books ; 
 the battered tin trunk that held his best suit ; the 
 rest of his clothes, hanging from pegs on the parti- 
 tion ; the wooden box, with a towel laid over it, 
 that served as a wash-stand ; the other box that 
 made a dressing-table, but this Hanny had decorated 
 with muslin and ribbons. All his life he seemed to 
 have been able to see the sordid, to see it keenly, to 
 feel its pain. But always the lady of his dreams 
 had been a refuge from the stench of the manure 
 heap when it stood in the bawn and pervaded the
 
 WAITING 55 
 
 whole house, from Father Mahon's scowling face on 
 station days, from the stones that bruised his feet as 
 he scampered barefooted to school as a boy. 
 
 He saw her now in the gleam of firelight dancing 
 on the wall, tresses of shining hair at her waist, her 
 beautiful mysterious face hidden in the shadows of 
 the rafters, as he had so often seen her in the dawn and 
 in the twilight, and at the back of the fire on winter 
 nights when he sat on the hob listening entranced to 
 his grandfather's tales of heroic deeds done for 
 Ireland in the past. 
 
 Even then he knew that she was only the child 
 of his imagination, but he loved her none the less 
 well for that. She made him work and gave 
 purpose to his life. 
 
 His mind went back to that first walk with Master 
 Driscoll, when the teacher said that he was inclined 
 to recommend him for a monitorship. 
 
 They passed a rath surmounted by a dismantled 
 castle, and Driscoll told story after story : how, in 
 that very fort, Guaire the High King had kindled 
 hope in the heart of Ireland ; how Brian had washed 
 the tears away from the face of Ireland for many a 
 long day by a fierce fight that lasted far into the 
 night. . . . 
 
 "There's no doing of great deeds like them in 
 these days," he had wound up, with a sigh. " Still 
 every man can do his little. Even a schoolmaster 
 can do his share. Indeed, he can do great things 
 for Ireland if he's only the right sort." 
 
 From that day Maurice had set his heart on 
 being a schoolmaster. In the old thatched school- 
 house beside the chapel, weather-beaten and dilapi- 
 dated despite all Master Driscoll's efforts to keep 
 it neat and trim, he dreamt dreams and saw visions.
 
 56 WAITING 
 
 All that the teacher knew he soon learned : such 
 knowledge as counts with Boards of Education, and 
 knowledge that Boards are suspicious of, great stores 
 of traditional lore that coloured the whole country 
 side with romance. He drank in too, incon- 
 gruously enough, a hatred of the whole system 
 and methods of the Board of Education, one of 
 whose teachers it was his ambition to become. 
 
 " All the good I ever did as a teacher," Driscoll 
 used to say, " I did in my own garden in odd half- 
 hours before school or after and during recreations. 
 The Board forced me to train a boy to be a bad clerk, 
 and I did it, God forgive me ; but for my penance, 
 or maybe because I loved it, in that few roods of 
 garden that you see there I tried to teach him to be 
 a man, to know and love the land he was reared on 
 and the things that grew and lived on it." 
 
 These and other memories of his childhood and 
 youth came back to Maurice as he watched the 
 firelight flicker ; and the memory of a few unhappy 
 years in Liscannow as an assistant teacher, and his 
 two years at the Training College. . . . 
 
 Then he tried to see himself as teacher of 
 Bourneen school. Much as he had dreamed and 
 thought of it in the past, only vague and blurred 
 images emerged now of himself weak and helpless, 
 struggling with some sinister force. . . . 
 
 He heard his father's step on the gravel, the 
 latch lifted, his mother's, " Oh, Mike, I didn't 
 think you could be back yet," a whispered con- 
 versation, a long-drawn " Oh," in his mother's 
 voice, more whispers, then his mother again, " God'll 
 make up for it. Thanks be to His holy name that 
 I'll have Maurice near me all my life." 
 
 He had got the school. All his old hopes began
 
 WAITING 
 
 57 
 
 to revive. He jumped up and had already blown 
 out the candle when his mother shouted, " Maurice, 
 Maurice." When he was halfway down the ladder 
 she said excitedly 
 
 " Sure I knew you'd get it." 
 
 " You did," Mike said grimly, rattling the 
 tin tobacco-box and the old penknife in his right- 
 hand trousers pocket. 
 
 " Did he make any difficulties ? " Maurice asked, 
 when he got to the floor. 
 
 Mike looked gloomily at the fire, but Mrs. 
 Blake said effusively 
 
 " Sorra one, only a few questions that a child 
 could answer. Rouse yourself, Mike. He's always 
 moonstruck after seeing Father Tames he has that 
 
 
 
 paralysing effect on him. Though the priest was in 
 the best of humours a fine young man, he said you 
 were." 
 
 Maurice was not quite satisfied, and asked his 
 father for an exact account of what took place. 
 
 " It's up to you now, Mike. Rack your brain 
 and tell the boy what happened," Mrs. Blake said 
 anxiously. 
 
 Mike filled his pipe with some deliberation. 
 When he had lit it and taken a few long puffs, he 
 began a detailed narration of the interview, at which, 
 it seemed, all the merits of Maurice, from a child 
 up, if forgotten by his father, were mentioned with 
 much fervour by the priest. 
 
 Maurice tried to stop him several times, but 
 Mike, having once started, would not be checked. 
 
 "There it's all for you now," he wound up. 
 " I wouldn't swear to every remark being made in 
 them exact words. But sorra word I've spoken to you 
 now that one or other of us didn't think anyway."
 
 58 WAITING 
 
 With this salve to his conscience Mike fell into 
 silence. But Maurice had long since ceased to 
 listen. He was thinking of what he would teach 
 and what he wouldn't teach. 
 
 Hanny came in and asked, " Has he got it ? " 
 
 Her mother nodded. 
 
 Hanny said, " Thank God," and proceeded to 
 lay the table for supper. 
 
 " Put on the currant cake that's left over from 
 the station, in honour of the night that's in it," 
 Mrs. Blake said. 
 
 Mike was gloomy over his supper, Mrs. Blake 
 and Maurice thoughtful. Hanny cast admiring 
 glances at Maurice in the intervals of helping every 
 one. 
 
 Towards the end of the meal Tom entered 
 singing. 
 
 " What news ? " he asked eagerly. 
 
 " The best," Hanny said cheerfully. " But 
 don't be sitting down with them hands. The 
 basin is on the chair by the back door." 
 
 He washed his face and hands. " It's a poor 
 job, Maurice, my boy, teaching a lot of gossoons; 
 but sure, as you like it, I'm glad you got it," he 
 said from the middle of the floor, scrubbing his 
 face and neck vigorously with a towel. " Did the 
 big man make a struggle to put in a bullock on us 
 on the head of it ? " 
 
 " He didn't," Mike said crossly. 
 
 " Moreover," Mrs. Blake intervened, " he said 
 he always had a liking for Maurice ever since he 
 used to serve mass at the Bourneen altar." 
 
 " It's many a clout he gave him on the side of 
 the head by the way of showing it," Tom said, 
 taking his seat at a corner of the table.
 
 WAITING 59 
 
 " It's too free ye are in discussing the clergy," 
 Mike Blake said. " There's neither luck nor grace 
 in it." 
 
 "That's true enough," Mrs. Blake said. 
 
 " Troth, they get a skelp of the tongue now as 
 well as another," Tom said grimly. 
 
 Maurice rose from the table and took his hat off 
 the back of the door. 
 
 " I think I'll take a run down to see Master 
 Driscoll." 
 
 " Do then, agra. He'll be glad to hear of it," 
 Mrs. Blake said. 
 
 " I'd be glad to go a bit of the way with you, 
 only I'll be taking the opposite direction," Tom 
 said, his mouth full. 
 
 " Reardons again," Mrs. Blake said, with a sigh. 
 
 Maurice lingered on the road. A high moon 
 seemed to race through the sky as thin filmy clouds 
 scudded across it, lighting up the old landmarks in 
 vivid flashes : the robber cavern of his very young 
 days, now, alas ! to his grown-up eyes, only a rather 
 shallow ditch covered with blackberry bushes ; the 
 twisted thorn tree under which the leprechaun sat 
 and mended brogues or mayhap hammered sove- 
 reigns on his little anvil ; the gate of the five-acre 
 meadow, past which one had to hurry at the coming 
 on of dark, lest the dead coach, drawn by headless 
 horses, should dash through with its ghostly freight 
 from the big house that once stood in the middle 
 of the field a great house with a hundred windows, 
 lit by countless candles, sometimes seen by the 
 unwary and always a sure presage of death. To- 
 night there was no feeling half fear, half hope of 
 seeing leprechaun or coach. Still his heart beat 
 wonderfully. The great river, over which he had
 
 60 WAITING 
 
 stood patiently for hours as a boy fishing with a 
 bent pin baited with bread crumb, was only the tiny 
 stream whose faint murmur he scarcely heard as he 
 walked, and up which no trout had ever ventured. 
 Yet, another and a greater dream had not been 
 shattered. He was to be schoolmaster at Bourneen. 
 This dazzling dream, with which at first he only 
 played, as he played at keeping house with Hanny 
 under the privet bushes in the garden, trudging 
 along barefooted at Tom's heels by this very road, 
 two sods of turf under his arm and a strap of books 
 slung on his back, was at last about to come true. 
 Nor had the glamour gone when the play became 
 a set purpose. The game of wielding a ferule at a 
 rostrum had yielded to a higher ideal. He was to 
 continue Master Driscoll's work, to help in the 
 forming of men and women, to ... 
 
 He laughed now as he remembered the language 
 in which he used to clothe his ideal, " to help them 
 to lift the mantle of sorrow off the shoulders of 
 Kathleen ni Houlihan." 
 
 Father Mahon's dining-room was still alight as 
 he passed. He caught a glimpse of the priest's side 
 face through the uncurtained window. It brought 
 back painful memories which he tried in vain to 
 shake off: the terror of the children when Father 
 James stalked into the schoolroom and scowled at 
 them ; his rudeness to Master Driscoll ; that 
 terrible Sunday in Bourneen chapel when the priest 
 had struck him across the face with the wisp of a 
 cow's tail used for sprinkling holy water, because, 
 while holding the basin, he had pushed against the 
 priest's elbow. He felt the weal on his cheek now 
 and the coil of the tail round the back of his head, 
 and the holy water oozing down his neck.
 
 WAITING 6 1 
 
 All that was in the past, he said to himself, 
 shrugging his shoulders. And perhaps the priest 
 had changed ? It was a good omen that he had 
 been so civil and pleasant to his father in their 
 interview to-night. 
 
 The moon, breaking from under a cloud as he 
 entered the little village, shone on the thatch of the 
 half-dozen labourers' cottages that led to Clancy's 
 big public house and general shop opposite the 
 chapel gate. A few more cottages, two public houses, 
 the post office with sweets and thread and a trimmed 
 hat in its small window, a police barrack, Father 
 Malone's cottage, a forge, and Maurice was at the 
 gate of the schoolhouse, with nothing of village 
 beyond but Master Driscoll's cottage and the 
 corrugated iron store of the Bourneen Agricultural 
 Society. 
 
 He stood for a few minutes gazing at the school. 
 He could just read " Bourneen Mixed National 
 School," in white letters on a black board over the 
 door. Notwithstanding Master Driscoll's efforts at 
 flower-beds, and the creepers which already climbed 
 to the window sills, the new building looked bleak 
 and cold in the wan light. He checked a sigh for 
 the old school with its thatched roof and the 
 rambler roses twining about the wooden porch and 
 losing themselves in the thatch, by the thought that 
 in this month the rose trees would have been dead 
 too. In spring these banked-up flower-beds would 
 be gay with colour, and the creepers no longer little 
 strips of rag. 
 
 In response to his knock at the door of the 
 schoolmaster's cottage, Driscoll shouted " Come 
 in." He pushed open the door and found 
 the old man seated in a rush armchair in the
 
 62 WAITING 
 
 living-room and kitchen, on which the front door 
 gave. 
 
 " Maurice, is it ? " he said, pushing his spectacles 
 up on his forehead, and shading his eyes from the 
 lamp-light with his hand. " Shut the door tight 
 and draw the curtain over it. There's a cruel 
 draught on the fire these cold nights." 
 
 He pushed forward a second rush armchair, took 
 a box or churchwarden pipes from a shelf, and care- 
 fully selecting two, put them and a tobacco jar on 
 the table behind the two chairs. 
 
 " I believe I've got the school. Father James 
 promised my father to-night," Maurice said, taking 
 a seat. 
 
 Driscoll stood up and shook Maurice's hands. 
 " I'm gladder of that than if you brought a 
 crock of gold in on the floor to me," he said with 
 emotion. 
 
 He held the hands for a while, gave them another 
 pressure before letting them go. Turning to the 
 open turf box beside the fender, he threw several 
 sods on the blazing fire and watched them catch the 
 flame. 
 
 " You were always more like a son of my own 
 to me than a stranger," he said musingly. 
 
 He sat down, handed a pipe to Maurice, and 
 filled and lighted the other. He puffed slowly, 
 his eyes on the glowing turf which lighted up 
 his strong rugged face. His mobile lips twitched 
 a little, and his bushy eyebrows made curious 
 shadows on his broad forehead. His blue eyes 
 had the fearless simplicity of a child's, and some 
 of a child's depth of wonder. The front of his 
 hair, brushed straight up on his forehead, looked 
 dark in the shadow ; but behind, where it fell in
 
 WAITING 63 
 
 locks over his collar, the lamplight showed it to be 
 a silky white. 
 
 " Where are you going to live ? " he asked, with- 
 out moving his eyes off the fire. 
 
 " At home at least until Tom marries. I dare 
 say I must leave then." 
 
 Driscoll moved his chair sideways so as to get 
 a good view of the room. About three-fourths of 
 it was covered with rush matting. The white walls 
 were hung with steel engravings : Robert Emmett's 
 speech during his trial, a sitting of the Irish House 
 of Commons during the debate on the Union, Wolfe 
 Tone, a chalk drawing in profile of the beautiful 
 head of John O'Leary, and other patriotic subjects. 
 Well-filled open book-shelves occupied the space on 
 both sides of the front window, from the floor to 
 the boarded ceiling. A rough carpenter's bench 
 stood under the window at the back. On it were a 
 box of tools, two trays of bulbs, a bundle of what 
 looked like dried weeds, and a microscope. 
 
 " All I ever use of this house is the kitchen here, 
 and my bedroom there," pointing to a door on the 
 left of the fireplace. " You never saw the rooms at 
 the other end ? " 
 
 Maurice shook his head. Driscoll went to the 
 standing desk by the front window, took a key from 
 a drawer, hesitated a moment, and put it back. 
 
 " I'll show 'em to you another time. I'm too 
 happy to-night to do it," he said, taking his seat 
 again. " But if you come and live in 'em, you'll 
 give me most of the happiness I'm likely to have on 
 this side of the grave." 
 
 Maurice was deeply moved. He had heard of 
 the rooms ever since he was a child. Rumour, 
 starting from Bessy Reilly, the old woman who
 
 64 WAITING 
 
 spent some hours every day in what she called 
 " doing for Master Driscoll," and what he called 
 " messing my house upside down," gave a glowing 
 description of the two rooms and their furniture. 
 All Bessy had said was that they were " finer 
 furnished than any room in Father Mahon's house 
 itself," but this had grown in other mouths to 
 " finer than any room in the castle of Dublin or in 
 Durrisk Manor itself." But what moved Maurice 
 was not the offer of well-furnished rooms, but the 
 offer of these rooms at all. For it was well known 
 that they had been unused for over thirty years ; 
 ever since Ellen McRory died, a week before the 
 day fixed for her marriage with Dan Driscoll. They 
 had been fitted up for her, and at regular intervals 
 since, Driscoll aired and dusted them and lighted 
 fires in both the sitting and bedroom. 
 
 c< Those ! " Maurice said. " I couldn't dream 
 of it. Besides, you would hate it ? " 
 
 Driscoll smiled gently. " One time I might, 
 but that was many a year ago. If they're empty 
 now, it's because I'm a lonely man without any one 
 to fill them. She wouldn't mind it, and why should 
 I ?" His voice shook a little. He got up, took 
 out the key again, and taking the lamp in his hand, 
 unlocked the sitting-room door. 
 
 They walked quickly through the small rooms, 
 one opening out of the other. Maurice had a 
 vague recollection, when they sat again by the 
 kitchen fire, of faded pink wall-paper, a faded 
 Brussels carpet, some mahogany chairs, and a sofa 
 covered with black hair cloth. 
 
 "There's many a man'd tell you," the old man 
 said, lighting another pipe, " that two of a trade 
 never agree, and that you'd be more comfortable
 
 WAITING 65 
 
 living away from the man into whose shoes you 
 stepped." 
 
 Maurice opened his lips, but Driscoll held up 
 his pipe. 
 
 " Not a word now," he said. " Take time to 
 think but if you come, you'll make me a happy 
 
 man."
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 " How is your new assistant doing with you ? " 
 Master Driscoll said, looking at the brilliant red ball 
 low on the horizon. 
 
 " It's a sign of frost," he went on without wait- 
 ing for a reply, " and it'll likely be a hard, dry night. 
 My rheumatism is gone, I might say, only that my 
 little finger is crooked for good, I'm afraid. I 
 might be going with you after all to the Hallow Eve 
 doings up at Reardons'." 
 
 "Of course you will," Maurice said heartily. 
 
 " I'm getting too old for that kind of merriment." 
 
 " Nonsense, it's young you're growing," Maurice 
 said, laughing. 
 
 The old man busied himself with the lamp. 
 " There's no strength to read in the light of the sky 
 on an evening like this," he said, lighting a match. 
 " It was the luck of heaven that sent you in on the 
 floor to me. I didn't think I'd be alive nine 
 months after giving up the school, and I'd have 
 moped myself to death only for you. Having them 
 classes down in the garden behind the house here is 
 a great God-send to me." 
 
 He moved about quietly, shut the door, drew the 
 curtains, put a kettle on the fire, and laid the table 
 for tea. Maurice cut bread and butter, and brought 
 a pot of jam from a cupboard in the sitting-room. 
 
 " We're going to have a real Samhain feast of
 
 WAITING 67 
 
 it," Driscoll said, taking a seat by the fire, a book in 
 his hand. 
 
 Maurice stood with his back to the fire, filling a 
 pipe. 
 
 " I'm not keeping you from your reading ? " the 
 old man said uneasily. 
 
 " Too strict you are with me, if any. You're 
 worse than when I was a gossoon. But I'll have a free 
 time to-night, no matter what hints you give me," 
 Maurice said with mock severity. 
 
 A shadow passed across the old man's face. 
 " I'm not a burthen to you in any way, Maurice ? I 
 hadn't the courage to put it to you before," he said 
 diffidently. 
 
 Maurice looked grave. " A burthen ? You're 
 more of a help to me than you ever were in your 
 life before, and that's saying a good deal. And 
 what's more, you're doing a bigger share of the real 
 work of the school than I am," he said, with obvious 
 sincerity. 
 
 "I've my own opinion about that," Driscoll 
 said, looking at Maurice affectionately. " But 
 whether I'm a nuisance or a help, my heart is easy 
 now, and I'll not open my lips on the subject 
 again," he went on happily. " We'll have our 
 supper a little early, about six or so, and then we 
 can be at the Reardons' in plenty of time." 
 
 He listened to the faint simmering of the kettle 
 for a while. " It's far from the boil yet," he said, 
 shutting the book which he hadn't looked at, and 
 putting it on the table. " As you're set on doing 
 nothing we might as well talk of one thing and 
 another for a bit." 
 
 Maurice lolled in his armchair, his feet on the 
 hob.
 
 68 WAITING 
 
 " I was asking you about your new assistant, 
 Miss Devoy," Driscoll said. 
 
 " Oh, the work-mistress ? Not so bad ; but she 
 thinks I've nothing else to do but point her pencils 
 for her." 
 
 " She's that kind, is she ? " Driscoll said with a 
 smile. " The glimpse I had of her she looked as if 
 she had an eager eye." 
 
 " The worst of her is that she doesn't know Irish 
 or care for it, and I asked Father James to appoint 
 some one who could take an Irish class." 
 
 " It's not that she's thinking of, nor he either," 
 Driscoll said chuckling. " 1 
 
 Thick steam had been pouring from the spout of 
 the kettle for some time ; n ow the pressure lifted up 
 the lid and made it rattle. 
 
 The old man stopped speaking and jumped up. 
 " The tea won't be worth drinking unless I wet it 
 at once," he said, seizing the tea caddy. 
 
 After tea they set out for the party at Reardons'. 
 Mrs. Reardon had given the invitation in the chapel- 
 yard on Sunday before mass. " Any time after the 
 cows are milked. Jim Mescall, the blind fiddler, 
 is coming, and he might have some tale of Hallow 
 Eve that you never heard tell of yet, Master 
 Driscoll." 
 
 " It's footing it to the music ye young people'll 
 be, and not listening to old tales," Driscoll said, as 
 he and Maurice walked along briskly. 
 
 A benevolent moon blinked at them from a clear 
 sky. Here and there a branch glittered with the 
 beginnings of frost, and the mud of the rutty road 
 crackled to their tread. The thin, windless air was 
 almost warm on their cheeks. 
 
 "They've taken to the Irish wonderfully,"
 
 WAITING 69 
 
 Maurice said defensively, "and they're making a 
 great success of the bank and the store." 
 
 " Thank God, they're knocking fun out of it, 
 too. It doesn't make Tom less anxious for the 
 Irish that he often has the chance of reading out 
 of the one book with Minnie Reardon." 
 
 " I don't know," Maurice said doubtfully. 
 
 " Wait till you feel the like." 
 
 " My work will always be enough for me." 
 
 Driscoll laughed cheerfully. " Young fellows 
 like you always say that. You'll know the differ 
 when the fire touches you." 
 
 Half-way down the boreen which connected Larry 
 Reardon's house with the Liscannow road they 
 heard the strains of Jim Mescall's fiddle in a lively 
 jig tune. Despite the frost several young men 
 and women stood around in groups in front of the 
 house. Lamps on the window sills of the kitchen 
 and the room cast feeble rays into the moonlight, 
 but inside the open door a jug, the corner of the 
 dresser, hands and faces shone like gold bronze in 
 the ruddy glow of the turf fire. 
 
 " God save all here," Driscoll said at the 
 threshold. 
 
 " And you too, master, and the young master, 
 too. Ye're fine and early, thanks be to God," Larry 
 Reardon said, shaking hands. 
 
 " You're making a great place of it, Larry." 
 
 " It might be worse," Larry said, standing back 
 and giving a pleased glance at a new, two-storied, 
 slated addition to the old thatched house. " Own- 
 ing the land gives a man great courage in the way 
 of building. If the slates look down on the thatch 
 itself, it's cold comfort there's in them on a winter's 
 night. Sorra one of me'd sleep under a slate while
 
 70 WAITING 
 
 I've the thatch to cover me ; not if you gave me the 
 wealth of the world. But sure the women the Lord 
 give 'em sense think they're genteel. But let ye be 
 coming in. The people aren't near gathered yet, 
 and there's no right face put upon things, only Jim 
 Mescall rasping away on the fiddle to pass the time 
 by the way of no harm." 
 
 The furniture in the kitchen had been pushed 
 back close to the walls. Guests sat on chairs and 
 tables, on the settle, and on the hob, or lounged 
 against the dresser and cupboards. The centre of 
 the flagged floor was bare of everything except a 
 large wooden tub half-filled with water. Suspended 
 from a rafter above the tub were an apple and a dip 
 candle, tied close together in the forked loops of a 
 stout string about five feet from the floor. 
 
 " Come and sit beside me here," Mrs. Blake 
 said from the hearth. " By dint of watching, the 
 woman of the house kept these two seats for ye, 
 though 'tis little either of ye deserves it, the one for 
 deserting his old mother, and the other for enticing 
 him off." 
 
 " Old, indeed ! " Driscoll said. " 'Tis you had 
 the light foot for a dance, Mrs. Blake, and there's 
 no signs of it failing you yet." 
 
 " True for you, master," Jack Hinnissey said 
 from the settle. " You'll see her footing it yet 
 before the night is out." 
 
 " It's a height of preparations they've made here, 
 anyhow, for a great night of it," she said graciously. 
 " Who are them within in the room, Maurice ? 
 You've better eyesight than me." 
 
 He looked at the group around the fireplace in 
 the room, the boarded floor of which had also been 
 cleared.
 
 WAITING 71 
 
 " Minnie and her mother," he said, " and 
 Hanny and Miss Devoy and Mrs. Crawford and 
 and a strange girl." 
 
 " That must be Mrs. Crawford's niece a girl 
 by the name of Alice Barton. Minnie was telling 
 me last night that she was going to ask her. She 
 wasn't too sure if she'd come, for her father has 
 some grand situation in Dublin, a couple of hun- 
 dred pounds a year, I'm told, and you never know 
 what kind of airs them sort of people'll put on. 
 But likely she takes after the Crawfords decent 
 poor people, though they're Protestants itself. 
 She's of the same brand of religion herself, I hear ; 
 not that that's agin her, poor thing, and she born to 
 it. Going round the country, she is, teaching the 
 people how to keep hens and ducks and the like, 
 and some Government Board in Dublin paying her 
 big money for doing it. A slip of a girl like her ! " 
 she added sceptically. 
 
 Maurice heard everything his mother said. But 
 all the time he was watching Alice Barton's figure, 
 at the corner of the fender, silhouetted against the 
 light. The dim light of the candle on the mantel- 
 piece, passing through her loose hair, transformed it 
 into gold. The dull lamp in the window left her 
 face almost in shadow, but the firelight caught her 
 curved chin and mouth, and the short upper lip with 
 a touch of wilfulness, and the nose with the slightest 
 tilt upwards. Her whole body seemed instinct with 
 gracious curves, from her instep on the fender to 
 the line which her hair made against her forehead. 
 
 u That girl of the Devoys' thinks a lot of her- 
 self," Mrs. Blake said critically. " It's no wonder, 
 I suppose, and all Father Mahon is doing for her." 
 
 Maurice's eyes wandered to the stocky figure
 
 72 WAITING 
 
 beside Alice Barton. The light, which gave a warm 
 glow to Alice Barton's profile, was reflected in a 
 harsh glare from the high cheek-bones of Agnes 
 Devoy. 
 
 " She's a relation of his, isn't she a niece or 
 something ? " he said indifferently. 
 
 " Niece, indeed ! " Mrs. Blake said, tossing her 
 head. " If she was as near as that to him, he'd have 
 her married long ago to a lawyer or doctor within 
 in Liscannow. She's only a second cousin once re- 
 moved, or it's not a schoolmistress he'd make of 
 her, and poor at that. It's as plain as two eyes in 
 a cat what he's aiming at in putting her in on you in 
 Bourneen. He could have done better for her in 
 the way of schoolmistressing, I'm told, down in the 
 Strand girls' school, only that he had you in his eye 
 for her. She's not much to look at, but you might 
 do worse easily," she added, with a thoughtful 
 frown. " It'd be a great back to you entirely to 
 have the priest for a relation." 
 
 " Hush, mother ! " he said, with a frown, " the 
 people'll hear you talking nonsense." 
 
 Jim Mescall had put aside his fiddle and was 
 arguing vigorously with Master Driscoll on Hallow 
 Eve traditions. The fiddler said that all the life 
 had gone out of them compared with what they 
 were in his young days, when he had the sight in 
 his eyes. It was many a long day since the fairy 
 music was heard by the blessed well on the road 
 beyond, as the clock struck twelve on Hallow Eve 
 night. And the things that happened when you 
 passed lead through a key, or looked into a tub of 
 water, not to speak of looking into the blessed well 
 under the light of the moon, weren't lucky even to 
 talk about. The "good people" only appeared
 
 WAITING 73 
 
 now to a few dark men like himself, who, he added 
 vehemently, mightn't be so blind after all as them 
 that had eyesight. 
 
 " I often heard my father say God rest his 
 soul " Jack Hinnissey broke in, " that the good 
 people were put in a temper because they couldn't 
 understand the drift of the English that we all took 
 to speaking." 
 
 " Then they'll soon be in humour again with all 
 the Irish that's springing up everywhere," Driscoll 
 said genially. 
 
 " Yerra, leave the good people be they don't 
 like being talked about," Mrs. Reardon said, 
 approaching the fire. " Leave 'em to Jim Mescall, 
 and he'll put the comether on 'em when he starts 
 playing rightly. It's the best of friends he's with 
 'em, and he often playing to 'em in the dead of 
 night under a thorn bush. Come, Tom Blake, and 
 make a start at diving for the apples." 
 
 " It's a deep meaning there's in that itself, but 
 it's little any one knows about it now," Jim Mescall 
 said, hugging his fiddle between his knees, and 
 turning his sightless eyes towards the blaze. 
 
 " There's the height of fun in it, anyway," Mrs. 
 Reardon said, taking a skib of apples off the dresser 
 and throwing a few into the tub of water. 
 
 " A man might as well begin to make a fool of 
 himself first as last," Tom said with a grin. 
 
 He took off his coat and waistcoat, loosened the 
 collar of his shirt, and rolled back the sleeves. Amid 
 shouts of laughter he knelt on the floor and tried to 
 catch one of the floating apples with his mouth. 
 His head disappeared under the water, and rose 
 again, spluttering, without the apple. 
 
 " Well tried, bedad ! "
 
 74 WAITING 
 
 " Angle it in at the side, Tom." 
 
 " Try suction on it ; the teeth is no good." 
 
 Advice, serious and derisive, was plentiful from 
 the excited crowd surrounding the tub. After half 
 a dozen fruitless efforts Tom stood up, victorious, 
 an apple between his teeth. 
 
 " I'd never forgive you if you didn't get it," 
 Minnie Reardon said, handing him a towel 
 
 He whispered in her ear. She blushed and 
 laughed. 
 
 " It's the cheek of the world you have over a 
 trifle like that," she said, pushing him away. 
 
 Young and old followed one another at the tub, 
 with varying success, but always to the intense 
 enjoyment of the onlookers. 
 
 " I love these old customs," an eager voice said 
 behind Maurice. 
 
 " There's more sport in the dancing, though Jim 
 Reardon wasn't bad at the apple. I suppose you 
 don't have the like of this in Dublin, Miss Barton ? " 
 his sister Hanny said. 
 
 Before his sister said the name he had known it 
 must be Miss Barton. The voice seemed to belong 
 inevitably to the girl he had seen in the room. He 
 got up and offered her his seat. 
 
 " My brother Maurice," Hanny said. 
 
 Alice Barton made a little smiling bow, but said 
 that she saw better standing. The tub was now 
 removed. She eagerly watched Larry Reardon light 
 the candle beside the apple on the string. He 
 twisted the string, let it go suddenly, and the apple 
 and candle revolved in a wide circle. 
 
 The more adventurous of the company tried to 
 bite the apple as it circled. 
 
 Alice Barton caught Maurice's arm, " It's
 
 WAITING 75 
 
 dangerous," she said excitedly, her eyes fixed on the 
 candle. 
 
 Her touch thrilled him, but he said lightly, 
 " The worst that happens is a mouthful of unsavoury 
 candle grease." 
 
 " Oh ! " she said in a relieved tone, releasing her 
 hold on his arm, and giving her whole attention to 
 the game. 
 
 Her hair was brown he saw now, as he looked 
 her over approvingly, the brown that becomes gold 
 at the least excuse : a stray strand on her forehead 
 sparkled as the firelight fell on it. Her eyes 
 were brown too, almost black in this light. Sad in 
 repose, because of the shadows of her long curled 
 eyelashes, they lit up her whole face when she 
 smiled. 
 
 Jim Mescall began to tune his fiddle impatiently. 
 
 " Pull down the apple and candle by accident 
 like, and then we can have the dance," Minnie 
 Reardon whispered to Tom. 
 
 Before he had made up his mind as to how the 
 accident was to happen, Mrs. Reardon cut the string 
 with a scissors, saying 
 
 " Hand round the apples and the nuts, Minnie. 
 And, Jim, you might be loosening your fingers with 
 a tune while we're eating, so that they'll be supple 
 for the dance tunes." 
 
 " There's no great call on them to be supple 
 with the people that's in it now," Mescall said 
 gloomily. " All the old spirit has gone out of their 
 limbs. Besides, I might be grinding an apple and a 
 nut myself." 
 
 " And there's a drop in the bottom of a bottle 
 that might put courage into you," Mrs. Reardon 
 said soothingly.
 
 76 WAITING 
 
 " It might then," he said in a more hopeful tone. 
 
 The skib of apples and a bowl of hazel nuts were 
 handed round. Some of the guests roasted their 
 apples on live embers round the hearth. The 
 younger people put nuts beside the fire and watched 
 excitedly till they exploded. 
 
 " That's mine," Hanny said. 
 
 " It isn't ; it's mine," Minnie Reardon claimed, 
 as a nut jumped into old Driscoll's lap. 
 
 " I'm afeared I'm done for this Saraft if ye can 
 make up your minds which of ye I'm bound to put 
 the ring on. There's no going back on a nut," he 
 said solemnly, his eyes twinkling. " What do you 
 say, Jim ? " 
 
 " There's more in it than meets the eye even of 
 a dark man," Mescall said with interest. " Could 
 any one say for certain who the nut belonged to ? " 
 
 Hanny and Minnie drew back blushing. " Yerra, 
 master, 'tis you were always a great warrant to joke," 
 Minnie said uneasily. 
 
 " I call ye all to witness that neither one nor 
 the other of them'll have me," Driscoll said dole- 
 fully. 
 
 In the laugh that followed the girls escaped, and 
 fussily helped Mrs. Reardon at the dresser. 
 
 " There, now," she said at last, " you might tell 
 Jim to strike up, Minnie. Everything is ready. 
 There's buttermilk and separated milk and, though 
 the cows are going dry itself, a drop of new milk for 
 the young people that might be thirsty at the dance. 
 We never had a night of the kind before without a 
 half-barrel of porter," she added, addressing some 
 guests near by, " but the curate is so much agin 
 porter sprees that we thought it better to give in. 
 There'll be a cup of tea for old women like myself
 
 WAITING 77 
 
 on the table in the corner of the room ; and maybe 
 Larry'll find something in the cupboard for an odd 
 old man." 
 
 " I wouldn't doubt Larry to get the blind side 
 of the curate," Jack Hinnissey said, laughing. 
 " The man that'd miss porter and he getting a nip 
 of the hard stuff'd be finding queer fault with his 
 food." 
 
 "There's no fault in the curate," Tom Blake 
 said seriously. " If he's hard on the drink itself, it's 
 time some one was down on it. It's the parish 
 priest we ought to stand up against if we had the 
 courage of a mouse, and he scattering innocent 
 dances like this with a stick." 
 
 " Whist, Tom. Miss Devoy might hear you," 
 Mrs. Reardon said anxiously. 
 
 " Why did you ask her here then ? " 
 
 " Sure she's safer mixed up in an affair of the 
 kind than maybe hearing tell of it and carrying 
 tales," Mrs. Reardon said, with a shrewd wink. 
 
 " There's only one way to meet a bully, and 
 that's to stand up to him," Tom said, squaring his 
 shoulders. 
 
 "That's only gossoon's talk, Tom Blake," Mrs. 
 Reardon said dryly. " You're old enough to know 
 better. What happened to Dick Fahy the time he 
 lifted his hand against Father James ? Paralysed 
 it was that same night. I'll take right good care 
 there won't be any row with the priest on my floor. 
 Haven't I Tim Daly, our labouring man, stationed on 
 the road outside to give warning if he hears the 
 noise of a car, for fear it might be Father James 
 going to a sick call or the like, so that we could 
 stop down the dance and Jim tuck away his fiddle." 
 
 Tom muttered something which was lost in the
 
 78 WAITING 
 
 strains of " The Wind that shakes the Barley." After 
 a preliminary flourish, while partners were being 
 selected, mostly by the young women, Mescall 
 settled down steadily to a long programme of jigs, 
 reels, and hornpipes, with an occasional quadrille 
 (though that wasn't rightly an Irish dance, Mescall 
 complained). The elders sat around in small groups 
 and discussed politics and farming and likely 
 marriages for next Shrovetide ; or, when tapped on 
 the shoulder by Larry Reardon, accompanied him 
 with an air of mystery to the room, and returned, 
 wiping their mouths, prepared to take a more genial 
 view of life. Jim Mescall, playing with vigour, 
 carried on a whispered conversation with Master 
 Driscoll on old Samhain customs, that were old, he 
 said, before St. Patrick himself saw the light. Mike 
 Blake consulted Maurice as to some difference of 
 opinion between the agricultural society and the 
 agricultural bank ; being a director of both he was 
 troubled as to how he could " divide up against 
 himself in case he took sides." Maurice was 
 interested in the dispute. Both projects were linked 
 with his school, the language, Home Rule, in his 
 vision of a new Ireland. He had already made a 
 plan for the adjustment of this petty quarrel. But 
 to-night it obstinately evaded him. Only that 
 morning he had thought it out in all its details. 
 He was secretary of the little bank and had under- 
 taken to find a solution. He had found it. But 
 where was it now ? He had the appearance of an 
 intent listener a puckered brow and a far-away 
 expression in his eyes. His father's whispering voice, 
 almost at his ear, seemed curiously distant. He 
 caught the words " bank " and " store," and sought 
 some meaning of them in the smouldering sods on
 
 WAITING 79 
 
 the hearth, in a shining old lustre jug on the dresser. 
 Then his eyes followed the movements of an eight- 
 handed reel. His brow cleared though his eyes were 
 not less absorbed. His father's voice became an 
 indistinct murmur, a sort of placid undertone to Jim 
 Mescall's music. Bank and store were forgotten in 
 the great content with which he watched the girl in 
 black pick her way with graceful and confident ease 
 through one of the complicated figures of the dance. 
 She gave a charm even to Mescall's harsh, staccato 
 rasping on the fiddle. There was something strangely 
 pleasant in the swish of her skirt, in the curve of 
 her arm as she held out a hand to a partner, in the 
 faint flush of her cheeks fading into the deeper 
 red of her lips. For a moment her eyes met his, 
 great lustrous pools that seemed to flash vivid colour, 
 and then he saw only the white nape of her neck and 
 a loose curl. . . . 
 
 " You're not listening to a word I say," Mike 
 Blake said loudly, as the music stopped. 
 
 " Oh yes," Maurice said with a happy smile. 
 " What you've got to do is this. . . ." It had all 
 come back to him in a flash the moment the dance 
 had ended. 
 
 "There's some sense in what you say. It shows 
 you were listening anyway, though I was ready to 
 swear you weren't. I might do worse than follow 
 your advice," Mike said ungraciously. 
 
 He danced with her once. Her thin shoes 
 troubled him. Wouldn't her feet get hurt on the 
 rough stone floor ? She smiled. Dancing made 
 one forget all that. Jack Hinnissey shouted 
 
 " Bedad, 'tis you have the light foot, Miss 
 Barton. Like a rubber ball you are touching the 
 floor."
 
 8o WAITING 
 
 Maurice was a little annoyed by the grotesque 
 image ; but she laughed, and he forgot his annoyance 
 in the music of the laugh. 
 
 u That's a great compliment," she said demurely. 
 "And he's the best step dancer in the room too. 
 And I never seeing a reel danced till a year ago. 
 What do you think of that ? " 
 
 They were separated for a moment and he could 
 not say what he thought. He bungled the figure 
 and brought a frown to Miss Devoy's face, ignoring 
 her outstretched hand. A year ! why he could 
 imagine her stepping into the Reardons' kitchen 
 without ever having seen a reel before, and dancing 
 it better than any one there. But all he said when 
 they danced together again was 
 
 " Where did you learn ? " 
 
 " At a Gaelic League dancing class at Drum- 
 condra." 
 
 He said that he must have been within a few 
 steps of her at the time at the Training College. 
 She frowned at this, and admitted, on being 
 questioned, that she did not think much of Training 
 Colleges : they made machines of people, and weren't 
 in touch with the real needs of the country. He 
 spoke of Master Driscoll : she thawed a little, but 
 said maliciously 
 
 " He hadn't the soul ground out of him in one 
 of those training barracks." 
 
 Meekly Maurice put in a defence for trained 
 teachers " there were some who tried to keep their 
 souls." 
 
 " Maybe there are," she said doubtfully. 
 
 All this was in snatches. Dancing absorbed her, 
 and speech, for the moment, was only an incident. 
 Long since the dancing had ceased to matter for
 
 WAITING 8 1 
 
 Maurice, except as a broad chasm that divided him 
 from the next sound of her voice. 
 
 He swung her almost into Hanny's arms as 
 Mescall drew the last creaking chord. Hanny, who 
 had just come in through the open kitchen door 
 with Jim Reardon in her wake, said shyly 
 
 " There's a beautiful moon outside, and it's not 
 so stuffy there as in here." 
 
 " One minute then, I mustn't miss a dance," 
 Alice said, taking the shawl Hanny offered her 
 and wrapping it round her shoulders. Maurice 
 followed her out and they stood in front of the 
 door. 
 
 The ground was hard. The white rime on the 
 grass and on the bare trees sparkled. In the shadow 
 of the house Minnie Reardon was bent over the tub 
 of water, which had been removed from the kitchen 
 to make room for the dancing. 
 
 " I can see nothing but my own image," she said 
 regretfully. 
 
 " I bet you can, now," Tom Blake said, bending 
 over her. 
 
 " What's the good of that when it's the image of 
 your own face I see, and not of a spirit in the like- 
 ness of you ? " 
 
 " As if my own face wasn't better than a spirit's 
 any day." 
 
 " Be off with you, now, out of that," she said, 
 pushing him away, " or some one'll see you." 
 
 " Sorra one of me cares if the whole barony seen 
 me," he said, kissing her. 
 
 Minnie laughed softly. After a minute they 
 walked hand in hand towards the road. 
 
 Jim Mescall began another tune. Maurice 
 made a movement to go in, but Alice did not stir. 
 
 G
 
 82 WAITING 
 
 Her eyes were fixed speculatively on Tom and 
 Minnie as they disappeared round the gate. 
 
 " Did she expect to see anything ? " Alice said 
 in a hushed voice. 
 
 He looked at her face. The excitement and 
 glow of the dance had died away. In this light her 
 face was as cold as the moon. The white priestesses 
 of the forest, of whom he had read in some old Celtic 
 tale, must have looked like her, he thought, a little 
 bitterly. For years he had seen the love-making of 
 Tom and Minnie, had laughed at it and thought it 
 foolish. To-night it had moved him, and he felt a 
 dull aching pain. . . . 
 
 " Don't you believe in the old powers ? " she 
 asked, as he remained silent, fidgeting with his feet. 
 
 " I don't know," he said crossly. 
 
 The tone of his own voice made him angry with 
 himself. Why should he be angry with her ? He 
 pulled himself together and said banteringly 
 
 " I thought Protestants had thrown over all these 
 old beliefs." 
 
 She looked at him curiously. " There are older 
 things than Protestantism, or Catholicism either, that 
 still move the world," she said musingly. 
 
 " Oh ! the holy well on the road below," he said 
 lightly. " Minnie Reardon is probably looking for 
 Tom's image in it this minute." 
 
 Alice laughed. " She knows the oldest wisdom 
 perhaps," she said with a slight shrug, turning 
 indoors.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 MASTER DRISCOLL was unusually silent on the way 
 home. He mounted the cross-roads hill without 
 stopping to admire the view, though to-night there 
 was some excuse for a rest. Hills had begun to 
 tell on him. As a rule he stood and turned round 
 in the middle, or, if it was a long hill, two or three 
 times, and said "how beautiful." And this often 
 when it was almost too dark to see the road. It was 
 only when they reached the sharp rise near the top 
 that he stood and looked towards the sea. Field and 
 hedgerow shimmered. The thin line of breakers near 
 Liscannow, and the sullen mountain behind the town 
 shone with an illusive clearness. The brilliant, 
 frosty moon threw a mysterious veil of brightness 
 over everything. 
 
 " Jim Mescall thinks the old Ireland'll die with 
 himself," he said gloomily. 
 
 " It won't. He's only an old croaker," Maurice 
 said, with an abstracted air. 
 
 " God send," Driscoll said reverently. 
 
 They walked on in silence, one on each side of 
 the road, deep in meditation. On any other night 
 for the last ten months this conversational opening 
 would have urged Maurice to the speech of vision and 
 prophecy ; but to-night he preferred to walk alone 
 with his thoughts. For the most part they were 
 hardly thoughts at all, only mere flashes of memory
 
 84 WAITING 
 
 the turn of a cheek, the line of an eyebrow, and, 
 dimly, how she held and carried herself. Their last 
 words came back to him. 
 
 " Will you be long in these parts, Miss Barton ? " 
 
 And the flash of her eyes as she said, her head 
 turned slightly, " That depends, Mr. Blake. I'm 
 tossed round like a ball from hand to hand. I'm 
 lent to the Liscannow County Committee, and any 
 agricultural society that asks for me can have me, I 
 believe." 
 
 The worst of it was, he thought, that one didn't 
 rightly know whether she wanted to be asked for or 
 not. All the girls he had known hitherto would 
 have said a thing out straight, or would have 
 pretended in such a way that one could see through 
 them easily. He was not quite satisfied with this 
 generalization. Were Minnie Reardon and Miss 
 Devoy and Hanny quite so simple ? Few women 
 in the old Irish stories were simple. They often 
 looked one thing and seemed to think another, and 
 then did something entirely unexpected. When he 
 tried to test this by his own experience, he suddenly 
 realized that, until to-night, he had never really 
 observed a woman. Hanny, even, he did not know, 
 much less Minnie Reardon. He could not re- 
 member the colour of their eyes, nor their dress. 
 He had never dreamt of analysing what relation an 
 intonation in the voice, a flash of the eye, bore to 
 their words or thoughts. Then he jumped to the 
 other extreme. 
 
 " There's a great subtlety in women," he said 
 aloud. 
 
 " They're queer enough," Master Driscoll said 
 vaguely, as if he was thinking of something else. 
 After a pause he continued, " I don't think myself
 
 WAITING 85 
 
 there's much in what Jim Mescall says. There 
 ought to be no fear of the new things, banks and 
 stores and the like, and Home Rule itself, destroy- 
 ing what's best in the old ways, if we only give 'em 
 the proper graft." 
 
 " Of course not," Maurice said, somewhat 
 impatiently. 
 
 This was his own favourite topic ; but now it 
 threatened a train of thought that he had found 
 pleasantly disturbing. He had a sudden illumina- 
 tion. There was a connection between Master 
 Driscoll's thoughts and his own at least they 
 could be made to connect. 
 
 " We ought to have an egg and poultry society 
 in Bourneen," he said emphatically. 
 
 Driscoll sighed. " We ought, indeed," he said. 
 " I often thought of showing the people the way by 
 putting up a fowl-run at the end of the garden. 
 But I always shirked it, God forgive me, through 
 not knowing much of the habits of hens and the 
 like, except out of books." 
 
 He opened the cottage door as he finished 
 speaking, lit the lamp, raked the ashes off the live 
 turf in the grate, and put on a few sods. 
 
 " I think I'll sit up awhile," he said, taking a 
 seat. " To-morrow to-day, by the same token," 
 glancing at the clock, u is a holiday, and I'll be time 
 enough in the morning if I catch second mass." 
 
 He yawned and looked thoughtfully at the fire. 
 " The hens are heavy on my mind," he said after a 
 while. " It's too little is done for the labouring 
 men, with all that's done for the farmers ; and that 
 society'd be making some sort of a start for them." 
 
 Maurice told him of Miss Barton and the 
 possibility of getting her as instructor.
 
 86 WAITING 
 
 "The very thing. It's God sent her into the 
 parish," Driscoll said, striking his hand on his leg. 
 " At the next meeting of the committee I'll move 
 that we'll put in an application for her. A fine girl 
 she is, with a laugh that made my own old heart 
 jump. She's learning the Irish too, and knows more 
 about the Red Branch than I do myself we had a 
 great seanachus by the fire, though she never let on 
 to me what her business was." 
 
 " I think she'll do," Maurice said with judicial 
 coldness, his nerves reacting to the excitement with 
 which he awaited the old man's decision. 
 
 " Do ! " Driscoll said indignantly. " What are 
 ye young fellows coming to ? God knows I ought 
 to be tired of schools, but I'd begin all over again, 
 from the alphabet, if I had the chance of learning 
 from her. Go off to bed out of that ! It's lumps 
 of ice ye all have where your hearts ought to be." 
 
 He caught up the poker and shook it at 
 Maurice, who gave a pleased laugh at the turf, 
 which had now begun to flare. 
 
 The humorous gleam in Driscoll's eyes gave 
 place to a thoughtful stare as he laid down the poker. 
 
 " I forgot that she's a Protestant," he said in a 
 troubled tone. 
 
 Maurice at once fired up. " It doesn't make a 
 pin's difference," he said excitedly. " The people 
 are above that nonsense now." He stood up and 
 kicked in a sod that was tumbling over the grate. 
 " See what happened when an attempt was made to 
 start the Erinites in the parish. My father himself, 
 though he doesn't take much interest in politics 
 since he bought the land, was against it. And you 
 should hear Tom at the meeting ! 1 was proud of 
 him being my brother. * The Crawfords and the
 
 WAITING 87 
 
 Levises and the Barbers,' he said, 'go to church on 
 a Sunday, and we go to mass ; but apart from that 
 there aren't better neighbours in the barony the 
 first to help at a threshing and a potato digging. 
 Is it set up a friendly society ye would that'd shut 
 the door on Emmet and Wolfe Tone and Mitchell 
 and Parnell, not to mention the living ? Friendly ! ' 
 he said, and I never saw such scorn on the face of a 
 man before. ' We'll have no society in this parish 
 that'd exclude our decent Protestant neighbours. 
 We ' " 
 
 "Oh, I know they routed it," Driscoll inter- 
 rupted. " The people are right enough in this 
 parish. I wasn't thinking of them. 'Twas Father 
 James I had in my mind." 
 
 " Oh, him ! " Maurice said more quietly, as if 
 ashamed of his outburst. " Fortunately for her, 
 she's not under the National Board. What has he to 
 do with her ? " 
 
 " It'd be hard to bring religion into hens and 
 ducks, that's true, though I wouldn't put it past 
 him if he took the notion," Driscoll said, smiling 
 again. " I suppose I'm still in dread of him, though 
 I'm out of his hands itself. The way he used to tower 
 over me when I had anything good to propose, shout- 
 ing ' Remember I'm your manager and the priest of 
 the parish ! I'll have none of it.' And often opposite 
 the boys too," he added sadly. " It's a wonder they 
 ever had any respect for me." 
 
 " It's not you they lost respect for," Maurice 
 said bitterly. 
 
 " I had no right at all to be mentioning the like 
 of that. Tut, tut ! I'm getting like any old maid with 
 a cutting tongue," the old man said, standing up and 
 lighting a candle. " There, take that now, and don't
 
 88 WAITING 
 
 be keeping it alight all night wearing out your eyes 
 reading. And forget what I said about Father 
 James I've long since left him to God." 
 
 Maurice was soon in bed. He extinguished the 
 candle, forgot all about Father Mahon, but he could 
 not sleep. He shut his eyes, and saw Alice Barton 
 in her toque, which seemed to bring some new 
 beauty of her face into relief ; he opened them, but 
 she was still there, her big pleading eyes bent on 
 Jack Hinnissey, who had refused even Mrs. Reardon 
 to wind up the dance with his famous exhibition of 
 hornpipes on a half-door. He heard again Jack 
 Hinnissey's "Bedad, I'll do it to please you, miss." 
 He took part, as vividly as when it happened, in 
 taking down the half-door " off the dairy, not the 
 house, for that's only just been new painted," he 
 again heard Mrs. Reardon say excitedly. And such 
 hornpipes no one ever saw before in Bourneen ! 
 Alice's eyes glowed with excitement, and even Jim 
 Mescall said, as he put down the fiddle, " I didn't 
 think there was a man in these days that had it in 
 him and age creeping upon Jack Hinnissey too, 
 and he the father of four." For a long time he 
 heard only the rattle of the half-door on the stone 
 floor and the quick stepping of agile feet, and, was 
 it Jack Hinnissey's voice miles away ? " Resin your 
 elbow, Jim, and let the bow fly." Then there was 
 only the old woman, the Ireland of the sad songs, 
 sitting by a fireless hearth, her head bent on her 
 knees. Soon a fire glowed, the bent shoulders 
 straightened, the scant grey locks changed to a 
 ruddy brown. She turned her face towards him, 
 and he felt no surprise that the dream woman was 
 Alice Barton. . . . 
 
 He awoke and laughed ; it was absurd that she
 
 WAITING 89 
 
 should remind him of the dream woman, he said to 
 himself. It seemed less absurd as he drew up the 
 blinds in the kitchen and made the fire, noiselessly, 
 lest he should awaken Driscoll in the room beyond. 
 It seemed quite natural as he let himself out quietly 
 to nine o'clock mass. Hair and eyes were alike in 
 both ; this resemblance must have made him notice 
 Alice at first. Afterwards, of course, she appealed 
 to him because she was interested in Irish things, 
 in the language, in old Irish dancing and folk songs, 
 and because she worked for Ireland. . . . 
 
 He felt unaccountably jumpy as he walked the 
 short distance to the chapel. He was greeted by 
 several people on their way to mass, and always he 
 responded nervously, expecting somehow that each 
 voice would be hers. Not, he thought, that any 
 one could mistake the somewhat harsh Bourneen 
 brogue for her delightful accent which, while dis- 
 carding the flatness of Bourneen and the pressure, 
 as if through an overgrowth of adenoids, that 
 characterized the speech of Dublin as he remembered 
 it, retained all the music of both, and had an added 
 beauty that was peculiarly its own. 
 
 Her voice would be a great asset : it would 
 draw people to her lectures. There was no telling 
 the influence for good it would have on all the 
 progressive movements in the parish. He sat at 
 the end of a bench in the cold chapel and con- 
 gratulated himself on seeing her usefulness so clearly. 
 He drew further inspiration from the shuffling and 
 coughing all around, signs of impatient waiting for 
 Father James, who was a little late ; from the 
 frosted breaths of the worshippers, beginning in 
 fantastic puffs and spirals and coalescing into a 
 grey haze that enveloped the whole congregation ;
 
 90 WAITING 
 
 from the two touzled boys, only half awake, who 
 lighted the reluctant candles on the altar. When, 
 after much uncertain jabbing with the long tapers, the 
 last candle was lighted, he had come to a decision 
 to see her that very day, to give her timely notice 
 that the parish would probably demand her services ; 
 otherwise, and the thought arrested the visible breath 
 he was exhaling at the moment and seemed to 
 congeal it, she might make some other engagement 
 and so be lost to the parish. It was his bounden 
 duty, he felt, to do everything in his power to prevent 
 the possibility of that calamity ; he must see her at 
 once. 
 
 He joined in the relieved sigh with which the 
 congregation greeted the appearance of Father James 
 at the vestry door, the chalice, of necessity, held well 
 in front of his commanding figure. He read his 
 Prayer-book diligently during mass. By turning a 
 page quickly, or by looking at the altar, he managed 
 to brush away a disconcerting strand of gold brown 
 hair or a laughing brown eye that occasionally came 
 between him and the print. For one brief moment 
 of distraction he reflected that, when he was not 
 actually controlling his thoughts, it was not her 
 usefulness which recalled her to him, but some little 
 nuance of appearance, of speech, of gesture. He 
 was elaborating a rational explanation of this when 
 the server's bell reminded him of the mystery at the 
 altar. He bowed his head. Gradually all sounds 
 ceased. He forgot even the aggressive personality 
 of Father Mahon, at whom he peered unconsciously 
 through the slits between his fingers, in the deep 
 hushed silence that filled the church. The feeling 
 of peace that always came to him at the consecration 
 of the mass had to-day some new wonder in it.
 
 WAITING 91 
 
 Even when the sounds began anew, snuffling and 
 coughing and shuffling that had often worried him 
 in the past, he hardly noticed them in the gladness 
 and joy that filled him. The Pater Noster and the 
 Communion had a fresh significance. The sun- 
 light that broke through the tawdry glass in the east 
 window as Father James was purifying the chalice 
 seemed to sing to his heart. 
 
 As he resumed his seat to await the sermon he 
 had a consciousness of life such as he felt only on 
 rare occasions when he heard the first birds twitter 
 after dawn, or when he stood entranced and alone on 
 the high pass behind Liscannow on a late summer 
 afternoon, the mountains beyond clad in different 
 shades of purple, and, at his feet, the shining track 
 of the sun on the sea. He was tolerant of every one 
 and of everything. He even smiled as Father 
 Mahon jerked his chasuble over his head, flung it on 
 the altar, turned round, faced the congregation with 
 a fierce frown, pulled up the sleeves of his alb as if 
 preparing for a prize fight, and shouted " Dearly 
 beloved brethren." 
 
 His thoughts wandered again to his project of 
 seeing Miss Barton during the day. He was worry- 
 ing over the hour of his visit when a snigger from 
 Jim Reardon, who sat in front of him, made him 
 listen to the sermon. 
 
 " Hallow Eve dances, indeed ! Looking for 
 sweethearts in wells and tubs of water 1 Night 
 walking and trapesing the parish under shawls in 
 the dead of night. I'll put it down. I hope no 
 Catholic house in this parish was disgraced by such 
 a gathering last night sowing the seed of the devil 
 in its track. That's what learning Irish comes to, a 
 language that's no use to man or mortal an excbse
 
 92 WAITING 
 
 for sweethearting and sin. Revive old customs, 
 indeed ! Every one of 'em sprung from the devil 
 himself. For what were the heathen pagans that 
 invented them but children of the devil ! Fathers 
 and mothers of families, take heed of what I say, 
 and keep your children from these dance houses 
 of sin and infamy. They'll be choosing wives 
 and husbands for themselves next, and you know 
 what that means ! maybe bringing a penniless girl 
 in on the floor to you. Love, indeed ! I never 
 knew any good to come of it but sin and harm 
 and unsuitable marriages. Young men and young 
 women, the only lucky marriages are the mar- 
 riages made for you by your parents and your 
 friends with the full blessing of the priest of the 
 parish." 
 
 Father James worked himself up to a high pitch 
 of excitement. He frothed at the mouth, relapsed 
 into the broadest brogue, and wound up with a vivid 
 picture of the hell that awaited those who refused to 
 be said by their priests ; describing in detail the 
 torments of a sinful soul gripping frantically with 
 lacerated fingers at the molten metal of a sloping 
 lead roof in a fruitless effort to save himself from 
 slipping into a pit of brimstone beneath. 
 
 Use had dulled Maurice to the description of 
 these horrors, the invariable peroration of every 
 sermon. He had even listened to denunciations of 
 dances and of love in previous sermons without 
 having been particularly moved. But to-day he 
 burned with indignation. It was infamous to speak 
 like that of the girls who were at the dance last 
 night. . . . He caught sight of Miss Devoy in the 
 women's side of the nave. Arranged marriages, 
 indeed ! he thought angrily. Not that foolish talk
 
 WAITING 93 
 
 ought to trouble him. He had no time to think of 
 
 o 
 
 marriage, and no desire . . . 
 
 He tried to escape the group of talkers in front 
 of the chapel after mass. His mother ran after him 
 and caught his arm. 
 
 " You might drop in after dinner if you can at 
 all," she said. 
 
 " I'm very busy, but I'll try," he said moodily. 
 
 " Bedad, master," Jack Hinnissey said from 
 another group, " he flailed all round him to-day." 
 
 " I'm that used to the geography of hell that I 
 could find my way blindfolded in it after that," 
 Larry Reardon said. 
 
 " The best chance you have, if you've the mis- 
 fortune to go there, is to sit still, I'm told," Mike 
 Blake said, lighting his pipe. " If you try to hop 
 out of one torment, you're sure to hop into a worse. 
 Not but there was a good deal of sense in what he 
 said about marriages." 
 
 " There wasn't sense, nor rhyme, nor reason in 
 it," Tom Blake said bluntly. 
 
 Mike was gesticulating violently with his pipe 
 in preparation for a spirited reply, when a tactful 
 neighbour interposed. 
 
 " How many tons of spuds did you draw off 
 that lea land you ploughed, Mike ? " 
 
 Mike's face assumed a look of worried calculation. 
 
 Mrs. Blake sighed. " It'll be all hours of the 
 day before we get our breakfast if Mike once gets 
 rightly started on that lea field," she said fretfully. 
 Drawing Maurice aside she whispered : " You won't 
 forget to drop in, agra. I have something in my 
 eye for you." 
 
 Father Mahon passed out with long strides, his 
 soutane swishing against his legs. The women
 
 94 WAITING 
 
 curtseyed. The men took off their hats and stood 
 bareheaded, their pipes held discreetly behind their 
 backs. The priest gave a few jerky nods. 
 
 " He's pleased enough with the lambasting he 
 gave us," Jack Hinnissey said. 
 
 " Exercising himself for his breakfast he was. 
 He might as well try and stop the tide beating 
 against the Liscannow cliffs beyond as to try to 
 hinder what's going on in the country now," Tom 
 Blake said angrily. 
 
 " Whist, Tom," Mike said, leaving a sentence 
 about potatoes unfinished. " Young fellows have 
 long tongues and little sense." 
 
 " They don't be chewing the truth in their jaws, 
 anyway, afraid to utter it." 
 
 Mike pretended not to hear Tom's retort, and 
 resumed his dissertation on potatoes. 
 
 " Bedad, you had him there, Tom," Jack 
 Hinnissey said, admiringly. " Besides, sure Father 
 James isn't the Pope himself, that puts the kybosh 
 on a thing the moment he speaks the word, I'm 
 told. For the matter of that, there's things I could 
 teach him myself. I wouldn't give ten pounds for 
 the spavined colt he gave thirty for the other day. 
 And his opinion on a bullock, with all he has of 
 
 'em, isn't worth that " spitting on the ground. 
 
 " And the whole world knows the curate is agin 
 him in most of what he said to-day. Barring that 
 I hadn't the right of the clergy to throw hell in 
 your faces, 1 often made a more sensible speech 
 myself in the Land League days." 
 
 " Faith, then, you did." 
 
 " 'Tis your tongue is well oiled still, Jack." 
 
 " The day is long yet. Go on, Jack." 
 
 Maurice withdrew from the small crowd of
 
 WAITING 
 
 95 
 
 admiring listeners that was circling round Hinnissey. 
 His mother again pressed his arm and said, " Don't 
 forget." At the gate of the chapel yard he almost 
 ran into Miss Devoy. 
 
 " I'm waiting for your mother," she said 
 timidly. 
 
 He flushed. She went on speaking, but he 
 didn't hear what she said. He seemed to see 
 her for the first time. The high colour on her 
 cheek-bones had become a dark blue purple. A 
 light blue bow in the front of her ungainly hat 
 made her cheeks livid. She tapped the ground with 
 her umbrella, held nervously in hands covered with 
 white cotton gloves several sizes too large. Streaks 
 of purple wrist appeared between the gloves and the 
 short sleeves of her serge coat. Her thick lips and 
 grey eyes gave a hint of humour when she smiled, 
 and she was smiling broadly now. 
 
 So this was the girl people were saying that he 
 should marry, he thought. He looked at her eyes 
 again and liked them. They were kind eyes and it 
 did not matter that the lashes were few and straight 
 and short. A feeling of friendliness for her came 
 over him. She looked so forlorn and cold and ugly 
 in spite of her good-humoured lips and eyes. He 
 pitied her and reproached himself for not being 
 kinder to her in the school. She was just the sort 
 of girl Miss Barton could help . . . 
 
 He noticed that she had stopped speaking. 
 
 " I thought you always went to mass at the 
 Strand chapel," he said, after groping round for 
 something to say. 
 
 " Sure that's what I was telling you. I came 
 here on account of your mother asking me to spend 
 the day."
 
 96 WAITING 
 
 He laughed boyishly. She laughed too. The 
 spirit died out of his laugh as he watched and heard 
 her. Her crinkled eyes, half shrewd, half humorous, 
 seemed to share some secret with him, and her laugh 
 had an understanding ring. He had begun to laugh 
 at a sudden recognition of what struck him as a 
 grotesque attempt of his mother at match-making. 
 But Miss Devoy's laugh made a cold shudder run 
 down his back. Did she know his mother's plans ? 
 Surely his mother hadn't spoken to her ? The 
 whole idea was absurd. He wrinkled his brows in 
 a search for resonant condemnatory adjectives 
 ridiculous, preposterous, impossible. He laughed 
 again a little shrilly. 
 
 " Father James got out the wrong side of the 
 bed to-day," she said pleasantly. 
 
 He didn't wish to discuss Father James with 
 her, and was relieved to see his mother approach 
 a relief, however, that lasted only till she spoke. 
 
 "That's right having a little chat," she said 
 amicably. 
 
 He gave a wry smile, made a muttered excuse of 
 having to get the master's breakfast, and hurried 
 away. For a few paces he was angry with his 
 mother. He should have to put a stop to her 
 nonsense : he wouldn't go home that afternoon, he 
 resolved with a frown. The sight of Master Driscoll 
 standing bareheaded at the open door of the cottage, 
 the sun glinting from his white locks, made him 
 smile a smile at his own foolishness. 
 
 " Seeing that I've no notion of getting married, 
 I'm only bothering over nothing," he said to himself, 
 with a shrug. 
 
 " You stole a march on me this morning," the 
 old man said ; " but I've stolen another on you,"
 
 WAITING 97 
 
 pointing to the table which was laid for breakfast. 
 " I put on the eggs the minute I caught sight of 
 you. They'll be done before you're rightly sitting 
 down. 
 
 " Was it hell, or the Sea of Galilee, or the 
 dignity of the priesthood, or Purgatory, or the dues, 
 he gave you to-day ? He used to have another 
 sermon on Faith, but I haven't heard it for the last 
 dozen years I suppose it has slipped his memory," 
 Driscoll continued, as he lifted a small pot off the 
 fire and ladled four eggs into a saucer with an iron 
 spoon. 
 
 "He gave us hell all round," Maurice said 
 laughing. 
 
 " I always slept less under it than under the 
 others. Itself and the one on the dues are the only 
 two sermons that rouse him to the pitch of keeping 
 me awake. He'll be after the mass offerings to- 
 morrow, so we'll have Purgatory. Not but it's 
 fitting enough for All Souls' Day if only he didn't 
 sound the drum so loud for the money," Driscoll 
 said, taking his seat and breaking the top of an egg 
 with much care. " He'll soon have it as brimstony 
 as hell itself if he goes on trimming it up with 
 any more torments, to soften the heart into an extra 
 five shillings towards the relief of the poor souls. 
 May God forgive me for making light of their 
 sufferings." 
 
 At his second cup of tea he said : " I was awake 
 half the night thinking of that girl up at the 
 Crawfords. We must get her at any cost." 
 
 The hand with which Maurice was holding his 
 cup to his lips shook and some of the tea was spilled 
 on his waiscoat. 
 
 " Bother it," he said nervously. 
 
 H
 
 98 WAITING 
 
 " If there's any fault I see in you, Maurice," 
 the old man said, leaning back in his chair, " it is 
 that you don't give credit enough to women for the 
 power of good they're able to do if their mind is set 
 on it. You're not half so eager to get that girl to 
 help us as you ought to be." 
 
 Maurice said doubtfully, " Maybe I'm not."
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 WHEN Driscoll left for second mass, Maurice settled 
 down with a pipe to the bank accounts. More than 
 the creamery or the agricultural society, the little 
 parish bank interested him. More even than the 
 Bourneen branch of the United Irish League, in 
 whose proceedings he had a deep concern, partly 
 since, under the rules of the Education Board, 
 politics were a forbidden pleasure, partly because he 
 had notions on politics that he had a hankering to 
 submit to practical tests. But the bank was his own 
 pet child. Bourneen was a comparatively rich parish 
 of tillage land, pasture and grazing. The majority 
 of the farms ranged from twenty acres to fifty ; a few 
 were close on a hundred acres ; mixed land for the 
 most part, good, middling, and poor, but capable of 
 yielding a comfortable subsistence. Along the bog, 
 however, on the east of the parish, and stretching up 
 a spur of Slieve Mor, were many small holdings of 
 reclaimed bog and mountain on which life was a 
 constant struggle. And, by the sea, twenty or 
 thirty families depended, half on miserable strips of 
 bottom, half on precarious fishing in small boats 
 on an unsafe shore. The Land Purchase Act had 
 done something to better the condition of all the 
 farmers, but it had done least for the poorer, and 
 nothing at all for a score of landless labourers. 
 When, through Master Driscoll's efforts, several
 
 ioo WAITING 
 
 co-operative societies were started Maurice feared for 
 awhile that the hoary principle, " to those that have 
 more shall be given," would mark their work. But 
 gradually their influence extended to the cotter on 
 the edge of the bog, to the labourer's patch of 
 garden, to the fisherman's boat. 
 
 Driscoll had said at a committee meeting, 
 " We've a long road to go yet, but we're making 
 a real beginning at last. What Maurice Blake has 
 done with that bank, since he became secretary near 
 a year ago, is beyond telling." 
 
 " Isn't he your own rearing, if he did itself ? 
 Not but the whole world knows he has a head on 
 him," was Jack Hinnissey's comment. 
 
 The items in the books that gave a pleasant 
 flavour to Maurice's pipe, and caused him to give 
 low chuckles of satisfaction, might have provoked a 
 regular banker to a cynical smile. Twenty-five 
 shillings to Mike Fahey to buy a sow bonham paid 
 back in full later, on selling a litter of seven pigs ; 
 six pounds advanced on the date of repayment to buy 
 a yearling heifer. Two pounds to Jimmy Delaney for 
 basic slag to be paid when the crop was reaped. 
 Twelve pounds to four Strand fishermen towards 
 the purchase of a Greencastle yawl ; four pounds 
 paid back " after the big haul of herrings on the 4th 
 August." 
 
 The arrival of Bessy Reilly, to clean up, inter- 
 rupted him. He refilled his pipe and walked 
 bareheaded in the small garden in front. All signs 
 of frost had gone, except a few blackened sprigs 
 of heliotrope and some faded calceolarias. The 
 chrysanthemum blooms along the wall of the cottage 
 opened wide to the sun ; the canvas which protected 
 them from the frost having been rolled up neatly by
 
 WAITING 101 
 
 Master Driscoll before going to mass. Maurice 
 gazed long at the flowers, but thought of a poultry 
 society. Soon there would be entries in the bank 
 books of Buff Orpingtons and Indian Runner ducks. 
 His thoughts wandered to Alice Barton. If she 
 came to help in the parish, things must be made as 
 pleasant as possible for her. A young girl like her 
 needed play as well as work. It wasn't much the 
 country had to offer, he said to himself with a frown. 
 But it was waking up. There was dancing at the 
 Irish class, and the singing of folk songs. They 
 must have more gatherings in the houses at night. 
 Jim Mescall must be induced to spend more time in 
 the parish. . . . 
 
 Afterwards he sat in his own room making a fair 
 copy of some old tales that he hoped one day to see 
 in print. He had taken them down in small note- 
 books from the lips of old story tellers at ceilidhs ; 
 or Driscoll had dictated them as they sat together at 
 night. He read his own English translation of one 
 about the holy well near Reardon's, a fantastic story 
 with laughter and tears as closely blended as warp and 
 woof in a web of linen. How she would smile over 
 it and look sad. . . . 
 
 " Are you asleep ? " Driscoll said, opening the 
 door. " Bessy shouted to you before she went, and 
 I've called out twice myself. The bacon and 
 cabbage'll be cold." 
 
 " I'm afraid I was," Maurice said, looking 
 wryly at the few lines he had copied in as many 
 hours. 
 
 " If only Father Malone had the ruling of the 
 parish, I wouldn't exchange out of it for heaven 
 itself," Driscoll said, as he carved the small joint of 
 bacon in its bed of white cabbage.
 
 102 WAITING 
 
 " He's a fine man every way," Maurice said 
 enthusiastically. " Did he give a good sermon ? " 
 
 " He did then. One that'd put the heart in a 
 man, no matter how he was broken down by mis- 
 fortune. And it wasn't by lying under it neither, 
 his advice was, but by putting on a bold front 
 to it." 
 
 Maurice let the conversation drop and ate his 
 frugal dinner hurriedly. He pushed back his 
 chair as he laid down his knife and fork, and 
 said 
 
 " 1 think I'll step up to the Crawfords' and see 
 that girl as you're so set on it." 
 
 He added the last sentence hesitatingly, after a 
 pause. He had no sooner said it than he corrected 
 it, blushing as if ashamed of a mis-statement. "I 
 was thinking of going myself, in any case." 
 
 " That's right. But if you're too busy I'd strive 
 a point and go myself, after I get rid of the men that 
 are coming about the new shed in the store yard 
 beyond." 
 
 " I'm quite free nothing at all to do," Maurice 
 said emphatically, taking his hat off a peg. 
 
 "It's all one which of us goes," Driscoll said 
 heartily. 
 
 Maurice's reply to this was to make quickly for 
 the door. It struck him on the doorstep to take the 
 story about the well and read it to her ; but after a 
 moment's hesitation he decided not to take it. A 
 few of the chrysanthemums ? He shook his head. 
 As he walked rapidly through the village he had 
 misgivings as to the wisdom of going at all. A 
 letter would have done as well. It would be better 
 if Master Driscoll had gone. There was no necessity 
 for any one to write to her or see her a letter to
 
 WAITING 103 
 
 the County Committee would have settled every- 
 thing. He did not, however, slacken his pace. He 
 glanced sideways at his shadow, lengthened by the 
 low westering sun. He looked at his watch. It 
 was still early. Was it too early to call at the 
 Crawfords' ? The afternoon of a Sunday or holiday 
 was all right for a visit to a Catholic house. But 
 the Crawfords were Protestants. As this was no 
 holiday with them, they were probably working. 
 And on working days the fittest time for visiting 
 was in the evening after supper. As he approached 
 his father's house he decided to go in there and put 
 off the visit to Crawfords' till later. He thought of 
 Miss Devoy. She was with his mother. He began 
 to hum "The Snowy- breasted Pearl," and walked 
 steadily past the gate. 
 
 At the entrance to the boreen leading to 
 Crawford's house he came on John Crawford, his 
 hands in his pockets, gazing over the low hedge 
 at a field in which a few drills of potatoes were 
 still undug. His bearded, taciturn face was set 
 gloomily. 
 
 " More frost ? " he said, looking up at the 
 sky. 
 
 " I think not," Maurice said gravely, after in- 
 specting the signs. 
 
 Crawford took a long look at the sun and nodded 
 twice in agreement. 
 
 " Maybe they're safe then. Last night's frost 
 was only skin deep. Are you going up to the 
 house ? " 
 
 " I am. Is Miss Barton in ? " 
 
 " She is." 
 
 They walked in silence along the well-kept 
 boreen. A waste of time and labour and money,
 
 io 4 WAITING 
 
 some of Crawford's neighbours called his efforts to 
 keep the boreen in repair. He usually muttered 
 into his beard something about " saving in horses' 
 legs and cart wheels." His clipped hedges were 
 excused with knowing nods and a reference to " the 
 Scotch blood that was far back in him "; explanation 
 enough apparently of all queer fads. He was often 
 counselled, more in former years than recently, not 
 " to waste such a terrible wicked lot of money on the 
 land in bag manure and the like." Master Driscoll 
 attributed his good crops to good farming ; but it 
 was generally accepted that " them Protestants have 
 the devil's luck." 
 
 " It's a powerful lot of holidays ye have," he 
 said, half-way up the boreen. 
 
 " Not near so many as there used to be," Maurice 
 said smiling. 
 
 " Ye might clip another couple without any loss," 
 Crawford said, deftly kicking a loose stone off the 
 road with his right foot behind his left. 
 
 Yet he paid a subtle deference to Catholic holidays. 
 He wore his week-day clothes but he always put on a 
 coat, an unusual feature in his working attire. He 
 never did any work " in face of the public," and 
 confined his labours to the garden or the fields behind 
 the house. 
 
 " You'll find her within likely," he said, pushing 
 open the door. 
 
 He sauntered away when he had discharged his 
 office of hospitality. 
 
 Mrs. Crawford, who was pouring water from a 
 kettle into a teapot at the hearth, suspended the 
 operation and turned her head. 
 
 " If it's not Maurice Blake ! " she said, laying 
 down the kettle and wiping her hands on her apron.
 
 WAITING 105 
 
 " A thousand welcomes to you, Maurice." She 
 shook hands warmly. 
 
 Alice Barton, seated on a three-legged stool by 
 the fire, nodded to him brightly. She was vigorously 
 whipping cream in a bowl with a spoon, one of 
 Mrs. Crawford's largest aprons tied high on her 
 waist. 
 
 " Is it near broke yet ? " Mrs. Crawford asked. 
 
 " It is not though my arm is almost," Alice 
 said jerkily. 
 
 " The worst of that creamery is that we're often 
 without a bit of butter in the house," Mrs. Crawford 
 said, turning to Maurice. "We were just going to 
 have a cup of tea and a mouthful of hot cake and 
 what'd that be without the butter to slip it down ? 
 when I found all of a sudden there wasn't a taste in 
 the place. So we're making shift to make a bit in a 
 bowl. Hold it well over the fire, Alice, so that it'll 
 get a touch of the heat." 
 
 "And the face nearly burned off me already," 
 Alice said, turning her back to the fire. 
 
 Maurice thought the pink glow in her cheeks 
 very becoming, and was' tempted to say so. But 
 he was tongue tied, and Mrs. Crawford anticipated 
 him. 
 
 " A fat lot of harm it has done you," she said, 
 as she filled the teapot. " Here, give me that bowl 
 and I'll soon have the butter swimming on the top 
 of it. And now that the master has come you might 
 put a cloth on the table in the room and lay the tea- 
 things there," she added, as Alice, with a sigh of 
 relief, handed her the bowl. 
 
 Alice took off the apron, which had enveloped 
 her like a sack, glanced doubtfully at the dresser and 
 at her aunt.
 
 io6 WAITING 
 
 " Oh ! the best cups in the room cupboard, of 
 course," Mrs. Crawford said. 
 
 She watched Alice admiringly as she walked across 
 the kitchen to the room door, and whispered to 
 Maurice 
 
 u She's that smart and handy she might have 
 been reared in the country." 
 
 Though Maurice at the moment was attributing 
 her grace of movement to some unknown town in- 
 fluence, he nodded emphatic agreement. 
 
 Mrs. Crawford whipped the cream with an easy 
 certainty. Alice moved about the room, coming a few 
 times to the dresser in the kitchen for a knife or a 
 plate. Maurice watched her. She had changed some- 
 how since last night. He smiled with pleasure. It 
 was ridiculous of Hanny to say that a girl's new blouse 
 would be staring him in the face for a year before 
 he'd notice it, and not even then unless he was told 
 about it. Why, he had noticed Miss Barton's dress 
 twice in twenty-four hours : he noticed even the 
 difference in her shoes, he asserted strongly, in proof 
 of his acute power of observation. Of course, it was 
 because she was wearing a blouse and skirt now that 
 she looked different. 
 
 "There, it's broke at last," Mrs. Crawford said 
 with satisfaction. " I'll have it gathered together in 
 a minute. The tea is more than drawn enough for 
 Alice. She has queer city notions about tea, but 
 sure she can add a drop of water to it if it's too 
 strong. We won't wait for John," she continued, 
 as she collected the butter into a small lump, poured 
 off the buttermilk, washed the butter, walking the 
 while between the table and the dresser. " If he's 
 working he likes a cup taken to him in the field. If 
 he's only pottering about the place, either he comes
 
 WAITING 107 
 
 in or he doesn't. If he chances in while the tea is 
 going he enjoys a cup as well as another. If he 
 doesn't come in, sorra one of me looks for him, and 
 he never feels the want of it." 
 
 " Where is Allan ? " Maurice asked, to fill up a 
 pause. 
 
 " Allan ! he's worse than a Catholic for all the 
 good we get out of that son of ours on a holiday. 
 Galivanting he is into Liscannow to a Gaelic foot- 
 ball match in his Sunday clothes too. Come along 
 in now and we'll have a cup of tea," she added, leading 
 the way to the room, the teapot in one hand and a 
 plate of butter in the other. 
 
 A small fire burned in the grate. "That's for 
 Alice," Mrs. Crawford said, nodding at the fire with 
 some pride. " She has a powerful deal of reading 
 and writing to do in that job of hers. With all the 
 comings in and going out in the kitchen her head'd 
 be moidered, so I keep a few sods in here for 
 her." 
 
 This reminded Maurice of the object of his 
 visit, but it was not till he had almost finished tea 
 that he mustered courage to say 
 
 " Mr. Driscoll wishes to know if you'd like to 
 come to Bourneen to lecture, Miss Barton ? He 
 says the society is going to ask for you at once." 
 
 He spoke nervously, in a hushed voice, as if 
 the fate of empires depended on her reply. Her 
 eyes sparkled mischievously. 
 
 " There now ? " she said, tossing her head, to 
 Mrs. Crawford, whose mouth hung open in as- 
 tonishment. 
 
 " Think of that now," Mrs. Crawford said 
 weakly. 
 
 Alice turned to Maurice with a set face. There
 
 io8 WAITING 
 
 was a prim severity about her lips, but her eyes 
 sparkled a little as she said 
 
 " I've to go where I'm sent of course, I've no 
 objection to come here." 
 
 " Listen to her putting on now ! " Mrs. Crawford 
 said derisively. " And she near on her knees to 
 John all the morning coaxing him to try and get her 
 asked." 
 
 " Oh ! Aunt Ruth," Alice said appealingly, all 
 her primness gone. 
 
 " Far be it from me to belittle you," her aunt 
 said, looking at her affectionately. " I wouldn't 
 give in to any one in the ten parishes on your laying 
 of a table or settling a posy of flowers. And >you 
 should see the wonders she worked, Maurice, on my 
 Sunday dress in the course of a few minutes. I'm 
 never tired of singing her praises. But," she 
 screwed her face doubtfully, " it's a different matter 
 entirely when it comes to the rearing of fowl. 
 There's myself now, and I all my life at it, and 
 didn't I lose eleven young turkeys out of a score 
 this very year. There John sat," she pointed to the 
 kitchen, " and she begging of him, and his eyes 
 fixed on the back of next year and as dumb as a 
 post, and never word of encouragement he'd breathe 
 on her. He's a silent man and it's hard to know 
 what he notices. From the way he sat her on his 
 knee the night she came, I doubt if he sees that she's 
 out of the long-clothes she used to wear and he 
 dandling her when he saw her last, near twenty years 
 ago. Though I believe in my heart he didn't give 
 any heed to her because of a crazy notion he has 
 against pushing relations on the county pay-sheet. 
 But it puts a different face on it if Master Driscoll 
 thinks well of her knowledge. What he doesn't
 
 WAITING 109 
 
 know about one thing and another isn't worth 
 knowing. Maybe, I wasn't giving her enough of 
 credit myself," she wound up, her voice trailing off 
 in a questioning tone. 
 
 Maurice listened uneasily. His eyes wandered 
 from the framed scripture texts on the walls to the 
 clasped family Bible, on its mat of blue and red 
 Berlin wool, on a small table in the corner. He 
 had strong opinions on qualifications and had always 
 opposed foisting people into jobs. What did he or 
 Master Driscoll know about her ? His eyes fell on 
 her photograph on the mantelpiece. The very dress 
 she wore last night at Reardons' ! With a faith that 
 transcends all knowledge, he felt convinced that she 
 was capable. If weaker people needed evidence, 
 there it was in the picture, in the poise of her head, 
 in the line of her neck and shoulders. He was even 
 a little disappointed when he remembered why he 
 had taken her knowledge for granted the Board 
 that appointed to her post enforced the strictest tests 
 of fitness. His eyes caught hers fixed on him 
 quizzically. 
 
 "What do you think of me ? " said they. 
 
 He intended his to answer, " I believe you are 
 well qualified," and was disturbed when she turned 
 away her eyes hastily, blushed the faintest pink up 
 to the edge of her hair and frowned. 
 
 When he said the same words aloud to Mrs. 
 Crawford a moment afterwards, Alice smiled normally 
 and gave him a grateful little nod. Then she shrugged 
 her shoulders, saying 
 
 " A girl's relatives never believe that she can do 
 anything." 
 
 Mrs. Crawford threw up her hands. " Did 
 any one ever hear the like ? " she said to the ceiling.
 
 i io WAITING 
 
 " Why if you only heard all I say to John about you, 
 and I lying awake at night. ' Whist, woman,' he'd 
 say, * you're keeping the sleep off me.' But he 
 might just as well be speaking to the wall. All 
 along I knew you had it in you " 
 
 " Ruth," Crawford interrupted through the 
 window, having lifted the sash from outside, " would 
 you hand out an old apron to save Dempsey's Sun- 
 day trousers, and he milking ? " 
 
 " You ruffian of the world," she said, on going 
 to the window, to the workman who stood beside 
 her husband. " And you not coming next or nigh the 
 place since you went off early to second mass." 
 
 " And would you blame me, ma'am, and I having 
 my clean things on me ? " Dempsey said, laughing 
 sheepishly. " The last time I went to confession to 
 Father James, he drew the line of work on a Holiday 
 at milking cows or the like that couldn't go without. 
 And to be all the more careful, he said, because 
 I'm a labouring man to Protestants, to keep up 
 the credit of my religion, and on no account to 
 change out of my Sunday trousers or my greased 
 shoes though the last wouldn't matter a ha'penny, 
 for they're the same Sunday and day, for fear I 
 might be forgetting the holy day that was in it and 
 be putting my hand to other servile works that there 
 was no allowance of." 
 
 Mrs. Crawford sniffed. " It's a pity he didn't 
 put a padlock on your tongue. As for work ! 
 if you confessed all you done of it from one week's 
 end to the other, and every day was a holiday, he'd 
 be hard set to make a sin out of it" 
 
 She brought an apron from the kitchen and 
 handed it to Dempsey through the window. 
 
 " The teapot isn't cold yet, come in and have
 
 WAITING in 
 
 a cup, John, and I have the news of the world for 
 you, too," she said in a wheedling tone to her hus- 
 band. 
 
 He grunted but walked towards the kitchen door. 
 
 " If I had a cup myself it would put the heart in 
 me for the milking," Dempsey said, as she was about 
 to let down the sash. 
 
 " You idle stravager," she said, pulling it down 
 and jerking it up again. She filled a cup, buttered 
 a huge slice of soda cake and handed them out. 
 " Be off out of my sight with you and I'll be out 
 in a minute to help you with the milking," she added, 
 banging the sash to. 
 
 Crawford came in and stood behind Alice's chair. 
 
 " I'll have no tea now. I must see after the 
 cows," he said gloomily. " What is it ? " 
 
 " There are others that think higher of your own 
 than you do," Mrs. Crawford said scornfully, her 
 hands on her hips. " The master there brought the 
 news. Master Driscoll is head and front of a move 
 to get Alice to work in the parish." 
 
 Crawford was fingering a strand of Alice's hair 
 between his thumb and first finger. 
 
 " You'll be coming back to us for a bit again, 
 then," he said. 
 
 She turned her head, and pressed her cheek 
 against his hand. 
 
 " I must go and look after the milk," he said. 
 
 Alice walked with him to the kitchen door. 
 
 " It was always a grievance to him that he never 
 had a daughter of his own," Mrs. Crawford said to 
 Maurice in a low voice. " Sorra a word he ever 
 gives Alice more than that. But she won't have a 
 word said against him. It might be blood speaking 
 in her and she his own sister's daughter. They can
 
 ii2 WAITING 
 
 sit there of a night, the best of company, without a 
 word between them, and the next minute she'd be 
 as lively as a cricket with myself. If she doesn't 
 know about the fowl itself she has the heart in her 
 to comfort a lonely man. But there, I'm talking, 
 and I ought to be helping Dempsey. We're all 
 beholden to you for taking the trouble to come with 
 the news." 
 
 Alice sat with Maurice by the fire in the kitchen 
 while Mrs. Crawford was in the cowhouse. She 
 showed him her certificates, spoke of her early life 
 at home, of the little poultry run her mother kept 
 beyond Drumcondra, on the outskirts of Dublin, 
 " as much to keep her in mind of the country as for 
 the profit of it," The light went from the day, but 
 she spoke on, the firelight gilding her hair, her eyes 
 shining, of her mother's love of the country, a love 
 compared with which her own was only a shadow ; 
 of the tales of Ireland her mother told her ; of the 
 Irish class she attended in a back room in Eccles 
 Street ; of her excitement on the great day when it 
 struck her that her knowledge of poultry might be 
 made a means of living in the real country which she 
 hardly dared to believe had all the charm her mother 
 ascribed to it ; of her preparation at the agricultural 
 college ; of her appointment ; and since but here 
 words failed her, and he saw her eyes shine brighter 
 for the tears that dimmed them. 
 
 It was late when he went home. He had only 
 a vague memory of what she said, but as he walked 
 along the familiar road he saw her clearly as she sat 
 at the fireside, her head slightly bent forward, her 
 chin resting on her hand, her hair a golden aura. 
 He heard again her low impassioned voice with a 
 new music in it at that pitch. He shivered a little
 
 WAITING 113 
 
 she seemed so far away, so detached. He ought 
 to be glad, he said to himself reproachfully, that she 
 was so bound up in her ideals. They were his own 
 too. He even said aloud as he passed the old mill : 
 " It's a happy country that has the heart of a woman 
 like her." But he felt restless and unhappy. In 
 passing through the village he recalled the gesture 
 of her face seeking John Crawford's hand ; and, 
 somehow, it brought him peace.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 SPRING had come to Bourneen. Trees in bud shone 
 pink in the sunlight. Delicate green shoots starred 
 the hedgerows. The cold grey dawns had become 
 pearl, and the mill hill again glowed red at sunrise. 
 The snowdrops in Master Driscoll's garden had lost 
 their flowers. The first bloom of the purple crocuses 
 had already gone, and a row of daffodils unfolded 
 golden crowns to the sun. Farmers went early 
 afield and grudged a morning for the Easter stations, 
 which were in full swing. Freshly turned earth 
 scented the morning air, though the last of the 
 second ploughing was nearly done. Wheat peeped 
 above the ground. Oats had been sown. In the 
 barns women deftly cut potato setts and laid them 
 in skibs ready for planting. In the paddocks lambs 
 frisked about their mothers or nibbled shyly at the 
 young grass. 
 
 Maurice Blake lingered on his way to the school- 
 house. He read a placard, displayed outside the 
 agricultural store, announcing lectures and demon- 
 strations in poultry keeping by Miss Alice Barton. 
 It looked well and read well, he thought. 
 
 " I hope she won't disappoint this time," the 
 serjeant of police said, coming to a stand behind 
 Maurice, after a leisurely saunter through the village 
 street.
 
 WAITING 115 
 
 " Good morning, serjeant. Oh, she didn't dis- 
 appoint. 'Twas the County Committee's fault. 
 They gave in to the Drumquin people, who didn't 
 want to give her up. She's coming for certain in a 
 fortnight." 
 
 " She's a great hand at it, I believe. The patrol 
 have posted her up well all over the parish. I 
 thought they might as well be at that as doing 
 nothing. Not a boycotted man in the place, or a 
 grass farm itself to be protecting. And Father 
 Malone leaves little for the men to do in the way of 
 minding pubs. Only for an odd pig or a cow stray- 
 ing round the roads, they'd be hard set to make any 
 showing for their pay." 
 
 Maurice dangled the keys which he held in his 
 hand. 
 
 The serjeant looked at them doubtfully. "There's 
 many ways of making a living," he said, shaking his 
 head, " but I wouldn't be shut up in a school on a 
 spring day like this not if I had the offer of being 
 made a head constable for it. There if that isn't 
 that racer of a sow of Clancy's ! My own job isn't 
 all sugarstick, I can tell you. A man can't take a 
 stroll after breakfast without all the pigs of the 
 country forcing themselves under his notice. 1 
 must go back to the barracks and send out a couple 
 of men to take her in charge." 
 
 At the school gate Maurice stopped to talk to 
 the two boys who had come early to dust the school- 
 room which they had swept out the afternoon before. 
 With touzled hair and flushed faces, fresh from a 
 game of leap-frog, they greeted him sheepishly. 
 Tommy Hinnissey, with an ear for the notes of a 
 bird hopping about in a flower-bed, and an eye for 
 the green in the hedge, said
 
 ii6 WAITING 
 
 " There was a robineen peering about a bush in 
 the end of our garden this morning the same bush 
 that there was a robineen's nest in last year. I 
 doubt but she was the same bird, and maybe she's 
 thinking of nesting there again. Sorra one of us 
 touched an egg in it, so she might. In another 
 couple of weeks there'll be nests high and low all 
 over the parish." 
 
 Pierce Donlon said contemptuously, " There 
 were four nests in our garden last year." 
 
 " Shall we light a fire this morning ? " Maurice 
 asked doubtfully. 
 
 " Is it on a morning like this? " Tommy said, 
 sniffing the air. " It'd be a great day for belting 
 across the high bank through the middle of the bog 
 barefooted," he added, with a sigh. 
 
 " It might be only a pet day," Pierce said 
 gloomily. 
 
 "And my father saying this morning the spring 
 had come in earnest ! Why, it's nearly too fine for 
 spinning a top, and a man could play marbles any 
 day," Tommy said, taking the school door-key from 
 Maurice, with a triumphant look at Donlon. 
 
 Maurice felt, as he watched them enter the 
 school, that he, too, would like to be on the bog 
 path, and go on and on, up the spur of the mountain, 
 to the very top of Slieve Mor, which still wore a 
 ragged cap of snow. He took off his hat, opened 
 his lips wide, and drank in draughts of the fresh 
 air that fanned his temples like a caressing hand. 
 It seemed to quicken his blood. There was some- 
 thing in what the serjeant said about school especi- 
 ally on a day like this. He sighed, and sighed again 
 more deeply as he saw Miss Devoy approach the 
 gate. He stooped and picked some weeds out of a
 
 WAITING 117 
 
 bed, turned his back to the path and fingered the 
 creeper on the school wall, the scarlet buds full to 
 bursting. 
 
 " I am hot," she said in a panting voice, " and 
 my winter jacket on me too. I was afraid to leave 
 it off. As I'm early, you might hear my Irish 
 lesson before school begins." 
 
 " I'll be in after you in a minute when I fix 
 this creeper." 
 
 " Can't I help you ? " she said cheerfully. 
 
 Spring was kind to her. All the blue-black and 
 nearly all the purple had left her cheek-bones, which 
 were flushed a deep red. Drops of sweat stood out 
 on her forehead and on her upper lip. He watched 
 anxiously a little stream trickle down by the corner 
 of her eye. 
 
 " I am hot," she said again, mopping her face 
 with a blue and white speckled handkerchief. 
 
 " I've just finished," he said, picking a promising 
 bud. 
 
 For the hundredth time, as he followed her into 
 the schoolroom, he regretted Joan Bradley, the 
 elderly workmistress whose place Miss Devoy had 
 taken. Old Joan wasn't much help, but she didn't 
 get on his nerves. She could talk Irish too, but 
 he frowned, then laughed as he caught sight of 
 the Young Ladies' Journal sticking out of Miss 
 Devoy's pocket. And he had been so pleased, he 
 thought ruefully, when Miss Devoy first asked him 
 to teach her Irish. He remembered the day well, 
 the day following the All Saints' Day she spent with 
 his mother. He had expected an attack for not 
 having kept his promise ; but all Miss Devoy had 
 said was, " You missed a great deal by not being 
 there. Myself and your mother had a great crack."
 
 n8 WAITING 
 
 Later she had said, " I'm thinking of learning the 
 Irish myself if you could spare the time to teach 
 me." After a week her interest flagged, and she 
 had not yet got through the first primer of 
 O'Growney. He had begun to loathe the lesson 
 and hoped every day that she would forget about it. 
 But she never forgot. It was only when the books 
 were opened for the lesson that she said 
 
 " I had a headache last night, and couldn't read 
 a word ; " or " I'm blest if I didn't forget all about 
 it." And in the next breath asked him if he had 
 read the Young Ladies' Journal for last month. 
 "That Lady Ermyntrude de Vere is a clip, she is," 
 and she plunged into the heroine's exciting adven- 
 tures. He reduced the time of the lesson from 
 twenty minutes to ten. One day, when she said 
 " The Irish is a great chance for a chat," he almost 
 lost his temper ; but the sight of her beaming, good- 
 natured face restrained him. 
 
 To-day she had looked over the lesson. But at 
 the end of five minutes she shut the book. 
 
 "That's the last word I did," she said with a 
 smile. " But I'll know it better to-morrow. I see 
 by the posters that that niece of the Crawfords' is 
 coming here." 
 
 "She is." 
 
 "I never could see much in her. She has no 
 colour in the face," Miss Devoy said, with a critical 
 air, spreading her arms on the table in preparation 
 for a talk. 
 
 Maurice flushed and pulled out his watch. 
 "That clock is slow. We must begin," he said 
 sharply, gathering up his books. "Will you please 
 take the catechism class, Miss Devoy ? " 
 
 "Always when I'm sitting comfortable, I must
 
 WAITING 119 
 
 be up and begin something or other," she said, 
 yawning. 
 
 The benches on both sides of the gangway were 
 fairly full, boys on one side, girls on the other, and 
 there was still a steady stream through the door. 
 Half the boys were barefooted, fewer of the girls. 
 Satchels and straps of books were put away noisily 
 in the ledges under the desks. There was a low 
 hum of conversation. 
 
 Notwithstanding his remark about the time, 
 Maurice stood, watch in hand, in front of his desk 
 till the clock struck the half-hour. He then re- 
 versed a card, marked " Secular Instruction," and it 
 read " Religious Instruction." Haifa dozen children 
 stood up and left the room Protestant Levises and 
 Barbers. The seventy Catholics watched them 
 enviously. " The Prods " were to have half an hour's 
 play, while the unhappy majority remaining behind to 
 con the Maynooth Catechism felt all the desolation 
 of martyrdom. No one stirred till the last little 
 Barber girl took a flying jump through the porch 
 door. There was a general sigh. The children in 
 the benches filed out and formed themselves into 
 semi-circular classes at the top and side of the school- 
 room. There was much shuffling of feet in the 
 effort to toe exactly the white chalk circles on the 
 floor. 
 
 Maurice spoke sharply to a late comer. She 
 said reproachfully, " I had to drive the cows to 
 the field by the bog." It was only then he realized 
 that she was an overworked girl for whom he always 
 had deep sympathy. He felt unaccountably out of 
 temper, and was annoyed with himself. Miss 
 Devoy had said something that vexed him. . . . 
 Children, however, always put him in good humour.
 
 120 WAITING 
 
 Both Miss Devoy and Miss Barton were soon for- 
 gotten. No one could resist the pleading eyes of a 
 mite of six who insisted strenuously that Christ was 
 born on Christmas Day in a stable at Bermingham's 
 the local blacksmith. And a small boy, after 
 diligent thought, gave an individual view of Christian 
 charity. When asked what he would do for the 
 wounded man by the roadside if he passed by in 
 place of the good Samaritan : "I'd croost him with 
 stones," said he. When Maurice tried to temper 
 this truculence the boy was only doubtfully con- 
 vinced. 
 
 At ten o'clock secular school began. A class went 
 ofFjoyfully to Master Driscoll's garden. While Miss 
 Devoy gave a writing lesson in the desks, Maurice 
 took a geography class in the playground. Instead 
 of beginning with an outline map of the world his 
 teaching began at the school door. The pupils knew 
 nothing of Chimborazo or the probable sources of 
 the Brahmaputra, but they knew all about Slieve 
 Mor, and the Liscannow river, and the stream that 
 once turned the mill at the foot of the hill on the 
 Liscannow road and would turn it again soon 
 Maurice hoped. 
 
 All the pupils were in the schoolroom at ten 
 minutes to eleven for roll-call. Master Driscoll's 
 unconventional method of calling the roll still sur- 
 vived. Attendance was voluntary by law, but a too 
 vigorous compulsion was often exercised by elder 
 brothers. 
 
 " Charlie Hinnissey ? " Maurice called. 
 
 " Absent," Tommy said, cheerfully. " By 
 reason of a stone bruise on his big toe he got going 
 home last night. He'll be here to-morrow if I have 
 to bring him by the scruff of the neck."
 
 WAITING 121 
 
 " No harshness, mind," Maurice said. 
 
 " Sorra bit. He'll come free enough with me 
 behind him," Jimmy said righteously. 
 
 As Maurice was closing the report book there 
 was a loud shout of " Hi, there ! " from the road. 
 
 Miss Devoy, who was near a window, looked out. 
 
 " It's Father James in his trap coming back from 
 the station," she said excitedly. "He's getting out 
 and Matsey is off to the chapel with the station-box. 
 He wants some one to hold the mare." 
 
 Maurice smiled drearily, and said abstractedly to 
 a boy near the door, " Would you please hold the 
 priest's horse ? " 
 
 The infrequent visits of Father James depressed 
 Maurice. He was always afraid that the all-power- 
 ful manager was at last about to prevent the teaching 
 of some cherished subject. With some trepidation 
 he walked towards the porch. He looked round to 
 see if everything was in order. An unwonted hush 
 had fallen on the room. Miss Devoy, in a corner, 
 was flattening her already flat hair, in front of a 
 small mirror attached to the back of a stiff cardboard 
 copy of the Rules and Regulations of the National 
 Board of Education. 
 
 "Why am I kept waiting like this?" Father 
 James said at the door. 
 
 Maurice tried to keep a note of stiffness out of 
 his voice as he said 
 
 " No one saw you drive up, sir." 
 
 " Don't let it happen again. Sit down, sit 
 down," to the pupils who stood in their places 
 with eyes bent. " Hi, you ! If a herring and a half 
 cost three halfpence, how many for elevenpence ? 
 Right. What's the length of the Mississippi ? 
 Right." He paused before putting his third
 
 122 WAITING 
 
 favourite question, and a little girl began to spell 
 h-i-p. " Spell hippopotamus. Right. I see your 
 teachers are attending fairly to their work. Stick 
 to the three R's and you'll get on in the world. 
 There's a boy from the Strand school below that got 
 to be a clerk in a shop in Liscannow, and he has just 
 opened a shop of his own. That's something to 
 keep before you to make you work." 
 
 He turned to Maurice. " Send up three or 
 four of 'em to pick the weeds out of my front 
 walk." 
 
 He drummed the rostrum nervously with his 
 fingers and frowned. " The bishop is coming for 
 confirmation at the end of the autumn. Let me see 
 how they know their catechism," he said loudly. 
 
 Maurice whispered that it was against the rules, 
 that religious instruction was over, that there were 
 Protestants present. 
 
 " Turn them out," the priest said impatiently. 
 " As if a manager can't do what he likes in his own 
 school." 
 
 " The inspector ? " 
 
 " I don't give that for an inspector," snapping 
 his fingers. " Do as I tell you at once." 
 
 Maurice reluctantly changed the card to " Re- 
 ligious Instruction." The Levises and Barbers 
 marched out, but those left behind dared not sigh. 
 
 " Who is the invisible head of the Church ? " 
 
 " Jesus Christ," a small boy said glibly. 
 
 " And the visible head ? " 
 
 "The Pope." 
 
 "And who represents Jesus Christ and the Pope 
 in this parish ? " 
 
 There was some hesitation over this. A little 
 girl said, " Miss Devoy."
 
 WAITING 123 
 
 " What am I always telling you week in and 
 week out off the altar ? " the priest said furiously. 
 
 " To pay the dues, your reverence," a small boy 
 said brightly. 
 
 Father James cuffed his ears. Another boy 
 said 
 
 "That you're the same as the Pope himself in 
 Bourneen." 
 
 This seemed satisfactory, for the priest said, 
 "That's enough for one bout. I'll come in soon 
 and give you more instruction in your religion." 
 
 The " Secular Instruction " side of the card in 
 front of the teacher's desk was again exposed and 
 the Protestants were called in. Father James walked 
 up and down restlessly. He went to the teacher's 
 desk and opened the report book. 
 
 " How many am I to put down present ? " he 
 said. 
 
 "There are seventy-six, and the boy holding 
 the mare," Maurice said quietly. 
 
 Father James looked at him suspiciously and 
 marked seventy-seven. He put down the pen and 
 looked round the room, caught Tommy Hinnis- 
 sey's eye and beckoned to him. 
 
 " You're Hinnissey, aren't you ? " 
 
 Tommy pulled his forelock and stammered, 
 " Yes, sir your reverence." 
 
 "Tell your father he hasn't given me a day's 
 ploughing yet, and I'm behind-hand." 
 
 He watched Miss Devoy handing out copy-books, 
 looked thoughtfully from her to Maurice, and said, 
 " Hum, hum." 
 
 " I must be going," he said after a brown study 
 of a few minutes. " I have my work to do." 
 
 Maurice, who was standing by idle, checked a
 
 i2 4 WAITING 
 
 long breath of relief. On his way out, Father James 
 said roughly to Miss Devoy 
 
 " How are you ? " with contemptuous emphasis 
 on the " you." 
 
 " Quite well, thank you, Father James," she 
 said, with a little bob, all the colour gone out of 
 her cheeks except on the high bones, which were a 
 streaky blue. 
 
 " You are, are you," he said half to himself, as 
 he turned moodily to the door. 
 
 When he had taken his seat in his trap he flicked 
 the boy who held the horse with his whip, shouting, 
 " Let go the mare's head, can't you " ; and turning 
 slightly towards Maurice, who stood by the gate, 
 he said aggressively, "And you, come up to the 
 parochial house this evening at five o'clock. I want 
 a word with you." Without waiting for a reply he 
 drove off. 
 
 " I did my best," the boy whimpered, rubbing 
 his ear. 
 
 But Maurice was watching the bobbing of the 
 priest's silk hat as the trap rattled up the street at 
 a brisk pace. As it disappeared out of sight round 
 the bend, he had a dull feeling of resentment. 
 
 " Now that he's gone, send me out another 
 class. I'm waiting for 'em," Driscoll said, leaning 
 over the hedge that divided his garden from the 
 school yard. 
 
 Maurice waved assent. He walked slowly up 
 the path. Inside the school door Miss Devoy met 
 him and whispered 
 
 " I'm feeling myself again, now he's gone. 
 Though he's my own blood itself, he makes the 
 marrow run cold down my spine." 
 
 He heard her vaguely. All the freshness seemed
 
 WAITING 125 
 
 to have gone out of the day. He opened the 
 windows wider. It came as a shock to him that 
 the sun was still shining, that it danced, through the 
 gently waving branches of a tree in the playground, 
 on the front of his desk. He pulled himself together, 
 sent a class out to Master Driscoll, and took a class 
 himself. But, while he made figures on the black- 
 board and spoke to the children, he was thinking of 
 Father Mahon. He handed the class over to a 
 monitor and went out into the playground. He 
 looked longingly at Slieve Mor, stood awhile watch- 
 ing the class gathered round Master Driscoll. The 
 old man laughed, and there was a happy responsive 
 laugh from the group of children. What's wrong 
 with me to-day ? Maurice asked himself ; and the only 
 answer he could give was to shrug his shoulders. 
 Father Mahon had not treated him worse to-day 
 than on previous visits. He was always rude. To- 
 day he was less aggressive than usual. Only once, 
 when he struck the boy with the whip, had he felt 
 like hitting him. During other visits Maurice had to 
 restrain himself half a dozen times in as many 
 minutes. Master Driscoll had put up with the priest 
 for years ; but then Master Driscoll had the temper of 
 a saint. With a sigh, as if this was something quite 
 beyond him, Maurice went back to his work. 
 
 Father Mahon, however, troubled his thoughts 
 all through the school hours. And at dinner in the 
 afternoon he said abruptly to Driscoll 
 
 " How did you put up with him so long ? " 
 "Oh, the P.P.," Driscoll said, after a moment's 
 doubt as to whom Maurice referred. " I suppose I 
 took him as a penance for my sins. You see, I had 
 a good start under old Father Boland, a grand man 
 that knew what real education was, and cared for it.
 
 126 WAITING 
 
 Father James neither knows nor cares. His only 
 idea was to boss me and the children, and to make 
 us fetch and carry for him." 
 
 The old man leaned back in his chair and 
 regarded the ceiling attentively. 
 
 " It's a queer system that makes directors of 
 education of men that don't care a pin about it, and 
 only use it for their own ends," Maurice said 
 moodily. 
 
 " It is then. But what can't be cured must be 
 endured. The priests have the schools. Thank 
 God there's many a good man among them. 
 They're a mixed lot, God forgive me, like the con- 
 tents of Tommy Hinnissey's breeches pockets a 
 top that spins true, and one with a crooked peg that'd 
 drive you crazy ; a glass tawe with the colours of 
 the rainbow in it that's not much good except to 
 look at ; china tawes that might run straight and 
 that mightn't, and a lot of common marbles with a 
 few useful ones among 'em." 
 
 " I wouldn't mind if they weren't ruining the 
 schools," Maurice said with a frown. 
 
 " That's where the shoe pinches you," Driscoll 
 said with a smile. " Bide your time and you don't 
 know what might happen. I had Father Boland, 
 you see, and the man that'll follow Father James 
 might take some interest in the schools. It's a 
 queer make up of a world, and I'm always hoping 
 for the best." 
 
 "Father Mahon might be here all his life," 
 Maurice said hopelessly. 
 
 "God send they'll make a bishop of him, or 
 give him some promotion." 
 
 " In the next shuffle we might get worse." 
 
 "There's some truth in that," Driscoll said
 
 WAITING 127 
 
 thoughtfully. "After all, Father James has his 
 good points. I soon found out that his only idea 
 of managing the school was to make a kind of 
 servant of me, to stand at the chapel door for him 
 and make collections, to copy letters and run 
 messages, and let him act the tyrant over me in 
 front of the school and the whole parish. It 
 took some trampling of myself to stifle the pride 
 that was in me. But once I did, what happened ? 
 He came into the school three or four times a year 
 and stood on my neck for five minutes. The rest 
 of the time I had it all to myself. He never knew 
 what I was teaching. He signed papers without 
 reading them. As long as the children were able to 
 roll out the penny catechism like a lot of parrots at 
 the confirmation examinations, he never gave any 
 heed to what I was doing in the school. Except 
 when he wanted me to help him in his own affairs, 
 or wanted a boy to work in his garden, or to run 
 into Liscannow on a message, or when he had an 
 appointment to make, or some money to knock out 
 of the Board for building and repairs, he never gave 
 a thought to the school thank God for that same. 
 For it often came between me and my night's rest 
 that some day he'd be messing about his real business 
 as a manager, and then where would the school 
 be ? " 
 
 " Some day I'll throw an inkpot at his head, and 
 he might then," Maurice said bitterly. 
 
 Driscoll held up his hands in horror. " And he 
 having the power of life and death over you. And 
 the good you're able to do on the blind side of him 
 as long as there's peace." 
 
 " I haven't your patience, master," Maurice said, 
 standing up and looking at the clock. " I wonder
 
 128 WAITING 
 
 what he wants me for this evening ? It's nearly 
 five I must be off." 
 
 The old man stood up and put his hand on 
 Maurice's shoulder. " Cool yourself in the walk 
 up," he said anxiously. " There's no one in the 
 world without some cross or other. Teigue Donlon 
 is always worrying over that kicking mare of his that 
 near knocks the bottom out of the cart every market 
 day going to Liscannow. If it's not one thing it's 
 another a shrew of a wife'd be worse than a 
 domineering manager, for she'd be on the floor with 
 you always, but you only see him once in a while." 
 
 " He won't kill me anyway," Maurice said 
 laughing, as he went out. 
 
 On passing the store, his eye again caught the 
 notice of Miss Barton's lectures. Father James had 
 no control over her, he thought, and he smiled 
 happily. How glad she'd be to be back with the 
 Crawfords. . . . 
 
 He found Father Mahon seated at the desk in 
 his study, picking his teeth with his little finger, his 
 elbow resting on an open newspaper. 
 
 " Oh, is that you ? " the priest said, staring at 
 Maurice superciliously, and continuing the operation 
 on his teeth with his tongue. When he had satis- 
 factorily finished this, he motioned Maurice to a 
 chair. 
 
 " Sit down. Here, take these books I may 
 forget 'em again." He took two account books off 
 the desk. " Just copy all the names from this old 
 station collection book into this new one. You'll 
 have it done easily before the next station." 
 
 Maurice took the books and was rising to go 
 when the priest waved his hand. 
 
 " Don't be in a hurry. How do you like your
 
 WAITING 129 
 
 school ? " Without waiting for a reply, he went 
 on : " It's a great position for a young man like 
 you : good pay, and a great deal of the power 
 of the Church over education delegated to you." 
 
 He got up, walked to the fire-place, and stood 
 with his back to the fire that had recently been 
 lighted. 
 
 " A fine position, and one that a man could well 
 keep a wife on," he continued, rubbing his hands 
 together with gusto. " Why, I expected you up 
 here for a letter of freedom any day these two 
 last Sarafts." 
 
 He laughed loudly at his own words, as if they 
 held some humour that appealed to him. For a 
 moment he looked almost jovial, but this expression 
 soon faded and he looked down on Maurice with 
 a frown. 
 
 " The master of a mixed school ought to be 
 married," he said, sitting down near Maurice. " I 
 had a talk with your mother a couple of months ago, 
 and she thought the same. She mentioned Miss 
 Devoy." 
 
 " I have no intention of marrying," Maurice said 
 dryly. 
 
 " Oh, she said to give you time. You're doing 
 fairly well in the school, fairly well. I wouldn't 
 mind building a teacher's residence for you. Ye 
 wouldn't miss the annuity on it with your two 
 salaries joined together. As she's a sort of relation 
 of my own, I'd let her down light in the marriage 
 money. The Devoys haven't much but they'd be 
 able to give her a few pounds, and I'd add a few to 
 it for the sake of the relationship. She's not up to 
 much in the way of looks, but it would be a good 
 marriage for you." 
 
 K
 
 130 WAITING 
 
 Maurice laughed, a shrill treble. It had an 
 uncanny sound to his own ears and he stopped it 
 abruptly. 
 
 The priest gazed at him in open-mouthed 
 astonishment. But soon his eyes blazed. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " he asked angrily. 
 
 " I wish Miss Devoy's name hadn't been brought 
 into this. I don't intend to marry," Maurice said 
 in an even tone. His nerves were tingling. He 
 was not a little awed by the priest's furious face, and 
 was surprised at the firmness of his own voice. 
 
 " Are you mad ? " the priest shouted. 
 
 Maurice stood up. Half nervously he asked 
 
 " Can I do anything else for you ? " 
 
 Father Mahon glared at him in speechless rage, 
 pointed to the door, and spluttered as Maurice 
 opened it 
 
 " Teachers scum to slight me in my own 
 parish ! "
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 FATHER JAMES MAHON was not given to self- 
 analysis. All through his life he had taken himself 
 for granted. He was always right. All who 
 opposed his will were wrong. In any collision with 
 external circumstance he, therefore, occupied an 
 impregnable position. As a child he was his 
 mother's favourite she had early marked him out 
 for the Church. In all disputes with his brothers 
 and sisters she always upheld him. His confidence 
 in himself increased when he was told that he was 
 to be a priest. His favourite study in Maynooth 
 was ecclesiastical history. His great hero was Pope 
 Innocent III. His ideal was a Church ruling with 
 uncontrolled power over all the nations of the earth. 
 He knew little of popes or of the nations of the 
 earth, and the little he learned from books he after- 
 wards forgot, but he clung fast to his belief in power. 
 He soon saw the Church in himself. Everything 
 that added to his authority added to hers. While a 
 student his field was limited. The only person he 
 completely dominated was his mother. As a curate 
 most of his time was wasted in trying to manage an 
 easy-going parish priest who seemed to believe that it 
 was the duty of a priest to serve the people, not to 
 govern them. Weak-minded priests and bishops, 
 like Father Barry, Father Mahon felt angrily, 
 reduced the Church to its present foolish policy of
 
 1 32 WAITING 
 
 expediency. With priests and bishops like himself 
 the Church would again rule the world. It was 
 then he wrote his famous sermons on hell and on the 
 dignity of the priesthood. He proved by irrefragible 
 logic that the priest was higher than the Blessed 
 Virgin, in a sense greater than Christ Himself, since 
 he created Him anew daily in the mass. He deter- 
 mined to bide his time until he was himself a parish 
 priest. Then he should have no Father Barry to 
 interfere with him. When he got Bourneen parish 
 he tasted all the sweets of power for some months. 
 His housekeeper trembled when he spoke to her. 
 Matsey Boylan's stammer became almost unin- 
 telligible with fright. Teachers grovelled before 
 him, except Driscoll, and he was obedient. The 
 people seemed submissive. Even the few Protes- 
 tants, whose presence in the parish he resented, 
 saluted him respectfully as they passed him by. 
 His horizon widened. He felt that he ought to be 
 a bishop. Then suddenly his cup had occasionally a 
 bitter taste. A curate had ,the temerity to disobey 
 him : with some difficulty he was removed. Things 
 seemed to happen in the parish without his know- 
 ledge. He consoled himself with the thought that 
 the people had been badly trained under the last parish 
 priest ; some day he would exert all his authority 
 and bring them well to heel. While he was yet 
 devising means to this happy end the see of Lis- 
 cannow fell vacant. Intriguing for the bishopric 
 took up much of his time. Except for his farming 
 and his sermons on Sundays, he neglected the parish. 
 He hadn't time to manage the negotiations which 
 changed most of the tenants into landowners. Co- 
 operative societies, which he didn't much like, and 
 Irish classes, which he disliked, had been set up.
 
 WAITING 133 
 
 After his disappointment in the bishopric he began 
 to take his parish in hand again. The dues were 
 readjusted to the changed conditions. His farming 
 and the renewed prospect of the bishopric were both 
 favourable. 
 
 And now, this bolt from the blue ! 
 
 He sat hunched in front of the fire, biting his 
 nails, after Maurice's departure. He was not think- 
 ing much. He was incapable of consecutive thought. 
 He was bitterly offended, outraged. A wave of self- 
 pity passed through him. Tears came into his eyes. 
 But this mood did not last long. He jumped up, 
 and stood frowning at the elm tree across the road. 
 A teacher, of all the people in the world, to turn on 
 him ! he thought bitterly, protruding his jaw. A 
 fellow he could crush like a clod of earth under his 
 heel ! He ground his heel on the carpet. This 
 action calmed him considerably. His mind shifted 
 to cattle. Should he sell those bullocks now or 
 wait till October ? The agricultural inspector he 
 met at the bishop's didn't know everything. There 
 was more profit in fattening off young stock, no 
 doubt, if one paid for the feed. But when one 
 had free grass ? He sat at his desk and accepted 
 an invitation to dinner at Dr. Hannigan's. He 
 permitted himself a mild clerical joke. He read it 
 over aloud and laughed appreciatively. He wrote 
 " James Mahon, P.P.," at the end with a flourish. 
 He addressed an envelope to the bishop. The 
 " D.D." seemed to fascinate him. He began 
 scribbling on a loose sheet of paper, "James 
 Mahon " half a dozen times. Then, " James 
 Mahon, D.D. ; " then, James Mahon, D.D.," 
 and, under it, " Bishop of Liscannow." He tried 
 it in Latin, "Jacobus Mahon, D.D., Episcopus
 
 i 3 4 WAITING 
 
 Liscannowensis," and gazed at it with an approving 
 frown. 
 
 The figure of Maurice Blake came between 
 him and the paper, and the frown lost all its lighter 
 qualities. His eyebrows descended to the middle 
 of his nose. That fellow looked so cool, too, not a 
 bit afraid of him, he thought pettishly. He stood 
 up and walked between the window and the fire- 
 place. He rang for tea, and as he gulped it down 
 he recalled his generosity and unselfishness in 
 regard to the marriage. His anger grew again. 
 That girl of the Devoys was very little to him, only 
 a second cousin once removed. Still he wanted to 
 do her a good turn, and Blake would have had 
 the handling of her pay as well as his own. The 
 protuberance at his waist-line visibly swelled with 
 indignation. Blake was a fool, incapable of seeing 
 what was for his good. He didn't expect gratitude 
 from any one, least of all from teachers. The world 
 was selfish, but Blake was worse than ungrateful, he 
 was rebellious. He threw the girl back in the face 
 of his manager, his parish priest ! What would the 
 Church come to if it tolerated offences like that ? 
 This new aspect of the question lent a certain grave 
 dignity to his figure. His frown became more 
 thoughtful. There was no sign of rain in the sky, 
 he said to himself, as he glanced through the window. 
 He would give instructions that Hinnissey should 
 plough the turnip field if he came to-morrow. It 
 was early yet for turnips, but . . . 
 
 He went to the fire-place and poked the fire. 
 He struck a sod vigorously, and a few small pieces 
 flew out on the hearthrug. He trod on them. 
 What was this behaviour of Blake's but the 
 beginning of anti-clericalism ? There was a lot of
 
 WAITING 135 
 
 it about, but it should take no root in his parish 
 while he had the life left in him to prevent it. And 
 what was anti-clericalism but heresy and a trampling 
 on all morality and all religion ? How could even 
 a breath of such an evil arise in a parish of his, with 
 his sermons and care for the souls and bodies of his 
 people ? 
 
 This thought worried him a little. He gazed 
 moodily at the fire, now glowing brightly. He 
 gave a sigh of relief as a new thought came to him. 
 It was the curate's fault, of course. But this relief 
 did not last. His thoughts suddenly took on an 
 angry hue. Curates always worked mischief. And 
 Malone had no idea of the dignity of the priesthood. 
 He dragged it in the mud by letting the people 
 presume on him ; by being hand and glove with every 
 Tom, Dick, and Harry in the parish often having 
 Driscoll or Blake in to spend the evening with him ; 
 even visiting them as if they were his equals. . . . 
 
 He took up a newspaper, but it was too dark 
 to read with comfort. He put out his hand to 
 ring for the lamp, hesitated and got up. He would 
 see Father Malone that very night and have a talk 
 with him, he decided. 
 
 Malone had his uses of course, he thought, 
 during the short walk to the village. He said the 
 late masses, attended all the night calls, and never 
 made a fuss over going to the poorer sick-calls that 
 it wasn't worth a parish priest's while to attend 
 maybe a half-crown mass offering; maybe nothing 
 at all. The devil you know is better than the devil 
 you don't know, and if he got rid of Malone he 
 might get worse. He'd be wary enough in talking 
 with him, but he'd take right good care he'd shorten 
 his rope in the parish. . . .
 
 136 WAITING 
 
 He knocked loudly at Father Malone's door, 
 which was opened, after a few minutes, by the curate 
 himself. 
 
 " Maria out craw-thumping as usual ? " Father 
 Mahon said, setting his face to the frown he intended 
 for a smile, as he laid his overcoat and silk hat on a 
 table in the hall. 
 
 " 1 dare say she is in the church." 
 
 " I let mine out only to mass on Sundays. If 
 you don't learn to control your servant, you'll never 
 be able to manage a parish," Father Mahon said 
 with a harsh laugh. 
 
 Father Malone shrugged his shoulders and 
 pointed the way to his sitting-room. 
 
 " Not a bad little house for a curate," Father 
 Mahon said, looking round the room complacently. 
 "It was Board of Works money, of course, but I 
 practically built it myself." 
 
 Father Malone pointed ruefully to the wall by 
 the window, where the green paper was discoloured 
 and hung loose about the skirting. 
 
 Father Mahon took the lamp in his hand and 
 examined the paper. 
 
 " That'll dry out. It's only a few years built," 
 he said, a little crossly. 
 
 " Six," Father Malone said laconically. 
 
 "That's new," Father Mahon said, lifting the 
 lamp so that the light shone higher on the wall, and 
 nodding towards a picture. 
 
 " It's rather nice," Father Malone said brighten- 
 ing. " A pastel. It's only a sketch, but see how 
 he got the twilight and that effect of the crescent 
 moon over the shoulder of the figure." 
 
 " I thought it was a rake she was carrying," 
 Father Mahon said indifferently. " If you want to
 
 WAITING 
 
 137 
 
 see pictures drop in one evening and I'll show you 
 some," he added, putting the lamp on the table. 
 " 1 bought a dozen beauties from a travelling 
 German man the other day. He wanted five 
 pounds, but I cut him down to three, and they're 
 dirt cheap at the money." 
 
 His eyes wandered round the room with a look 
 of contempt to another pastel ; a few pen and ink 
 sketches ; a few prints ; long, open book shelves 
 of white enamelled deal, and a worn and faded carpet. 
 
 " You pick up enough money in this parish 
 to do better," he said condescendingly. 
 
 " Take this armchair. It's the most comfort- 
 able," Father Malone said dryly, pushing it close to 
 the fender. 
 
 Father Mahon sat down, spread his hands to the 
 blaze, at which he gazed thoughtfully with a deeply 
 lined brow. 
 
 Father Malone sat at the other corner of the 
 fender and lit a pipe. 
 
 " There's no use asking you to smoke," he 
 said. 
 
 " It's a dirty habit," Father Mahon said, spitting 
 at the fire. 
 
 " A glass of punch ? " 
 
 " No I don't think I will. A teetotaller never 
 keeps good whiskey," with an ungracious laugh. 
 
 " Maria will get some tea when she comes in." 
 
 " I had my own, but I'll take a cup. This 
 parish weighs so heavy on my mind that I slipped 
 my tea down without feeling the good of it." 
 
 " What's wrong now ? " Father Malone said 
 smiling. 
 
 " Oh, one thing and another," Father Mahon 
 said fretfully.
 
 138 WAITING 
 
 " The country is coming to a queer pass," he 
 said abruptly, after a few minutes' silence, straighten- 
 ing himself in his chair and frowning at the curate. 
 
 Father Malone shook the ashes out of his pipe 
 into the grate, tapped the empty pipe on his knee, 
 his blue eyes fixed dreamily on the fire. 
 
 " There is movement," he said. " That is a 
 great thing." 
 
 " There is. Down the hill to the devil," Father 
 Mahon said angrily. 
 
 The curate took off his glasses, wiped them, put 
 them on again, clasped his hands, which still held 
 his pipe, round his knees, and looked at Father 
 Mahon, a smile playing on the corners of his lips. 
 
 This seemed to irritate Father Mahon. His 
 lips and eyebrows twitched spasmodically. 
 
 " You're little better than a fool," he said, "talking 
 that nonsense. There isn't as much sense in you 
 young fellows as there is in the head of a torn-tit. I 
 tell you the people are growing out of their skins. 
 Only last Saraft Thady Finucane had the impudence 
 to rise against the marriage money I put on his 
 daughter. Do you think any good'll come to the 
 parish when the likes of that happens ? " 
 
 " I suppose the parish'll benefit by the improve- 
 ment of Thady's farm. He's putting every penny 
 he can spare into draining that bottom land of his," 
 Father Malone said quietly. 
 
 " I'm thinking of the people's souls," Father 
 
 Mahon said loudly. " You "He bit his lip, 
 
 restrained his anger with difficulty and said, with an 
 attempt at a friendly tone 
 
 " It's a nice parish you'd have the ruling of, 
 when it comes to your turn, if there wasn't the like 
 of me to advise you. I'm not blaming you much.
 
 WAITING 
 
 '39 
 
 You're young yet and don't know the difference. 
 Take my word for it, the only way to rule the 
 people is to keep a tight hand on them." 
 
 Maria came in with a tray which she laid on a 
 chair. " I heard your voice in the hall so I brought 
 a second cup," she said to Father Mahon. She 
 spread a cloth over the half of the table nearest the 
 priests. 
 
 a I'm heard where I'm not seen," he said 
 pompously. 
 
 " Bedad you are," she said dryly. " It's what I 
 was remarking to Father Malone himself to-day 
 about Tim Carty's ass, and he braying in the field 
 the other side of the hedge. I 
 
 "That will do, Maria, thank you," Father Malone 
 said hastily. " I'll finish laying the table. Would 
 you take those papers in the hall down to Mr. 
 Driscoll's ? " 
 
 " I could easily do both," she said. " The 
 night is long, and 1 was just saying 
 
 Father Malone took the tray out of her hands, 
 and she left the room grumbling. 
 
 " I'd pitch her out neck and crop," Father 
 Mahon said scowling. " The cheeky old hag ! " 
 
 Father Malone smiled at the tray. " Do you 
 like your tea strong ? " he asked mildly. 
 
 Father Mahon was now in a sulky rage. " 1 
 do," he said shortly. 
 
 He ate a thick slice of bread and butter in 
 silence, drank a cup of tea in a gulp and banged 
 the cup on the saucer. Maria evidently rankled in 
 his mind. He pushed away his plate and it rattled 
 against the tray. 
 
 " If I thought she meant that for me I'd give 
 her a reading to," he said.
 
 140 WAITING 
 
 " It's not much good lecturing Maria," Father 
 Malone said apologetically. 
 
 " Your lecturing of her, you mean," Father 
 Mahon said, standing up. " It's no wonder things'd 
 be as they are with the kind of weak-minded 
 curates I get." 
 
 The curate shrugged his shoulders, laughed 
 softly and went on eating. 
 
 " It's no laughing matter and the parish going 
 to the dogs," Father Mahon said, after glaring at 
 him for a few seconds. He turned to the fire, bit 
 his nails and kicked restlessly at the fender. 
 
 " If you'd only tell me what's wrong ? " Father 
 Malone said. He stood up and began to fill a pipe. 
 
 "What have I done? I'd rather have it straight 
 
 x. 
 out. 
 
 " How thin-skinned we are ! Did I say you 
 did anything wrong ? A parish priest can't open his 
 mouth but he's flared up at like this," Father 
 Mahon said, flopping back into his armchair. 
 
 Father Malone sighed, lit his pipe, sat down 
 and smoked quietly. 
 
 " You're too thick with those schoolmasters in the 
 village for one thing. I never cared much for old 
 Driscoll, but he's a king to that conceited young 
 pup that 1 was fool enough to give the school to 
 after him." 
 
 " Giving Maurice Blake Bourneen was the best 
 day's work you ever did for the parish," Father 
 Malone said emphatically. He put a few sods of 
 turf on the fire and patted them carefully into place 
 with the tongs. 
 
 " If the school was vacant again, he'd whistle 
 for it." 
 
 This remark of Father Mahon's roused Father
 
 WAITING 141 
 
 Malone to fresh vigour with the tongs. He was a 
 little flushed. A tightening of the lips and a gleam 
 behind his glasses hardened his mobile face. He 
 struck a live sod sharply and a cloud of golden 
 sparks ascended the chimney. His anger seemed to 
 go with them. 
 
 " This is a joke, I suppose ? Maurice Blake 
 conceited ! " he laughed lightly. 
 
 " You might laugh at the wrong side of your 
 mouth yet unless you're said by me. I know that 
 fellow and you don't. I can read his face like a 
 book. He's bad in and out, I tell you." 
 
 Father Malone leant back in his chair and gazed 
 at the parish priest curiously with level eyes. 
 
 " What has he done to you ? " he asked 
 ironically. 
 
 This was too much for Father Mahon. He 
 stood up and towered angrily over the curate whose 
 unflinching eyes seemed to provoke him to further 
 anger. 
 
 "He " he foamed. "What could a worm 
 
 like him do to me ? " he asked, after a moment's 
 hesitation. " It's his disrespect for the Church I 
 object to. I never think of myself. But I have a 
 position to maintain. The way that fellow stands 
 and looks at me, his parish priest and manager, 
 when I call at his school ! He's meddling, too, in 
 the affairs of the parish those societies and that 
 tupenny ha'penny bank. Neglecting the work he's 
 paid for ! " 
 
 " Barring Driscoll, he's the best teacher you 
 ever had." 
 
 " He's a downright scamp, that's what he is. If 
 ever a man was put in his place I'll put him there." 
 
 Father Malone shrugged his shoulders. " I
 
 I 4 2 WAITING 
 
 don't think I care to discuss my friends," he said 
 quietly. 
 
 " If I find you backing people that rebel against 
 me the bishop will hear of it," Father Mahon said 
 with a menacing look. 
 
 Father Malone made no reply. Father Mahon 
 walked up and down the room, giving an occasional 
 furtive glance at the curate, who was gazing wearily 
 at the fire. A pleased look gradually overspread 
 Father Mahon's face, and he muttered to himself, 
 " That knocked the stuffing out of him." He sat 
 down again and gave an uneasy boisterous laugh. 
 
 " I'm too good a friend to you to fight with you, 
 Malone," he said ingratiatingly. 
 
 He waited for a reply, but as Father Malone 
 said nothing, his eyes gleamed again. With an 
 effort he mastered his temper and said soberly 
 
 " If I spoke to you it was for your good. The 
 old dog for the long road ! and I can read the signs 
 of the times better than a young curate like you. 
 Priests must stand together in defence of the old 
 Church. She needs the best that's in every one of 
 us. The devil is busy sowing ideas in people's 
 heads, and we've got to pluck 'em out by the roots. 
 Give the people an inch and they'll take an ell. If 
 once we let go our hold of the reins, they'll take the 
 bit between their teeth. Believe you me, the fear of 
 hell in the marrow of their bones, and absolute 
 obedience to their priests is the only salvation for the 
 people of this country. You're too mild with them. 
 Mind, I'm not finding fault with your sermons on 
 charity, and bearing one another's burthens and the 
 like they're nice little things in their way ; but if 
 you'd only take a leaf out of my book, and give 'em 
 hell and the dignity of the priesthood, the parish'd
 
 WAITING 143 
 
 be all the better for it. And I'm all for the people 
 when it's for their good. Land purchase was all 
 right. It turned a lot of Protestant land into 
 Catholic hands, and it gave the people a chance 
 not that they were too willing to take it to give 
 more respectable support to their hard-working 
 clergy. And there's the tidy farm attached to the 
 parochial house that I bought in cheap myself, that'll 
 cheer the heart of future generations of parish 
 priests of Bourneen. Who knows but yourself 
 might have it one day ! I'm in two minds about 
 this co-operation. On the one hand, it makes the 
 people better off. On the other hand, it gives them 
 airs of being able to do things without the help of their 
 parish priest. It'd be better for the Church any day 
 that they'd be living in muck than have that kind of 
 independence. I was busy over one thing and 
 another and I had to let you mess about these 
 societies. The opposition to them is dying down a 
 bit too. Now that I've more time on my hands I'll 
 take my proper place at the front of them, and see 
 if I can't head them in the right direction. I may 
 or may not be long in the parish that's in God's 
 hands but while I'm in it I'm going to be master 
 in my own house. But now that we're having a 
 friendly chat, I give you friendly warning that I'll 
 have no truck with the Irish language. You know 
 my mind on it already. If there was any good to be 
 got out of it I'd be the first to see it, and I speaking 
 it from the cradle, in my father's house. It's leading 
 to all kinds of devilry. Up to this I've only 
 given an odd side-blast against it in a sermon ; but 
 1 tell you straight, so that you can draw out of it in 
 time, that I'll drive it out of the schools and out of 
 the parish."
 
 i 4 4 WAITING 
 
 He wound up the long speech on a hectoring 
 note, slapping his leg with his open palm. He 
 noticed that Father Malone was watching the fire 
 with a troubled face. 
 
 " Don't be sitting there like a stuck pig. If 
 you've got anything to say out with it," he said in 
 a self-satisfied voice. 
 
 Father Malone roused himself. " Is there any 
 hope of arguing you out of these views ? " he asked 
 despairingly. 
 
 Father Mahon looked at him compassionately. 
 He took a snufF-box from his waistcoat pocket and 
 tapped it. 
 
 " You might know me better. I could no more 
 be moved than Slieve Mor, when once I've made 
 up my mind to a thing. And for why ? Because 
 I know I'm right," he said complacently. He 
 opened the box and took a huge pinch in each 
 nostril. " There's no more to be said. It's for the 
 parish priest to lay down the law, and for the curate 
 to obey," he added, rising. " Come and have a 
 bite of dinner with me to-morrow, and I'll put 
 more common sense into you." 
 
 " I think I ought to say," Father Malone said, 
 " that I disagree with almost every word you said." 
 
 Father Mahon looked him all over with a 
 supercilious frown, laughed and said 
 
 " Curates always come round. When I lead a 
 horse to the water, I usually make him drink. If 
 he doesn't, it's so much the worse for the horse. 
 Why, what's this ? " he added, catching sight of a 
 poster pinned to the side of a standing desk by the 
 window. 
 
 "Those poultry lectures," Father Malone said 
 coldly.
 
 WAITING 145 
 
 " Who in the world got her here ? " Father 
 Mahon said, when he had read to the end. 
 
 " The Agricultural Society." 
 
 " It's time I took it out of your hands. Bring- 
 ing in women to trapse round my parish ! Some 
 fool of a girl that doesn't know a cock from a hen. 
 Barton that's not a Catholic name," he added 
 frowning. 
 
 "She's a Protestant, I believe a niece of John 
 Crawford's." 
 
 " What is the world coming to ? And my own 
 curate having a hand in it too ! I can't turn my 
 back for a minute but these things are happening. 
 This is the thin end of the wedge to get education 
 out of the hands of the Church. It's rank atheism 
 to bring a Protestant woman to teach anything in a 
 Catholic parish like this." 
 
 He stalked out of the room and banged the 
 front door behind him. 
 
 Meanwhile, on leaving the parochial house, 
 Maurice Blake had taken the Liscannow road. He 
 had some work to do at home, but he had gone 
 nearly two miles out of his way before he noticed 
 his direction. He moved the account books from 
 under one arm to the other and laughed. It was 
 ludicrous, he said aloud, but his laugh had a hollow 
 ring and his words did not convince him. He had 
 walked hitherto with a vague feeling of restlessness, 
 almost without thought, his eyes, however, alert to 
 the changing colour of the sky, crimson and orange 
 and translucent green. He stood for a moment 
 hesitating, and, without coming to any decision, 
 walked on. It was quite dark under the trees as the 
 road skirted the Durrisk demesne. The high wall
 
 146 WAITING 
 
 echoed his footsteps. He went slowly past the 
 big iron gates and thought of the ghost that was 
 said to haunt the avenue. He felt almost as if he 
 expected to see it, his nerves were so jumpy. He 
 tightened his fingers on the books and thought again 
 of Father Mahon. There was nothing to worry 
 about. It was all a joke of the priest's. Even if 
 it wasn't, what could he do to injure him ? The 
 priest's face seemed to stand out luminously in the 
 dark. He shivered a little. He pulled himself 
 together and increased his pace. A manager wasn't 
 an autocrat in these days. A teacher was a servant 
 of the state, not of the priest. He whistled a lively 
 jig tune. . . . 
 
 The tea-things were still on the table in the 
 kitchen when he got home. 
 
 " What in the world kept you this late ? " 
 Driscoll said. 
 
 " I walked to Liscannow, and sat awhile on the 
 quay watching the boats." 
 
 " What did the big man want of you ? " 
 
 Maurice told him. 
 
 The old man listened attentively but did not 
 speak for some time. 
 
 " 'Twas honester by the girl to speak straight 
 out," he said musingly. " Though I'd as lief you 
 gave him a softer answer. Maybe no harm'll come 
 of it." 
 
 Later, as he seemed to pore over a book, 
 Maurice heard him say above his breath, " He's a 
 cruel hard man to be up against. Thank God, he 
 can't break a man's soul."
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 A DEPUTATION from the Agricultural Society, con- 
 sisting of Driscoll and Larry Reardon, called on 
 Father Mahon and asked him for the use of the 
 schoolroom for Miss Barton's lectures. He 
 hummed and hawed, bit his nails and peremptorily 
 refused. He declined to preside at her opening 
 lecture. There was some murmuring at the subse- 
 quent meeting of the society. Hinnissey said that 
 it was a queer thing that the say of one man, no 
 matter how high and mighty he was, should make 
 smithereens of the wishes of the people, and the 
 schoolhouse, in a kind of a way, belonging to them 
 too. Tom Blake was strongly of opinion that by 
 rights they could force in the door. But his father's 
 milder counsel prevailed. A priest was a priest, he 
 said, and in an affair of the sort it might be better 
 in the long run to try and spell out a way of cir- 
 cumventing him than to take a short cut, and maybe 
 break their heads agin a stone wall at the end of it. 
 The corrugated-iron manure shed belonging to the 
 society, empty at this season, was swept and gar- 
 nished. The mud of years was partially scrubbed 
 off the boarded floor. Seats were borrowed through- 
 out the village. Master Driscoll decked the lecturer's 
 table with his sweetest scented flowers, which, to 
 some extent, neutralized the pervasive smell of 
 guano. Here, with Father Malone in the chair, 
 Alice Barton was to give her first lecture.
 
 i 4 8 WAITING 
 
 Maurice Blake sat in an obscure corner, whither 
 the feeble light of the few hanging lamps, slung 
 temporarily from the open rafters, scarcely penetrated. 
 He had spent an anxious fortnight. Every day for 
 a week he expected Father Mahon to interfere with 
 his work. But the priest had not come to the school 
 and on Sunday he preached his mildest sermon 
 with a preoccupied air. After mass Driscoll had 
 " sounded " Father Malone, who said, laughing, 
 that the Bishop of Droomeen was ill again and 
 that Father Mahon would not bother much about 
 the parish till the bishop was dead or well. This 
 news relieved Maurice for a few hours, but he soon 
 began to worry about the success of Alice Barton's 
 lecture. It was a busy time with the farmers. 
 
 " Do you think they'll turn up ? " he asked 
 Master Driscoll a dozen times. 
 
 "And the meeting fixed for half an hour after 
 dusk. The whole parish'll be there, you'll see." 
 
 This comforting assurance did not, however, 
 ease his mind. It was some relief to him that Alice 
 had actually arrived at the Crawfords'. But despite 
 all his efforts his anxiety persisted. Master Driscoll 
 asked him to be on the look-out for the girl and 
 to show her the way in to the store when she 
 arrived. 
 
 He accepted this duty gladly, but a few hours 
 before the lecture, he resigned it to Driscoll, on the 
 plea that he had to see that everything was right in- 
 side. Long before sunset he came to the shed, 
 arranged and re-arranged seats, and moved the vase 
 of flowers from one corner of the table to another. 
 At dusk he lit the lamps. He looked at his watch 
 every two or three minutes. Matsey Boylan was 
 the first to arrive. He took a front seat, saying
 
 WAITING 149 
 
 " I want to get a good view of her. I hear she's 
 a fine figure of a girl. And who knows ? " 
 
 This so disgusted Maurice that he went out to 
 the yard and walked up and down restlessly. He 
 asked himself crossly why he had come so early 
 other lectures had taken care of themselves once all 
 the arrangements were made ? And the answer came 
 readily : the other lecturers were men, but this was 
 a woman and a stranger. His sense of chivalry 
 soothed him. It occurred to him that the men were 
 strangers too, but he put this irrelevant thought 
 away. Then the audience began to trickle in, and 
 he took his seat. 
 
 When the hall was about a third full he felt that 
 the meeting should be a success. The audience was 
 mostly women, but the scent of strong tobacco came 
 through the open door, and he could hear men 
 talking and laughing in the yard. 
 
 " They're worse gossips than the women, them 
 men are, with their excuse of a shaugh of a pipe. 
 It'd be the price of 'em if they hadn't a seat to get 
 when they came within," Mrs. Hinnissey said aloud, 
 a few seats in front of Maurice. 
 
 " What do the poor things know about hens 
 anyway ? " Mrs. Reardon said. " The wonder to 
 me is what men want to hear about 'em for at all." 
 
 "If what Jack read out of the weekly paper last 
 Sunday is true, we'll be soon wearing the breeches. 
 So the sooner the men learn about the hens the 
 better," Mrs. Hinnissey said boisterously. 
 
 " Do you hear her now, and she wearing 'em 
 ever since she married Jack Hinnissey," Mrs. Rear- 
 don said slyly. 
 
 " There's no fault to be found with any woman 
 for doing that same," Mrs. Blake said seriously.
 
 1 5 o WAITING 
 
 Men now crowded in at the door, soon filled 
 all the seats and stood at the back and sides of the 
 room. 
 
 "She's outside with the priest and Master 
 Driscoll," a man said, jerking his thumb back 
 towards the door. 
 
 After a short interval Master Driscoll appeared, 
 and good-humouredly pushed the people aside to 
 make a clear passage to the platform of rough planks 
 on which stood the table and a few chairs. 
 
 "Now, your reverence," he said from the 
 door. 
 
 But it was Alice Barton who came forward, a 
 smiling self-possessed Alice Barton, Maurice noticed, 
 his heart thumping against his ribs. He shrank 
 back into his seat in an effort to get further away 
 from the light. She took the cheers of the audience 
 quietly, giving a few little bows as Driscoll led her 
 to the table with a gracious courtesy that reminded 
 Maurice of a chivalrous knight in a medieval tale he 
 had read sometime. He had no eyes for the priest 
 and the others who followed. They must have 
 followed, for the priest was now sitting at the table 
 with Alice beside him, chatting with her as if she 
 were some ordinary person. 
 
 She hadn't changed in the least. The pink in 
 her cheeks was a shade deeper, and her eyes sparkled 
 while the priest was introducing her. She even 
 nodded to a few people whom she recognized in 
 front. He was a little disappointed that she did 
 not nod to him. But she couldn't see him even 
 if she did see him, it was unlikely that she would 
 remember him, he thought, a momentary feeling of 
 satisfaction giving place to doubt. Then she began 
 to speak.
 
 WAITING 151 
 
 " She's only a slip of a thing," a man said 
 near by. 
 
 " Hush, hush," Maurice said, frowning. 
 
 He expected a different opening some glimpse 
 of the dreams she unfolded to him in the Crawfords' 
 kitchen. But it was all plain fact. She even made 
 small jokes. He noticed her hands for the first 
 time, and the width between her eyes. These 
 seemed to explain to him the hold she had on 
 her audience and her wonderful voice that gave 
 colour to the driest details. For whole minutes 
 he lost the thread of what she was saying. It did 
 not seem to matter. It was enough to see her, the 
 light on her profile. The oil-lamps smoked and 
 grew dim. One or two went out. He blamed 
 himself for having lighted them so early. Then 
 he thought it was well that the hall was dark, for, 
 beyond the vague shapes of the audience, she seemed 
 a radiant vision. . . . 
 
 In a business-like tone she was blaming the 
 lamp-lighter when he next heard her. 
 
 " I have to show diagrams and plans at the next 
 lecture," she said, " and the hall must be better 
 lighted." 
 
 Which was nonsense, he felt, for the light from 
 the mean paraffin lamp on the table was enough to 
 gild the wave of hair that just touched the tip of 
 her ear, itself a rose-pink, close-set shell. 
 
 She sketched her future programme. The lectures 
 were only fireworks, it seemed. The main part of 
 her work was to be done by house-to-house visits 
 and practical demonstrations. He was glad that 
 her stay seemed to stretch ahead for months. 
 
 Master Driscoll proposed a vote of thanks. 
 " In old ancient times," he said, " the glory of a
 
 1 52 WAITING 
 
 great people sprang from an egg. Who knows 
 what the egg might bring to Bourneen and to 
 Ireland." 
 
 In homely phrases that came from his heart, he 
 thanked the lecturer. 
 
 There were loud calls for Master Blake. He 
 racked his brains for something to say. As he 
 got to his feet he thought of her as the Angel 
 Gabriel, as Joan of Arc. His lips were dry, and 
 his tongue clave to his palate. He clutched the 
 chair in front of him. In a voice that sounded, in 
 his own ears, harsh, ponderous, cold and inadequate, 
 he said 
 
 " I second the vote of thanks." 
 
 There was a dreadful silence, during which he 
 seemed to fall down a bottomless pit. Some one 
 clapped ; every one clapped. Father Malone was 
 speaking, and Maurice felt himself at rest in his 
 chair. 
 
 A buzz of conversation arose after the final 
 clapping of hands at the close of the priest's 
 speech. 
 
 "We'll never be done with all the new things 
 that's thrown at us one day it's a new way of 
 making butter, and another it's a new way of laying 
 eggs," Mrs. Blake said. 
 
 " When you're stuck in the house all day, it's a 
 great relief to get out for a start. She wasn't near 
 as exciting as a mission sermon, but I wouldn't say 
 that she didn't pass the time well enough," Mrs. 
 Reardon said, with a satisfied sigh. 
 
 " She was grand, that's what she was," Hanny 
 said hotly. 
 
 Maurice felt grateful to her, and thought that 
 Hanny was almost beautiful in her angry flush.
 
 WAITING 153 
 
 " She didn't make as many mistakes as I thought 
 she might," Mrs. Blake said dryly. " Come along 
 up home with us, Maurice," she added ; " Mike 
 wants to have a word with you." 
 
 Maurice was the last to leave the shed. He 
 put out the lamps and stood blinking in the door- 
 way, a lighted match in his hand. He heard the 
 priest say 
 
 " Good night, and thank you again." 
 
 It was a moonless night. The match flickered 
 and went out. He saw vague shapes in the yard. 
 
 " Come over here," he heard in Master Driscoll's 
 voice. 
 
 He fumbled with the lock. 
 
 " You had charge of the lamps, I'm told. I'm 
 sorry I spoke of them ; but they were pretty bad, 
 you know." 
 
 So she had not gone yet. He laughed. The 
 bewildering feeling that overcame him all the even- 
 ing vanished with the laugh. 
 
 " I'd never trust a man to trim a wick," Mrs. 
 Crawford said. 
 
 " How is the Irish going on ? " Alice said, as 
 she shook hands. 
 
 " Walk up a bit of the road with them. My 
 eyes are too bad in this light to travel far," Driscoll 
 said. 
 
 "Don't trouble. Uncle John'll keep ofF the 
 good people at the holy well though I wish I saw 
 them for once," Alice said, with a low laugh. 
 
 " Though I don't believe in them, I never make 
 light of them, all the same," Crawford said solemnly, 
 in rebuke. 
 
 " I have to go up as far as my father's, in any 
 case," Maurice said, as he walked on at Alice's side.
 
 154 WAITING 
 
 They threaded their way through little groups 
 of people and followed in the wake of a small pro- 
 cession up the village street. Mrs. Hinnissey's 
 loud laugh rose high above disjointed scraps of talk, 
 but even she was silent in passing Father Mahon's. 
 
 " I feel more at home here than at Dublin the 
 people are all so friendly," Alice said, her voice 
 ringing out clearly against the silence. 
 
 "And why wouldn't they ? " Maurice said. 
 
 He wanted to talk, but he could find nothing 
 more to say. The opaque clouds had blown away, 
 and clusters of stars danced in a dark blue sky, 
 which grew almost black as he gazed at it, so bright 
 were the quivering fires with which it was studded. 
 Yet her face showed only in a faintly luminous 
 outline. . . . 
 
 " There's your gate," she said. 
 
 " I'll go as far as the boreen I want a walk." 
 
 She talked of Drumquin and the preparations 
 that were being made there for the Liscannow 
 Feis. 
 
 " I'm looking forward to it so much. I've been 
 at the Oirechtas in Dublin, but never at a country 
 Feis. You're going, of course ?" 
 
 " I'm on the committee," he said shyly. 
 
 " I might have known," she said, looking at 
 him. 
 
 " We're in rather a fix in Bourneen school over the 
 singing," he said hastily. " Joan Bradley, the old 
 workmistress, used to take it, but she's gone to live 
 in Liscannow. Miss Devoy doesn't sing. I take 
 the class now, but I'm no good. Father Malone 
 helps, but he's not much better. The children are 
 entered at the Feis for singing, but they're sure to 
 do badly."
 
 WAITING 155 
 
 She clapped her hands and danced along the 
 road. He looked at her in astonishment. 
 
 " What's the girl up to ? " John Crawford said 
 from behind. 
 
 <c I'm not mad or glad they're so bad there's a 
 rhyme for you ! I'll turn into a poet next. I'm 
 not all eggs and poultry. Let me train them ? I 
 know all the set pieces by heart already. I was 
 helping with the singing at Drumquin." 
 
 Dark as it was, he could see her eyes glow with 
 excitement. 
 
 " You sing then ? " 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders, and became sedate 
 at once. Of course she sang, he answered himself: 
 with her voice ! It was ridiculous of him to ask. 
 He was framing words to thank her, when she 
 laughed, began to hum between her teeth, and sang 
 in a deep contralto, " Silent, O Moyle, be the roar 
 of thy waters." The sad minor notes seemed to 
 catch his heart. 
 
 "Alice, if the people hear you, and they're in 
 front of you and behind you, they won't believe 
 you're any good with the hens," Mrs. Crawford 
 said anxiously. 
 
 " I sing often to drown their cackle," she said, 
 stopping abruptly. 
 
 " Thank you," Maurice said huskily. 
 
 " It's not much of a voice," she said lightly, 
 " but it's good enough to teach with." 
 
 He said nothing, but he felt the notes still 
 echoing in the thin vibrant air. . . . 
 
 He found himself thanking her for her offer to 
 teach. 
 
 " I enjoy it. One gets tired of poultry some- 
 times."
 
 156 WAITING 
 
 " You'll be a regular Fenian before you're 
 ended," John Crawford said, catching them up at 
 turn of the boreen, " with all your Feis and 
 nonsense." 
 
 " On Saturdays, then, and any afternoon just 
 after school that I'm free half-past three, is it ? " 
 she called after Maurice as he walked away. 
 
 " Half-past three," he echoed. 
 
 This was a stroke of luck, he thought. What 
 a useful person she would be in the parish. He 
 returned the greetings of a group who threw a 
 "good night" out into the unknown. When he 
 spoke, one said warmly, "Why, it's the young 
 master ! God bless you, and good night again." 
 The road was springy to-night, he felt, as he swung 
 along rapidly. There was a fresh feel in the air. 
 He inhaled long breaths. What was that inde- 
 finable odour that cleared his brain and made it so 
 keen to all impressions ? The earth in a ploughed 
 field on his right had the freshness of renewed youth. 
 A star blinked at him joyously from a tiny pool 
 on the roadside. He even listened for some sound 
 of growth and life in the filmy shoots that nodded 
 at him from the hedgerows. He recognized Tom's 
 bulky form leaning over, the Reardons' gate, and a 
 shawled figure beyond, but he passed by unnoticed. 
 He began to hum, " Silent, O Moyle." 
 
 His father was blowing out the candle in a stable 
 lantern when he opened the door. Hanny was 
 wiping cups at the dresser. 
 
 "I thought you'd never come," his mother said, 
 in her usual seat between the lamp and the fire, 
 patching Mike's coat. 
 
 " I was seeing the Crawfords home," he said 
 brightly.
 
 WAITING 
 
 157 
 
 " I suppose they're that blind they couldn't see 
 the way for themselves." 
 
 " Whist, woman, don't be contrary, and I not 
 ready for him myself till this minute," Mike said, 
 taking his seat on the hob. " By rights Tom should 
 be seeing after the cattle, but he's not in yet." 
 
 " He's not," Mrs. Blake said crossly. " You be 
 off to bed, Hanny. You must be up early in the 
 morning. You can say your own rosary by the 
 side of the bed, or, if it's too cold there, between 
 the blankets." 
 
 She turned round and watched Hanny finish her 
 work. 
 
 "That girl to-night doesn't know the value of 
 money," Mike said, lighting his pipe. " The notion 
 of giving up good land to the feeding of hens ! Who 
 ever heard the like ? And the expense of them 
 little houseens she spoke of too ! " 
 
 "There's money in it," Maurice said with a 
 smile, drawing a chair towards the fire. 
 
 Mike pulled at his pipe for a minute. " If there 
 is, I don't see it," he said. 
 
 " Tom will " Maurice was beginning. 
 
 "Tom, Tom I'm sick of Tom this blessed 
 night," Mrs. Blake interrupted. "There, she's 
 gone now," as Hanny shut the door of her bed- 
 room, *' and we can talk." She drew her stool 
 closer to Maurice, rested her hands on her knees, 
 and looked gloomily at the fire. " I suppose I'll 
 have to let that girl of the Reardons' in on the floor 
 to me at last," she said angrily. 
 
 " But you like her ? " Maurice said in sur- 
 prise. 
 
 "Tom was my first," she said, sobbing and 
 wiping her eyes with her apron.
 
 i 5 8 WAITING 
 
 " Don't, mother, don't," Maurice said anxiously, 
 laying his hand on her knee. 
 
 She caught his hand and pressed it to her bosom 
 and said, still sobbing 
 
 " And a good son he was to me, too. Not that 
 I'd mind him marrying it's her coming in on the 
 floor to me, and being day and night before my 
 eyes, that I can't abide." 
 
 " Whist, woman whist," Mike said. " There's 
 more important matters to attend to than that. 
 There's making the match," he added gravely. 
 
 Mrs. Blake's sobs died away. " That's what he 
 wanted to see you about," she said, releasing 
 Maurice's hand. 
 
 "We all know they've made the match them- 
 selves, long ago," Maurice said laughing. 
 
 " That's only fool talk," Mike said, striking his 
 pipe emphatically against his palm, " and there not 
 being a word yet with Larry Reardon about what 
 fortune she's to get." 
 
 Maurice shrugged his shoulders. " Tom'd be 
 glad to take her without a penny." 
 
 " Have a spark of sense in you now, boy," 
 Mike said angrily. " You're great on keeping up 
 the customs of the country," he added sarcastically, 
 after a pause, "and here's one that was in the 
 parish since the beginning of the world. I was 
 thinking," he continued more graciously, " that my- 
 self and yourself 'd go up some night and strike the 
 bargain with Larry. He's that naygurly and close- 
 fisted, with all his soft talk, that we'd have to bid 
 the highest penny to start with, so as to give us a 
 liscense for climbing down a bit afterwards." 
 
 Maurice wriggled in his chair. He had always 
 hated this custom, and to-night it seemed more
 
 WAITING 159 
 
 appalling than ever. He smiled as he thought he 
 saw a way out of his difficulty. 
 
 " There's Jim Reardon and Hanny they care 
 for each other. Make a double match of it, and 
 there needn't be any bargaining," he said trium- 
 phantly. 
 
 "The whole parish knows that the Reardons 
 won't let Jim take a wife for a couple of years or 
 more," Mrs. Blake said. 
 
 " But if they were engaged " 
 
 " As if I'd trust to a thing like that," Mike said 
 contemptuously. " I've known a match made on 
 the Friday before Shrove Tuesday, and it was broke 
 off and the man married to another girl on Shrove 
 Tuesday evening. Who knows what'd happen in a 
 couple of years ? A bird in the hand, I always 
 heard, is worth as many as you like to name in a 
 bush. Sorra foot Minnie enters that door there 
 till I have Larry's money tight in my breast pocket." 
 
 " There's no hurry, anyway, Lent isn't over yet," 
 Maurice said, temporizing. 
 
 " We must be ready the first thing after Easter, 
 so it's time to put a face on it. We struck against 
 it last Saraft, but there's no standing Tom since 
 with the black sulks that's on him. Will you come 
 with me, or will you not ? " Mike said, rising im- 
 patiently. 
 
 " I shouldn't be the least use." 
 
 Mike considered this, gazing thoughtfully at 
 Maurice. 
 
 " There's that way of looking at it. Maybe after 
 all Jack Hinnissey'd be a better back to me. He 
 knows Larry inside out, too. Whist ! " 
 
 The latch rattled and Tom came in. " It's a 
 fine starry night," he said.
 
 160 WAITING 
 
 " It is," Mike said, lighting a candle. " It's 
 every man for himself, 1 believe, with the rosary to- 
 night," he added, yawning. 
 
 "There was sense in what that girl at the 
 Crawfords' said at the lecture," Tom said, when 
 Mike had retired to the room. " I'll be seeing 
 about that fowl run to-morrow." 
 
 "There, take that," his mother handed him a 
 candle. " It's all hours ! Sleep sound, agra it's 
 you're the biddable boy." 
 
 She threw her arms around his neck, kissed 
 him on the shoulder, and then pushed him away 
 from her. He looked at her in astonishment, blushed 
 furiously, opened his mouth, turned away without 
 speaking, and flicked the lighted candle with his 
 ringers as he ascended the ladder. 
 
 " And why wouldn't he marry ? " she said half 
 to herself, watching him till he disappeared over the 
 stair head. 
 
 Maurice had risen to leave. She turned to him. 
 
 " I had it agin him some way," she said 
 brokenly, " to pick out a girl for himself. There's 
 your father and myself now, never set eyes on other 
 till we met in front of the priest at the altar rails. 
 But the will of God be done." 
 
 He kissed her, and she clung to him for a 
 moment. 
 
 " Will I soon be hearing of yourself ? " she 
 said, holding his hand. " Father James was dead 
 set on it." 
 
 He frowned a little, and she said eagerly, "If 
 you don't care for her now itself, it'd come. And it 
 would be a fine marriage for you." 
 
 " There is no use in speaking of it, mother," he 
 said gently.
 
 WAITING 161 
 
 She looked at him for a long time, tears brimming 
 her eyes. 
 
 " I don't know what's over me to-night. It's 
 that fool of a Tom, or something. I haven't it 
 in my heart to push you to what you don't like. 
 There isn't a stime of common-sense left in me. 
 Put the hasp on the half-door and you going out." 
 
 As he walked home he felt young again. He 
 lingered by the stream, listening to the gurgling of 
 the water. It sang some new song to his heart. 
 
 M
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 RAIN beat heavily on the school cottage. It swished 
 against the windows as if invisible hands caught it 
 up in immense buckets and dashed it with unerring 
 aim at intervals of a few seconds. It fell in thuds 
 on the sodden roof ; sizzled on the smouldering fire, 
 which belched smoke and peat ash, acrid and pene- 
 trating. The water-barrels had long since over- 
 flown, and Master Driscoll, in oil clothes and sou'- 
 wester, with many sighs, had broken up his garden 
 path, and raked out a passage for the water to the 
 front gate, through which it flowed in a steady 
 stream to join other swirling waters in a fierce rush 
 for the hollow at the foot of the hill, where, not 
 satisfied with making the road impassable, it made 
 small lakes of the adjoining fields. 
 
 " It might be February instead of the middle of 
 summer," Driscoll said cheerfully. A little sadly 
 he added, " The poor flowers and the poor farmers ! 
 If it doesn't stop soon the country '11 be in a bad 
 way." 
 
 Maurice nodded in sympathy. " And the Feis'll 
 be spoiled," he said. 
 
 " And the Feis, to be sure," Driscoll said, blow- 
 ing the fire with a bellows. " We've done all we 
 can now. After the morning's work I've an appetite 
 for my breakfast." 
 
 Maurice ventured out again by the back door.
 
 WAITING 163 
 
 A gust of rain rushed round the corner of the house 
 and struck him in the face. He looked up the wind 
 and down for signs of change, sighed, and turned 
 back. There was no gleam in the murky pall. 
 
 " It might clear at the turn of the tide. There 
 won't be much harm done by then," Driscoll said, 
 spreading the tablecloth. 
 
 " It might," Maurice said hopelessly. 
 
 Breakfast took a long time to prepare. Toast 
 was given up as impossible. " It'll take us all our 
 time to boil the eggs," Driscoll said. They sat 
 down at last to a gloomy meal. Then suddenly a 
 lull came. 
 
 " Hark," Driscoll said, holding his cup in mid- 
 air. The rain against the window had become a tiny 
 patter. The fire ceased to splutter. The room 
 lightened into a soft grey. " What did I tell you ? " 
 he said excitedly. 
 
 The rain had stopped by the time Maurice 
 had opened the front door. A thick grey fog, with 
 a sheen of silver in it, drifted by towards the 
 east. 
 
 "That's not much better," he said. 
 
 "The Feis'll be all right. Wait a bit. Come 
 back and finish your breakfast." 
 
 The room grew brighter as they ate. When 
 they had finished, Driscoll said 
 
 " You might be changing your clothes now. 
 Them things you have on you are drenched." 
 
 The sun shone through Maurice's window as he 
 finished dressing. He hurried to the garden, where 
 Driscoll stood smiling in his best black coat and grey 
 trousers, a black bow tie straggling down his white 
 shirt front from the wings of his Gladstone collar. 
 
 " Look at that now," he said proudly, as if he
 
 1 64 WAITING 
 
 had wrought the wonderful transformation, waving 
 his arms around. 
 
 The wet, rocky surface of Slieve Mor caught the 
 sun in broken sheets of silver flame. The sapphire 
 sky was soft and tender as the smile in a child's 
 eyes after tears. Away in the east the fog, driven 
 by a light wind, whose force seemed to have spent 
 itself in the effort, was fading into the horizon. The 
 jewelled hedge sparkled. The drooping flowers, 
 already lifting joyous though battered heads to the 
 sun, perfumed the air. 
 
 "That trifle of rain only put the heart into 
 them. A prop here and there, and they'll be as fit 
 as a fiddle," Driscoll said, fingering the buds of a 
 carnation. 
 
 Maurice gave a contented sigh. 
 
 " After all our work, it'd have been a pity to 
 have a bad day for the Liscannow Feis." 
 
 " God is good to us. Everything has had a 
 smile on it for the last couple of months. I never 
 saw the people in better fettle for the right sort of 
 things. I'd better make up that path before we 
 start. We have an hour to the good yet, and time 
 to walk at our leisure after. Well, Matsey, what do 
 you want ? " 
 
 " Good morning, masters both," Matsey said, 
 opening the gate. " It's a letter I have from his 
 reverence for Maurice Blake there." 
 
 He shambled up the path. 
 
 " It's dressed up ye are. I'm going myself too. 
 I was telling Father James all about the Feis, and 
 we driving home last night from Liscannow. 
 Though," with a leer, " I didn't let on to him I was 
 going there myself. Catch me at that. He was as 
 mad as a hatter at times, and he was ladling questions
 
 WAITING 165 
 
 out of me like you'd be emptying the big barrel 
 beyond with a cuppeen." 
 
 " 'Tis you have the long tongue on you, Matsey," 
 Driscoll said laughing. 
 
 " Where is the letter ? " Maurice asked. 
 
 " 'Deed, if I didn't forget it in all my talking." 
 He turned out several pockets, and finally found it in 
 his greasy hat. 
 
 While Maurice was opening the letter, Matsey 
 said confidentially to Driscoll in a low voice, jerking 
 his thumb in the direction of Liscannow 
 
 " Is she sure to be in it ? " 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " Sure you know. She has the heart haunted 
 in me. Miss Barton, I mean. She's a girl for you, 
 now, that any man might be took with." 
 
 Driscoll laughed heartily, but stopped suddenly 
 when he saw Maurice's face. 
 
 " What is it ? " he asked anxiously. 
 
 Maurice laughed harshly. "Read that." 
 
 Driscoll took the letter. " Run off with you, 
 Matsey, or you'll be late for the Feis," he said, 
 opening his spectacle case. 
 
 Matsey slouched away grumbling. Maurice 
 watched Driscoll fix the spectacles on his nose. 
 
 " Read it out," he said impatiently. " I want to 
 hear how it sounds." 
 
 " To the principal teacher, Bourneen National 
 
 School," Driscoll read. 
 
 " As your manager, I hereby forbid you to attend 
 the Liscannow Feis in any capacity whatever. If 
 any children from my school attend, I shall hold you 
 responsible." 
 
 " Well, well, well," Driscoll interjected frowning.
 
 1 66 WAITING 
 
 He lowered the hand which held the letter, and was 
 about to speak. 
 
 " Finish it first," Maurice said. 
 
 " I am informed from a reliable source that 
 during my recent unavoidable absences from the 
 parish, my school at Bourneen has been used for 
 purposes not sanctioned by the Board's rules, and for 
 which I gave no permission. Let this never occur 
 again. 
 
 " JAMES MAHON, P.P., 
 
 " Manager." 
 
 " My school ! " Maurice said bitterly. 
 
 " Don't take it to heart, boy," Driscoll said 
 gently, folding the letter with deliberation and 
 replacing it in the envelope. " It's just the same as 
 if it is his school as far as you're concerned. Let 
 us see, now. It's a mild letter enough for him. 
 That last bit is about the singing and dancing prac- 
 tices for the Feis likely. Miss Devoy wouldn't be 
 telling " 
 
 " She wouldn't," Maurice said emphatically. 
 
 " That's true for you. She's a decent poor slob. 
 It's Matsey's blabbing, I doubt. Not but the 
 whole parish knew of it all along and why 
 wouldn't they ? That's not the point now it is 
 what's to be done ? " 
 
 He walked up and down the path, read the 
 letter again, clasped his hands beneath his coat-tails 
 and seemed to consider thoughtfully the little drain 
 through which the water had now ceased to flow. 
 Maurice gazed at Slieve Mor, puzzling over its 
 changed appearance. He had just come to the 
 decision that some of its beauty had gone because
 
 WAITING 167 
 
 the rain had dried off the face of the rocks, when 
 Driscoll spoke. 
 
 " Of course he hasn't that power over you in 
 vacation time too. Still it might be better " 
 
 " I'm going to the Feis," Maurice said, closing 
 his lips firmly. 
 
 " Don't put that jaw on you now, there's a 
 good gossoon," Driscoll said, taking his arm 
 affectionately. u He's an obstinate man, and a 
 bitter one, I won't be denying. He made the 
 mistake early in life of thinking he was God 
 Almighty Himself only 'twas a queer sort of God 
 he set before himself as a model, without any heart 
 or softness in Him." 
 
 He paused and looked at Slieve Mor for a few 
 minutes, while Maurice methodically kicked loose 
 stones off the path into the drain. 
 
 "Don't give him the chance of breaking you, 
 Maurice, agra. Stay at home here quietly with me, 
 and we'll have a fine walk up to the top of Slieve 
 Mor, if my old legs can carry me that far." 
 
 Maurice looked tenderly at the old man, whose 
 eyes expressed the pathetic anxiety of an affectionate 
 dog. Deeply shaken, he said, " I'd like to please 
 you." 
 
 Driscoll's face lighted up with hope. " God 
 bless " 
 
 " No," Maurice said, stopping again. " 1 can't 
 in this I'll go." 
 
 The old man's face fell. 
 
 " What can he do to me after all ? " Maurice 
 added, laughing with some bravado. " He can't 
 dismiss me for this." 
 
 " If one handle fails, he's sure to turn another 
 and another," Driscoll said drearily.
 
 1 68 WAITING 
 
 " Bullies are always cowards," Maurice said 
 lightly. 
 
 Driscoll shook his head. " He's no coward 
 whatever else he is. He's too deep a problem for 
 me, that same man, but I like to give him his due. 
 No matter how wrong he is he's always able to per- 
 suade himself that he's in the right, and he'd make 
 his way to the gates of hell itself to carry out his 
 will, at the cost of many a fall to himself too." 
 
 " What a man to have power ! " 
 
 " That's the evil. But then he has it, you see," 
 Driscoll said with a sigh. " There now, if I wasn't 
 forgetting about the drain. Don't speak another 
 word till we have it done. Then I'll abide by what 
 you say, and I won't push agin you any more," and 
 he looked at Maurice appealingly. 
 
 They worked silently, Driscoll starting from the 
 water-barrel. Maurice from the gate. He tried to 
 
 o 
 
 see the matter with Driscoll's eyes. The fresh 
 fragrance of the garden distracted him, and the 
 soothing notes of a solitary blackbird in the hedge. 
 There was nothing to fear. It was Driscoll's love 
 for him that made the old master afraid. Besides 
 some latent savage feeling took hold of him and he 
 pounded the gravel into place with unnecessary 
 force. He had always resented the power that 
 Father James exercised over him. He had sub- 
 mitted and felt less of a man for it. ... 
 
 His spade touched Driscoll's. He looked up 
 with a start and read a question in the old man's 
 eyes. He had not even tried to come to a decision, 
 but he said firmly 
 
 " It would be selling my soul if I gave in I'll 
 go." Then he added with a short laugh, "The 
 children'll be there in any case. I can't call them
 
 WAITING 169 
 
 back now. I might as well be hung for a sheep 
 as a lamb." 
 
 This sounded to him as a mere subterfuge. 
 He blushed and stammered, " That's only pretence. 
 I wouldn't call them back if they were standing at 
 the gate there. And I'd go if they all stopped at 
 home. You'll forgive me for not giving in to you, 
 master ? " 
 
 Driscoll did not lift his eyes for some seconds. 
 There was a smile in them when he straightened 
 himself and said 
 
 " Our own little light is the only one we have to 
 go by in the end. God send you won't sup sorrow 
 for doing what's right. Let us wash our hands now 
 and be off." 
 
 Maurice weakened in his resolution. He felt 
 as if he could give all he had in the world to 
 say " I'll stay." His lips formed the words ten 
 times as he washed, but he couldn't utter them. He 
 lagged behind Driscoll as, stout blackthorns in hand, 
 they walked up the village street. When they had 
 passed the parochial house he hurried abreast and 
 said 
 
 " On second thoughts " 
 
 " Don't heed them, agra. There are times when 
 they're of some use, and times when they're no good 
 at all. Did I ever tell you the story of how Shawn 
 Oge O'Grady, the greatest of the O'Gradys that 
 ever lived in Durrisk, came by the land ? I didn't. 
 Well, it's a proof, if there ever was one, that a man is 
 often the best judge in his own cause though he 
 doesn't always act on the judgment, more's the pity 
 and is as likely to see right first as last." 
 
 The story was never finished. It had hardly 
 begun when interruptions began. Teigue Donlon's
 
 i yo WAITING 
 
 two little girls, in white dresses and blue sashes, 
 blue ribbons in their straw hats, emerged from a 
 lane on their way to the Feis. Driscoll stopped and 
 spoke to them. Were they going all alone ? No ; 
 they were getting a seat in the Hinnisseys' cart. 
 Their father and mother had to go early to Lis- 
 cannow for the market, but their mother'd strive to 
 meet them on the bridge outside the town ; and if 
 she didn't, Jack Hinnissey'd see them safe. " Lord 
 bless my soul," Driscoll said, mopping his brow as 
 he walked on after presenting them each with a 
 penny, " they know their way round now the 
 minute they leave the cradle." Carts trundled along 
 noisily and invariably slackened pace as they came 
 abreast. " Won't ye have a lift, master ? There's 
 room enough for the two of ye and welcome." And 
 Driscoll would wave his stick in mock horror. " Is 
 it putting a slight on my old legs you are, Jamesey," 
 (or Pat, or Jack), " thinking they're not able to 
 carry me over a few miles of road to Liscannow." 
 Then a hearty laugh as the horse was urged forward, 
 and the cheery retort, " Faith, it's many a mile they'll 
 carry you yet, master, before they give in." 
 
 The cathedral clock was striking eleven as 
 they crossed the bridge into the town. The heavy 
 rain had swept the roads clean and a genial sun had 
 almost dried them. But the river, browned by bog 
 water, still gave sullen evidence of the storm. 
 Cocks of hay, loose planks, a hen-coop floating 
 rapidly down mid-stream, showed that the low-lying 
 inches higher up the river were flooded. A boat- 
 man freeing the narrow arches of the bridge from the 
 debris with a long gaff, said " it was only a spatter 
 of rain that had no harm in it except to clear out 
 Patsey Lucey's bawn. As for the hen-coop, it was
 
 WAITING 171 
 
 for certain the one Patsey discarded long ago and 
 was thinking of making firing of only he doubted if 
 it was fit for that same." 
 
 This remark made Maurice scan the road. 
 
 " I wonder if she's come in yet," he said, his eyes 
 wandering over the stragglers on the bridge. 
 
 " She she ! " Driscoll said, walking on. " One'd 
 think there was only one female in the world. It's 
 the great pity that the decorations all got spoiled by 
 the rain," he added, pointing to an announcement 
 of the Feis that spanned the street. The calico was 
 twisted and discoloured and the green lettering had 
 run. The rope had sagged in the middle. A few 
 green flags hung limp and forlorn from the windows 
 of a dozen houses. 
 
 Maurice hardly noticed the decorations. He 
 looked at them as if he were taking in every kink 
 in the crumpled calico, but he saw only a vague 
 blot against the sky-line. " She mightn't be the 
 only woman in the world," he thought, " but anyway 
 there wasn't another like her." He bumped against 
 a creel of turf slung from the back of an ass wagging 
 his tail gleefully in the centre of the narrow street as 
 he munched hay from a cart heeled up by the pave- 
 ment. 
 
 "The streets are thronged enough, though it's 
 little thought the people are giving to the Feis, I'm 
 afraid. Mind your steps there with that pig," 
 Driscoll said. 
 
 Maurice made no effort to pick his way more 
 carefully. He felt himself on the brink of some 
 new discovery about Alice Barton, and he wanted to 
 think out what it was. 
 
 An ash plant, waved by an excited seller of calves, 
 flashed in front of his eyes. A basket, from which
 
 1 72 WAITING 
 
 two cocks struggled to escape, caught him in the 
 ribs. He followed closely in the path which 
 Driscoll elbowed through the crowd. He was 
 now keenly awake to external impressions, though 
 his mind was vainly trying to bring into conscious- 
 ness something elusive, vaguely pleasant and dis- 
 turbing. He searched for it everywhere : in the 
 dark blue hooded cloaks of the women ; in the back 
 of a frieze coat still steaming under the hot sun with 
 the vapour of the rain ; in the carts that lined the 
 kerbstones ; in the loud chaffering over bonhams and 
 calves and hay ; in the friendly salutations in Irish 
 and English that greeted him as he met some 
 Bourneen neighbours. 
 
 " Ye're in for some teachers' meeting, I doubt ? " 
 Mike Blake said. 
 
 " No ; the Feis." 
 
 " Oh, that ! " Mike said, his tone and his 
 shoulders uniting in the expression of a fine shade 
 of contemptuous indifference. " You'll likely find 
 that fool of a Tom and his wife there. They 
 skedaddled off an hour ago, and I wanting him here 
 to help in selling the hay." 
 
 And then Maurice knew. He loved Alice as 
 Tom loved Minnie. The blood raced through 
 his veins. The sun suddenly seemed to have 
 become hotter. His forehead burned with a prickly 
 heat. They had passed through the crowded Bridge 
 Street and as they walked abreast through an unfre- 
 quented side street Driscoll talked. Maurice did 
 not listen. A vaguely heard voice sounded as 
 a distant harmonic to his own thought. Of course 
 he had loved her all along. All his life it seemed. 
 Certainly at Tom's wedding, he said to himself, 
 with a frown at a lurid pile of shirting and pink
 
 WAITING 173 
 
 flannelette on the pavement at the corner of the 
 Main Street. 
 
 Here Driscoll went ahead. There were fewer 
 carts but the front of the pavement on both sides 
 was lined with the stock of the shops behind : 
 drapery, boots, ironmongery. Itinerant booths 
 extended far out into the road. Family groups, 
 having sold in Bridge Street, were making leisurely 
 inspection of wares preparatory to driving a hard 
 bargain. Children gazed in rapt absorption at a stall 
 laden with pink sugar-stick and gingerbread. 
 
 " One would think you never saw a market in 
 Liscannow before. You're not heeding a word I 
 say," Driscoll said impatiently. 
 
 Maurice laughed happily. He had just decided 
 that he loved her that first moment at the Reardons', 
 when all he had seen of her was a gleam of gold 
 in her hair in the candle light. 
 
 " I see a lot of people wearing Gaelic League 
 badges," he said, grasping at a topic suggested by a 
 passing group. 
 
 " It's only selling and buying is occupying the 
 thoughts of most of the people," Driscoll said, 
 shaking his head sadly. 
 
 Maurice vehemently denied this. " They have 
 the roots of a great ideal in them, and they have 
 warm hearts." He went on painting a vision of the 
 golden age that was surely coming. He saw all the 
 colour and freshness of the morning in the dull 
 glare of the mid-day sun. The dingy houses, with 
 their dirty chocolate and yellow-green washed fronts, 
 were palaces of art clad in the most delicate hues of 
 the rainbow. . . . 
 
 He stopped suddenly as they turned the corner 
 of the lane leading to the disused military barracks
 
 174 WAITING 
 
 in which the Feis was to be held. In front of the 
 gate Alice Barton was bent slightly forward, knotting 
 a blue bow in a child's hair. He blushed. The 
 end of a sentence trailed off in a stammer. He 
 glanced at Driscoll, but he, too, had seen Alice and 
 was hurrying forward. At the sound of his foot- 
 steps she looked up with a smile. She finished the 
 bow with deft fingers, wiped away the remains of 
 tears from the child's smiling face and holding her 
 at an arm's length said solemnly 
 
 "Not another tear, Mary. There's Master 
 Driscoll ! and he's jealous that no Bourneen child 
 has as beautiful a bow as that. She's from Drum- 
 quin," she added, turning to Driscoll. " I'm not 
 at all sure that I don't hope the Drumquin girls will 
 get the prize for singing." 
 
 " You're only a turncoat," Driscoll said, shaking 
 his finger. 
 
 " Will I sing my piece for you, Miss Alice ? " 
 the child said eagerly. 
 
 " Bourneen shows no such devotion you see 
 how my heart is torn," Alice said with a twinkle. 
 She patted the child's shoulder and walked with her 
 into the barrack yard. 
 
 To Maurice she seemed some unapproachable 
 divinity. He had stood by tongue-tied, hardly 
 daring to look at her, and he felt relieved when she 
 turned away. Her smiles even had a detached 
 expression. He was mad to think that he loved her. 
 He didn't care for her in the least, he almost said 
 with his lips. Some pulse in his forehead throbbed 
 and seemed to beat a refrain against the drum of his 
 ear, " That's a lie, that's a lie." 
 
 Father Malone came into the yard wheeling a 
 bicycle.
 
 WAITING 175 
 
 " This is pretty had, Maurice," he said, with a 
 serious face. 
 
 Maurice started, his face as red as a peony. 
 Had the priest read the loud whisper, " I love her, 
 I love her," which his heart was pulsing through 
 his body ? He muttered something incoherently. 
 
 " The big man saw yourself and Driscoll pass 
 by. He's in a dreadful rage. There's no knowing 
 what he won't do. I tried to calm him, but I only 
 made him worse." 
 
 Maurice laughed. " I thought it was something 
 serious," he said, and he laughed again boyishly. 
 
 Father Malone looked at him in surprise. 
 " His only doubt when I left him was whether he'd 
 dismiss you at once or give you three months' 
 notice," he said hesitatingly. 
 
 " Oh, he'll cool down," Maurice said in- 
 differently. 
 
 Father Malone frowned thoughtfully, then 
 smiled. " Maybe you know best how to take 
 him ? " 
 
 It was only when Father Malone had passed 
 into the drill hall that Maurice realized what the 
 priest had said. It worried him for a moment, but 
 he soon put all thought of Father Mahon aside. A 
 group of his school children clamoured for attention. 
 When the Feis began at twelve he was busy as 
 steward and examiner. 
 
 The little hall was crowded. " There must be 
 five or six hundred here," Maurice said enthusiastic- 
 ally, meeting Driscoll as they moved about finding 
 seats for late comers. 
 
 " Aye, and as many thousands outside that are 
 jeering at it but it's great anyway, we're making 
 headway."
 
 i 7 6 WAITING 
 
 Green-ribboned boys and blue-ribboned girls 
 filled most of the seats. But all ages were repre- 
 sented. A tottering old man held an infant in his 
 palsied arms and murmured, " The sound of the Irish 
 will loosen his tongue." Young men made room 
 for young women in seats already packed tight. 
 
 Some time during each competition, whether it 
 was dancing, singing, story-telling, fiddling or piping, 
 Maurice's eyes unconsciously sought Alice ; but she 
 seemed to think of nothing but the competitor of the 
 moment. She had no heart, he said, and then he 
 remembered a dozen instances to the contrary. She 
 did not care for him anyway. This he could not 
 rebut, and found a pleasant satisfaction in his 
 misery.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 AT the close of a spirited contest in story telling 
 between an old woman of seventy and a boy of ten, 
 the Feis began to drag. In a quiet corner, Mrs. 
 Tom Blake, carefully secured from crushing by her 
 husband's immovable bulk, had gone peacefully to 
 sleep. Children wandered about listlessly with hair 
 and ribbons awry, or nodded restlessly in the seats. 
 A few priests in the front bench, visitors to Lis- 
 cannow for the bathing, consulted their watches 
 uneasily every few minutes. Father Delahunty, 
 who had just confided to a neighbour, in a whisper 
 audible throughout the hall, that the affair was damn 
 dull, and that he would not have come next or near 
 it, only he wanted to please his curate, Cassidy, 
 who had a bee in his bonnet over that same Irish, 
 openly yawned. The floor was strewn with skins of 
 oranges, loose papers, and empty paper bags that had 
 once held sweets or biscuits. The air was heavy and 
 stuffy. The very flags on the walls had begun to 
 droop. The Bourneen children, having won the prize 
 for part-singing, were sent home by Father Malone 
 under escort of Mrs. Hinnissey. A flat-chested 
 spinster, who proclaimed that she had the best song in 
 the whole world inside her, droned an interminable 
 hackneyed folk song from the back of her throat in 
 the tone of a wheezy bag-pipes. The judges tried to 
 stop her, but she waved them aside imperiously. A
 
 1 78 WAITING 
 
 contest of fiddlers awoke the audience again. Jim 
 Mescall furnished a running sarcastic commentary 
 on the efforts of his rivals. When awarded the 
 prize, he said a good fiddle was a waste in a company 
 of the kind he could have beaten the lot of them 
 on an old Day & Martin blacking box with a couple 
 of strings of cat-gut on it that he had by him at 
 home. 
 
 " The best of it is over," Maurice said to Alice. 
 " You must be worn out. Won't you come with the 
 master and myself and have a cup of tea in a little 
 shop round the corner ? " 
 
 " It was glorious," she said, her eyes glowing. 
 " Are you sure we shan't miss anything ? " She 
 looked around hesitatingly. 
 
 A priest entered the hall hurriedly and whispered 
 to Father Delahunty. After a few seconds he 
 beckoned to Father Malone, who came down from 
 the platform. They were soon joined by all the 
 other priests. Standing in a group in front of the 
 platform, they carried on an animated whispered 
 conversation. The whole audience watched them 
 curiously. Father Malone went back to the plat- 
 form and whispered to Driscoll. 
 
 " It's over in any case," Driscoll said aloud. 
 
 "The priests are keen on it," Father Malone 
 said doubtfully. 
 
 Driscoll consulted a few members of the com- 
 mittee. After some shaking of heads the secretary 
 came to the front of the platform and announced 
 
 " Fortunately the Feis is nearly over. But at the 
 request of the clergy the committee is glad to finish 
 it at once out of respect to the Bishop of Droomeen, 
 the news of whose death has just come. I also 
 propose a vote of condolence with our own beloved
 
 WAITING 179 
 
 bishop, of whose close connection with that ancient 
 diocese we are all aware, in his deep affliction." 
 
 " Tra-la," Father Delahunty said, winking at 
 the ceiling. 
 
 " Was the Bishop of Droomeen a great friend of 
 the movement ? " Alice asked Maurice. 
 
 He did his best to kill it." 
 
 A slight frown puckered her brow. " And Dr. 
 Hannigan ? " 
 
 Maurice shrugged his shoulders. " He sits 
 tight. Neither for nor against in public. I'm told 
 he doesn't like it. That speech is what McBride, the 
 secretary, calls policy." 
 
 " I'd prefer straightness." 
 
 " You would," Maurice said, thinking only of 
 the glow in her eyes that brought out the gold flecks 
 in the brown of the irises. " McBride would say 
 that the bishops are very powerful, and that we 
 ought to do our best to propitiate them," he added, 
 after a pause, with a short laugh. 
 
 " Open enemies are better than doubtful friends," 
 she said sententiously. She smiled at Driscoll, who 
 was coming towards them. " Being a Protestant, I 
 suppose I oughtn't say anything," she added, half to 
 herself. 
 
 " What nonsense ! You ' Maurice began ; 
 
 but Driscoll interrupted 
 
 " Now we can have tea, Miss Barton, and we'll 
 see you home after. How did you like it ? " 
 
 " It dragged out a bit at the end, but it was fine." 
 
 As the audience filed out of the hall, Maurice 
 watched her talking enthusiastically with Driscoll. 
 " What had her Protestantism to do with it ? " he 
 asked himself, with a questioning frown. 
 
 Father Malone drew him aside. " It's an ill
 
 i8o WAITING 
 
 wind that blows nobody good," he whispered. " That 
 old bishop's death saves you from Father Mahon. 
 He won't want any row on his hands now for a couple 
 of months with a mitre in the balance. Though 
 God help you afterwards if things go wrong with his 
 plans. I can't stay now, as I'm dining with the 
 priests. Come in to-night and have a chat." 
 
 " Come along, Maurice," Driscoll called out. 
 
 At tea in the back room of Miss Doolan's cake 
 shop, an old rhyme, often flung at the Protestants 
 attending Bourneen school in his childhood, kept 
 running through his mind 
 
 " Proddy, Woddy, green guts, 
 
 Never says a prayer. 
 Catch him by the hind leg 
 
 And fling him down the stair." 
 
 He remembered Driscoll's anger on hearing it once 
 one of the few times he had ever seen the old man 
 angry, he thought, as he looked at his smiling, eager 
 face. He wondered if these rhymes were ever sung 
 now. Alice was engaged in a vigorous argument 
 with Driscoll. She appealed to Maurice laughingly 
 to decide some point. He smiled back, but his 
 thoughts played with her religion. She and Driscoll 
 again talked with animation, while Maurice picked 
 the raisins out of one of Miss Doolan's Bath 
 buns a Bath bun only in name. She wasn't in the 
 least like what he had believed of Protestants when 
 he was a child, he thought, eating a raisin appreci- 
 atively. All Protestants were black, scowling people, 
 with a look in their eyes of the hell to which they 
 were certainly speeding. While she he chuckled 
 softly. The conversation between his companions 
 had become more serious. He listened.
 
 WAITING 181 
 
 " No matter what you say, there is a feeling 
 against us, Mr. Driscoll," Alice, said. 
 
 " In the North, maybe, not here. Have we any 
 feeling against Protestants, Maurice ? " 
 
 "No," Maurice said emphatically. 
 
 " I didn't think you or Mr. Blake had. I'd love 
 to believe that no one had but but Father 
 Mahon looks so queerly at me when he passes me 
 on the road. He has never spoken to me since I 
 came into his parish." 
 
 " I wouldn't make much of that," Driscoll said 
 uneasily. " It's often and often he gave me that 
 same look, and I a Catholic. There's Father 
 Malone now," he added, brightening, " he wouldn't 
 say a hard word against any one in the world, Turk, 
 Jew, or Atheist, let alone Protestants." 
 
 " Even Uncle John says that he's a Christian 
 out of the gospels," she said smiling. 
 
 " The people seem to have no ill-feeling," she 
 continued, pursuing her own train of thought. " All 
 the same, there is something I can't explain it- 
 some feeling that I am different and wrong, and 
 she hesitated. Maurice said 
 
 "It's only the memory of old prejudices. I had 
 them myself when I was a boy," he added, laughing. 
 " They don't mean anything now." 
 
 " I hope not," she said, looking at him thought- 
 fully. " I've said as much myself to Uncle John, 
 but he only shakes his head and says that the priests 
 could arouse bad feeling any day perhaps I ought 
 not to have said that, but you both know him ? 
 He'd say the same to you." 
 
 " John Crawford always sees the black side of 
 things," Driscoll said with a shrug. " Will we be 
 making a start ? "
 
 1 82 WAITING 
 
 " Priests haven't as much power nowadays as 
 Protestants seem to think," Maurice said lightly, as 
 they rose. 
 
 " I don't know how I got on this subject with 
 Catholics too," Alice said apologetically. " Before 
 we go home you must show me the town, Mr. 
 Driscoll. You've often promised, and I've never 
 really seen it." 
 
 The late afternoon sun transfigured the mean 
 streets. The motley coloured houses were warm in 
 tone. Windows flamed in gold. A tinman's stall 
 flashed silver. The long shadows against the 
 bronzed dust of the road had a violet tinge. A row 
 of dirty pink houses on the quay glowed a rich 
 crimson on the glassy surface of the basin. Driscoll 
 had stories and legends of all the sights the wall 
 which only the eye of faith could see ; the castle, 
 beside which once stood the principal gate ; the 
 ruined Dominican priory ; the Celtic cross in the 
 market square, its carved figures almost obliterated 
 by time, an arm shattered, so the story ran, by 
 one of Cromwell's cannon balls ; and, near by, 
 the limpid well of St. Brigid in which the varie- 
 gated rag-offerings on an overhanging tree were 
 reflected vividly. 
 
 "The sun is kind to Liscannow," Alice said, as 
 they passed through a squalid street of thatched 
 houses on their way to the bridge, her eyes on the 
 flaming poppies and golden rag- weed that grew 
 luxuriantly on the decaying roofs. 
 
 " It has its work cut out for it," Driscoll said 
 with a sigh. " Not but things are looking up. 
 They've a new cloth factory and the fishing is better 
 since they built the new quay." 
 
 " And these pigsties ? "
 
 WAITING 183 
 
 " Well ! you know Rome wasn't built in a day," 
 he said whimsically. 
 
 She laughed. " Anyhow, to-day began in a 
 storm and it ends in this," she said, standing on the 
 bridge and pointing to the sunset. At the bar the 
 river broke into silver foam. The peak of Slieve 
 Mor was already clad in purple, but the slate roofs 
 of Liscannow gleamed a red gold. 
 
 " God send it's a good omen," Driscoll said 
 reverently. 
 
 " Amen," Maurice said, watching the sunset in 
 Alice's glowing face. 
 
 " I'll do anything in reason but I won't go 
 home," a voice said behind them. 
 
 They turned. A man, half drunk, seated in an 
 ass cart was pulling back the reins with all his strength, 
 while a weary looking woman tried vainly to urge the 
 ass forward. 
 
 Alice gave a troubled look at Driscoll. 
 
 " Even that kind of thing is better than it used 
 to be. That's the first I've seen to-day," he said 
 sadly. 
 
 He spoke gently to the man, who said in a 
 drunken whisper 
 
 " She has a drop taken, the poor thing. It easy 
 goes to her head. Get out of the ass's way, 
 woman," he added loudly to his wife, " and don't 
 be pitting main strength and ignorance agin me, and 
 I wanting to get home." 
 
 She let go the winkers, gave Driscoll a tired, 
 grateful look, and hung on to the tail of the cart as 
 her husband whipped the ass across the bridge. 
 
 " It's as much want of food as the drink," 
 Driscoll said meditatively. " We're backward in 
 many ways, even as regards our proper eating
 
 1 84 WAITING 
 
 likely enough he never ate a bite since he left home 
 early and got drenched on top of it. All the same, 
 them Liscannow public houses are a caution." 
 
 " There's a lot to be done yet," Alice said. 
 
 As they turned the corner at the far end of the 
 bridge, a trap approached rapidly along the Bourneen 
 road. 
 
 " It's Father Mahon," Driscoll said, as the last 
 rays of the sun caught the nap on the silk hat of the 
 driver. " Well, well, well, but this is a misfortune." 
 
 " It's a wonderful day," the priest said cheer- 
 fully, waving his whip as he passed. 
 
 Driscoll stood and stared after him with open 
 mouth. " Well, now, if he's not the greatest 
 wonder in it himself. In the best of tempers, too, 
 after all that's passed." 
 
 " There's a dead bishop in front of him," 
 Maurice said bitterly, with a frown. 
 
 " Now, Maurice, the vexation of the morning is 
 on you still he might be regretting his part in it. 
 He had all the looks of it anyway," Driscoll said, 
 walking on. 
 
 Alice looked at them curiously but did not 
 speak. Maurice shrugged his shoulders. His eyes 
 roamed over the landscape in front, and the ever 
 changing colour of the sky. The only signs of the 
 storm that remained were the fresher green on the 
 rain-swept hedgerows and a quickened scent from a 
 field of clover in flower. 
 
 " You'll be with us a good while yet," Driscoll 
 said to Alice, breaking the silence as they passed out 
 of the dusk of Durrisk wood. 
 
 " Three months at the longest." 
 
 They kept up a brisk duologue till they reached 
 the stile where the short cut to Crawford's house
 
 WAITING 185 
 
 branched off from the main road. Maurice listened 
 intently. He heard every word Driscoll's expres- 
 sions of regret, his praise of her work, a review of 
 all the activities of the parish but always, at the 
 end of every sentence of hers, like the harsh roar of 
 the ground swell on the Liscannow beach in a storm, 
 the phrase " three months at the longest " battered 
 against his ears. One lobe of his brain registered 
 their talk of the Gaelic League, of folk-songs and 
 folk-tunes, of Jim Mescall's music, of agricultural 
 banks, of improved farming, of some new heaven 
 that was opening over the country : the other was 
 recording obscurely some desperate struggle of his 
 among the breakers, in which he strove vainly to 
 grasp some vague object that was ever eluding him 
 with each receding wave. 
 
 " Uncle John and Aunt Ruth will miss me I 
 think," she said, as they stood in front of the stile. 
 
 " We'll all miss you won't we, Maurice ? " 
 Driscoll said. 
 
 Her hand was stretched out. Maurice took it 
 with a grasp that made her wince. This was what 
 he was groping after all the time, he thought, and he 
 crushed it relentlessly. He had got her at last and 
 he would never let her go. Her fingers felt so small 
 and cool. She gave a little gasp and her eyes had 
 a shade of apprehension. He blushed and dropped 
 her hand suddenly. 
 
 " You might see her as far as the door," Driscoll 
 said. 
 
 " Not another step," she said, and she laughed 
 softly to herself as she mounted the stile. 
 
 Maurice gazed after her as she tripped along the 
 path. 
 
 " Come along. It's getting late," Driscoll said.
 
 1 86 WAITING 
 
 " What's come over your tongue at all, and you 
 without a word out of you since we left Liscannow ? 
 That'd be the very girl for you now to marry, only 
 it's the pity of the world she's a Protestant." 
 
 "What would that matter?" Maurice said, 
 checking a laugh. 
 
 Driscoll peered at him in the fading twilight. 
 Maurice blushed hotly and laughed again nervously. 
 
 " Surely to God you're not thinking of it ? " 
 Driscoll said anxiously. 
 
 " I wish I knew if she'd have me." 
 
 " Have you lost your senses, man ? " Driscoll 
 said, catching Maurice's arm and shaking it 
 violently. 
 
 " I might or have found them," Maurice said 
 doggedly. 
 
 They both stopped and stood facing each other 
 in the middle of the road. A cart passed and 
 separated them. 
 
 " Bedad, Master Driscoll, from the stand of you 
 I thought you were going to wallop him," the 
 driver said cheerfully. 
 
 Driscoll gave a curt " good night," and rejoined 
 Maurice as the cart lumbered on. 
 
 " How long have you been thinking of this ? " 
 
 " It feels like all my life it was back at the stile 
 there." 
 
 " If that's all," with a sigh that mingled relief 
 with anxiety, " let us be stepping on, and I might 
 put some sense into you before we get to 
 Bourneen." 
 
 Maurice waited for Driscoll to speak, but the old 
 man walked on in silence, his stick under his coat 
 tails, the forefinger of his left hand making circles in 
 the air, a trick of his when worried.
 
 WAITING 187 
 
 " Well ? " Maurice said impatiently. 
 
 " Can't you see it yourself ? " 
 
 " I see enough, but nothing to stop me if she'll 
 only face it with me." 
 
 " God send her the sense then. Thank God 
 women are more clear-sighted than men when there's 
 foolishness of the heart about." 
 
 His face brightened and he struck his iron-bound 
 stick with a sharp thud on the road. " Maybe, 
 she'd turn a Catholic ? " he said. " That'd settle 
 everything." 
 
 The suggestion gave Maurice a momentary relief 
 from a vague fear that was oppressing him. He 
 pondered it awhile, then shook his head. 
 
 " She wouldn't nor would I ask her. What'd 
 you think of her if she asked me to become a 
 Protestant ? " 
 
 Driscoll's face had grown despondent even 
 before Maurice spoke. The gloom deepened on it as 
 he said reluctantly 
 
 " I knew it before I had the words out of my 
 mouth. She's not the stamp of woman to play 
 pitch and toss with her religion and I'd think 
 little of her if she was. But that only makes 
 your duty all the clearer," he added, after a pause. 
 " You must never open your lips to the girl in the 
 matter." 
 
 Why ? " 
 
 " Why ? For ten whys and every one of 'em 
 sinking you deeper into the bog. You jumped into 
 the frying-pan with the big man this morning you 
 might get out of that and keep your school. But 
 do you want to turn a somersault right into the 
 middle of the fire from where there'd be no saving 
 you ? "
 
 1 88 WAITING 
 
 The old man spoke excitedly. His finger made 
 rapid revolutions. 
 
 " How could you ask her to marry you without 
 a ha'penny or the way of earning it. What would 
 ye live on ? " 
 
 "The school isn't much, of course, for a girl 
 like her, and she used to a lot of things I couldn't 
 give her but it's enough to live on," Maurice said 
 doubtfully. 
 
 " You'd never darken the door of Bourneen 
 school again if you married a Protestant wife. You'd 
 get the sack without a day's notice. The whole 
 world knows Father James hates Protestants like 
 poison and mixed marriages like hell itself, God 
 forgive me." 
 
 " I could get another school," Maurice said 
 aggressively. 
 
 " From a priest-manager ! And Father James 
 
 to give you a character ! You'd travel through the 
 
 five provinces and wear the soles ofF your feet and 
 
 be as far from getting a school as when you started. 
 
 Besides and this is the one gleam of hope I see in 
 
 the whole business you can't get married to a 
 
 Protestant without a dispensation, and Father 
 
 Mahon'll take good care that you'll never get one." 
 
 "He got one for Mr. O'Grady of Durrisk." 
 
 Driscoll let his arm fall helplessly. 
 
 " The state you're in has made you lose your 
 
 wits entirely," he said. " As if the likes of Mr. 
 
 O'Grady was any pattern for the likes of us in the 
 
 eyes of the clergy. You haven't Durrisk Manor 
 
 and more thousands a year than there's days in the 
 
 week. And Father James's principles couldn't be 
 
 shook by anything he'd expect out of you. Besides, 
 
 even if you could pay him well itself for his trouble,
 
 WAITING 189 
 
 he'd never suffer a schoolmaster to have a Protestant 
 wife." 
 
 " The bishop might give the dispensation over 
 Father Mahon's head he has the name of being a 
 just man," Maurice said, with the despair of a 
 drowning man grasping at a straw. 
 
 " Why would he go out of his way to help you 
 agin Father Mahon ? Don't be expecting too much 
 out of life, agra, nor out of the clergy either. 
 They 
 
 He walked along in silence. Maurice regarded 
 the last pearly light of the sun with curious interest. 
 An opaque cloud was closing in on a silver patch at 
 the zenith, while further east a few faint grey clouds 
 edged with purple were fading into the night. It 
 was like his own life, he felt, on which darkness was 
 gathering. Then, over his left shoulder, he saw the 
 crescent moon. " This is luck," he said under his 
 breath, with a thrill of joy. Unconsciously he 
 repeated an old rhyme of his childhood 
 
 " I see the new moon ; 
 The new moon sees me ; 
 God bless the new moon ; 
 God bless me," 
 
 turning a circle three times. When he noticed what 
 he had done he laughed at himself. But the feeling 
 of depression had passed away. 
 
 " There may be some truth in an old pistorogue 
 after all. I'll not believe but there's some way out 
 of this trouble," he said with a new feeling of hope. 
 
 " By putting it out of your head for good and 
 all," Driscoll said emphatically. 
 
 " It's gone deeper than the head. I can't pitch 
 out of me every drop of blood that's throbbing in
 
 1 90 WAITING 
 
 my body. I'm talking to you now," Maurice said, 
 with a glad laugh, " but I can't put into words what I 
 feel. 1 see it up there," he added, gazing meditatively 
 at the stars, now glimmering brighter than the thin 
 pale curve of moon, "and I feel it in the scent of the 
 hedges, and I hear it this very minute in the lowing 
 of Teigue Donlon's cows up the lane there aye in 
 the tapping of your old stick against the road. 
 And it's coming up out of the earth to the sound of 
 my own feet. Put it out of my head, indeed ! 
 Why, for any power I have over it, I feel like I did 
 the day I was caught out in the bay in a squall, and 
 I alone in a little punt. But there is no fear on 
 me, 'only joy. My thoughts are like that little 
 kippeen of a boat, dashed about by the big waves 
 within me, and they singing sweeter than any tune 
 Jim Mescall at his best ever drew out of the fiddle. 
 I feel " 
 
 "Aye, I remember what it feels like when it 
 takes a man bad," Driscoll said with a sigh. " Here 
 we are at the gate. Not another word out of you 
 about it to-night, or I might be forgetting my own 
 sense and be bolstering you up in your foolishness." 
 
 " I think I'll walk east a bit. Somehow, I don't 
 feel like being cooped up in the house." 
 
 " Do then. It might cool you." 
 
 The old man walked up the path with head bent. 
 He half turned the key in the lock, left it there, 
 and hastening back to the gate called after Maurice. 
 
 " I don't draw back a word of what I said," he 
 said, when Maurice returned. " There was sound 
 sense and reason in it. Give heed to it, boy, and 
 don't do anything rash." He paused hesitatingly, 
 turned on his heel, walked away a few steps, came 
 back. "If the world was only ruled by the heart,"
 
 WAITING 191 
 
 he said, looking beyond Maurice, "and it ought to 
 be by rights there wouldn't be much trouble in it. 
 My mind is pulling me one way and my heart 
 another till I'm torn in two over you. And if all 
 was known, maybe God has more to do with the 
 heart than the head. After all," he continued, in a 
 hesitating whisper, as if he were trying to read his 
 words in the distant stars, " it's little we know of the 
 sap that pushes out the leaves in the spring and 
 gives all their glory to the flowers. The best tulip I 
 ever grew was from a bulb I cast away as useless on 
 the midden. With the best of intentions the wisdom 
 of the oldest of us is only foolishness." His voice 
 trailed off in a murmur. He caught Maurice's 
 sleeve. " I'm only wandering. 1 came after you to 
 say one thing and I'm saying another. All I want 
 to say to you now, and it wasn't what came into my 
 head as I turned the key, is that I'd like to give 
 you the moon beyond if you had your heart set 
 on it." 
 
 Maurice watched him walk up the path again, 
 open the door, strike a match, and light the lamp 
 on the sill of the uncurtained window. There was 
 a strained, sad look in his face as he stood for a 
 moment in the glow of the lamp fumbling with the 
 cord of the blind. He pulled it down slowly. 
 Maurice watched it descend with a growing depres- 
 sion. After a while the lamp was moved. He saw 
 Driscoll's shadow on the blind in profile his 
 shoulders stooped and what seemed an outline ot 
 pain in the whole figure. A hand stretched out and 
 made circles with the forefinger. 
 
 Maurice clicked the latch of the gate, half 
 opened it, closed it again and walked down the hill. 
 He shivered a little, and put out his hand as if to
 
 i 9 2 WAITING 
 
 feel the air. The master was worried, he thought. 
 How was it that he was so chilled when the air 
 felt warm ? He quickened his pace. He could not 
 get away from that look on Driscoll's face. What 
 had caused it ? Where was that background of 
 feeling that swayed his thoughts with all its colour 
 and music a few minutes ago ? Gone. His 
 thoughts were clear enough now. And cold, thin, 
 miserable thoughts they were, he laughed grimly. 
 Paining the old man on the head of Alice Barton 
 on plans for marrying her, and she never having 
 given him even a look to show that she cared a pin 
 for him. Driscoll was right. Supposing she cared 
 for him, and it was a ridiculous supposition, he 
 could not marry her. He waded through the pool 
 in the hollow without noticing it ; though, for a few 
 minutes afterwards, he was fascinated by the 
 squishing of the water in his boots as he walked. 
 He couldn't give up Bourneen. His work had 
 meant more to him for the last few months than 
 ever before he had done more too. And if he 
 gave it up, would he be any nearer to her ? There 
 was nothing for it but to put her out of his head. 
 And there was Driscoll, worried. A thought 
 pointed an accusing finger at Alice Barton. He put 
 this aside as unfair. She wasn't to blame. . . . He 
 tried to think of the bank, of new plans for the 
 school for the winter. He remembered Father 
 Mahon's letter of the morning. He might have to 
 leave in any case. He almost stepped into another 
 pool in a hollow. He turned back. His thoughts 
 wandered, with his eyes, to a pile of broken stones 
 on the side of the road. A stone-breaker had a fine 
 free life and could marry whom he willed : maybe 
 he couldn't : Father Mahon's long arm might
 
 WAITING 193 
 
 stretch out, too, between him and his heart's desire. 
 A row of poplars fronting a farmhouse rustled in 
 an almost imperceptible wind. Maurice sniffed the 
 salt odour of the sea in the warm air, and strained 
 his ears to catch what he thought at first was the 
 roar of breakers on the distant beach, but which 
 proved to be the rumble of an approaching cart. He 
 stepped aside to let it pass. A woman seated on the 
 backboard, laid across the middle of the cart, a 
 vague outline of gracious curves against the star- 
 light, reminded him of Alice Barton. Then he saw 
 her in everything, in the shimmering glory of the 
 milky way, between the silver horns of the vanishing 
 moon, in every bush that lined the white road in 
 front a long procession of beautiful women, all 
 alike and all different in the infinite variety of her 
 changing face. Again his thoughts were mere 
 driftwood floating aimlessly on the surface of an 
 unfathomable deep. His fears were there, too, wide 
 eyed, and his difficulties, but nothing mattered, 
 only Alice not the school, not the bank, not the 
 whole world beside.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THIS time he saw the water in the hollow. He 
 stood on the brink. He was already wet, so he 
 might as well walk through it, he thought. He 
 remembered that he had promised to call on Father 
 Malone, and crept cautiously along the top of the 
 ditch, worn into a narrow path by many feet 
 during previous floods. He jumped on to the dry 
 road, past the water, and felt the legs of his trousers. 
 They were fairly dry, and would not drip in the 
 priest's parlour. As he mounted the hill his relation 
 to Alice Barton became clearer. It was just as 
 inevitable that he should marry her, if he could, as 
 that he had to get past the pool in order to reach 
 home. He saw all the difficulties now as clearly as 
 Driscoll saw them. They were as real as the water 
 in the hollow, and not to be overcome so easily. 
 Still there might be a way out. He laughed at him- 
 self for taking it for granted that she loved him and 
 would marry him. His reason said, " You are a fool, 
 she doesn't love you, she is as far above you as the 
 stars." But a hundred pent-up feelings united in 
 his heart, and surged through him with a sound in 
 his ears like the waterfall under the spur of Slieve 
 Mor. There were no articulate words, but some- 
 thing stronger than words, stilling the voice of doubt 
 and protest an emotion that lifted him to the stars 
 and made them stepping-stones for his feet, giving
 
 WAITING 195 
 
 his soul the mastery of the world. . . . He leant, 
 chilled, against the gate of Driscoll's cottage. The 
 light still shone through the holland blind. The 
 shadow of the master's head, his spectacles low down 
 on his nose, made a quaint pattern. The clock 
 struck the half-hour. Maurice looked at his watch. 
 What had come over him ? he asked himself uneasily, 
 as he tried to read the time in the dim light. Half- 
 past ten. It was not yet too late to call on the 
 priest, who was a late goer to bed. He felt hungry 
 and cold. He had eaten nothing since breakfast, 
 except the light tea at Liscannow. Perhaps that was 
 why he felt so queer. His damp stockings pricked 
 his feet. It was madness to think because he loved 
 Alice that she loved him ! This thought sobered 
 him. He stamped his feet on the road, half to 
 warm them, half to emphasize his own foolishness, 
 as he walked to the priest's house. All the same, he 
 loved her. 
 
 Maria opened the door. 
 
 " The priest is expecting you this hour back," 
 she said gruffly. 
 
 " I went for a long walk, and forgot the time." 
 
 She looked at his boots, caked in dry mud, and 
 at the limp, wrinkled trouser legs. She leant down 
 and passed her hand over them. 
 
 " Catching your death you'll be. On the road to 
 Liscoff you were, and driving headlong through the 
 mud and water. You have no more sense than the 
 priest himself, and that's saying a good deal." 
 
 She lit a candle on the hall table, and opened the 
 door of the priest's bedroom. 
 
 "In here you go," she said, leading the way, 
 " and I'll give you some dry things." 
 
 He protested feebly, but followed her.
 
 196 WAITING 
 
 " There now," she said, making a move to leave, 
 " change into them. It's well there's any left but 
 what's on his back, and only for me there wouldn't. 
 I'll be gone to my bed before you go, but you'll find 
 your own things here, with the clauber off them and 
 dried, by the time ye give up your foolish talking. 
 It's peaky enough you're looking," she added, 
 lingering by the door. " And why wouldn't you ? 
 Two men living beyond there without a woman to 
 look after ye, only Bessy Reilly, and she not half 
 doing it, and fooling ye to your teeth. I'll bring 
 you in a hot drink to put some life in you. If what 
 Matsey Boylan told me is true, we ought all be in 
 the best of spirits he heard it, he said, from the 
 clerk of the parish within at Liscannow. I had it on 
 the tip of my tongue to ask Father Malone himself 
 when he came back, but I remembered in time that 
 he put me under a vow not to mention Father 
 Mahon to him the poor, innocent young priest 
 thinks that'll keep me from giving the big man his 
 due. And it not a real promise either, except in 
 Father Ned's own mind, and me only nodding my 
 head to save words. But I'm keeping you. They 
 say there's a chance of the big man being made a 
 bishop and a good riddance it'd be," she wound 
 up, slamming the door. 
 
 "I'm glad Maria took you in hand," Father Malone 
 said, stopping Maurice's apology as he entered the 
 sitting-room. " She'll put a bib on me and feed me 
 next. Mum ! " he added, with the look of a naughty 
 child, as she bounced into the room with a tray on 
 which were two steaming cups of cocoa, a loaf of 
 bread, and some butter. 
 
 " There, now, take that before ye stifle your- 
 selves in smoke," she said crossly.
 
 WAITING 197 
 
 Maurice ate slice after slice of thick bread and 
 butter. 
 
 " I've nearly finished the loaf," he said ruefully, 
 as he got up from the table and sat in an armchair in 
 front of the empty grate. 
 
 " It was a great day," Father Malone said, hand- 
 ing him a tobacco jar. 
 " It was." 
 
 " We owe a great deal to Miss Barton." 
 " We do." 
 
 They filled and lighted their pipes, and discussed 
 the Feis desultorily. 
 
 " Did you pick up any tale for your collection ? 
 There were a couple that were new to me." 
 
 Maurice laughed. " I wasn't heeding much 
 to-day. But the master said he'd be on the 
 look-out." 
 
 " You're not growing cold on it ? " the priest 
 asked anxiously. 
 
 " I was having a day off," Maurice said lamely. 
 " Did I tell you that that new publisher in Dublin 
 has taken the book ? " 
 
 "That's the best news I heard to-day," the 
 priest said heartily. " I suppose this trouble with 
 Father James put it out of your head ? " 
 
 " I suppose so that, and one thing and another," 
 Maurice said, picking busily at his pipe, which 
 seemed to be drawing freely. 
 
 " A great thing about these new movements is that 
 they're drawing Protestants and Catholics together," 
 he added irrelevantly. 
 
 Father Malone watched a ring of smoke ascending 
 in a widening circle to the ceiling. 
 
 " It wasn't before it was time," he said thought- 
 fully.
 
 198 WAITING 
 
 " There was a fair sprinkling of the clergy at the 
 Feis to-day. That's a good sign." 
 
 " Most of them were only killing a day of their 
 vacation. They thought it dull enough." 
 
 " They can't have much heart in it, then. Though 
 I was talking to a few young priests, and they were 
 as keen as could be." 
 
 " We start young all right. The difficulty is to 
 keep it up. Sitting here alone at night I often get 
 afraid of myself. I feel it worse after getting back 
 from a big dinner with the priests. They'd throw 
 a wet blanket on our Lord Himself if He opened 
 His lips among them. It's few have His courage to 
 keep on in the face of laughter and sneers. I used 
 not to mind it at first, but I find it telling on me. 
 The Lord only knows what I'll come to myself by 
 the time I get a parish. But I oughtn't to be speaking 
 like this and to you, too, that has trouble enough 
 of your own." 
 
 "You'll be preaching caution next," Maurice 
 said indignantly. 
 
 The priest laughed. " I might then. Better 
 men than me come to that. Only to-night the 
 bishop gave me a lecture on wisdom and prudence, 
 and Father James standing by and nodding his head 
 like as if he was a bishop already. Thank God, in 
 my heart I knew it was a counsel of timidity and 
 selfishness. But the atmosphere tells any day I 
 might be pluming my pet failings as virtues." 
 
 " I thought the Church was widening out ? " 
 
 " It isn't then. It's closing in. It's losing 
 ground, and it knows it, and it's gripping tight what's 
 left. There are some priests even that think it's 
 going about it the wrong way. But they're muzzled 
 and daren't open their lips. Tell me about the
 
 WAITING 199 
 
 societies it might put some heart into me again," 
 emptying his pipe into the grate. 
 
 " It's a bad sign that I see these things at all," 
 he continued, after a short pause. "A few years 
 ago I didn't see them, and I worked away without 
 giving any heed to whether there was a stone wall 
 
 in front of me or not But what's the use 
 
 in talking ? How did them new boats do at the 
 herring fishing ? " 
 
 After awhile the conversation veered round to 
 the poultry society. 
 
 " That girl has a head on her," Father Malone 
 said, admiringly. 
 
 " You don't mind her being a Protestant ? " 
 Maurice asked blushing. 
 
 " Why in the world should I ? " 
 
 " I'm thinking of asking her to marry me." 
 He had not intended to tell the priest, but the 
 words were spoken before he was fully conscious of 
 them. He watched with curious interest a startled 
 look grow on Father Malone's face. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 The priest forgot his pipe. It fell from his 
 opened teeth, scattering the burning tobacco on his 
 soutane and on the rug. He got up hastily, shook 
 out his soutane and trod on a spark. 
 
 " You're not mad, Maurice ? " he said with a 
 scared face, taking off his glasses and rubbing them 
 nervously. " It's imposs " 
 
 " I've heard all that from Driscoll. Besides, it's 
 not impossible. Dispensations are given, why can't 
 I get one ? " 
 
 " A schoolmaster ! the bad example ! " 
 
 Maurice made an impatient movement. 
 
 " I know there's a good deal of nonsense in
 
 200 WAITING 
 
 that," the priest said hastily, "but it's the answer 
 you'd get. If she'd only turn Catholic 
 
 " If I hear any more of that I'll I'll break 
 something," Maurice said, starting up. 
 
 " Poor fellow poor fellow," Father M alone said 
 gently. 
 
 This irritated Maurice. He strode up and 
 down the room angrily. After three or four turns 
 he said shyly, " Forgive me I " 
 
 " Nonsense, man. Sit down and have another 
 pipe." 
 
 They filled their pipes, lit them, and sat staring 
 at the grate. Maurice drew short jerky puffs. 
 The priest turned the smoke round and round in 
 his mouth and exhaled it in a sort of slow whistle. 
 
 " I see no way out of it that won't lose you to 
 the parish and lose you your job as well. Think it 
 over well like a good fellow there's the girl to 
 consider." 
 
 " She's all I will consider " 
 
 The sharp pinge of gravel on the window 
 interrupted him. They both looked towards it. 
 
 The handle of a whip, thrust through the open- 
 ing at the top, moved aside the blind. 
 
 " Let me in. I didn't like to knock for fear of 
 Maria's tongue, in case I wakened her out of her 
 beauty sleep," came in Father Delahunty's voice 
 from outside. " I saw the light as I was passing I 
 won't stay a minute." 
 
 At the sitting-room door he stood for a few 
 seconds gazing at Maurice. 
 
 " Oh, the schoolmaster ! " he said. " Nice work, 
 the curate and the schoolmaster conspiring, I sup- 
 pose, against the P.P. How are you, Mr. Blake ? 
 What's your time, Father Ned ? Ten to twelve
 
 WAITING 201 
 
 that gives lashings of time. No cocoa for me, 
 thank you. That's one pull ye schoolmasters have 
 over us, Mr. Blake. Ye can break your fast after 
 twelve with comfort. God help me, I've mass before 
 me in the morning. That'll do, Father Ned only 
 a thimbleful, and a drop of soda if you have it 
 handy. The horse is all right ; I tied him to the 
 gate." 
 
 He sat on the edge of a chair in his heavy over- 
 coat and sipped his small helping of whiskey. 
 
 " Father James is off to Droomeen to bury the 
 bishop the sorrow oozing out of him for the poor 
 man that he never laid eyes on, I'm told. He's 
 attending on the lord. Well, well, it's a queer 
 world. There, that's done, and three minutes to 
 spare," putting down his glass on the table. " The 
 lads have already appointed our man to Droomeen," 
 he continued, his eyes gleaming humorously, "and 
 the old man hardly stiff yet. As for this diocese, 
 they've elected half a dozen bishops to it since 
 dinner time. There are several running neck and 
 neck. It ought to make a pretty course." 
 
 " Who is your man ? " Father Malone said, 
 laughing. 
 
 "Do you hear him now, Mr. Blake?" Father 
 Delahunty said, with a shrewd smile. "Wanting 
 to spoil many a good dinner on me. Sorra day 
 between this and the election if it ever comes off 
 that I need dine at home if I keep my mouth shut. 
 All parties'll be making up to me. Wild horses 
 wouldn't drag my man out of me till I plump him 
 in the ballot-box." 
 
 " I hope we'll get a good man anyway," Father 
 Malone said. 
 
 " Amen to that," Delahunty said seriously.
 
 202 WAITING 
 
 " Though he has as many wins to make as a hound 
 in a big sweepstake," he added grimly. " Here I 
 am, talking away and scandalizing a layman, and I 
 ought to be at home in my bed. And the horse 
 licking the paint off your gate too. Good night, 
 Father Ned. Good night, young man. If ever 
 Father Mahon is holding the leash too tight on you 
 and one of my schools is vacant, you'll have the first 
 refusal of it if Cassidy'll let me, and he's sure to 
 as you're as mad on the Irish as he is himself, poor 
 gom." 
 
 " That might be a way out ? " Maurice said 
 hopefully, when Father Delahunty had gone. 
 
 " The bishop wouldn't let him. He's a good 
 fellow, but his hands are tied. I couldn't do it 
 myself if I had a school to give." 
 
 " Poor schoolmasters ! " Maurice said dryly. 
 
 The priest bent his head in silence. 
 
 Maurice said " Good night " gruffly, but turned 
 back at the door and added : " I'm only a selfish 
 beast worrying you like this." 
 
 He changed quickly into his dried clothes. 
 Father Malone saw him out but he could not trust 
 himself to speak. He pressed the priest's hand and 
 tried to look less angry than he felt. When he got 
 home, Driscoll was still up, seated in his armchair, 
 his hands resting on his knees, a book turned back 
 upwards on the table beside him. The kettle was 
 singing on the hob. The table was laid for tea. 
 
 " I thought you'd never come," the old man 
 said listlessly. 
 
 " I was with Father Malone ; I've had food." 
 
 " Did you tell him ? " 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " Well ? "
 
 WAITING 203 
 
 " A man that'd be beggared can't well ask a girl 
 to marry him on the strength of it." 
 
 Driscoll gave a sigh of relief. " It's cold com- 
 fort, but it warms my heart to know you'll give up 
 the idea," he said, but without enthusiasm. 
 
 " It's a hellish system that'd crush the life out 
 of a man," Maurice said bitterly. 
 
 " A good curse often relieves a man. I never 
 tried it myself, but I've seen it work wonders." 
 
 Maurice laughed harshly. He looked at the 
 old man, whose eyes were fixed on the ground. 
 He seemed to have aged years in a few hours. The 
 warm colour of his skin had gone, and his face was 
 pallid and damp. Thick blue veins on the side of 
 his forehead stood out against the light. His fingers 
 and the corners of his lips twitched. 
 
 " I'm only thinking of myself all the time," 
 Maurice said impulsively, laying a hand on one of 
 Driscoll's. 
 
 Like a child playing " hot-hands " Driscoll lifted 
 his hand and let it drop on Maurice's. A smile, 
 beginning on his lips, slowly lighted up his face. 
 
 " It's a common enough symptom of your 
 disease," he said. 
 
 " No matter what happens, I'll 
 
 " You'll go to bed now, in the name of God. I 
 know it might be hard, but try and keep in the 
 one mind for a few hours at any rate."
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 MAURICE went to bed but not to sleep. He had 
 a half-waking nightmare in which malign hands 
 stretched him on a gridiron on the peak of Slieve 
 Mor. The flames that surrounded him, instead of 
 being hot, were icy. He started up and found that 
 he had kicked off the bedclothes. The night was 
 warm, but a cold sweat made him shiver. He saw 
 Alice Barton seated on a snow-clad mountain, from 
 which he was separated by a foaming bridge- 
 less torrent. This picture began in some sort of 
 dream, but persisted when he was fully awake. 
 There was no question now, he thought, of his 
 love or hers. If all Driscoll and Father Malone 
 said was true, it was impossible for him to ask 
 her to marry him. It was ridiculous that bread 
 and butter and a roof should be factors in love 
 and marriage, but it seemed they were. The more 
 he thought of her the more important they loomed 
 in his imagination. He should be worse off than 
 the poorest of the shore fishermen. He couldn't 
 drag her down to this grinding poverty. . . . 
 
 He plunged into a discussion on school-work 
 with Driscoll when they met at breakfast. He 
 talked against time to keep the old man off the 
 subject that was hammering insistently for expression 
 at the back of his own mind. Long before Driscoll 
 had finished Maurice was out at the garden gate,
 
 WAITING 205 
 
 his head bare to a brilliant summer sun. But all 
 the vivid colouring of the landscape seemed only a 
 succession of shades of drab. He was just thinking 
 how dreary and miserable everything looked when 
 the postman said 
 
 " It's a wonderful day that's in it, glory be to 
 God." 
 
 Maurice shrugged his shoulders with a wry smile, 
 expressive of his thought, " Have it so if you are so 
 blind," as he was handed two letters, one for Driscoll, 
 one for himself. Driscoll's was about the registra- 
 tion of the new poultry society he saw from the 
 cover. He hurried in with it, as the old man had 
 been worrying about it. 
 
 " It's all right now," Driscoll said, as he read. 
 
 " She " he stopped short. " It's all right all 
 
 right. What's that you have there ? " 
 
 Maurice opened his letter carelessly. He stared 
 at long printed slips. 
 
 " It's the book," he said in an awe-stricken tone. 
 " The proofs of it at least." 
 
 For an hour they passed them from hand to 
 hand, Driscoll fingering them tenderly, as if they 
 were almost too precious to touch. 
 
 " And to think you did that," he said. 
 " It is as much yours as mine more," Maurice 
 said, and he, too, felt strangely moved by the 
 tawdry, ill-printed sheets. 
 
 " It's you put the English on the tales, and it 
 fits the Irish like a glove. Not but I'm glad I had 
 a hand in it though I was only an old gramophone 
 at the best." 
 
 Maurice worked at the proofs till Bessy Reilly 
 called him to dinner. All through the meal Driscoll 
 spoke of them.
 
 206 WAITING 
 
 " It's a great day for Bourneen," he said. 
 
 Maurice felt that the proofs were a blessed relief 
 for the vacation. He had worked without thinking 
 of Alice, except for a few bitter moments. There 
 would be more proofs to-morrow, and Driscoll 
 would talk of them. . . . 
 
 " I must go down to the shore about the new 
 boat for which they want to borrow," he said. 
 
 "Do then, and I'll have another look at them," 
 Driscoll said, his eyes seeking the bundle on the 
 desk. " A mistake or other may have missed your 
 notice." 
 
 Somehow the sun had again begun to shine and 
 have warmth, and there was a freshness in the breeze, 
 as Maurice took the shore road. He thought of 
 Alice calmly now. He probably could never marry 
 her, but he could always love her. He would 
 always love her. Filmy clouds of wonderful shades 
 of soft white were close-packed against the blue on 
 the horizon. There was music in the harsh call of 
 a solitary curlew circling over a pool in the bottom, 
 and in the crackling of gorse pods in the hedges. 
 Probably more likely, certainly, she never gave 
 him a thought. The suffering would be his only. 
 And it was not all suffering. He stood and watched 
 a lark rise as if from the heart of a poppy in 
 the cornfield beyond the low hedge. It never sang 
 at this hour in this month ? But it did. And the 
 gorgeous flame of sound, piercing the sky, touched 
 his heart to fire. Sacrifice was the highest love, he 
 thought, with a sigh, and the low murmur of the 
 waves soothed the ache he felt. 
 
 He met the fishermen by the unprotected slip 
 the only harbour for their boats. His business was 
 soon done, but he lingered, watching the nets, a
 
 WAITING 207 
 
 golden brown against the shingle. The men talked 
 as they worked, preparing for the night fishing. 
 
 " It's that same bank has been the blessing," one 
 said. " If we only had a decent boat-slip now, the 
 Strand'd make Liscannow itself sit up." 
 
 There was no lack of work to make a man 
 happy, Maurice thought, as he listened. All that 
 had been done up to this was nothing to what was 
 still to do. Work was the great thing. Seated on 
 the warm coping, he dangled his legs over the side 
 of the slip, the cool, green water lapping the soles of 
 his shoes. The gold of the tarred jumper of one of 
 the fishermen seemed to colour his thick, yellow 
 beard and the bronze of his cheek. 
 
 " Next winter ye might be making a bid for the 
 slip," another man said, in a detached voice as if 
 addressing the sea. 
 
 " We might," Maurice said. 
 
 That would be more work, he thought, and he 
 watched the sun dance on the bottom of an old up- 
 turned boat. The tar glistened in the light, and 
 shone like beautiful, old watered silk with depths 
 and depths of colour. He said aloud 
 
 "This will never do, idling here," and he 
 jumped up. 
 
 " It's not often you have an idle minute. 
 You're near as busy as ourselves," an old man said, 
 pausing in his labour of throwing pebbles into the 
 smooth water, but without lifting his eyes from the 
 circles they made. 
 
 " If it's only as much as you he and his like 
 did, you wouldn't have a roof over your head, 
 Shaun Mick," another said. 
 
 u Amn't I working hard ? " 
 
 "The master does more than throw pebbles."
 
 208 WAITING 
 
 " God be with you then, master," the old man 
 said. " 'Tis you have your work cut out for you. 
 Though it's all only pebble-flinging in the end." 
 
 Work, work, work, sounded in Maurice's ears 
 as he walked. Work even on the surface of 
 things was the secret of life. He took the long 
 way home, round by the Strand chapel. 
 
 " You wouldn't recognize a person, I suppose ? " 
 Miss Devoy said, running out of the chapel gate- 
 way. " I saw you at the Feis yesterday, but you 
 hadn't an eye for me." 
 
 " I was busy," he said awkwardly. 
 
 " A blind man'd see what you were most busy 
 about." 
 
 He looked at her nervously, and she winked 
 elaborately. 
 
 " Come up to the house, and I'll give you a cup 
 of tea. Feis, indeed ! This two months and 
 more I saw what was wrong with you. It was a 
 relief to me, too, though I didn't let on. You see, I 
 was told different." 
 
 He stammered something about having to get 
 home, afraid of what she might say next. 
 
 " I'll walk up a bit of the road with you, then. 
 There's something I want a word with you about." 
 
 She was very hot but self-possessed, and mopped 
 her streaming forehead with a large handkerchief. 
 
 " Your own mother as much as said one thing 
 or another to me, and Father James gave me a plain 
 hint of it. I didn't say anything agin it, and maybe 
 gave it a helping hand, so to speak. You were 
 always nice and friendly, but I saw no signs. 
 What's more, I might tell you, if you'll believe me, 
 I always kept on with Patsey Brophy of Liscannow, 
 and glad I am now that I did."
 
 WAITING 209 
 
 " Brophy, the builder," he said, seeing light. 
 " I'm very glad." 
 
 She hung her head coquettishly. " There's some 
 that call him a stone-mason," she said gratefully, 
 " but you have better manners. And he having 
 three men of his own under him now ! A builder, 
 even in a small way but he's blossoming out and 
 expecting the contract of the new labourers' 
 cottages is near as good as a schoolmaster ? " She 
 spoke almost shyly, with an eager questioning into- 
 nation in her voice. 
 
 " As good ? Ten times better." 
 
 " I'm glad to hear you say it," she said with relief. 
 " Father James has put the fear of God into me, and 
 I was afraid he might think I'd be demeaning him. 
 He has grand notions," she added reflectively. 
 
 "You'll be well out of the teaching anyway. 
 One's soul isn't one's own at it." 
 
 " Thinking of the bark of Father James's tongue 
 you are, I suppose," she said doubtfully. " Sure it 
 always seemed to hop off you like water off a duck's 
 back. It's different with a relation. If I go agin 
 him, he might put bad luck on my marriage you 
 know the kind of cross a priest can put on a woman. 
 Jessy Burke, that married against his will, hasn't a 
 child to her bosom to this day. Besides, I don't 
 want him to drive me out of the school. I want to 
 hang on to it for a start, at any rate. It'd be a good 
 luck penny in the house and Patsey not firm on his 
 feet yet." 
 
 The skin under her eyelids went pale, and her 
 eyes had a strained look. Maurice did his best to 
 cheer her. She began to sob. 
 
 " It isn't as if I had the whole world running 
 after me. If I miss the chance of Patsey, I might 
 
 p
 
 2io WAITING 
 
 he stranded on the Skellig rocks for life and go 
 single to my grave," she said with a pitiful attempt 
 at a smile. 
 
 " I don't think Father Mahon will interfere," 
 Maurice said, trying to put some conviction into his 
 voice. 
 
 " He's always boasting of the good he's doing 
 for his relations. But sure, I'd rather have another 
 man doing me an injury than him doing me good," 
 she said ruefully. " Patsey is going to hang out a 
 new sign with < Builder and Contractor ' on it, and 
 
 O * 
 
 maybe that might work miracles," she added hope- 
 fully after a few seconds' thought. " Anyway it's 
 been a great comfort to me to talk to you. If you 
 won't come into the house I must be going. My 
 mother '11 be crying out for her tea, and no one 
 about to get it for her, and she tied to her chair with 
 the rheumatics." She shook his hand warmly. 
 
 When they had both gone a few paces she 
 turned back, ran after him and thrust a small gilt 
 medal into his hand. 
 
 " No matter what people might say, you've 
 always been the best of friends to me. There take 
 that. It's a blessed medal of St. Benedict. You'll 
 see if it don't give you a helping hand. It was 
 given to me by my cousin that's a nun inside in 
 Liscannow convent. Blessed by the hands of the 
 Pope himself! And she swore 'twas infallible in 
 matters of the kind. And didn't I prove the truth 
 of her words by sewing it out of sight in a tie I 
 once gave Patsey for a Christmas box ? Give her a 
 little present that she'll be always wearing and sew 
 the medal up in it before many days she'll be 
 running to be baptized and coming to mass, and the 
 way'll be paved straight for the both of ye."
 
 WAITING 2ii 
 
 Her words tumbled out in a rush and she had 
 gone before he realized what she meant. He gazed 
 foolishly at the medal in his palm. He went hot 
 and cold. For a moment Miss Devoy's evident faith 
 influenced him. What if there was something in 
 it ? He walked on fingering the medal curiously. 
 Then he laughed bitterly. He lifted his arm to 
 throw the medal away, but all the instinct of his 
 faith made him stay his hand. He dropped it care- 
 fully into his waistcoat pocket. He felt angry, and 
 sought round in his mind for a cause. Not with the 
 superstition. That was even interesting. There 
 might be a good deal of folk-lore behind it he must 
 ask Driscoll. He knocked the head off a dandelion 
 with his stick. Was he angry with Miss Devoy for 
 guessing his secret ? But he was to blame, not she. 
 He was going round like a fool wearing his heart 
 on his sleeve. . . . 
 
 By the time he arrived at home he had made 
 several resolutions to avoid meeting Alice Barton, 
 not to speak of her, not to think of her. " If I 
 can at all," he added doubtfully after the last.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 IN the weeks that followed Maurice struggled to 
 keep his resolutions. He could not help thinking 
 of Alice. He put the thought of her away, but it 
 came back again. She smiled at him from his 
 proofs, in his dreams, and in those first waking 
 moments when he seemed to have no will. The 
 more he avoided her, the more he seemed to think 
 of her. For whole weeks he did not see her at all. 
 When they met, of necessity, at some committee 
 meeting, or accidentally, on the road, he felt on fire, 
 but congratulated himself on his coolness and the 
 level tone of his voice. He feared that she would see 
 that he avoided her. But she seemed not to notice 
 it. Once or twice he thought he saw a questioning 
 look in her eyes, but it had gone when he looked 
 again. 
 
 Father Malone spoke of her once, and Maurice 
 said it was " all off." The priest said " thank God," 
 and gazed wonderingly at Maurice, who walked 
 away abruptly with an angry frown. 
 
 " Never mention her name to me again," he 
 said, when Driscoll spoke of her. 
 
 " If you'd only talk of her you wouldn't be 
 wearing your heart out thinking of her," the old 
 man said with a sigh ; but Maurice sat doggedly 
 silent. 
 
 He worked as he had never worked before.
 
 WAITING 213 
 
 The proofs were finished. Towards the end of the 
 vacation he helped Tom, who was county secretary, 
 to re-organize the Gaelic Athletic Association. There 
 were meetings in the Mechanics' Hall at Liscannow, 
 and he made his first public speech. 
 
 " It's case equal to you with the tongue or the 
 pen," Tom said, meaning high praise. There was 
 another extension of the parish work. Now it was 
 winter-dairying. Father Malone got hold of the 
 idea, but as he was busy with his clerical work owing 
 to Father Mahon's frequent absences, Maurice and 
 Driscoll had to interview the farmers and set the 
 scheme going. One morning six copies of a little 
 paper-covered book came by post. He was in- 
 terested in a head-piece of Celtic design on the first 
 page, but he could not read a word. He hid away 
 all the copies except the one Driscoll always carried 
 about in his coat pocket. The publisher, to whom 
 he had sold the book outright for ten pounds, 
 hinted at a second series. He tried to work at it, 
 but his thoughts wandered, and he stuck fast in the 
 first tale. Work of his own he found he couldn't 
 do, though his capacity for other work seemed to 
 have no end. 
 
 School opened again, and he added two extra 
 subjects to the programme. He audited the 
 accounts of the Agricultural Society. As he and 
 Driscoll sat working of nights at the table in the 
 kitchen, the desultory talk in between was of 
 " movements," the school, and folk-lore. Alice 
 gradually faded into the impersonal lady of his 
 dreams. He was restless and fitful, but he did not 
 connect this particularly with her. At a committee 
 meeting he heard almost with indifference that she 
 was leaving in a month. Her work, all agreed, was
 
 2i 4 WAITING 
 
 done and done well, and that seemed to be all that 
 mattered. He was able to answer Miss Devoy's 
 covert allusions to her with a smile. 
 
 Early in September he got a letter from the 
 editor of a Dublin newspaper with an offer for a 
 column article every week a short folk story with 
 a translation and a glossary, for which he was to get 
 a pound a week. He laughed heartily when he 
 read the letter Driscoll said it was the first real 
 laugh he gave out of him for a couple of months. 
 Any tales that might hurt the susceptibility of the 
 dominant political party, or of the Church, were to 
 be rigidly excluded : he should be particularly careful 
 to omit all medieval freedom of expression in regard 
 to religion : his book, on the whole, was excellent, 
 and had led to this offer, but some of the tales erred 
 in these respects. 
 
 " It's a funny country," Maurice said. 
 
 "It is," Driscoll said, "in some ways. I'd take 
 the job though, if I were you. With your ideas it's 
 as well for a schoolmaster to have a second string to 
 his bow." 
 
 " I've a lot to do. But I have enough stories 
 by me to last a couple of years, so maybe I might 
 as well. It passes the wit of man though to 
 know how they can afford to pay such a lot of 
 money for so little work." 
 
 " It's wonderful, glory be to God," Driscoll 
 said. "That puts me in mind I came out here 
 last night at two o'clock for a drink of water, and 
 the light was still shining under your sitting-room 
 door, and you promising me to go to bed at 
 twelve." 
 
 "I was writing that memorial about the boat- 
 slip."
 
 WAITING 215 
 
 " Slip or no slip, you'll have to take care of your 
 health. The day after to-morrow is the Liscannow 
 races, and you must go there with me. It's a 
 holiday in the school, so you've no excuse. It'll 
 get your mind off things even if you don't care 
 for horses itself and that's a great lack in you." 
 
 Maurice grumbled that there were a hundred 
 things to be done, but ten o'clock on the morning 
 of the races found him and Driscoll on foot for 
 Liscannow. Carts and side-cars, laden with people, 
 passed from Liscoff and beyond. 
 
 " There's a car from Drimna I know the driver 
 of it thirty miles if it's an inch. The Lord only 
 knows when they must have started. At cock- 
 crow belike," Driscoll said. 
 
 " The country 'd be made if they took the same 
 interest in better things." 
 
 " It would. Still it's no bad thing to care for 
 horses and it's that they come for, and not the 
 betting. It's different in the towns, I'm told." 
 
 " Have you the right time on you, master ? " 
 Teigue Donlon shouted from the top of a straw rick 
 in his haggard, a short distance from the road. 
 
 " A quarter-past ten." 
 
 " I told you the old clock was fast if any. 
 Stick to it, boys and girls. Sorra one need leave 
 this until ye hear the stroke of eleven, and be in 
 plenty of time after," he shouted to a score of 
 workers, above the din of the threshing machine. 
 " 'Twas a great harvest, thanks be to God," he 
 continued, addressing Driscoll and Maurice. " We 
 kept at the threshing till dark last night, but we 
 couldn't come within stacks of finishing." He 
 caught an armful of straw from off a pike as he 
 spoke, fixed it deftly on the rick and trod it down.
 
 216 WAITING 
 
 " It was very kindly of the neighbours to come at 
 all to-day, and the day that's in it. But here they 
 were at the dawn ; though they're on tenterhooks 
 now for fear they'd miss the first race. Down with 
 the sheaves, Larry," to the man on a disappearing 
 stack of oats. " Feed her as fast as she'll swallow, 
 Thade," to the man at the thresher ; " cram them 
 down her throat, and there won't be an ear left, 
 please God, at the first stroke of the clock." 
 
 Tom Blake wiped the sweat off his face with the 
 sleeve of his flannel bawneen as he stuck his pike 
 into a bundle of straw, high as himself. The driver 
 of the two pairs of horses, turning the machine, 
 cracked his whip and the horses put on pace. 
 Sheaves flew. There was a procession of straw, 
 held aloft on pikes and concealing the bearers, from 
 the machine to the rick. Men ran with heavy sacks 
 of threshed oats to the sheeogues. Hanny Blake 
 handed cups of buttermilk to the thirsty, who drank 
 as they worked. 
 
 " God bless the work," Driscoll shouted in Irish. 
 " Ye'll do it and to spare, if you keep up that 
 spurt." 
 
 As they drew nearer to Liscannow, farmyards 
 and fields were deserted. Oats called loudly for 
 reaping, but the reapers, in their Sunday best, 
 wended their way to the town. Young and old 
 had an air of being out to enjoy themselves. 
 There was no sign of the business preoccupation of 
 a market-day or fair. In the carts to-day were no 
 pigs or calves or poultry, the selling price of which 
 was a matter of anxious calculation ; only a human 
 freight of men who had left black care behind on 
 their farms, gaily be-ribboned women, with chubby- 
 faced children hanging over the tail-boards. A
 
 WAITING 217 
 
 brilliant September sun gave a warm colour to the 
 fields of stubble and ripe corn, shone crimson and 
 gold on the turning leaves in the hedgerows, and 
 seemed even to gild the thin jests of the holiday 
 makers. 
 
 " Make way there for Paudeen Flaherty's 
 racer," greeted an old man, in a tall felt hat and 
 cutaway coat, astride a spavined mule. He bowed 
 left and right, his long legs flapping against the 
 sack that served as a saddle. 
 
 " Is it the Farmers' Plate or the Hunt Cup 
 you're aiming at, Paudeen ? " 
 
 " It might be both," Paudeen said with a broad 
 grin. 
 
 The streets of Liscannow were thronged. There 
 was a din of " Correct card," " Correct card and bill 
 of the races." The shops were still open, and did 
 a thriving trade. Shopkeepers and their assistants 
 were in holiday humour and attire. Not even in 
 the butchers' stalls was an apron worn. The 
 utmost concession to business on this day of days 
 was a discarded coat, hung up, however, within easy 
 reach, inside the counter. As midday passed, 
 anxious eyes were cast at clocks. When the half 
 after twelve boomed from the cathedral tower, 
 customers were unceremoniously bundled out of 
 the shops, shutters were hastily put up and doors 
 were locked. At a quarter to one Liscannow was 
 like a town of the dead. A long mile separated the 
 town from the race-course. The first race was 
 timed for one o'clock, so there was need to 
 hurry. A thick crowd jostled and pressed up the 
 hill, past the asylum and the jail. Half a dozen 
 feeble old men, in corduroy trousers and the 
 [peculiar coat, grey frieze and collarless, that marked
 
 218 WAITING 
 
 the pauper, hung about the workhouse gate, with 
 anxious eyes on the race-course in the hollow. 
 One tried to straighten his bent back, clutched his 
 stick firmly, and stepped forward. Another pulled 
 him back. 
 
 " Don't venture it, Dan. We'd be crushed to 
 death in that crowd. Wait till the stream slackens." 
 
 " Man and boy, I never missed the first race for 
 seventy years, and I ten years in the workhouse 
 itself," Dan muttered, his palsied head shaking. 
 
 " Sure they won't drop the flag till they see you 
 on the course." 
 
 " There's something in that, and I a well-known 
 ancient monument in it," Dan said, with a note of 
 pride in his voice. 
 
 There was, however, little fear that he should be 
 late. Long after one o'clock no attempt had been 
 made at a start. Driscoll was making a leisurely 
 inspection of the jumps. 
 
 " That's where every man came down in '79," 
 he said at the sunk fence. " But the ground is in 
 fine fettle to-day. Neither too hard nor too soft." 
 
 "It's half-past one," Maurice said ; "we ought 
 to hurry to our place." 
 
 " It's one of the queer things about human 
 nature and the Liscannow races," Driscoll said, 
 "that the people near break their necks to be on 
 the course at one o'clock, and still every one knows 
 that sorra race'll be run till two o'clock, or 
 maybe after. A finer race-course there isn't in the 
 whole world," he added, looking round admiringly. 
 "It was cut out by the hand of God Himself for it." 
 
 They wandered about among the crowd, greeting 
 an acquaintance here and there. At two Driscoll 
 led Maurice to a knoll at the foot of Slieve Mor, from
 
 WAITING 219 
 
 which, he held, the best view was to be had. The 
 narrow valley, with every jump in sight, stretched 
 at their feet. Over against them, on the side of 
 the short hill that hid Liscannow, was the unsightly 
 structure of rough planks known as the grand 
 stand. Long, low tents, mounted on semicircular 
 willow wattles, studded the base of the hills and the 
 centre of the oval track. Tawdry flags fluttered in 
 a slight breeze. The raucous voices of the few 
 bookmakers in the enclosure, echoed from the 
 mountain opposite. Pewter pots clinked on the 
 tables in front of the tents. A roaring trade was 
 done in porter, pig's crubeens, ginger-bread, and 
 apples. Cheap-jacks cried their wares. A forlorn 
 nigger minstrel on an empty brandy case strummed 
 a banjo. The crowd was everywhere. People ate 
 and drank and were merry, or made a luckless venture 
 on the three-card trick or the thimble. A bell 
 sounded, and loud voices cried, " Clear the course." 
 The grand stand grew into a patch of gay colour. 
 The crowd hastened to any, and every, eminence 
 that promised a view. Excitement grew as the 
 horses were led to the post. 
 
 " Fourteen starters," Father Delahunty said in 
 a loud voice from the priests' hill, a small mound, 
 east of the rock on which Maurice and Driscoll 
 sat ; " it's a great field entirely. Don't be pressing 
 up here," he added good-humouredly, as a few boys 
 climbed within ten or twelve paces of where a score 
 of priests lounged, " or we'll be lost entirely." 
 
 Maurice looked at Driscoll inquiringly. "They've 
 some law of their own," the old man whispered with 
 a smile, " against attending races. But some clever 
 theologian made out that as long as they weren't 
 joined to the throng they were out of the course."
 
 220 WAITING 
 
 " They're off, they're off," rose in a frenzied 
 shout. 
 
 "Well done, yellow cappeen." 
 
 " He's down, I tell you." 
 
 " If he was he's on his legs again. There he is 
 before your eyes." 
 
 When the yellow cap won in a close finish, 
 Driscoll, as excited as the crowd, ran towards the 
 grand stand, shouting to Maurice to follow. He 
 lost sight of Driscoll in crossing the course, and was 
 hastening his steps in pursuit, when a voice 
 called out beside him 
 
 " Don't be running away. You're the very man 
 I wanted." 
 
 He turned and saw Tom and Minnie and 
 Alice. 
 
 " The wife there isn't feeling very well, and I 
 must be taking her home," Tom said in a stage 
 whisper. " Not herself by any manner of means 
 these times, though it's natural enough, and the state 
 she's in. But she'll be fretting if we spoil the day 
 for Miss Barton. She came along with us, John 
 Crawford, poor man, not holding with races, though 
 willing to give freedom to her if she had a mind. 
 Let you keep an eye on her, Maurice, like a good 
 man, and see her safe home." 
 
 Maurice mumbled a confused acceptance of the 
 charge. Alice laughed, offered to go home with 
 Minnie, who would not hear of it. They disputed 
 a little. A strange fear that Alice would prevail 
 came over Maurice. He breathed with relief when 
 she said 
 
 " All right then if Mr. Blake won't think me 
 a nuisance." 
 
 This seemed so absurd that he laughed. They
 
 WAITING 221 
 
 saw Tom and Minnie to the outskirts of the crowd, 
 and then wandered back over the course. The sun 
 shone brighter and the people looked happier since 
 he met her. They ate apples and gingerbread, and 
 drank lemonade, standing by a table at a tent door. 
 She enjoyed everything a chalked-face acrobat 
 who twirled a barrel on his toes, a ballad singer who 
 sang cheerfully of an execution. He forgot Driscoll 
 till the course was being cleared for the second race, 
 too late to seek him at his usual stand. A short 
 way up a track that led to the pass over the 
 mountain they stood to watch the race. 
 
 The crowd again converged on the grand stand 
 as the horses passed the winning-post. 
 
 "There must be a fine view higher up," she 
 said, her eyes on the winding path. " I never 
 saw it." 
 
 " There is." 
 
 She looked at him. He nodded. She led the 
 way up the narrow path. They climbed for nearly 
 half an hour, easily, and in silence. Only once 
 she spoke. She picked a gentian. " That's new to 
 me," she said, pinning it on her coat. A bell 
 clanged faintly as they reached the stile giving on 
 the mountain road. 
 
 " That's another race," he said doubtfully. 
 
 She turned round for the first time and looked 
 back. 
 
 " This is better," she said, drawing a deep 
 breath. 
 
 He followed her eyes, past the curiously small 
 crowd of midgets that moved hither and thither 
 in the valley, over the low hill to Liscannow, 
 to the boats lying idly in the harbour. In the 
 offing a four-masted schooner hung motionless
 
 222 WAITING 
 
 on the glassy sea. A ripple that seemed but a 
 shadow swept over the water in her wake. Her 
 sails filled out, and, in a few seconds, she had passed 
 the line of the cathedral spire. A hoarse murmur 
 arose from the valley. 
 
 " They are off," he said. 
 
 "There is Durrisk and the trees in Uncle 
 John's bawn. Oh, the race ! What matter ? " 
 
 " The view is better higher up," he said. 
 
 They followed the road for a mile, branched off 
 by a pathway, and soon stood on the summit of a 
 spur, some yards higher than the road. 
 
 " The gap," he said. 
 
 On the right a flat-topped hill was carpeted thick 
 with heather a purple sea with oases of vivid green 
 fern. Slieve Mor seemed to have receded across 
 another valley, brown with peat bogs, through 
 which a thin white road wound sinuously till it 
 was lost in the side of the mountain. Funny little 
 fields of green and gold, like the squares on a chess- 
 board, only more irregular in shape, surrounded 
 the scattered cottages that gleamed white in the 
 sun. Away on the left was the sea again, bordered 
 with yellow sands, and beyond, a long mountain 
 range with a ridge like a toothed saw. She turned 
 round and looked down on Liscannow. The race- 
 course was hidden. Only faint sounds, like the 
 rustling of leaves in a light wind, ascended from the 
 valley. The ship seemed closer to land, and, far 
 away, the horizon was lost in a silver haze. The 
 windows of Bourneen chapel reflected the sun like 
 mirrors. A rich plain rolled between the mountains 
 and the sea, to Liscoff and beyond. A warm 
 crimson tinged everything. 
 
 " I've felt it for some time even with this sun
 
 WAITING 223 
 
 one notices it with a grey sky there is no doubting 
 it the colour of Ireland is brown not green." 
 
 She spoke in a detached voice, hesitatingly, as 
 if she was disentangling one thought from another. 
 
 " You are tired," he said : " won't you sit 
 down ? " 
 
 They sat on the parched grass. She plucked a 
 spray of heather from a clump beside her and 
 fingered the purple bells tenderly. 
 
 Maurice stared at the shimmering sea. " There 
 is so much to .say," he said. 
 
 Yes ? " 
 
 " I avoided you because I love you." 
 
 Since he left the race- course his mind had been 
 calm. He took it for granted that there was some- 
 thing he had to say to her, but he thought of it 
 hardly at all. He spoke now without feeling, as if 
 reading on the sea, something that had been written 
 there ages ago. 
 
 " That was it then," she nipped off one of the 
 bells and watched it drop slowly to the ground. 
 
 " They said friends like Driscoll and Father 
 Malone that I should lose my job here, that it 
 would be an end to my work." 
 
 Her fingers closed tightly on another bell, but 
 she didn't pull it off. She listened intently. 
 
 " I was tempted to be a coward. Things one is 
 doing have a way of winding themselves round one. 
 They become part of one. One feels there is no 
 living without them. But I didn't give in to that. 
 I felt, and I'm certain of it sitting here, that there 
 was something that mattered more, a man's freedom, 
 and love." 
 
 She exhaled the breath, which she had been 
 holding, in a short sigh of relief. Her bosom rose
 
 224 WAITING 
 
 and fell gently. She seemed absorbed in the colour 
 of the spray, holding it out to catch the light at 
 different angles. 
 
 "Tell me everything from the beginning," she 
 said evenly, without looking at him. 
 
 She did not take her eyes off the spray while he 
 spoke. She held it motionless. 
 
 " That's how it stands," he wound up. " It's 
 no disgrace to you to hear that a man loves you 
 and wants more than anything in the world to 
 marry you " 
 
 " No," she said, through half-opened lips. 
 
 " But," he said, looking at her for the first 
 time she seemed to feel his eyes, lifted hers, and 
 met his squarely, " before I ask you whether you 
 love me or'll marry me, there's one condition if 
 you say Yes. Father James may give in then 
 'twill be all right. If he doesn't, and I have to 
 make a living elsewhere, you'll be free of any 
 promise till I earn enough to support you in 
 comfort." 
 
 " Comfort ! They say men in love are very 
 dull-witted. I don't love conditionally," she said, 
 with a pathetic little smile. 
 
 He looked at her, and what he read in the 
 depths of her eyes made him kiss her full on the 
 mouth. For a moment her head slid weakly on to 
 his shoulder. He felt her heart beat as loudly as 
 his own. Her hat had fallen back. The westering 
 sun crowned her head with gold. A loose strand of 
 hair brushed against his lips. She pushed him 
 away gently, and a shy smile lit her crimsoned face 
 as she fixed her hat. 
 
 " Difference of religion is a small thing to us," 
 he said.
 
 WAITING 225 
 
 " God has a way of ignoring these differences," 
 she said, looking full in the level rays of the sun. 
 She chanted half to herself 
 
 " Whither thou goest, I will go ; and where 
 thou lodgest, I will lodge ; thy people shall be my 
 people, and thy God my God." 
 
 " That sounds like the Bible I don't know it 
 much. Catholics don't read it," he said simply. 
 
 " We have the one country and the one God 
 they must let us serve Him as our hearts bid us," 
 she said rising. She laughed happily, a ringing 
 laugh that sounded in Maurice's ears like music 
 against the silence. " You are a nice lover you've 
 put me to the shame of accepting you without being 
 asked." 
 
 " I believe you led me up here to propose to 
 me ? " he said with a gleam in his eyes. 
 
 She looked at him serenely. " Aunt Ruth says 
 men are only poor whist bodies," she said lightly, 
 leading the way down the path. " If we dawdle 
 here any longer we'll miss all the races." 
 
 She still had the spray of heather in her hand. 
 She gazed at it curiously, buried her face in it, 
 hummed a tune, fixed the heather in her blouse and 
 buttoned her coat over it. They walked down the 
 road abreast. Alice was grave and silent. At the 
 stile leading to the race-course she began to sob 
 quietly. 
 
 " Why ? What in the world ? " he said in 
 surprise. 
 
 " Nothing," she said. 
 
 He kissed her. She clung to him and sobbed 
 aloud 
 
 " You'll miss your work here. It's all my fault, 
 and so much depending on you. You'll make a
 
 226 WAITING 
 
 fight to keep it, Maurice ? No priest could be so 
 cruel " 
 
 "Never mind, little girl. If my work here 
 goes, I must find or make other work. Besides, one 
 day I'll be making you give up yours, and you're 
 fond enough of it." 
 
 " Oh, mine ! mine is different," she said 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 " I'll fight of course," he said firmly. " There 
 are bigger interests than ours involved in this." 
 
 " Some day I may see that," she said, mounting 
 the stile, " but to-day ours is big enough for me. 
 It fills the whole world." 
 
 They walked in single file down the steep path, 
 speaking little. Once she said, " We'll slip away 
 home quietly. I feel shy of meeting any one." And 
 again, with a puckered brow, " Without trouble of 
 one kind or another maybe we'd pass real happiness 
 by, without knowing it." When they were half- 
 way down a race started. They stood for a few 
 minutes to watch it. The crowd cheered the 
 winner lustily. 
 
 " I wonder if the beaten have any pleasure in 
 the race ? " she asked. 
 
 He was thinking of her, and of his coming 
 interview with Father Mahon. 
 
 " We can't be beaten. I can't anyway I have 
 you now." 
 
 She laughed softly. 
 
 At the end of the path Driscoll met them. He 
 looked tired and worried. 
 
 " You, here ? " Maurice said with surprise. " We 
 were up at the gap." 
 
 " The whole race-course knows it from Matsey 
 Boylan," Driscoll said dryly. " I thought you'd
 
 WAITING 227 
 
 have sense, Miss Barton, if Maurice had none 
 itself." 
 
 " I have less than none," she said, with her old 
 air of assurance. Then seeing the pained look on the 
 old man's face, she caught his hand in both of hers 
 and said eagerly, " You must be glad you've been 
 so good to him and to me." 
 
 He looked from Alice to Maurice, smiled feebly 
 and said 
 
 " May God help you both."
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 MATSEY BOYLAN'S story had fleeter legs than the 
 horses in the hunt race. By nightfall variants of it 
 had reached many houses in Bourneen. All Matsey 
 had seen was Maurice and Alice, several yards apart, 
 walking up the path to the gap. He had followed 
 them for a couple of hundred yards, till his weak 
 feet gave out. He lost sight of them, sat on a 
 boulder, nursing a feeble, jealous wrath in his half- 
 witted mind. After waiting for an hour he returned 
 to the race-course and told his tale, with some added 
 embroidery, suggested by his imagination, on each 
 repetition. He told Driscoll that he had seen 
 Maurice Blake and the girl at the Crawfords' 
 walking alone up the mountain. Jim Reardon said 
 " Be off to hell out of this," when Matsey whispered 
 with nods and winks that Maurice and Alice had 
 been hugging and kissing. Instead, he sidled up to 
 Dempsey, Crawford's workman, and announced 
 mysteriously " queer carryings on entirely up there 
 on the mountain out of sight of everybody." 
 
 So the story spread. 
 
 It was at home before Alice. John Crawford 
 sat silent ; Mrs. Crawford was excited and fussy. 
 She made much noise in preparing tea on the kitchen 
 table, but she said nothing. 
 
 " Don't you want to hear about the races ? " 
 Alice said, taking a chair in front of the fire.
 
 WAITING 229 
 
 " They're misfortunate things," Crawford said 
 dourly. 
 
 " By all accounts, you didn't see much of them," 
 Mrs. Crawford said, busily polishing a cup, her face 
 to the dresser. 
 
 " Oh ! " Alice said, looking from one to the 
 other. Crawford was staring at the fire, and her 
 aunt did not turn round. 
 
 " Maurice Blake asked me to marry him, and I 
 said I would I'm very fond of him," she added 
 shyly, after a pause. 
 
 "Didn't I tell you?" Mrs. Crawford said 
 triumphantly to her husband. 
 
 " There was never any lack of trust in her with 
 me," Crawford said. " It's the idea of a mixed 
 marriage that I don't like." 
 
 His eyes grew more gentle. Suddenly he stared 
 as if he saw some horrible vision. He stood up, 
 his hands clenched. 
 
 " It's not thinking of being a turn-coat you 
 are ? " he said harshly. 
 
 " No. Maurice is above that sort of mean- 
 ness and I hope I am," Alice said proudly. 
 
 "That's something at least," Crawford said with 
 a sigh of relief. 
 
 " I wish I was at home," Alice said forlornly. 
 Her lip trembled. She gulped in the effort to 
 keep back tears. 
 
 Mrs. Crawford enfolded her in an ample 
 bosom, patted her on the shoulder, and said 
 angrily 
 
 " There now, John Crawford, see what you've 
 done with all your stiff-necked religious talk she 
 as much as saying that this house is no home to her. 
 Don't cry, alanna. You that ought to be a father
 
 230 WAITING 
 
 and a mother to her," with a threatening look at her 
 husband. 
 
 " It's because I'm fond of her," he said in a 
 voice that betrayed little tenderness, though his eyes 
 had softened. 
 
 Alice put her hand on his, and he pressed it. 
 
 " The Scarlet Woman has all the wiles of Satan," 
 he said after a short silence. 
 
 " She won't beguile me," Alice said laughing. 
 
 "Troth, Alice'll be able for her," Mrs. Crawford 
 said pleasantly. " It might easily be worse. He's 
 a fine, up-standing boy with good pay though he's a 
 Roman itself. Alice can bring up the girls her way 
 of thinking, and Maurice'll likely want to carry the 
 boys with him still, a mother can do a great deal." 
 
 " You're only talking nonsense, woman," 
 Crawford said, waving her opinions aside with an 
 emphatic sweep of his hand. " That used to be the 
 old way, but the Pope of Rome long ago changed 
 it. I had a cousin of my own that once married 
 a Papist, and I know the law of it." The unusual 
 length of his speech seemed to worry him. He 
 stood up, clutched the back of a chair and 
 continued : " I read the paper that my cousin 
 Richard was made to sign by the parish priest, 
 and sorra word of it I liked that he'd be married 
 in a Catholic chapel, and that every one of the 
 children, be they boys or girls, 'd be brought up 
 Papists. And as if that wasn't enough, the woman 
 he wanted to marry had to take her book oath, 
 besides, that she'd make every endeavour to turn 
 Richard into a Catholic." 
 
 " That's a fairly finished halter," Mrs. Crawford 
 said, with a doubtful look at her husband. 
 
 " It is and a promise is a promise whether it's
 
 WAITING 231 
 
 made to a priest or a minister," Crawford said, 
 dropping wearily on his chair. 
 
 " I don't know that any woman'd think she'd be 
 bound by a promise, wrung out of her in a minute 
 of weakness. Come on now and let us have our 
 supper. We're all starved and that boy not in 
 yet," Mrs. Crawford said, pouring water into the 
 tea-pot. 
 
 " This is all new to me, Uncle John," Alice said, 
 when her aunt moved to the table ; " I don't believe 
 Maurice knows. I'll speak to him. I was only 
 thinking of him and his troubles I'll tell you about 
 them again. Only, Uncle John, I love him, you 
 know." 
 
 He looked at her for a moment, kissed her fore- 
 head lightly and said 
 
 "The blessing of God on you both." 
 
 An earlier version of Matsey's tale reached the 
 Blakes. Jim Reardon called late to inquire about 
 Minnie. He found her seated in a low chair by 
 the fire, sewing some garment which she hid in her 
 apron as he approached. 
 
 " Hanny is in the dairy," she said, " and the rest 
 are seeing after one thing or another for the night." 
 
 " How is yourself ? " 
 
 " What'd be wrong with me ? 'Twas a great day, 
 I'm told." 
 
 Jim laughed and looked round cautiously. 
 " Maurice is the sly lad. If he wasn't seen kissing 
 a girl to-day." 
 
 " Well I never who was she ? who told 
 you ? " Mrs. Tom said excitedly. 
 
 " Matsey Boylan told me." 
 
 Minnie's face fell. " Oh, him ! " she said
 
 232 WAITING 
 
 in a disappointed tone. " He sees kissing in his 
 dreams. Didn't he say once that I kissed him the 
 hoary old ruffian that ought to be saying his prayers. 
 But who was she anyway ? " 
 
 " I oughtn't to mention it," Jim said doubtfully. 
 
 " What's the harm and there nothing in it to 
 your own sister too, and 'twon't pass my lips." 
 
 "Well, if you promise 'twas Miss Barton." 
 
 " Her that bangs Banagher. You'd think 
 butter wouldn't melt in either of their mouths. I 
 wonder ? I left them together, anyway." 
 
 Tom lifted the latch and came in. 
 
 " Tom, Tom," she shrieked, " if Maurice wasn't 
 seen kissing Alice Barton to-day after we left." 
 
 " And why wouldn't he, if he wanted to," Tom 
 said lightly. 
 
 " I never kissed a man but the one I married," 
 Minnie said primly. 
 
 " You're a wonder, you are," Tom said, stroking 
 her hair and winking at Jim. " And maybe 
 Maurice is going to marry her." 
 
 " And she a Protestant a likely job. Them 
 quiet fellows are the worst when they go galivanting," 
 she said, screwing her lips and eyes to a look of 
 wisdom. 
 
 " I'm blest, but so she is but why not if it goes 
 to that ? " Tom said, scratching his head. " She's 
 a very complete girl no matter what her religion is." 
 
 Tom passed on the joke about " Maurice the 
 rogue of the world " to Hanny when she came in ; 
 but she only looked at Jim Reardon and laughed. 
 
 " And who gave out that tale about my son ? " 
 Mrs. Blake said when she heard it. 
 
 " I never believed it, ma'am," Jim said eagerly. 
 
 " You, Jim Reardon I'm ashamed of you.
 
 WAITING 233 
 
 I've a good mind to send you straight to bed, 
 Hanny, sniggering there. It's them that are always 
 hiding in dark corners themselves that'd spread a 
 report about a boy that never looked the other side 
 of the road a woman was at in his whole life. Kneel 
 down every one of ye and say the rosary and ask 
 God to forgive ye." 
 
 Later, when the others had gone, she and Mike 
 sat before the fire. 
 
 " Do you think there's anything in it, Mike ? " 
 she asked anxiously. 
 
 " There might, and then there mightn't," Mike 
 said, weighing his pipe on his forefinger judicially. 
 " If one could see light over her being a Protestant, 
 she wouldn't make a bad match at all. She could 
 hold on to her job it's great money they'd be 
 drawing entirely." 
 
 " That's a fence that's not easy jumped and God 
 forbid that it should. I know the like is done, but 
 none of my blood ever had a Protestant drop in 
 their veins. 'Twas an unlucky day she came into 
 the parish. May God and His Blessed Mother be 
 about my boy's bed to-night." 
 
 " It's a dark problem surely," Mike said. 
 
 " You and your problems ! " she said angrily, 
 " and maybe the boy suffering from a heart scald." 
 
 " The like of that is easy got over." 
 
 " Your pipe is out. Be off to bed with you." 
 
 She sat long over the fire telling her beads. As 
 she raked the ashes over the smouldering sods she 
 ejaculated 
 
 " God send he may not sup sorrow if his heart is 
 set on her." 
 
 Father Mahon had been nursing disappointment
 
 234 WAITING 
 
 and a sharp attack of indigestion for two days. He 
 had had authoritative information, from a friend in 
 Rome, that Dr. Hannigan was not to be sent to 
 Droomeen, but was to be held in reserve for a 
 higher appointment, expected soon to fall vacant. 
 He took a gloomy view of the world. He was 
 vexed with Dr. Hannigan who must have known 
 the intentions of the Roman authorities, and yet had 
 allowed him, a friend, to go on lavishing expense 
 and trouble on a fruitless quest. He was angry 
 with himself for having neglected his parish for so 
 long. He had some sort of dull grievance against 
 the priests who had promised to support him, and 
 against Father Malone who had done his work. 
 His dignity and inclination had always fought over 
 the Liscannow races. But now his dignity was 
 momentarily in eclipse. He would have gone to 
 the priests' hill, but at the last moment he quailed 
 before inevitable references to the bishopric. It 
 would have hurt him to admit that the chance was 
 off: it would have hurt him, knowing what he knew, 
 to discuss the bishopric as if it were still open. So 
 he brooded in misery at home. There was also a 
 minor annoyance that, at intervals, irritated him ex- 
 ceedingly. A colt which he had sold for a trifling 
 price, was expected to win the Farmers' Plate. He 
 felt that his judgment was at stake, and had no 
 little anxiety to hear that Clinker had lost. He 
 stayed up late in the hope that Father Delahunty 
 or some friend would call on the way home from 
 the races. Unhappily no one called. 
 
 Next morning, in the sacristy, he said gruffly to 
 Matsey Boylan 
 
 " My man is away. Run up to the house and 
 wash my trap."
 
 WAITING 235 
 
 After breakfast he went out to the yard and 
 looked on at the operation. 
 
 " You were at the races, yesterday ? '* 
 
 u I was then." 
 
 " What won the Farmers' Plate ? " 
 
 Matsey scratched his head. " Sorra one of me 
 passed any notice on it." 
 
 " I might have known your blind eyes could 
 see nothing." 
 
 "Troth, they seen more than you think, your 
 reverence. Queer things, I tell you," Matsey said, 
 blinking foolishly, the mop, held head upwards, 
 dripping on his shoes. 
 
 " What things ? " 
 
 " The schoolmaster below," indicating the direc- 
 tion of the school with the mop, " and the girl that 
 teaches the poultry." 
 
 " Hum ? " Father James said, with an interroga- 
 tive lifting of his eyebrows. 
 
 " Stole away alone up the mountain glen they did, 
 and spent the whole day there out of sight of every- 
 body and the whole race-course remarking on it. 
 The things that were said'd make a man's hair 
 stiffen." 
 
 He shrank back from the priest's thunderous 
 look, and began to mop the wheel of the trap 
 nervously. 
 
 " I wasn't meaning any harm," he mumbled, 
 looking up. 
 
 But Father James was stalking back to the house 
 in all the just anger of righteousness. That a 
 schoolmaster of his should be the cause of scandal 
 to a whole countryside ! It was an injury to him- 
 self that cut him to the quick. What would the 
 world think of him to tolerate such conduct ? He
 
 236 WAITING 
 
 stamped through the hall and walked rapidly up and 
 down the path in front of the house with bent 
 brows. Ordinarily he discounted most of what 
 Matsey said, but he never questioned reflections on 
 any one's morality. He knew how hard it was to 
 keep strong passions in control. And as others had 
 not his strength, given the occasion, he suspected 
 them of the worst. And had he not ample evidence 
 against this Blake ? He had stood up against his 
 priest, was disobedient and rebellious. Goodness 
 only knew how long this unholy passion existed. 
 There was that Protestant girl and every one 
 knew Protestant girls had no morals, for there was 
 no one to keep a heavy hand over them loose on 
 the parish for nearly six months. She must have 
 been at the bottom of Blake's refusal of the decent 
 marriage which he, in the goodness of his heart, 
 had offered him. All the circumstances aggravated 
 Blake's offence. As a teacher he insulted his 
 manager, as a parishioner his parish priest. His 
 anger grew. His official position was dragged in 
 the mire. He was flouted as the guardian of 
 morals and religion. . . . His anger exhausted itself 
 in the thought that he had the power to punish. 
 His self-confidence, which had been dormant for a 
 few days, revived. He drew himself up in the 
 middle of the path, stretched out his arms, bent 
 them as if expanding the muscles. He felt physically 
 better already. The languor and unrest of dyspepsia 
 had passed away. He set his jaws and sniffed 
 the air, scenting battle joyfully. He went into 
 his study, wrote a short note, rang the bell, sent 
 for Matsey Boylan, and, handing him the note, 
 said 
 
 " Here, take that down to the schoolmaster
 
 WAITING 237 
 
 at the village, and don't let the grass grow under 
 your feet." 
 
 Ever since he parted from Alice, Maurice Blake 
 felt himself another man. He seemed to have 
 grown past his own recognition. His limbs swung 
 freely with a new strength. Mind and body and 
 will were in harmony. The gorgeous colours in 
 the evening sky were only a faint reflex of some- 
 thing mysterious and satisfying within himself. 
 The road had a resilience it lacked before. There 
 was music in the loud rattle of harness as jolting, 
 springless carts went by rapidly from the races, and 
 in the cracking of whips and in the peals of harsh 
 laughter. Driscoll alone seemed outside a universal 
 joy. He was morose and silent. Once he stumbled 
 over a loose stone. His feet dragged and his face 
 had a drawn look. Maurice offered him an arm. 
 He leant heavily on it, but did not speak. He 
 stopped opposite the parochial house. Nodding 
 towards the light in Father Mahon's study window 
 he said 
 
 " He'll break you if you go on with this madness." 
 
 " He can't touch me." 
 
 " He can drive you out of the parish." 
 
 " That's nothing." 
 
 " Have you no fear at all in you ? " 
 
 " I have not only sorrow that you're taking 
 things so much to heart." 
 
 " And no sorrow for putting yourself in danger 
 of leaving your work that I thought your heart 
 was in ? " 
 
 " And you thought rightly. But a man's work is 
 only a part of him, and something bigger than my- 
 self has hold of me to-night. It "
 
 238 WAITING 
 
 His voice trailed off as if no further words were 
 necessary. His eyes sought the sky in the west. 
 What he felt was all there in that luminous arc of 
 indescribable colour, the afterglow of the departed 
 sun, a blend of the brilliant hues of a moment 
 back the love that shut out fear, that gave his 
 soul the freedom of the illimitable spaces beyond 
 the stars and filled it with trust and hope and 
 faith. . . . 
 
 Yet it saddened him a little in his great joy that 
 Driscoll only gave a weary sigh. 
 
 In his dreams that night the lady of his child- 
 hood came again. She was seated on the spur above 
 the gap road. The sun caught her hair. Her 
 lonely, detached look had gone. Her eyes were 
 the eyes of Alice Barton, and her hair, as he clasped 
 her to his heart, had the same fragrance that still 
 remained in his senses from the afternoon. 
 
 In the morning he was up with the dawn. 
 He threw his window open wide to the growing 
 light and the twittering of birds. A cool breeze 
 fanned his face. His heart was full of sound and 
 colour and a deep content. Red gold rays shot up 
 in the east, paling the softer tints. Sitting by the 
 open window he wrote his column for The Star of 
 Liberty. At breakfast he read it to Driscoll, who 
 seemed brighter, and walked with him to the school 
 gate, discussing the tale. As usual on the day after 
 a holiday the children were late. Stragglers were 
 still coming in when Matsey Boylan appeared at the 
 door and beckoned mysteriously. In the porch 
 Maurice read the note, a curt command to come at 
 once to the parochial house. He told Miss Devoy, 
 who had just come in smiling, that he had to leave 
 for a few minutes. He went back to the schoolroom
 
 WAITING 239 
 
 and arranged the classes. As he passed out, Matsey 
 was lingering at the gate. 
 
 "Toko you'll be getting up above," he said, 
 with a jerk of his head towards Father Mahon's 
 house. 
 
 Maurice laughed. " Had you a good day 
 yesterday, Matsey ? " he said pleasantly. 
 
 " Only middling," Matsey said dismally. " But 
 it might brighten up, it might brighten up Matsey 
 might have his day yet," he added with a leer. 
 
 The serjeant of police lounged at the barrack 
 gate, capless, his tunic open, his hands thrust into 
 the waist of his trousers. 
 
 "Easy known you hadn't the Liscannow pubs 
 to mind on a race night. I'm that tired I haven't 
 the heart to shave myself," he said with a yawn. 
 
 Maurice passed on with a wave of his hand. 
 He was vaguely wondering what Father Mahon 
 could want him for. Perhaps about the confirmation 
 on Tuesday week some fault-finding, of course. 
 Anyway, the children were prepared. He might as 
 well have it out with the priest now about Alice. 
 Or should he wait till he had another talk with her ? 
 He hummed blithely. 
 
 "That's not the funeral march of them fool 
 societies of yours by any chance ? " Clancy, of the 
 general shop, said with a grin. 
 
 "You'll be buying your own manure from us 
 next," Maurice said cheerfully. 
 
 " I wouldn't mind taking your bankrupt stock 
 it'll likely be in the market soon dirt cheap. But 
 where are you off to ? and it school time too." 
 
 "To see the manager." 
 
 " He's the sensible man, now ! with none of ye'r 
 new-fangled nonsense and amachoor shopkeeping.
 
 2 4 o WAITING 
 
 Let me know when ye're in Stubbs's list. Clancy 
 and long credit'll beat down ready-money with 
 the lads you've to deal with." 
 
 "They've more sense than that," Maurice said 
 laughing and walking on. 
 
 " God help your head," Clancy shouted, good- 
 humouredly. 
 
 Father Mahon was seated at his desk when 
 Maurice entered the study. 
 
 " Sit down there," he said, turning round and 
 pointing to a chair beside the desk. 
 
 Maurice sat with his face towards the priest, 
 who glared at a paper on the desk. 
 
 " This is a copy of our agreement," he said, 
 flattening out the paper with his open palm. 
 " Terminable on three months' notice, or," he 
 raised his voice, " without notice, for cause for 
 cause, do you hear ? " he added in an emphatic 
 shout. 
 
 " I hear." 
 
 " You hear, do you ? Maybe, you'd soon have 
 to heed it. You're a nice example to the innocent 
 young children of the parish ! I'll put the fear 
 of God into you before I'm done trapseing the 
 mountains with Protestant sluts ! " 
 
 It was some seconds before Maurice realized 
 what the priest had said. 
 
 "That look of injured innocence is thrown away 
 on me," Father Mahon continued angrily. " You 
 and your Protestant " 
 
 " Stop," Maurice interrupted quietly. His eyes 
 blazed. " You may say something that'll make me 
 forget you're a priest if you're speaking of the girl 
 who is to be my wife." 
 
 The priest, who was rising angrily from his
 
 WAITING 241 
 
 chair, dropped back into it again. His jaw fell. 
 He stared at Maurice in astonishment. 
 
 " I don't remember her name that niece of 
 Crawford's ? " he said limply. 
 
 " Yes," Maurice said coldly, " and I want a 
 dispensation to marry her." 
 
 Father Mahon steadied himself with the arms of 
 his chair. His face grew livid. He attempted to 
 speak, but only muttered incoherently. His eyes 
 fell on the agreement on the desk. He gazed at it 
 for several minutes in silence. He seized a pen and 
 wrote rapidly on a sheet of note-paper. He unlocked 
 a drawer, took out a cheque-book and filled in a 
 cheque. When he looked again at Maurice his 
 face had changed to an expression of contempt. 
 
 " There, take that," he said. 
 
 Maurice took the sheet of paper and the cheque. 
 When he had read the notice of summary dismissal, 
 he held up the cheque and asked with a wry smile 
 
 What is this for ? " 
 
 "Oh, that I don't owe it to you of course- 
 but to save trouble three months' pay in lieu of 
 notice." 
 
 " So you know you're doing wrong," Maurice 
 said, placing the cheque on the desk. 
 
 " That's your game, is it ? Wrong, am 1 ? 1 
 don't give that," snapping his fingers, " for all you 
 can do or your Teachers' Union either or the 
 National Board. I'm manager and I'll do as I like. 
 And if you go to law a jury can be trusted to 
 deal with a dangerous character like you without 
 morality or religion. Not that you have a leg to 
 stand on I'm dismissing you for cause." 
 
 He stood up and waved his hand towards the 
 door. " Don't darken the door of my school again." 
 
 R
 
 242 WAITING 
 
 Maurice made a successful effort to restrain his 
 temper. It was all some ghastly mistake, he 
 thought some misapprehension on the priest's part. 
 
 He himself had been too hasty. 
 
 " What is the cause ? " he asked quietly. 
 
 " Grave public scandal." 
 
 " What scandal ? " 
 
 " I'll give you no explanation far be it from 
 me. You have an appeal against me to the bishop 
 if you think it worth while." 
 
 " I suppose that's all that's left to me," Maurice 
 said bitterly. " What about the dispensation ? " 
 
 " You can ask the bishop for that too," Father 
 Mahon said, again pointing to the door. " You'll 
 
 never get it with my good will you See if I 
 
 don't put a spoke in your wheel."
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 A THIN drizzle of rain fell from early morning on 
 the day of the Confirmation at Bourneen. A white 
 mist hung over the village, light and silvery, 
 with a promise of sunshine that did not come. 
 The trees loomed ghost-like in the still air. 
 Occasionally a sodden, faded leaf fell slowly to the 
 ground. A grey rime frosted the heavy nap of 
 freize coats and woollen shawls, evaporating in the 
 warm air almost as quickly as it formed. Boys 
 whistled cheerfully, regardless of the rain, and one 
 said, " There isn't enough wet in a month of it to 
 pierce my new coat." But the little girls suffered. 
 Their long hair was lank and damp ; their thin, 
 white dresses, coloured sashes, and white stockings 
 were limp and draggled. Anxious mothers hurried 
 their children into the church porch and tried to 
 make good the damage of the weather. Men 
 lounged outside, smoked, chatted in low tones, or 
 idly watched the intermittent stream of people, afoot, 
 in carts, traps and side-cars, arriving at the gate. A 
 dozen or more priests in heavy overcoats and silk 
 hats passed by to the sacristy. Father Mahon, in 
 soutane and surplice, an umbrella held high to 
 protect his well-laundried surplice from the rain, 
 walked several times to the gate and eagerly scanned 
 the road in the direction of Liscannow. 
 
 " He's as nervous as a clucking hen," Hinnissey 
 said.
 
 244 WAITING 
 
 "That's strange enough, and he next door to 
 being a bishop himself, I'm told," Larry Reardon 
 said. 
 
 " The Lord save us, he'll be a holy terror entirely 
 then." 
 
 " How will Maurice Blake come out of it, do 
 you think?" Teigue Donlon asked. "They say 
 the bishop himself is going to have a hand in it." 
 
 " Sorra word Mike Blake'll say on it, but pull a 
 long face, though I'm connected with him myself," 
 Larry Reardon said. "Not a foot I'd come near 
 this to-day, and I having a barn full of wheat to put 
 into sacks, only I'm expecting the bishop to say a 
 word about it from the altar." 
 
 " The same here," Teigue said. " The parish is 
 full of it. There's as many tales going round as 
 there's spikes on a hedgehog." 
 
 " There's great fairness in the bishop, they say," 
 Larry said. 
 
 " He's a soft-spoken man," Hinnissey said, with 
 a keen eye on a slight clearing in the mist. 
 
 In the sacristy a group of priests stood round 
 the fire-place. Through the window Father Mahon's 
 stalwart form could be seen swinging down the path 
 to the gate. 
 
 " Sacking teachers without notice he is now," 
 one said, with a nod at the window. 
 
 " What ? Eh ? That's a dangerous game in 
 these times," another said eagerly, " with or without 
 notice, begannies." 
 
 " He's a great man, James is." 
 
 " Some day he'll cut off more than he can chew. 
 Drink ? " 
 
 "No. Women. Wants to marry a Protestant, 
 or some foolishness like that."
 
 WAITING 245 
 
 " Phew ! " with a prolonged sibilant whistle. 
 " What do you say, Delahunty ? You're sure to 
 know all about it." 
 
 " Tell them, Cassidy," Delahunty said to his 
 curate. 
 
 Cassidy's prominent blue eyes flashed. "There's 
 only one thing to be said about it," he said 
 emphatically. " It's a damned shame." 
 
 " That's no way to speak in the sacristy," a 
 severe-looking, elderly priest said, "and of your 
 betters too." 
 
 " I'd say it before the altar, or to the bishop 
 himself if I got the chance," Cassidy said warmly. 
 
 " He has great practice on me," Delahunty said 
 whimsically, " and he's often right enough too." 
 
 " Wait till he's a manager himself, and he'll 
 change his tune." 
 
 <{ When I am, I hope managers'll be docked of 
 the cruel powers they have now taking the bread 
 out of the mouths of decent men," Cassidy said 
 excitedly. " Here's Malone, he can tell you all 
 about it." He walked frowning to the window, 
 muttering in a loud voice, " The best teacher in the 
 diocese too written a book on the Irish faked-up 
 nonsense of Marion's all because he can't stand 
 any one crowing near his own dung-hill a nice man 
 to give votes for a bishopric to." 
 
 The priests crowded round Malone as he came in 
 from the church. 
 
 " Tell us the rights of this teacher business ? " 
 
 " Is Mahon likely to get a fall over it ? " 
 
 " It's all very sad very sad," Father Malone 
 said nervously. " I hope the bishop will set it right. 
 He's seeing Maurice Blake this afternoon. I 
 
 " His lordship is at the gate," Matsey Boylan
 
 246 WAITING 
 
 said in a wheezing, panting voice, running in 
 excitedly from the yard. 
 
 A brougham drove up to the sacristy door at half 
 trot, Father Mahon alongside, the umbrella aloft in 
 his left hand, holding a firm grip on the handle of 
 the carriage door with his right. He held the 
 umbrella over the bishop as he descended, and made 
 as if to kneel on the wet ground on kissing the 
 bishop's ring, but Dr. Hannigan, with a deprecating 
 smile in his grey-brown eyes, said " Please not," 
 and passed rapidly through the open sacristy door. 
 The priests stood to attention as he entered, in 
 attitudes of nervousness or conscious assurance. A 
 faint smile played about the bishop's lips as he gave 
 a quick, keen look round, taking in the whole room. 
 
 " Good morning, gentlemen," he said coldly. 
 
 " It's a wet day for your lordship to be out in," 
 one said. 
 
 " The poor children, the poor children," he said. 
 
 One took his hat, another his coat, a third 
 opened the Gladstone bag, with which Matsey 
 Boylan followed at his heels. Father Mahon pushed 
 a priest aside brusquely, and himself unpacked the 
 bishop's purple soutane and rochet, and helped him 
 to vest. 
 
 After a silent prayer on the altar steps, Dr. 
 Hannigan began the examination of the children, 
 who filled the nave of the church. The aisles and 
 galleries were packed with the older members of the 
 congregation. Except the clergy and teachers, no 
 grown people were in the nave. The Bourneen 
 school children were in charge of Miss Devoy. 
 
 Maurice Blake looked on from a corner seat in 
 one of the side galleries. All the morning he had 
 intended to stay away, but, at the last moment, he
 
 WAITING 247 
 
 decided to come. "The bishop might say some- 
 thing at the visitation sermon," Driscoll said. As 
 the appeal was not to be heard till later the bishop, 
 after some correspondence, had fixed three o'clock at 
 the parochial house Maurice did not believe that 
 his case would be referred to. Still, the mere 
 possibility drew him to the church. 
 
 The examination went through quickly. The 
 bishop was decisive but gracious. He put three 
 simple catechism questions to each child. If two 
 were answered correctly he handed a confirmation 
 card to the child, who went off immediately to con- 
 fession to one of the priests, who were now, except 
 a few who were in personal attendance on the 
 bishop, in the confessionals, or seated, in stole and 
 surplice, in secluded corners of the church. If two 
 questions were missed a fourth was given, and on the 
 result the child was either passed or put back for 
 further instruction. 
 
 " Mahon'd never pick up that manner. He has 
 the right touch to a die," Father Delahunty 
 whispered to an old priest, with a nod towards the 
 bishop. 
 
 " I don't know," the older man said, taking a 
 pinch of snuff. "As he's going to pass them all, 
 sooner or later, he might as well do it first as last." 
 
 " It's easy known, anyway, why you never wore 
 a mitre," Delahunty said into the snuff-box which 
 the old man held out. 
 
 As each school was finished the bishop said a 
 few pleasant words of commendation to the teachers. 
 
 " This school ? " he said to Miss Devoy. 
 
 " Bourneen, my lord," she said nervously. 
 
 Father Mahon frowned and shifted his feet un- 
 easily, but the bishop was all smiles.
 
 248 WAITING 
 
 " An excellent school," he said, in a slightly 
 raised voice, when the last boy was passed, " excellent 
 indeed most carefully prepared reflects the utmost 
 credit on the teachers." 
 
 Behind, Father Delahunty muttered " Oh ? " in 
 the tone of a question of some significance, and 
 answered it himself with "Yes, yes, yes." In the 
 gallery Hinnissey whispered to Donlon, " That tells 
 well in Maurice Blake's favour." 
 
 The rejected children now came forward. After 
 a few perfunctory questions all got cards. The 
 bishop retired to the sacristy with Father Mahon 
 and talked with him alone at some length. 
 
 The congregation broke up into groups. Some 
 whispered in the seats. The majority, the weather 
 having cleared, went out to the churchyard. A few 
 children still clustered round a confession box. 
 Others scampered to and fro, between the church and 
 the yard, begged pennies from grown relatives, and 
 bought cakes and sweets and apples at the standings 
 in front of the yard gate. Maurice kept his seat. 
 Several neighbours eyed him as if they wished to 
 speak, hesitated and turned away. Under a gallery 
 a group of priests chatted ; half a dozen walked in a 
 row up and down the path from the porch to the 
 gate. Driscoll stood absorbed by the corner of the 
 porch, as if watching intently the sunlight glistening 
 on the wet, yellowing leaves. 
 
 " This is a bad business, Driscoll," Father 
 Delahunty said, taking his arm. 
 
 Driscoll sighed. " I've talked and talked," he 
 said, " but it's no good. And if Maurice Blake'd 
 yield itself, which he won't, 1 doubt if Father James 
 would." 
 
 " My best school'll be vacant at the end of the
 
 WAITING 249 
 
 quarter Larkin is retiring. I put it to Cassidy, 
 and he's strong for taking Maurice Protestant wife 
 and all. But that's all moonshine and Cassidy's 
 enthusiasm. We'd be beaten dead on it. I'm too 
 old to begin battering down windmills. Besides, 
 there's no sense in putting every one's head in a 
 halter Blake's too. But short of the wife I'll stand 
 to him, Mahon or no Mahon." 
 
 " Sure I know you'd do what you could, Father. 
 But what you can do is no good, I'm afeared. 
 Talking of going to Dublin, he is, if the bishop fails 
 him, and giving up schoolmastering." 
 
 " I wish to God there were more Cassidys 
 we're only a cowardly crew a decent greyhound'd 
 be ashamed of us," the priest mumbled as he moved 
 away, whilst Driscoll relapsed into contemplation of 
 the leaves. 
 
 From a group of women came snatches of con- 
 versation. 
 
 " Run away now, children, and don't ye be 
 listening. Yes, then, there's a penny between the 
 three of ye. When ye've ate it, be off into the 
 chapel with ye and be saying a prayer, and the bishop 
 soon laying a holy hand on ye." In a lower voice. 
 " If he was seen walking with her itself ! a fine 
 laughey girl, that took a cup of tea on my own floor, 
 as civil as may be, when she was round about the 
 hens. You'd think it was horns and a tail she had." 
 
 " 'Twas that bleary-eyed idiot of a clerk started 
 it all, I'm told." 
 
 " The devil skewer him." 
 
 " Maybe she'd turn yet. She hasn't a spice of 
 bigotry in her." 
 
 " She wouldn't be the first woman that turned 
 because of a man."
 
 250 WAITING 
 
 " If it goes to that, I'm told the schools don't 
 belong to the priests at all, but to the government or 
 some high up people." 
 
 " Speak low on that, Mrs. Maloney. Jack 
 warned me it's a thing not to be talked about freely, 
 though, in the next breath, he said if the people was 
 worth their salt they'd have a say in the schools 
 themselves." 
 
 "Religion is a queer thing, glory be to God, 
 putting between people." 
 
 " It's a fearsome world we're living in, the Lord 
 between us and all harm." 
 
 " When a man can't choose out a wife for him- 
 self, without losing his bread by it." 
 
 "God protect " 
 
 " And bless and save us this day, amen." 
 
 " Did you see Mary Blake about it at all, Mrs. 
 Maloney ? She could throw many a light on it." 
 
 " Amn't I straining my eyes at her all this day ? 
 Sitting tight the whole family are, in the side seat 
 next the altar, where no one'd have the courage to 
 talk to them except the master, and he's a touch- 
 me-not above in the north gallery." 
 
 " Poor people ! there's trouble on them." 
 
 " If there is itself they might share it with a 
 neighbour," Mrs. Maloney said, tossing her head. 
 
 In the porch, Matsey Boylan pulled the bell rope. 
 For a minute he tugged and writhed without a 
 sound. The first clear stroke lifted him off his feet 
 and he bobbed round like a monkey. " Take it 
 easy, Matsey," some one said, as the congregation 
 again crowded into the church. " Keep clear of me," 
 he shouted as he rose, circled, and fell a dozen 
 times, and then, " Take hold of me, and stick on, 
 and stop her."
 
 WAITING 251 
 
 From the top step of the altar, in cope and mitre, 
 his crozier in hand, Dr. Hannigan preached a com- 
 bined visitation and confirmation sermon. Cordial 
 relations, he was glad to say, existed between the 
 priests and people of the parish except in one small 
 matter which it devolved on him to deal with, and 
 which, he hoped, would be easily adjusted. For the 
 rest, there was abundant evidence of zeal. He was 
 glad that a hint he threw out at a previous visitation 
 was about to bear immediate fruit. The sadly needed 
 spire was to be put in hand at once. Even before 
 a public appeal had been made generous subscriptions 
 had been forthcoming. He would only read out 
 three as an example. The generous parish priest, a 
 hundred pounds. Mr. Clancy, whose munificent 
 charity was already exemplified by the beautiful 
 stained-glass window at his back, a hundred pounds. 
 And Mr. Michael Blake he paused significantly 
 fifty pounds. To the congregation he would say 
 " go and do likewise," and to the zealous parish priest 
 " procede et prospere." Before passing on to his 
 special address to the children he would make one 
 other remark and the subscription list he had just 
 read proved its truth. Where religion was concerned, 
 and the honour of God's house, good Irish Catholics, 
 priests and laymen, and it was not for him to say 
 that they were the salt of the earth, sank all differences, 
 public and private, and were one in heart and mind 
 and act in promoting the glory of God. . . . 
 
 Father Delahunty's face wore a puzzled frown. 
 In a seat near the sacristy door Father Cassidy 
 whispered excitedly to Father Malone. Mike 
 Blake's stolid, tanned face grew a brick red. His 
 eyes blinked. " That was a queer trick to play," 
 Mrs. Blake said under her breath, her eyes on the
 
 252 WAITING 
 
 rosary, which she held between her fingers in her 
 lap. " Don't pretend to notice, for I feel the eyes 
 of the congregation on us." There was a whispered 
 hum all over the church. The bishop had twice to 
 repeat " My most dearly beloved children." Even 
 then, Hinnissey whispered 
 
 " Mike must have done it to buy Maurice out 
 of his trouble." 
 
 " Connected or no, I'll never forgive him for 
 starting such a high tariff," Larry Reardon said. 
 
 " Mike, of his own option, to start a tariff, high 
 or low ! " Hinnissey said sceptically. " Take it easy 
 now, Larry, and reason it out. Believe you me, 
 there's more in this than meets the eye." 
 
 But here the bishop paused expectantly. Behind 
 his back Father Mahon gesticulated wildly, as if 
 beating down the conversation with the open palms 
 of his extended hands. 
 
 Driscoll's eyes met Maurice's with an inquiring 
 look. He shook his head. Throughout the sermon 
 that followed, while the bishop signed the children 
 with the sign of the cross and confirmed them with 
 the chrism of salvation, the question kept recurring 
 to his mind in a hundred different forms Why had 
 his father, who couldn't well afford it, done this, 
 and at this time ? But he could find no satisfactory 
 answer. On his way out of the church he met his 
 father and mother and Tom's wife. His mother 
 said, " Well, Maurice, boy ? " Minnie gave him a 
 sympathetic look, and hung her head shyly. His 
 father said gruffly 
 
 "As you are going to see the bishop, you might 
 as well walk that bit of the way with us." 
 
 One neighbour said, " Good luck to you." 
 Another, " I hope to God you'll come out on top."
 
 WAITING 253 
 
 No one tried to stop them, though all eyes followed 
 them curiously. When they got beyond the crowd 
 at the gate, Mike said 
 
 " You're wondering, I doubt, about that money ? 
 Though I think you're a fool itself, the way 
 you're pushing things now, I'd have you to know 
 that I didn't give it lately, either to spite you, 
 or to curry favour for you with Father James 
 neither, in your foolery. 'Twas a foolish enough 
 investment I made a time ago. Wasn't it, Mary ? " 
 
 " It was then and maybe not so foolish either," 
 Mrs. Blake said hopefully. 
 
 Maurice said, with relief, " I'm glad you told me 
 this." 
 
 They walked on in silence. At the gate of the 
 parochial house Mike said impressively 
 
 " This is the last word I'll say to you now you're 
 going in to your doom. Give up that girl and all 
 your nonsense, and keep the grace of God, and 
 common-sense and the good-will of the priest about 
 you. For reasons best known to myself I'm thinking 
 he'll take back his word about the school if you give 
 in on the girl. There isn't a woman in the world 
 worth giving up all you have for, and, mark my 
 words, there's as good fish in the sea as ever was 
 caught." With this, Mike stalked off frowning. 
 
 " Speak as wisely as you can, Maurice, agra, to 
 the holy man he has the look of a saint on him, 
 thanks be to God. And I'll be saying round and 
 round of the beads for you," his mother said. 
 
 Tom's wife lingered. 
 
 " How are you, Minnie ? " Maurice asked. 
 
 " Grand, thank God," she said blushing. She 
 put out her hand impulsively and pressed his. 
 " Tom and Hanny and myself are with you, no
 
 254 WAITING 
 
 matter how the wind blows," she said eagerly ; 
 " and your mother, I think, though she says little 
 and has to be humouring Mike, who's cut to the 
 heart about your losing the school you know how 
 his mind runs on the money. Alice is worth daring 
 a good deal for," she added. 
 
 Maurice walked on a few steps to avoid the 
 bishop's brougham, which he saw approaching. As 
 it was after three, in a few minutes he followed the 
 bishop and Father Mahon into the parochial house, 
 and was shown into the study. The bishop was 
 alone, seated in an armchair in front of the fire, 
 reading his breviary. His purple biretta was well 
 back off his high forehead. The long tassels of his 
 sash, hanging negligently over an arm of the chair, 
 glowed in a bar of light that came through the 
 corner of the window. His heavy gold chain, the 
 gold cross on his breast, his amethyst ring, and the 
 brown hairs on the backs of his fingers, sparkled in 
 the sun. He looked up for a moment as Maurice 
 entered, gave him a friendly smile, and pointing to 
 an armchair at the corner of the fender, said 
 
 " One moment, Mr. Blake, while 1 finish 
 compline." 
 
 He read for three or four minutes, stood up, 
 knelt for a few seconds on his chair, in silent prayer. 
 When he got off his knees he held out his hand to 
 Maurice, who had also risen. 
 
 " Do sit down again," he said, as Maurice knelt 
 and kissed his ring. " You don't mind the fire ? I 
 got chilled this morning this unhappy dispute of 
 Father Mahon's was on my mind, too." 
 
 Maurice opened his lips to speak. 
 
 " Not a word for a moment," Dr. Hannigan 
 waved his hand with a smile.
 
 WAITING 255 
 
 He leant well back in his chair and joined his 
 hands on his breast, his long capable forefingers 
 pointed upwards. 
 
 " I want you to feel I'm sure you feel that in 
 this matter I'm no mere judge. All my people are 
 dear to me my teachers are especially dear. I want 
 you to feel that I am a father and a friend rather than 
 a judge. Indeed, the law of the land does not 
 recognize me as a judge in disputes of this kind 
 the manager is supreme. But a higher law, the 
 law of charity, constrained my brother bishops and 
 myself to arrogate some would say," he smiled 
 deprecatingly " this function to ourselves. In a 
 well-ordered state education would be entirely in the 
 hands of of the hierarchy. Unhappily but why 
 dwell on that ? The law gives the manager large 
 discretionary power. But the divine economy gives 
 me the right, no matter what the law says, of 
 counselling and advising and "- he hesitated and 
 smiled " of counselling and advising our clerical 
 managers. But this is a long preamble. Among 
 friends there is no need to speak of powers and 
 rights." He bent his great eyes towards Maurice 
 appealingly. "Two of my children have a mis- 
 understanding, two of my helpers in the training 
 of our Catholic youth how zealous they are the 
 examination in the church to-day proved ; your 
 school, if I may say so without flattery, in particular. 
 Naturally they come to me to help them in their 
 difficulty." He paused and gazed at the fire. 
 
 The smooth, level tone of the bishop's voice and 
 his composed features disturbed Maurice. If there 
 was one thing he hated above all others, it was the 
 power of the priests and bishops over education, and 
 the way in which it was exercised. He had often
 
 256 WAITING 
 
 discussed it bitterly with Driscoll and other teachers. 
 He disliked intensely much of what the bishop said. 
 But Dr. Hannigan's manner was disarming. The 
 slight harshness in his voice had a ring of friendli- 
 ness, and his eyes were soft and kind. Perhaps 
 he was different from others ! His effusive speech 
 might be only a mannerism. Maurice looked again 
 at the ivory forehead, and let his eyes wander over 
 the face, pallid and regular, the eyes a shade close 
 together. It was a kind face, he decided doubtfully 
 on the whole, he qualified his judgment, on 
 noticing for the first time a slight stricture of the 
 lips which brought out their thinness, revealed a 
 few tight lines at the corners and hardened a rather 
 prominent chin. As he looked the face softened, 
 and Dr. Hannigan began to speak again. 
 
 " I read over your statement carefully and I 
 have heard Father Mahon. Let me say at once that I 
 acquit you of the moral charge. The evidence was 
 negligible. A slight indiscretion on your part ; a 
 little over-zeal on his the whole thing vanishes in 
 a puff of smoke. Though for the future I should 
 advise care. The noble teaching profession has a 
 great responsibility to ward off from innocence the 
 very shadow of sin." 
 
 Maurice's brow contracted. 
 
 " I am finding no fault with you," the bishop 
 said quickly. "A counsel of perfection, merely. 
 Though this is the first time I've met you I've 
 heard of you a good deal. There were a few minor 
 charges," he added thoughtfully, " disobedience, 
 faults of manner and of temper." He sighed. 
 " To these we are all subject. Human nature is 
 weak. Cumulatively they have some force singly 
 1 make light of them, except, perhaps, the disobeying
 
 WAITING 257 
 
 of written orders once I forget in regard to what 
 some meeting ? I have the papers here, but it 
 does not matter." 
 
 Maurice envied his fluency of speech. He felt 
 strangled, as if a soft silken cord was being wound 
 tightly round him, depriving him of thought and 
 words. 
 
 " He had no power to give that order," he 
 blurted out roughly. The contrast between his own 
 voice and the bishop's made him ashamed as soon as 
 he had spoken. 
 
 " Power," the bishop said reproachfully. " I 
 thought we agreed to eliminate that word ? Powers 
 and rights surely need not be mentioned between 
 a good Catholic and his parish priest. Ah, Mr. 
 Blake, we are living in difficult times, when it 
 behoves us all to pull together even by yielding a 
 little. I myself have to submit my will often to my 
 brother bishops, often to higher powers. It brings 
 home to me my unworthiness, and gives me a much- 
 needed lesson in humility. Our Holy Church and 
 our holy faith ought to be above all ! Such 
 artificial secular distinctions as manager and teacher 
 ought to be forgotten in our common obligation of 
 working together as good soldiers of Christ." 
 
 " Father Mahon did not forget them," Maurice 
 said dryly. 
 
 " You are still bruised in spirit a little in 
 temper perhaps. Poor fellow ! 1 can well under- 
 stand it. But are you fair to Father Mahon ? He 
 was, I feel sure, thinking of higher things, things of 
 God, of the spirit, of the soul of your soul." 
 
 The memory of his interview with Father Mahon 
 came back to Maurice. He looked at the bishop 
 keenly that calm face could not be the cause of the 
 
 s
 
 258 WAITING 
 
 anger that filled him to his finger-tips. He gave a 
 short uncomprehending laugh. 
 
 The bishop's eyebrows lifted almost imperceptibly 
 for a moment. 
 
 " The marriage you proposed ? " he said gently. 
 
 " He had made up his mind before he heard of 
 the marriage." 
 
 The bishop's lips tightened. But his eyes smiled 
 as he said 
 
 " This is not a civil court, Mr. Blake nor a 
 court at all indeed, only a friendly conversation. If 
 Father Mahon were a mere secular manager this 
 marriage might not be relevant. But what do we 
 find ? Try and put yourself in his place, Mr. Blake 
 a zealous priest charged with safeguarding the 
 religion of his people, of the little children in his 
 schools, and above all, of his teachers for on them 
 devolves the instruction of the children." 
 
 " He dismissed me from a secular, undenomina- 
 tional school, not for any lack of fitness or qualifica- 
 tion, but because I asked for a dispensation to marry 
 a Protestant," Maurice said coldly. 
 
 A slight frown, faint as the shadow of a tiny 
 passing cloud on a field of corn waving in the sun- 
 light, moved rapidly over the bishop's face and seemed 
 to run down his soutane to his feet, as if in physical 
 protest against the crudity of Maurice's statement. 
 
 " Secular ? undenominational ? " he said with a 
 smile. " Surely these are only legal fictions ? " 
 
 " Unfortunately, my lord." 
 
 The bishop seemed to bite the inside of his lip. 
 He gazed thoughtfully at the fire. When he spoke 
 again he had shifted his ground. 
 
 " Do you prefer this this young lady to your 
 religion ? " he asked abruptly.
 
 WAITING 259 
 
 Maurice blushed, hesitated, and then said 
 shortly. 
 
 " I don't see that they conflict." 
 " It is no fault of yours, of course," the bishop 
 said sadly, " that you are not well grounded in the 
 philosophy and theology of our religion. When a 
 Catholic marries a Protestant there is necessarily, at 
 the very least, a certain amount of toleration of 
 heresy. Now we may tolerate heresy from motives 
 of expediency the difficulty of doing otherwise, the 
 greater good of the Church, and other reasons 
 but the toleration that marriage involves, no matter 
 how strictly the Church hedges it round with precau- 
 tions " he shook his head several times. "Believe 
 
 me, Mr. Blake and this is why our Holy Church 
 discourages mixed marriages it saps the very bases 
 of morality and religion. Come, now," with an 
 appealing look, " love is here to-day and away who 
 knows ? to-morrow. Like a good Catholic make 
 a willing sacrifice of the temporal to the eternal 1 
 hear the priests coming in to dinner, and they have 
 had a hard day. We must hurry. Make this 
 sacrifice on the altar of your faith it may be hard, 
 but your reward will be the greater. A teacher in 
 a Catholic school ! for it is that, no matter what the 
 law pretends. You surely see now that it is im- 
 possible that Father Mahon could allow you to marry 
 out of the faith. With his passionate attachment to 
 the Church too ! Have sense, and your good priest 
 will forgive you. Give up this idea, and I shall 
 make it all right with Father Mahon go back to 
 your school. Some day, when this madness has 
 passed, you will see in him your best friend." 
 
 A feeling of intense weariness overcame Maurice 
 at the beginning of the bishop's long exhortation.
 
 260 WAITING 
 
 Words, words, words battered his confused brain. 
 He watched the brown eyes, soft and gentle. A 
 few times the grey showed hard and steely. So the 
 bishop too, with all his soft words, was trying to 
 separate him from himself for Alice was himself. 
 His muscles stiffened and he sat alert in his chair. 
 At the last reference to Father Mahon he laughed 
 harshly. 
 
 Dr. Hannigan frowned. The grey in his eyes 
 predominated as he looked questioningly at Maurice. 
 There was a knock at the door. He said " Come 
 in " sharply. 
 
 The servant curtseyed and said timidly, " Your 
 lordship, his reverence told me to say the priests 
 were gathered and the dinner ready to be dished, 
 and would you be long, my lord ? " 
 
 " Tell them wait," he said curtly. 
 
 " Well ? " he said, when she had shut the door 
 behind her. 
 
 " I'll give up the school rather than give her up." 
 
 A slight flush appeared on the bishop's neck 
 under his ears. His face was calm but it became 
 sharper in outline. 
 
 " And your religion ? " 
 
 Maurice laughed and said, " Really ? my lord." 
 
 The bishop looked at him sternly. " There 
 seems to be nothing more," he said dryly. 
 
 " The dispensation ? " 
 
 " That, you apply for through Father Mahon." 
 He took his breviary off the arm of the chair and 
 made a movement as if to stand up. Maurice rose. 
 
 " But he referred me to your lordship." 
 
 " I'm afraid I can do nothing," he pursed his 
 lips. " You might apply direct to Rome." 
 "Am 1 likely to get it there ?"
 
 WAITING 261 
 
 The bishop considered this gravely. "Frankly, 
 no taking into account Father Mahon's attitude, 
 and the absence, as far as I can see, of the canonical 
 causes for dispensing." 
 
 " Good-bye, my lord, and thank you." 
 
 " Good-bye," the bishop said coldly. 
 
 " Am I dismissed then ? " Maurice asked, turning 
 at the door. 
 
 " I don't see that I can interfere. Stay just a 
 minute." His eyes sought inspiration in the carpet. 
 " Yes I might get Father Mahon to withdraw the 
 dismissal and accept your resignation if you tender 
 it suitably. It might help you to another school 
 in some other diocese." 
 
 " Should I get the dispensation there ? " 
 
 " I should say not," Dr. Hannigan said irritably. 
 
 " I'd rather be dismissed," Maurice said firmly. 
 
 " Does that mean that you will take the case into 
 a civil court ? " Dr. Hannigan said suspiciously as 
 he rose. 
 
 "No." 
 
 Maurice was again putting out his hand for the 
 door handle, when the bishop laid a hand on his 
 shoulder, and with a return to his gracious manner 
 said 
 
 " I shall pray for you. I am told that there are 
 good openings for talented young men in America 
 or the colonies." 
 
 " Or in Timbuctoo," Maurice said under his 
 breath, smiling pleasantly in response to the bishop's 
 " God bless you."
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THERE was much excitement in the parish during 
 the time Maurice remained in Bourneen. Two days 
 after he saw the bishop Alice went back to Dublin. 
 He was glad she was out of hearing of all the 
 gossip. In every house " the row " was discussed, 
 wildly and imaginatively, for the actual details were 
 known only to a few. It was generally agreed that 
 Maurice was a " wronged man," though there was 
 some doubtful shaking of heads. Father Malone 
 drove hopefully to Liscannow to interview the 
 bishop, and came back despondent. Hinnissey 
 spoke of resolutions of sympathy from the League, 
 but Father Mahon, who was honorary president, 
 attended the meeting called for the purpose, and 
 nothing was done. Mike Blake blustered a good 
 deal to his wife, lamented his fifty pounds as thrown 
 into a bog-hole, blamed Maurice, dressed half a 
 dozen times in his Sunday clothes for a visit to the 
 parochial house ; but, always, his courage failed, and 
 he laid them aside without going. " After all, I did 
 give the money for the spire," he explained to his 
 wife, " and I'd be only coming back with my tail 
 between my legs." She paid a daily visit to the 
 chapel and burnt many candles in front of the statue 
 of St. Antony, entreating him to find her son a school, 
 " or to comfort his heart anyway." At a bank 
 meeting a fisherman from the Strand called loudly
 
 WAITING 263 
 
 for a declaration in favour of Maurice ; but the 
 chairman reluctantly ruled the discussion out of 
 order, as being " on the mearing of religion," and, 
 therefore, forbidden by the rules. John Crawford's 
 only contribution was a remark, thrown out occasion- 
 ally between two long tracts of silence as he sat 
 smoking before the fire at night, " There's nothing 
 I'd put beyond a priest not all of them, but most." 
 Tom Blake was roused to fury. He had arranged 
 for the barricading of the school against the new 
 teacher, when Maurice heard of the scheme, and, 
 with much difficulty, dissuaded him from it. Many 
 murmured against clerical control of the schools. 
 A dozen children were withdrawn by their parents 
 from Bourneen, sent to the Strand school and to 
 Drusheen, beyond the bog. Father Mahon, when 
 he heard this, drove to both schools, to the 
 Strand in the morning and to Drusheen in the 
 afternoon of the same day, and herded the children 
 back to Bourneen at the point of the whip. The 
 Government Inspector of Schools shook his head 
 angrily at the tale of Maurice's dismissal, mut- 
 tered " those managers, those managers," and later, 
 dined amicably with Father Mahon. Teachers, for 
 miles around, visited Maurice in the night and 
 counselled resistance, with apologies for the inaction 
 of their local organization. " You know how it is," 
 seemed to most of them to be both excuse and 
 explanation. One was more explicit : " If we say a 
 word in public, out we may go ; but you you can't 
 be in much worse case than you are. Though we're 
 weighed down with charges of one kind and another, 
 as far as a trifle goes towards expenses in private, 
 you understand ? you could count on us. And 
 Driscoll within" he was ill in bed with arthritis
 
 264 WAITING 
 
 since the day of the confirmation " could help 
 openly. He's on a pension and clear of a manager. 
 It'd be a great chance of showing things up." 
 
 But Maurice was not in the mood to show things 
 up. Perhaps he felt queer, he thought, because 
 Alice had gone, or because Driscoll was ill. He 
 
 O ' 
 
 was seeing things differently too, noticing things 
 that escaped him before, seeing himself, even, in 
 a curiously detached, impersonal way mere little 
 flashes that were contradictory, or vanished when 
 he tried to analyse them. As when he saw himself 
 a spar of wreckage cast up on the beach, and, the 
 next moment, riding the waves triumphantly, with a 
 firm foothold on the same spar. The teacher's 
 words recalled this image. It explained so much 
 that had been puzzling him in the attitude of 
 people. He was a broken man, useful for leading 
 some sort of forlorn hope, but broken. It showed 
 clearly behind all Father Malone's nervous sympathy, 
 in his mother's despondent prayers, in his father's 
 grumbling, in the almost despairing look that he some- 
 times surprised in Driscoll's eyes when he thought 
 he was unobserved. Surely they were all wrong, 
 and Alice was right. He saw her again as the train 
 bore her away from Liscannow Station, her look of 
 infinite hope and faith, and her last words, " You are 
 a free man now." 
 
 When he reasoned his position out, and thought 
 of the future, the fears of his friends depressed him. 
 But not for long. Alice's faith and some feeling 
 that was deep down in his own heart came to his 
 rescue. Suddenly the conviction seized him, that it 
 was he who was free, and they who were in bond. 
 They bowed down under a fear from which he had 
 freed himself. One day he met Teigue Donlon, on
 
 WAITING 265 
 
 the road near his house. Teigue pressed his hand 
 warmly and said, " The feeling of the people is with 
 you." Father Mahon approached in his trap. Teigue 
 slunk off up the boreen. Maurice met the priest's 
 scowling face with a smile. He felt stronger as he 
 walked on. Once he, too, should have been afraid 
 ... as an unbroken man he often had the timidity 
 of a mouse ... as a broken man he had the courage 
 of a giant refreshed. ... 
 
 Tom was his great comfort in those days. Tom 
 had no fear of anything but Minnie's coming mother- 
 hood, and that fear was only momentary, and faded 
 away in the larger hope of safety, and a son. 
 
 " You have two strong arms on you," he said, 
 " and you're sure to find work. You're out of the 
 swing now, but you'll get into it again. Alice is a 
 kind of smothering now I know it all but soon 
 she'll be like another arm or another lung as 
 natural as the day, and a help and not a hindrance. 
 You'll want to be doing things again, and more of 
 them. Have a drive at politics now there's an 
 opening. It ought to come easy to a fellow like you 
 that has things printed in the papers though the 
 same papers ! " 
 
 He shook his head gloomily. " But the country'll 
 right itself. It's sick, very sick, but it has the 
 seeds of health in it. The Star of Liberty now, that 
 your little stories they're not bad in their way- 
 come out in. Between you and me it's damn rotten. 
 If you could only get writing something near the 
 truth in that paper now, you might do a great deal 
 of good. ..." 
 
 " Oh yes, we're doing things all right mucking 
 about," he said again. "It's all to the good. The 
 country is getting richer and we're learning the Irish.
 
 266 WAITING 
 
 But a man wants to be able to say out what he thinks. 
 There are a lot of fellows thinking the same as me. 
 Take your own case now. Sacked from your job 
 without rhyme or reason, and the whole country 
 afraid to open their lips about it. And if there was 
 a word said, your blessed Star of Liberty' & stand by 
 Father James to-morrow. No wonder the Pro- 
 testants'd be afraid of Home Rule. Not but they're 
 wrong entirely, though it's hard to make 'em see it, 
 and the things they see happening round them. I'm 
 not agin priests, mind you. They baptized me and 
 married me and I hope they'll bury me. It does me 
 a power of good to go to a mass that Father Malone 
 says. He's one of the kind of priests we want 
 though I wish in a way he had more pluck priests 
 that you'll be able to see religion and not the tyrant 
 in everything they say and do, and not slim ones 
 either like the bishop that was here the other day. 
 I stood at the back of the chapel for a minute 
 listening to him. Did you hear him about my 
 father's subscription ? It near made me sick. How 
 they ever worked it out of him passes me. He's 
 as deaf as a post when I ask him about it." 
 
 Then his optimism would take hold of him again. 
 " If only once we could get Home Rule every thing'd 
 be right. The schools'd be taken out of the hands 
 of the Father Mahons. There'd be no more 
 breeding of bad will between Protestants and 
 Catholics. No man'd be down on another because 
 of a difference of religion. If you could do some- 
 thing to bring this about," he said with shining eyes, 
 "you'd be doing the best work a man could set his 
 hand to. I haven't the education," he added sadly, 
 " only what Driscoll gave me far be it from me to 
 belittle it, for he put many a good thought into my
 
 WAITING 267 
 
 head. But you know a power from all you read, and 
 the College and the like. You'll be up in Dublin 
 doing great things, and maybe I'll be plodding away 
 down here. Who knows," he wound up wistfully, 
 " what we mightn't do between us, big and 
 small ? " 
 
 Maurice thought it all over at night while 
 Driscoll slept. What could he do ? Tom thought 
 him so learned, and he was so ignorant. All those 
 men who worked on newspapers knew Latin and 
 Greek and thousands of things, that he had hardly 
 heard of. The Star of Liberty itself often gave a Latin 
 quotation not to be found at the end of Nuttall's 
 English Dictionary the only Latin, except the list 
 of roots in the spelling-book, that he knew. But he 
 knew Irish, and he knew something of what people 
 were doing and thinking in the country. He already 
 had his column in The Star. A pound a week was 
 a great thing. But there was Alice ? Calculation 
 of the cost of living pushed aside his ideals for the 
 moment. That pound wasn't a certainty either. 
 Fortunately he had some of his salary of the last two 
 years. He had put it by to pay Driscoll for a share 
 in the expenses of the cottage. But Driscoll had 
 always refused it. He felt so hurt the last time it 
 was offered, that Maurice promised not to speak of 
 it again. It was nearly eighty pounds a small 
 fortune, he thought cheerfully for a moment. He 
 calculated again, with pencil and paper, and sighed. 
 He leant his arms on the table and stared at the 
 glow of the firelight on the lustre jugs on the 
 dresser. After all, The Star might solve everything. 
 The editor had written him flattering letters. Perhaps 
 he would give him more work ? 
 
 In this nebulous state of mind as to his future
 
 268 WAITING 
 
 Maurice set out for Dublin. One morning early, 
 while yet the sun struggled with a thin autumn haze 
 he drove with Driscoll, on one of Clancy's side-cars, 
 to catch the first train from Liscannow. His tin 
 trunk and two boxes of books were on ahead, in a 
 cart driven by Tom. 
 
 " Wrap the rug well round you," Driscoll said, 
 and fell into a doze. 
 
 They sat together on one side of the car, the 
 driver on the other. Driscojl, though very ill, had 
 insisted on coming. His peaked, livid face, as he 
 sat huddled up in the back of the seat, was the worst 
 blow of a hard parting. All the more because, for 
 the last few days, he had tried to be cheerful. His 
 hearty laugh became forced, and deepened the lines 
 about the corners of his lips. " All is for the best," 
 became a refrain, that cut Maurice like a whip every 
 time he heard it. If only the old man had blamed 
 him it would have been easier to leave. Milk carts 
 passed, with a rattle of tins, on the way to the 
 creamery, the drivers calling, " God speed you," or 
 " Good luck to you." Men, early afield, digging 
 potatoes, waved a hand or a spade or a hat. A 
 collie of Teigue Donlon's followed the car, wagging 
 his tail, for a hundred yards. Slieve Mor pushed its 
 massive outline through the haze now shot with 
 colour. The heavy rime on the leafless trees began 
 to sparkle. The old mill wheel, green with slime, a 
 gate, a stream, a stunted tree, smoke rising, in a 
 snaky whorl, from a gable on which he had played 
 handball as a boy all had some association that 
 made the drive more bitter for Maurice than the 
 good-byes of last night. 
 
 All Driscoll said on the platform was " You have 
 a home with me whenever you want it."
 
 WAITING 269 
 
 The memory of him, leaning heavily on Tom's 
 arm, his eyes fixed on the receding train, remained 
 with Maurice throughout the journey. He longed 
 to be back again at the school, watching Driscoll 
 give the open-air lesson in the garden, with the 
 fishermen on the shore, at the Irish class, listen- 
 ing to Jim Mescall's fiddle. Yet it was Driscoll 
 himself who had said : "You don't fit in here any 
 more you'd best to go," and Alice would be at 
 Kingsbridge station awaiting him. . . . 
 
 She wanted to know all about Driscoll. " Who is 
 to look after him ? " " Hanny will go down every 
 day and there's Bessy Reilly." 
 
 " That is something ; I must write to her. And 
 you must write to him often. Your heavy things 
 must go by the carrier ; we must be economical, so 
 we can't afford a cab. I've found the very room for 
 you between Fairview and Drumcondra a bed- 
 sitting-room and not far from us. Mother wants 
 you to come straight to us and have some food 
 you must be famished ; but we'll take in your 
 place on the way. Eight shillings a week it's the 
 cheapest I could get of the kind. Coals are extra, 
 but you'll only pay for what you use. The great 
 thing is that I know Mrs. Reed she'll look after 
 you well." 
 
 She said this in snatches as he arranged about 
 his luggage. They took the tram along the quay to 
 O'Connell Bridge. Though he had to carry a heavy 
 bag they walked to the Pillar. " Twopence saved 
 we'll want it more than the tram company." 
 
 "You're in a managing mood," he said grimly, 
 as they stood waiting for the tram. 
 
 " I am," she said demurely. " I proposed to 
 you, you know. 1 " She blushed crimson.
 
 270 WAITING 
 
 " I hope you'll like my mother," she said incon - 
 sequently. 
 
 She was silent until they arrived at Mrs. Reed's 
 door. He hardly noticed that she did not speak. 
 It was enough that she was near him. He looked 
 often out of the window at the half-familiar streets, 
 but it was more to catch the line of her face under 
 her fur toque. 
 
 He liked the house, and Mrs. Reed, and his 
 room. It was an old ramshackle cottage, with a 
 wooden porch that might have come from Bourneen. 
 So might Mrs. Reed, with her ample waist and 
 florid untownlike face. She came from Drimna, she 
 told him in a few minutes, " and though it's near 
 forty years ago I never took to city ways. And 
 what's more, I can't abide their eggs." The room 
 was large and clean, with windows back and front 
 " that keep out the rain," Mrs. Reed said, " but I 
 wouldn't be telling a lie about it not always the 
 draught. But sorra bit you'll feel that, if you only 
 pull the curtains." Strips of carpet were in front of 
 the bed, the fireplace, and the dressing-table. A 
 table and chair filled in the space between the head 
 of the narrow iron bedstead and the wall. " Hearing 
 you were a writing gentleman I put it there to keep 
 you out of the wind," Mrs. Reed said. She looked 
 him over. " You have the air of the country about 
 you, like myself," she said confidentially. " I can't 
 stand people with town airs on them, so I think we'll 
 suit each other well. And if you care for a fresh egg 
 with your breakfast, I have them of my own laying 
 you can hear a hen clucking in the yard this 
 minute." 
 
 As they walked across to Drumcondra, Alice 
 said, " I thought you'd feel more at home there."
 
 WAITING 271 
 
 The little one-storied cottage, off the high-road 
 beyond Drumcondra, to which she took him was not 
 unlike Mrs. Reed's. But paint and whitewash did 
 much to conceal dilapidation. The roof of small 
 slates, from constant patching with mortar, was 
 almost as white as the walls. Mrs. Barton opened 
 the door and welcomed Maurice quietly. He 
 followed her with his eyes as she moved about, with 
 Alice, preparing high tea. And sometimes, when 
 he had looked away for a moment and sought her 
 again, he found her eyes fixed on him inquiringly. 
 Her black dress, her brown hair with streaks of grey 
 in it, parted in the middle and worn flat, her calm 
 forehead, her eyes that seemed of great depth 
 because of shadows under the lids, were out of 
 keeping with the tawdry bamboo furniture. He 
 was puzzled by something familiar in her. He 
 imagined her in John Crawford's kitchen, a softer 
 suggestion of John, where she seemed more at home. 
 It was then he recognized that she was Alice grown 
 older, and somehow it made him glad. 
 
 During tea, if the conversation wandered from 
 Bourneen, she always brought it back with " the 
 threshing now ? Do they still make a great night of 
 it ? " or " Do the hurts grow as well as they used to 
 bylthe Reardons' big dyke ?" And always a little wist- 
 fully. After tea, when Alice had gone to the kitchen 
 to wash up, she put her hand on Maurice's, and said 
 timidly, " I'm glad." She hesitated, kissed him on 
 the forehead, and talked of her poultry. After- 
 wards she went out " to see to the fowl," she said, 
 and left them alone. The room was dark in the 
 twilight. Alice poked the fire. The flame lit up her 
 face and played on the bright polish of the furniture. 
 " Shall I light " she said, looking at him.
 
 272 WAITING 
 
 Their lips met. Her head rested on his shoulder 
 and her hair nestled against his chin. They sat 
 in front of the fire, and he told her what he 
 saw in her eyes and hair, and in the dimples in 
 her cheeks. She watched the fire with her lips 
 slightly parted. 
 
 " It's very foolish," she said, " but say more 
 of it." 
 
 Mrs. Barton brought in a lamp and sat with 
 them, talking of Bourneen till there was a loud knock 
 at the front door. 
 
 " Your father," she said guiltily to Alice, " and 
 his supper not ready." 
 
 She disappeared to the kitchen, while Alice 
 opened the door. 
 
 " Of course, of course. I'll take him as mildly 
 as a kitten," Maurice heard, in a boisterous voice, 
 and wished that he could withdraw through the 
 window. 
 
 " Where's this villain that wants to rifle the 
 nest ? not bad, eh ? but the wife keeps poultry, you 
 see," Mr. Barton shouted as he entered. " Hullo, 
 my fine fellow ! " He crushed Maurice's hand in a 
 big palm and clapped him on the shoulder with the 
 other hand. " Supper not ready ! this is nice 
 doings." 
 
 Alice ran out to help her mother. Mr. Barton 
 held Maurice away from him at an arm's length. 
 " Hum, hum," he said, a little disapprovingly. He 
 pulled down his own unruffled waistcoat, patted the 
 ends of his frock-coat, and rubbed his fingers 
 purringly over the silk facings. 
 
 Maurice was horribly conscious of the slight 
 frown on the handsome, regular, florid face. He 
 could see it even in the well-kept moustache, in the
 
 WAITING 273 
 
 wavy hair, brushed carefully from the side to hide its 
 thinness, and in the creased trousers that carried the 
 line of the Roman nose down to the highly varnished 
 boots. He looked ruefully at his own rumpled 
 waistcoat and baggy trousers. A thought struck 
 him and he smiled after all, Alice was more like her 
 mother. He looked up with some confidence, but 
 Mr. Barton's frown had already gone. 
 
 " You writing fellows are a caution I see them 
 sometimes where I peck in the middle of the day 
 down-in-the-leathers sort of chaps. But there 
 are some I see one with as natty a silk hat as 
 we ever sold at Scrutton's. That's what you have 
 to aim at. Take my word I know I'm not head 
 floor-walker for nothing. Don't be led away by the 
 wife or Alice. They're among the best, but they 
 never learned the value of good window-dressing." 
 He drew himself up and fingered his tie. 
 
 Settled down ? " 
 
 Maurice was feeling crushed, but he nodded 
 with a smile. 
 
 "Well, you'll soon be rolling in the shekels. 
 Alice showed me one or two things in The Star 
 rotten rag. They're not my kind. A little more 
 spice, eh ? Still it's a great thing to have one's 
 name in print. I wouldn't wonder if Alice had 
 done well for herself. We'll talk it all out again 
 sometime. I must be off and change these togs it 
 would never do to sit down in them. Care to look 
 at the racing special ? I had a flutter of a shilling 
 in a sweep on the Park Plate to-day, and I won, sir. 
 That gives a man an appetite for his food. Not 
 sorry you dropped the schoolmastering as for this 
 bother about religion, we make nothing of it at 
 Scrutton's," he added from the door. 
 
 T
 
 274 WAITING 
 
 Maurice spent a depressed few minutes while 
 Alice and her mother laid the table for a second 
 high tea. Would Mr. Barton be another com- 
 plication ? If he were only like Mrs. Barton ? When 
 he found out that he wasn't really a writing fellow ? 
 He stood leaning on the mantelpiece with a worried 
 brow. 
 
 Alice came in with a dish of bacon and 
 eggs. " Don't look like the grave," she said, 
 smiling as she arranged knives and forks. " If 
 dad bothers you, talk to him about roses but 
 here he comes." 
 
 Maurice drew a breath of relief. The jovial 
 face was there but all the stiff lines had gone from 
 the figure. Mr. Barton's manner had changed with 
 his clothes. The loose grey alpaca jacket, the baggy 
 trousers, the well-worn slippers, the flannel shirt and 
 soft collar made him less loud and assured. Or 
 was it the presence of Mrs. Barton who followed 
 him in ? 
 
 " If you're trying to keep your trousers straight 
 all day this is a relief," he said, with a glance down 
 his leg. 
 
 At supper he asked what his wife had been 
 doing. She told him at some length. He listened 
 appreciatively. Then Alice was put through a 
 catechism. 
 
 " Oh, and then you met the train and after that 
 a blank," he said, with a return of the boisterous 
 manner. He told of the doings at Scrutton's. He 
 was still relating the day's experience to Maurice 
 when Alice and her mother, after washing up, re- 
 joined them in the sitting-room. He waited 
 patiently while they opened work-boxes, then, taking 
 them into the circle with a wave of his hand,
 
 WAITING 275 
 
 he began again. " What did the manager say to 
 me ? Barton,' he said " 
 
 Alice snapped a thread on her finger and said 
 quietly 
 
 "Did Maurice tell you, dad, about Mr. 
 Driscoll's roses ? " 
 
 Mrs. Barton smiled and looked up at her husband 
 affectionately, resting her hands for a moment on her 
 knee. His eyes lit up Maurice thought how like 
 they were to Alice's with that look. 
 
 " No. Why didn't you tell me before and I 
 making conversation. What sorts has he ? " 
 
 At ten o'clock Mrs. Barton put away her work. 
 " Maurice must be tired, and you have to be up 
 early, Luke," she said gently. 
 
 " Come some Sunday, young man, or a Saturday 
 afternoon, when I'm free of that damn shop, and I'll 
 show you my patch. We keep the country in the 
 town here, don't we, Lizzie ? " 
 
 His wife smiled. 
 
 " Rus in urbe the dictionary says. I wanted to 
 paint it on the gate, but the wife and Alice wouldn't 
 let me. You'll do, young fellow. You have my 
 blessing. I must make a note of that tip about 
 grafting. Good night to you, and come soon 
 again." 
 
 Alice walked with him to the paling that separated 
 the narrow strip of garden from the road. She 
 locked the little wooden gate for the night. He 
 leant across it looking at the house. 
 
 " A house like that would cost a great deal in a 
 dear town like this," he said musingly. 
 
 " It wouldn't then it's old and has no hot 
 water nor, what do they call them ? modern con- 
 trivances."
 
 2j6 WAITING 
 
 " What would we want with them ? " 
 
 " What, indeed." 
 
 " Would you like it to be soon ? " 
 
 "When you like," she said, hardly above her 
 breath. And then, as he was going, " Only I'd like 
 to live under the mountain beyond Dundrum. 
 There's more air there, and a view of the sea."
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 IN a week Alice was to go to Tyrone for a month's 
 lecturing. After that she should be in Dublin for a 
 winter course at Glasnevin. They met every day. 
 In the mornings, muffled in an overcoat and rug, 
 Maurice worked. There were slight frosts at night, 
 his room was cold, and coal was expensive. At half- 
 past one he was always waiting at the end of the 
 Drumcondra tram, and, soon, there was only glorious 
 sunshine. Alice said it was a pity it wasn't summer ; 
 and he, regretting only that the days were not longer, 
 agreed. They explored Green Lanes, Raheny, Fing- 
 lass, and the Phoenix Park. From Donnybrook they 
 walked along the banks of the Dodder. Twice they 
 took the mountain road from Dundrum, round 
 by the back of St. Columba's College, and back 
 by the Moravian Cemetery. Somewhere between 
 Dundrum and the mountains they were to live, Alice 
 said. And there, on a patch of heath, high above 
 the road, with a clump of ragged fir trees, higher up, 
 between it and the sky, stood the very cottage she 
 had been dreaming of. If it were only empty 
 when .... 
 
 " When ? " he often asked himself after Alice 
 had gone ; and his depression answered " never." 
 He sent many articles to The Star, but they were 
 returned without a word. He found it hard to write 
 cheerful replies to Alice's spirited letters. Mr.
 
 278 WAITING 
 
 Barton's boisterous high spirits kept him away from 
 the only people he knew. The city, which he had 
 thought so beautiful, when walking through it with 
 Alice, seemed now a huge sore. All the broken 
 men of the country like himself, he said bitterly 
 had drifted there. They hung on the bridges, at 
 public-house doors, round the Pillar, at street corners, 
 or slouched in and out of the battered doorways of 
 old Georgian houses. Was this to be his fate ? . . . 
 
 One morning, with a rejected manuscript from 
 the office of The Star of Liberty, came a letter, signed 
 Louis Breslin, editor, asking him to call that after- 
 noon at four. Was it more work ? or was his 
 weekly folk-tale to be stopped ? He tried to write, 
 but the paper in front of him remained blank. He 
 thought of the cottage, with its background of firs, 
 and he glowed with hope. His vision faded away 
 in a grey mist, from which emerged a slum palace, 
 in a back street, sordid, grimy faces peering 
 through the few panes that were not stuffed with 
 sacking or boarded up. He shivered and lit the tiny 
 fire Mrs. Reed had laid in the grate. He piled on the 
 whole scuttle of coals and soon had a roaring fire. 
 When Mrs. Reed brought in his dinner she said 
 approvingly 
 
 "A man never did any good without he had 
 some heat in him, and you as thin as a lath too." 
 
 The tray was placed on his writing table, 
 where he ate the small chop to which he had 
 limited himself. He gazed hungrily at the bare 
 bone. What matter if he was spending more than 
 he earned he still had money in the savings bank. 
 He went out to the kitchen and asked for eggs. 
 
 At two o'clock he set out for The Star office in 
 Harcourt Street. The slob at Fairview seemed to
 
 WAITING 279 
 
 have lost the horrid smell that had been getting on 
 his nerves. Over the railway embankment he caught 
 a glimpse of laughing waves. A passing train, 
 between the sea and sky on the high, narrow 
 causeway, puffed joyfully. He took the tram to the 
 Pillar and did not see the dingy streets. He got to 
 Sackville Street at half-past two by the post office 
 clock. It was only a quarter of an hour's walk to 
 Harcourt Street, so he had an hour and a quarter to 
 dawdle away. He was looking at some prints in a 
 window when Mr. Barton shouted " Hallo ! " from 
 the door of a restaurant near by. " You're a nice 
 fellow 'pon my soul, you are. Deserting us ! Ha ! 
 ha ! There'll be a change, Saturday. Let me 
 whisper Alice coming home. 'Twas to be a secret 
 from you. We were to march over take you by 
 surprise. Thought I'd give you a hint only fair," 
 with a preternaturally sly look that stretched upwards 
 to his glossy hat. He glanced doubtfully at 
 Maurice's boots, at his hat, said " Ta, ta. Scrutton's'll 
 think I am lost," and marched off with his chest 
 well extended. 
 
 So that was why Alice asked him not to write, 
 after Friday, till she gave him another address. He 
 gazed at the retreating Mr. Barton and envied him 
 his assurance and self-confidence. If only he had 
 work before she came back. . . . 
 
 He walked up and down in front of The Star 
 office, with nervous glances at the dingy windows. 
 He felt cold and hot, took out his watch every few 
 minutes, returned to Stephen's Green, walked round 
 the railings twice, went into a tea-shop and ordered 
 tea which he did not take. . . . 
 
 At five minutes past four he was shown into the 
 editor's room. The hall and stairs had reminded
 
 280 WAITING 
 
 him of the slums, but this room was different. He 
 had read of these old houses. He had seen them 
 in almost every street, but had never been inside 
 one. Even in the half light the room gave a feeling 
 of air and space. He was following the line of the 
 cornice when a voice said quietly 
 
 You like it ? " 
 
 Maurice looked round. A dapper little man, 
 holding in his hands the ends of a half-unwound 
 white silk muffler, was gazing at him with lazy 
 brown eyes. 
 
 " I do I feel I do. But then, 1 know nothing 
 of architecture," Maurice said hesitatingly. 
 
 " Ah ! that is it to feel. It is so easy to know," 
 the other said with more interest. 
 
 He unwound the muffler and laid it, beside his 
 hat and overcoat, on a chair. He turned on the 
 lights, poked the fire, asked Maurice to take a chair, 
 and sat himself behind a table covered with papers. 
 
 He tapped his well-kept nails with a pencil. 
 
 " You never read The Star of Liberty" he said 
 suddenly. 
 
 " No that is sometimes that is 
 
 " I know your own folk-tale in the Friday 
 issue." 
 
 Maurice blushed. Breslin's eyes were grave, 
 though an ironic smile curled the corners of his lips. 
 " You know the Satyricon ? " he said dryly. 
 
 Maurice looked blank. 
 
 " Not Petronius ? What a pity. It doesn't matter. 
 Folk is not a bad substitute. Are you going to live 
 in town ? What did you do in the country, by the 
 way?" 
 
 Maurice told him ; also, in reply to further 
 questions, why he left.
 
 WAITING 281 
 
 Breslin balanced the pencil on his forefinger. 
 Maurice spoke to the pencil with an occasional look 
 at Breslin's face, at the pallid whiteness of the skin 
 above the closely-trimmed black beard, flecked with 
 grey, at the high forehead, over which a lock of grey 
 hair fell negligently. 
 
 " So you were kicked out I suppose it was 
 better than resigning. Very interesting and very 
 foolish." He got up and stood with his back to the 
 fire, his hands under his coat-tails. The brown eyes 
 seemed to look through the wall opposite. " I did 
 something of the kind once myself, but it was long 
 a very long time ago." His eyes dropped to a 
 chair. " That's a good piece of Chippendale ? " 
 
 Maurice shook his head. 
 
 " You write well though. Gad, some of those 
 tales were good a little Homerish, a hint of 
 Rabelais. That last one held my breath. In a 
 saint's mouth too ! The man who tacked a saint's 
 name on to that tale had the irony of Anatole France 
 it came straight from Olympus or from a lover 
 of Maeve. I split my sides laughing at the chance 
 of putting it on the Reverend breakfast tables under 
 the patronage of St. Patrick himself. It makes me 
 laugh again to think of it." His shoulders moved 
 a little, and the ends of his waistcoat, but there was 
 no sound, nor did his face seem mirthful. 
 
 Maurice shrugged his shoulders. " I only 
 translated them," he said simply. 
 
 " My dear sir, I didn't say you invented them. 
 If you had but I'm getting too old for prostrations 
 and it's bad for one's clothes. But you found the 
 right word that I'll swear, though I don't know 
 Irish and that's something." 
 
 He moved his chair to the table and sat down
 
 282 WAITING 
 
 again, pulling his beard softly. " Now about those 
 other things of yours they won't do at all you'd 
 know it yourself if you read The Star diligently." 
 
 " Not good enough ? " Maurice said resignedly. 
 " I did my best, though, to make them true to life." 
 He looked at the marble mantelpiece with a 
 puzzled frown. 
 
 " Adams," Breslin said. He chuckled, this time 
 andibly. " Truth ! ah, indeed, what is it ? And 
 you versed in the irony of folk too ! Truth ! 
 pestiferous thing ! a weary search, and the reward 
 dust and ashes. I told you I tried the game once." 
 He waved his hand round the room, " I had to 
 pawn all these 'twas years before I was able to 
 redeem them. No, my friend, your truth won't do 
 at all on the subjects of those articles you sent me," 
 he added gravely after a pause. " Priests and 
 politicians and gombeen men ! " gazing pensively at 
 the decoration on the celling. " All the regular 
 subscribers to The Star ! The whole truth about 
 them is found in my leading articles. I hold the 
 mirror up to nature none of your vulgar mirrors 
 that reflect a pimple or a squint or a crooked tie, 
 but a magic mirror." He leant back and stroked 
 his beard. " Hey, presto ! I hold it up, and you 
 see men, not perhaps as they are, nor even as they 
 see themselves, but as they wish the world to see 
 them. Who knows ? " he added with a shrug. 
 
 Maurice laughed. " I'm afraid my things won't 
 do," he said dryly, standing up. 
 
 " Don't go yet. I've a few minutes before the 
 infernal grind begins. Sit down a moment. I like 
 your stuff. It's a weakness, of course." He 
 fingered a Georgian inkstand. " Write me a series I 
 don't see why you shouldn't keep it on indefinitely
 
 WAITING 283 
 
 simple, non-controversial things a threshing, 
 games in the country, a fair, a market, a ceilidhe 
 the thousand and one things. I warn you, I'll blue 
 pencil anything dangerous. Irony if you are able 
 and if it is sufficiently elusive I'd like 'em to have 
 a flavour. Thank God for small mercies," he added 
 whimsically, " the devils aren't too subtle." 
 
 " I might try," Maurice said doubtfully. 
 
 " Oh, you'll do 'em all right I've no doubt 
 about that. If you're bursting with what you call 
 the truth misguided man there are other rags 
 that would be glad to have it. They won't pay 
 you poor devils they're always going smash, but 
 there's always one about. I'm afraid I must begin 
 to work. Call again I'm free from four to five, or 
 better still, Saturday nights, any hour, at my digs 
 at Dundrum. Supper at seven bachelor pot luck." 
 He stood up. " Those articles about fourteen 
 hundred words one or, maybe, two a week say a 
 pound each say thirty shillings. There's the 
 Dundrum address." He shook hands, walked half- 
 way across the room with Maurice, said " a moment," 
 turned back to the desk, took a plain, brown paper 
 covered booklet from under a heap of proofs. 
 " Put it in your pocket privately printed those 
 bishops ! selections from Petronius I envy you 
 the mot juste though." 
 
 Maurice walked down the stairs half dazed, the 
 beautiful room and the trim Breslin still in his eyes. 
 Surely he was impossible, he thought, as he stood in 
 the grimy hall. Three or four pallid men passed 
 him by and down a long passage to the back 
 printers, he supposed. When he got to the street, 
 he crossed over and gazed at the dingy house. 
 The light from a street lamp fell on a discoloured
 
 284 WAITING 
 
 board, under the first-floor windows, u The Star of 
 Liberty," printed on it in large letters. Breslin 
 seemed even more unreal. It was all a joke. And 
 he was to write nice, harmless things ! He raged, 
 along the Green, against The Star of Liberty, Breslin, 
 bishops, and publicans. In the middle of Grafton 
 Street he was composing a sketch of a country 
 wedding. He liked it. At the gate of Trinity he 
 thought of Alice. He stood gaping at the dimly 
 lighted archway, at other lights beyond, at the 
 uniform of the porter who lounged into the light. 
 
 That cap Why these articles changed his 
 
 position completely. The realization was a shock. 
 He steadied himself by touching the railings. His 
 fingers tingled. He stuck his hands in his overcoat 
 pocket and walked on. With his folk column two 
 pounds ten a week, perhaps four pounds. It was 
 wealth untold. More than enough for that cottage. 
 He leant against the parapet of O'Connell bridge 
 and watched the lights, in long broken flames, 
 swaying deep down in the water. And there was 
 still seventy pounds in the savings bank far more 
 than they'd need for furniture. He walked on. 
 Tram cars flashed gay lights at him. In the dark 
 vault above the wires, the stars had a kind look. 
 He jostled against a soldier and his sweetheart and 
 lifted his hat. " The bloke is blind," in response 
 made him smile. He had got to the top of Sackville 
 Street before he noticed that he had passed the Pillar 
 and his tram. He railed against himself for think- 
 ing so much about money. It was an insult to 
 Alice too. He watched people go in to the Gaelic 
 League Rooms. He would take that up again 
 and other things. And those other papers what 
 matter if they didn't pay. . . .
 
 WAITING 285 
 
 He posted the sketch before going to bed. Two 
 days afterwards he had a proof and a note from 
 Breslin : " That's the stuff. Do two a week." 
 
 He took the afternoon train to Dundrum. A 
 policeman, busy warming his gloved hands in the 
 waiting-room, knew all about the cottage. 
 
 " A lonesome place and windy they call it 
 * The Firs ' and to be got for a song, for all the 
 year round. Sonny Fogarty has the letting of it," 
 he said with friendly interest. " I'll show you the 
 way to him." 
 
 Maurice saw the cottage a living room, a 
 scullery, two bedrooms and a loft under Sonny 
 Fogarty's guidance. 
 
 " There's great accommodation in the loft," Sonny 
 said impressively. " You could put this and that in 
 it, or a bed, and be kept warm at night by the heat 
 of the kitchen fire." He waxed eloquent over the 
 eave-shoots, and a green and white water-barrel out- 
 side the scullery door, " and the spring well, by the 
 clump of furze beyond, couldn't be beat for coldness 
 even in the middle of summer." 
 
 " The sea and the mountains aren't everybody's 
 bargain," Sonny said doubtfully. But Maurice was 
 thinking of Bourneen, of which the sea, stretching 
 away beyond Howth Head, reminded him. His 
 abstraction saved him something in the rent, for 
 Sonny hastened to make apologies for mountain and 
 sea. " Nearly always, they are as quiet as a lamb, 
 and if they'd get headstrong itself, why, with the 
 porch in front, and the way the door is set in it, and 
 the scullery behind, not a breath can come at you." 
 As Maurice still made no sign, he went on excitedly, 
 the fat shaking in waves all over his enormous figure, 
 for he was six feet two, and broad and deep, " It's
 
 286 WAITING 
 
 none of them cottages with a clay floor to it, but the 
 best of a boarded floor in the kitchen sorra quality 
 house in the country has better. And signs on it 
 ladies are running over each other, in the summer 
 months, trying to get it. Real quality, though they 
 often tramp about the grass without a shoe or 
 stocking to their foot it's a way the quality have 
 if they're given to dabbing paint on a piece of paper 
 and calling it a cow, or the peep of dawn or the like. 
 Howsomever, I don't deny I'd rather a yearly tenant, 
 being a load ofF a man's mind. What'd you say 
 to ten pounds a year now ? " 
 
 Maurice said "All right," cheerfully. His ready 
 acceptance depressed Sonny. " It's giving it away, 
 I am," he said, throwing out his hands despairingly, 
 his ridiculous boyish treble taking a sharper note : 
 " all them cupboards in holes and corners, and that 
 grand brick pavement round the fire to warm your 
 toes on of a winter's night, and a gravel path fornint 
 the front door, and and all the other conveniences." 
 He gave a sigh that shook his whole frame. As 
 they walked back to Dundrum he became more 
 cheerful. " The wife she's a small woman in size 
 but powerful in the tongue, sorra woman in Dun- 
 drum has half her virtue in it she often says to me 
 by the way of no harm, ' Sonny, you're a fool.' And 
 I wouldn't say but she's right. But then, ten 
 pounds isn't bad for an airy house the like of that, 
 that's too dear for them that it'd suit to take it in 
 the middle of winter, and too small for them that 
 could pay for it." He was still trying to explain 
 this cryptic statement as they signed an agreement. 
 In handing over the key he said timidly, " Meaning 
 no disrespect, but seeing that I don't know you from 
 Adam, would you think it'd be presuming on you to
 
 WAITING 287 
 
 ask you for a trifle down, to show that you're in 
 earnest ? " 
 
 Maurice walked home. Now and again he put 
 his hand in his pocket and fingered the key with 
 a feeling of satisfaction. It was a gloomy walk, 
 between high demesne walls, dimly lit at long 
 intervals by gas lamps, but his feet struck the road 
 cheerfully. He saw the stars and was happy. Alice 
 was coming on Saturday. Poor old Driscoll they 
 would have him up to stay with them. He laughed 
 at the recollection of Father Mahon. The laugh 
 died away thinly and his steps became slower. It 
 flashed through his mind that he was not yet done 
 with Father Mahon. He touched the key again, but 
 it had lost its power of assurance. He had the 
 house, but was not yet married. There was still the 
 dispensation to get. The high walls took on a 
 sinister aspect. He stood for a moment at the 
 frowning entrance to a big demesne. He idly won- 
 dered who lived there. Then he laughed harshly. 
 It was a convent, of course, or a monastery. All the 
 big places round Dublin were occupied by priests or 
 nuns. The long arm of Father Mahon stretched 
 everywhere. Resignation was preached to those 
 wretches in the slums from these palaces. But this 
 mood did not last long. Some inborn instinct, of 
 his faith or his peasant training, made him take oflF 
 his hat almost unconsciously and say reverently, 
 " May God forgive me for criticising them." Dris- 
 coll often said, too, that " one wasn't to judge the old 
 faith by its priests, and if it went to that, some of 
 them were as good as you'd meet in a day's walk." 
 All the same, he thought one would have more trust 
 in them if they were a little more like the religion 
 they professed. There he was at his criticising
 
 288 WAITING 
 
 again ! He stepped out quickly to shake off these 
 thoughts. The next convent wall brought them 
 back. Lamps became more frequent. A tram was 
 standing at the end of a track. He entered it. 
 The lights, and two old women discussing a rise in 
 the price of sugar, made him calmer. He bought 
 an evening paper and tried to read it, but the dis- 
 pensation worried him. He would see some priest 
 about it. They were not all Father Mahons. That 
 old friar, to whom he had been to confession in the 
 church off the quay, seemed kind. The tram began 
 to move. He held the paper open in front of him, 
 but, over it, he studied intently an advertisement of 
 some desiccated soup, which appeared and dis- 
 appeared as the heads of the old women opposite 
 bobbed up and down. . . . 
 
 He got off the tram at O'Connell Bridge and 
 was soon in the church. A few lights struggled 
 against the dust, and a haze that came in from the 
 river. Several people were praying in the nave. 
 The seats round the confessionals, in the aisles, 
 were packed. He wondered why there were so 
 many people, till he remembered that it was the eve 
 of the first Friday of the month. He prayed 
 awhile, and took his place in the queue at Father 
 Evangelist's box. As penitent after penitent was 
 heard he moved up slowly on the long seat, nearer 
 to the confessional. The dark shadows, the muttered 
 prayers, the jingling of beads, the click of the slides 
 of the confession boxes, the immense indrawn 
 sigh that seemed to fill the gaunt, stuffy church, 
 made him impatient and irritable. . . . 
 
 Father Evangelist opened the slide and blessed 
 him. 
 
 " How long since your last confession ? "
 
 WAITING 289 
 
 " I don't want confession. It's about a marriage. 
 How is a Catholic to get a dispensation to marry a 
 Protestant ? " he said hesitatingly. 
 
 The old priest lifted the curtain in front of the 
 box, so that the dim light shone a little on Maurice's 
 face. He peered closely. 
 
 "Hum, hum. Well, well. What a question 
 to pop at a man. Maybe, you'd better make your 
 confession after all I'd be better able to advise 
 you." 
 
 " I only want to know how to get the dis- 
 pensation." 
 
 " Well, I'm hurried anyway to-night," the priest 
 said with a sigh. " Look for it, you mean for you 
 might get it or you might not. It's not as easy here 
 as in some other places. But that's neither here 
 nor there, for we poor friars have nothing to say to 
 it. The seculars keep the like of that to themselves. 
 Go to your parish priest, my son, and he'll tell you 
 what to do or what not to do in the matter. Doing 
 nothing is often the wisest in an affair of the kind. 
 Where do you live now ? " 
 
 Maurice told him. 
 
 " Oh, that's Father Cafferley a wise man. See 
 him. God bless you, my son." He waved his 
 hand as he shut the slide. 
 
 It was not much progress, Maurice thought, as 
 he left the church, but at least he knew whom to 
 ask. When he reached his lodgings he found a 
 letter from Alice. She and her father were coming 
 to tea with him on Saturday. At first she intended 
 to surprise him, but it would be dreadful if he 
 should not be at home, or if there was no plum 
 cake. He forgot the dispensation in a discussion 
 with Mrs. Reed on the possibilities of the tea. 
 
 u
 
 290 WAITING 
 
 " Of course, 'tis no trouble at all," she said, 
 looking round the room critically. " A screen I have 
 without can be put round the bed, and the wash- 
 stand hid behind it. And I'll bring in my best 
 cups and teapot, and make a real country cake 
 for ye." 
 
 " A plum cake ? " he said diffidently. 
 
 " I would and welcome," she said doubtfully, 
 " but it has a habit of never rising for me. You'd 
 best buy it. It's better to be sure than sorry." 
 
 He wrote to Alice to Tyrone, and another note 
 to Drumcondra, lest she might miss the first. He 
 sat for a couple of hours over a sketch for Breslin, 
 but the thought of seeing Father Cafferley, and the 
 tea, kept the end of his pen against his teeth. He 
 threw it down on an unfinished page and went 
 to bed. 
 
 Though he dreamed of the tea, Father Cafferley 
 occupied his mind when he awoke. At breakfast he 
 inquired of Mrs. Reed where the parish priest lived. 
 For the first time he learned that she was not a 
 Catholic. 
 
 " I am not his kind," she said, " but to be sure 
 I know his house well a decent looking, distant 
 man that keeps himself to himself." 
 
 At ten o'clock, following Mrs. Reed's elaborate 
 directions, he set out by the priest's house. As he 
 rang the door opened, and a smartly dressed, elderly 
 priest stood on the threshold. He looked at 
 Maurice keenly, said " Well ? " and began to button 
 a grey suede glove. 
 
 " Father Cafferley ? " 
 
 " Your business ? I'm in a hurry- just going 
 into town." 
 
 " May I have a few minutes "
 
 WAITING 291 
 
 " You've wasted that already surely one of the 
 curates will do, they are inside." 
 " I would rather speak to you." 
 Father Cafferley made a gesture of impatience, 
 adjusted his well-ironed hat to a slightly rakish angle, 
 brushed a speck of dust off a boot with the glove 
 he had not yet put on, looked at Maurice super- 
 ciliously, and said sharply 
 
 " This is come in here." He banged the door, 
 and led the way into a small room in which there 
 was a desk and a bookcase. " Well ? " he said 
 again, standing with his hat on, and folding his 
 umbrella with neatness and precision. 
 
 Maurice was fascinated by the glossy figure, by 
 the gloss of the hat, of the freshly shaven face, of 
 the collar, of the satin stock, of the clothes, of the 
 heavy gold watchchain, of the pointed boots. Even 
 the umbrella was covered with some glossy stuff 
 that reflected the light. It was folded to a thin 
 stick as Maurice said 
 
 " I want a dispensation for a mixed marriage. 
 Could I trouble ' 
 
 " Do you belong to this parish ? " 
 
 " I lodge in Briar Lane." 
 
 " Oh, there ! " with another look at Maurice's 
 clothes. " With whom ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Reed." 
 
 Father Cafferley pursed his lips, his snub nose 
 inclining upwards thoughtfully. 
 
 " Don't know her. A Catholic ? " 
 
 " I believe not." 
 
 "Oh!" lowering his voice an octave. "A 
 lodger, you say ? Here to-day and away to-morrow, 
 and bothering me ! It is really too bad, my good 
 man. But everybody in this world is unreasonable.
 
 292 WAITING 
 
 You come from the country I see by " his eyes 
 said " clothes " " by your accent." He spoke 
 himself as if he suffered from adenoids. "You 
 have a parish priest of your own, I presume ? Go 
 to him." 
 
 " He has refused me." 
 " Oh ! Who is he ? " 
 
 " Father Mahon, of Bourneen, near Liscannow." 
 
 Father Cafferley pursed his lips again. " I 
 
 know him well a most respectable and distinguished 
 
 priest, one of the staunchest supporters of our 
 
 Catholic Truth Society, spoken of for a bish " 
 
 His voice had lost its patronizing tone and he spoke 
 sharply. " My good man, this puts an entirely 
 different complexion on the affair. I can do nothing. 
 Do you intend to stay in this parish ? " he added 
 doubtfully. 
 " No." 
 
 "Then that settles it," the priest said with 
 relief. " One's own parishioners are bad enough," 
 he continued, with a rising angry inflection, " but 
 every every man from the whole country comes 
 up here bothering us Dublin priests. Good morn- 
 ing, sir, you've already kept me an unconscionable 
 time." He drew out a heavily cased gold watch. 
 " I've lost ten minutes of my valuable time with you." 
 Maurice, whose anger was slowly growing, 
 managed to restrain himself. He asked quietly, 
 " Can I get no priest in Dublin to attend to this ? " 
 He was retreating backward towards the door, under 
 pressure of the point of the umbrella under Father 
 Cafferley 's arm. 
 
 " Oh, they might listen to you at the Vicariate." 
 "Listen ? " Maurice said bitterly : "and send the 
 fool further, I suppose."
 
 WAITING 293 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! " Father CafFerley laughed, " not 
 bad that. I must tell it to the vicars, they'll enjoy 
 it." They were now at the front door. The priest 
 descended the steps, turned round and said, "The 
 Vicariate," chuckled, set his face gravely, and strutted 
 away along the pavement. 
 
 From the top step, a fierce anger clouding his 
 brain, Maurice watched him till he disappeared 
 round a corner. Was it any use going to the 
 Vicariate ? he asked himself, without troubling about 
 the reply. He wandered through the streets, seeing 
 nothing. Unconsciously he must have had a purpose, 
 for he found himself inquiring for the Vicariate. A 
 policeman shook his head. " I never heard tell of 
 the like." He asked a sacristan who was beating 
 mats against the railings in front of a church. 
 " The next house," he said. 
 
 " The vicars ? It isn't their day," the man who 
 opened the door said. Maurice's distrait look must 
 have appealed to him for he added, " But by 
 accident there's one of 'em within he might see 
 you." 
 
 A kind old priest listened patiently to his tale, 
 though, at times, he interjected gently, "This is 
 highly informal, highly informal." When he had 
 heard all the circumstances he said, after some 
 reflection, " You couldn't put a little more pressure 
 on her ? all for the good of her soul, you know." 
 
 Maurice shook his head. 
 
 The old man spoke, at length, of domiciles and 
 quasi-domiciles, letters of freedom, application 
 direct to Rome, the expense, the necessity of 
 observing an orderly procedure. 
 
 " What am I to do then ? " Maurice asked, 
 bewildered.
 
 294 WAITING 
 
 " It's exceedingly complicated," the priest said, 
 and he again gave a long rambling explanation of 
 domicile which Maurice was unable to follow. " So 
 you see, all things considered, far the best thing for 
 you is to make friends with your parish priest in the 
 country. What did you say his name was ? Father 
 Mahon I think I've heard of him. A good man, 
 I'm sure, at the bottom, if you'd only take him the 
 right way." 
 
 "So that is all," Maurice said drearily. 
 
 " Only that you have my sympathy any poor 
 fellow in trouble has it," the priest said, rising, " and 
 pray pray that's the great thing." 
 
 Maurice wandered again through the streets. 
 Somewhere away at the back of his mind there was 
 something worrying him. He knew it was there 
 by a dull ache in the pit of his stomach. But he 
 did not try to bring it into consciousness. Besides, 
 there was so much to see. The surface of his mind 
 was keenly alert. He was interested in the traffic, 
 in a type of van horse that he saw for the first time, 
 in the faces of the crowd. Priests passed there 
 seemed hundreds of them. For no particular reason 
 that he was conscious of, he looked at them more 
 closely than at the other passers-by. He saw them 
 as so many foppish and jaunty Father Cafferleys, 
 or scowling Father Mahons, or earnest Father 
 Malones. That one had the kind of face of the old 
 vicar, this was like Father Delahunty he looked for 
 the dogs at his heels and was disappointed at not 
 seeing them. He watched a football match through 
 the college railings, and the gulls wheeling over the 
 river by O'Connell Bridge. . . . 
 
 He got home late and worked feverishly far into 
 the night. He was awakened out of a dreamless
 
 WAITING 295 
 
 sleep by Mrs. Reed's voice shouting through the 
 half-opened door : 
 
 " I didn't like to waken you before, you were 
 that sound. But it's near dinner-time and the 
 people coming to tea, and the room to be done up, 
 and aired. You can make dinner and breakfast of the 
 one meal, and then, be off with you till I settle things 
 up. And don't forget the cake when you're out." 
 
 The tea was hardly a success. The plum cake 
 was good. The soda cake was done to a turn. 
 Alice, who arrived looking her best and in high 
 spirits, soon had a sad expression in her eyes. 
 Maurice was moody and depressed to begin with. 
 Mr. Barton's hilarious anecdotes of his life at 
 Scrutton's, when, as a young man, he "lived in," 
 evoked stony smiles from Maurice and made him 
 only more and more silent. Anger pent up in him 
 since he left the Vicariate yesterday, seemed now to 
 choke him. His lips were dry and his tongue stuck 
 to his palate. He wanted to use explosive language, 
 but he had to listen to those stories about Scrutton's. 
 Alice's smiles became fewer and fewer. He caught 
 her looking at him and tried to smile. It must have 
 been a sickly effort, he thought, as he caught her 
 anxious glance a few seconds later. She lowered 
 her eyes quickly and he sat staring at her with a 
 frown. At last Mr. Barton rose. 
 
 "A very pleasant visit, Blake. We enjoyed 
 ourselves eh, Alice ? " 
 
 " What is it ? " Alice asked, lingering behind. 
 
 "That damned dispensation," Maurice said 
 angrily. 
 
 " Oh, that ! " she said with relief. She gave a 
 low laugh. " I'll be at the tram at eleven to- 
 morrow and we can go somewhere."
 
 296 WAITING 
 
 She had never seemed more desirable, yet he 
 was glad he was alone. He was angry with Barton 
 for coming, though he shrank from the possibility 
 of any intimate talk with Alice. What was he 
 going to do about the marriage ? And to-morrow 
 he should have to make some explanation to Alice. 
 He seized his hat and went out. He tried to think, 
 but all sorts of irrelevant details filled his mind 
 Father Cafferley's gloves and Father Mahon's pro- 
 truding under-lip and the Adams mantelpiece in 
 Breslin's room. He boarded a passing tram and 
 spelled out the advertisements. At the Pillar he 
 changed into another tram without thinking of 
 where it was going. Alice took it too lightly, he 
 thought. The next moment he muttered between 
 his teeth that she was right. He was not going to 
 be crushed by Father Mahon. . . . 
 
 Three hours later he stood under a lamp-post 
 in Dundrum deciphering Breslin's address from a 
 crumpled card which he found, after long searching, 
 in the pocket of his waistcoat. The name 
 " Dundrum " on the post office had just reminded 
 him of Breslin's invitation and luckily this was 
 Saturday night. His anger had spent itself till only 
 a dull resentment remained more against himself, 
 for his boorishness at tea, than against Father Mahon 
 for placing obstacles in the way of his marriage, or 
 against Father CafFerley for his cynical indifference. 
 There must be some way out of the difficulty. 
 Thousands of mixed marriages took place every 
 year. No matter how active was Father Mahon's 
 hostility there must be some way of overcoming it. 
 
 A passing errand boy pointed out the way to 
 Breslin's house. He was still seated at the table 
 in the dining-room, when Maurice was shown in.
 
 WAITING 297 
 
 A book lay back upwards beside him. He held a 
 coffee cup half-way to his lips. The only light in 
 the room, except a glowing fire, a low shaded lamp 
 on the table, was turned towards a picture on the 
 wall opposite, a bunch of carnations in a cut-glass 
 tumbler. 
 
 " Stand here, just behind me you get it ? " 
 " It seems all right," Maurice said indifferently. 
 Breslin shrugged his shoulders, murmured, 
 a Poor Fantin," stood up, and turned on more 
 lights. " Some supper ? " he said. 
 
 Maurice said he did not want to eat. 
 " Take that armchair then, and we shall have 
 some coffee by the fire it's warmer here than in 
 my study. Do you like this room ?" 
 
 " It's different," Maurice hesitated, his eyes on 
 Breslin's coloured jacket. " The other room is 
 
 severe, this is a riot " 
 
 " That's better you see." He waved his arm : 
 " this colour scheme starts from my smoking jacket. 
 It takes one out of the damned grey of the country 
 the grey skies, and the hideous grey slates, and 
 the grey lives of the people. They have grey souls 
 if we could only see them." 
 
 " The people would have some colour in their 
 lives if they only got the chance," Maurice said, 
 taking a cigarette from a box which Breslin held out. 
 Breslin laughed ironically. " The country is 
 dying," he said lightly. He waved a hand to the 
 pictures on the walls. "An opiate for me for the 
 others," he jerked his hand towards the window, 
 " the green and gold sentimentality of The Star and 
 the Church." 
 
 " Nonsense the country has only begun to 
 live. Everywhere there are signs "
 
 298 WAITING 
 
 " I've seen them so often there's a monthly 
 rose in bloom in the garden outside now, in 
 December pretty illusions." 
 
 " Illusions that will burst up The Star some 
 day," Maurice said doggedly. 
 
 " Youth ! " Breslin said dryly. " Have more 
 coffee ? You are looking at that mantelpiece 
 picked it up in an old house in William Street. 
 Take my word for it, young man, the golden rule 
 in life is to back the strongest side one has power 
 it's a pretty toy and those," he waved his hand 
 again towards the pictures. " You've knocked your 
 head against the Church once a second knock 
 might be fatal." 
 
 Maurice frowned, and threw his cigarette into 
 the fire. 
 
 " Say it out," Breslin drawled, his lazy eyes 
 gleaming a little. " You can damn priests and 
 bishops as much as you like in this room. Outside 
 
 well, I'm the editor of The Star, and " His 
 
 eyes wandered to the table. He stretched out a 
 hand, took up the book, and turned over a few 
 leaves. " Riders to the Sea," he said, " as strong 
 as anything in Aeschylus and more simple. But 
 all his plays are good. The Playboy " 
 
 "Why, you damned it ten times in your 
 paper." 
 
 " Did I ? " He shrugged his shoulders. " Well, 
 I'll give you ten reasons for thinking it one of the 
 best plays that has yet come out of Ireland." 
 
 He spoke for three or four minutes with some 
 enthusiasm, took up the poker, tapped idly at a big 
 lump of coal in the grate, stopped in the middle of 
 a sentence before he had finished with his first 
 reason, and said abruptly
 
 WAITING 299 
 
 " Tell me where you got your faith ? " 
 
 Maurice was taken aback. "I just believe the 
 country will come right," he said emphatically. 
 
 " Yes, yes but why ? " Breslin said, leaning 
 back in his chair and watching the fire. 
 
 " For a thousand reasons," Maurice said. 
 
 When he tried to put them into words, they 
 sounded very thin in his own ears. He looked at 
 Breslin anxiously now and again, but his eyes were 
 fixed on the fire. 
 
 "A handful of jealous small farmers working 
 together and sinking their differences, an old school- 
 master with ideals, a priest with a love of his people, 
 a few women capable of sacrifice, a growing tolerance 
 of the religious views of others. It may not seem 
 much to you to build a nation on," Maurice wound 
 up, "but it makes my faith unshakable." 
 
 " A carpenter's son and a camel driver influenced 
 millions," Breslin said musingly. " It is the faith 
 itself that is puzzling the weakness or strength of 
 the evidence doesn't matter a rap. Do these people 
 share your faith ? " 
 
 " They do." 
 
 " And that brother of yours who dislikes The 
 Star ? A Leaguer too, you say ? Is he active in 
 politics ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, The Star can change its policy if he 
 wins ! It would be interesting to run a paper again 
 on lines one shouldn't despise. But I hope not 
 I hope not. One might be tempted to believe, 
 and faith is too harrowing," with a wry smile. He 
 poked the fire to a blaze. " After all, Father Mahon 
 drove you out, though you had all these people at 
 your back," he said slyly.
 
 300 WAITING 
 
 " That can't happen in a few years," Maurice 
 said hopefully. " The people want a little more 
 courage. Many of them see clearly enough give 
 them a little time and they will act." 
 
 " Meanwhile I warm myself at the clerical fire," 
 Breslin said, spreading out his hands. He changed 
 the conversation, and talked of poetry. 
 
 Maurice listened in wonder. Poems that he 
 vaguely liked discovered new and undreamt-of 
 beauties on Breslin's lips. Maurice forgot the 
 leading articles in The Star, the cynical view of life, 
 in Breslin's fine rapture over Shelley something 
 in his eyes too, some tone in his voice was sympa- 
 thetic and sincere. . . . 
 
 A reference to a folk tale led Maurice to speak 
 of Bourneen, and of his life there. Unconsciously 
 he drifted into a full account of his leaving, of Alice, 
 of the difficulties about his marriage. 
 
 " t Damn it," Breslin said irritably, when Maurice 
 spoke of Father Cafferley. He laughed. " Poor 
 old CafFerley. I wonder where he was off to 
 at that hour it was too early for a tea party in 
 some publican's back parlour. That light tenor 
 voice of his hasn't cracked yet. It keeps him in great 
 request. If you had your clothes made by Scott 
 
 he'd have given you more time, but " he looked 
 
 at Maurice's clothes. "Anyhow, he didn't think 
 you worth his trouble. I don't know that he could 
 do anything for you in any case. I tell you what 
 I'd do, if I were so foolish as to be getting married 
 and wasn't editor of The Star in fact, if I were you : 
 I'd go quietly to a registry office and let all their 
 reverences, reverend and most reverend, go to hell." 
 
 Maurice stared at him, a troubled look in his 
 eyes. " That never struck me," he said slowly.
 
 WAITING 301 
 
 Breslin was now excited. He stood up and 
 walked to and fro, rumpling with his fingers the 
 thick locks of hair on his forehead. 
 
 " No, you wouldn't think of it. You fellows 
 who kick against the tyranny of the clergy make me 
 sick. You talk and talk, and then lie down meekly 
 under their most extravagant pretensions you're all 
 afraid to fight them with their own weapons." He 
 stood still, looking at the fire. After a few seconds 
 he gave a low chuckle. " If I hadn't to sit frock- 
 coated every Sunday under the pulpit in the parish 
 church I'd make 'em sit up." This seemed to 
 amuse him so much that he laughed again. 
 
 " It's not fear," Maurice said. " Isn't it a 
 sin ? " 
 
 Breslin looked at him pityingly through half- 
 closed lids. 
 
 " Sin," he said musingly : " that opens up a pretty 
 discussion but it would take half the night," he 
 looked at an old clock on the mantelpiece, " and 
 if you want to catch the last train we shouldn't have 
 well begun before you leave. A sin to break that 
 trumpery regulation about mixed marriages ! After 
 all, the idea of sin has a certain dignity. That's 
 degrading it. This blessed dispensation that they've 
 been making such a fuss about with you, sending 
 you from pillar to post like a fool what is it ? 
 Only the pope dispenses, the theology books say. 
 Though the fact is that every bishop I'm told our 
 bishop here doesn't take them, and that's to his credit 
 gets from Rome a lot of blank forms, like my Sun- 
 day Zoo tickets, and thenceforward is pope himself 
 in the matter. The play begins. The victim of the 
 wiles of a Protestant goes to his parish priest. A 
 schoolmaster, of course, is done for from the start
 
 302 WAITING 
 
 With the Church's peculiar notions of scandal, the 
 idea of a teacher marrying a Protestant is anathema. 
 Besides, there's no inducement to fleece a dependent 
 poor beggar like him he can be got at in other 
 ways. But suppose the applicant were well-to-do, 
 and, more or less, independent of the priest ? His 
 reverence I'm speaking generally, of course, there 
 are notable exceptions would pull a long face. * It 
 is a very difficult matter indeed. Rome is difficult 
 of approach it must be done through the bishop. 
 But it's possible, of course, and I'll do my best 
 to help.' You know the kind of thing. * The 
 children must be brought up Catholics. You must 
 promise to try to convert the young lady.' You'd 
 think religion was a brand of tooth-powder or a 
 style in summer hats. ' And you must have 
 some reasons,' the good man would go on. * I'll 
 look them up in the theology book but you can 
 leave them to me. I'll see that they're all right.' 
 And then, at the end remember it's the time of a 
 man's life when he has less sense than an idiot, 
 * You will pay something substantial his lordship's 
 trouble the upkeep of an expensive office at the 
 Curia the pope. But bear clearly in mind, it's 
 only for secretarial expenses the dispensation itself 
 is free, gratis and for nothing.' That repetition 
 does the trick a couple of penny stamps and a few 
 sheets of note-paper run up phenomenally depends 
 on the good father's knowledge of the bank balance 
 of the applicant twenty pounds, fifty, a hundred 
 I've known more to be paid." He rubbed his 
 hands gleefully. " The humour of The Star of 
 Liberty pales before it." 
 
 Maurice was too indignant to see humour in 
 anything. " But when he had got rid of me as
 
 WAITING 303 
 
 teacher why didn't Mahon get me the dispensation 
 then ? I'd have paid." 
 
 Breslin shrugged his shoulders and looked at 
 Maurice quizzically. "You show a nice sense of 
 
 character in those sketches of yours, but " he 
 
 gazed at the ceiling. " You're the type that sees 
 nothing where you're involved yourself. I don't 
 know Mahon, but I see him clearly in what you told 
 me. No money not anything you could give 
 certainly would repair his wounded self-love." 
 
 " The bishop then ? He's not that kind ? " 
 
 " I'll have doubts about your being able to do 
 those sketches," Breslin said gravely. He smiled 
 with his white, even teeth. "This blindness might 
 wear off with the ridiculous fever that's on you for 
 goodness' sake get married at once. Hannigan ! If 
 I know any man I know him the diffident, humble 
 manner covering the pride of Lucifer. Run you'll 
 only just catch your train. Take my advice about 
 the marriage. Keep it as quiet as you can you 
 may get known one day, and then they might make 
 trouble though it's as valid according to Church 
 law as it is by the law of the land. As if it made a 
 pin's difference in any case," he called after Maurice 
 jeeringly from the door- step. 
 
 By sprinting he just caught the train. It jolted 
 horribly. Acrid smoke drifted in through the open 
 window. The weight that oppressed his mind for 
 days had gone. The registry, of course, was absurd, 
 he said to himself. Breslin would have his joke. 
 No Catholic could go against the rules or his 
 Church. . . . He walked up and down the empty 
 compartment. How should one set about this 
 registry marriage ? He sat down and drummed 
 his feet on the bare floor. What if there was
 
 304 WAITING 
 
 something in the idea after all ? He laughed at the 
 memory of Breslin's description. What would they 
 say in Bourneen ? No, he couldn't do it. Still it 
 was a valid marriage. He could find out all about 
 it in the free library. His fingers tingled with cold. 
 He thrust his hands into his pockets. He pulled 
 out a big door-key and glanced at it curiously. He 
 had forgotten all about that. The house was waiting. 
 Should he write to Father Mahon again ? But that 
 was hopeless. The absurd man, and he could get 
 married in spite of him. . . . And Alice ? An intense 
 longing for her overcame him. . . . All the way 
 home the objections to Breslin's solution became 
 feebler and feebler . . . they recurred as he un- 
 dressed in his cold room, but, always, he had an 
 answer ready. . . . 
 
 At eleven next morning he met Alice j at the 
 tram. 
 
 " What has come over you ? You look so 
 happy," she said wonderingly. 
 I am." 
 
 He hurried her into the tram. "Where are we 
 going ? " she asked. 
 
 " Oh, somewhere," he said joyfully. He inquired 
 about her work in Tyrone, but didn't listen to a 
 word she said. A girl opposite looked gloomy. 
 He wondered why every one wasn't happy on such a 
 glorious day. 
 
 " Dundrum," she said in a pleased voice, as he 
 took tickets at Harcourt Street Station. " It's lucky 
 I brought sandwiches." 
 
 On the mountain road, opposite the cottage, she 
 said, " No one has taken it yet." 
 
 He handed her the key. " I have we have 
 taken it," he said, watching her face.
 
 WAITING 305 
 
 She looked from the key to him, her lips slightly 
 parted. A deep blush slowly suffused her face and 
 neck, a tear overflowed on her eyelid. 
 
 " Maurice ! " her lips scarcely moved and her 
 eyes dropped. 
 
 He kissed her. After a while she looked up. 
 
 " But can we ? " she said, her lips trembling. 
 
 He told her about the work for Breslin, and all 
 that had happened since. They walked towards the 
 cottage as he spoke. He opened the door. In the 
 kitchen she listened without a word, standing by 
 the window overlooking the sea, her eyes fixed on 
 Howth head. 
 
 " So there's no reason why we shouldn't get 
 married any day," he wound up. 
 
 She sighed a little regretfully. 
 
 " You're not sorry ? " he said anxiously. 
 
 <c No I'm so glad it has a sad feeling," she 
 said, leaning her cheek against his arm. " Not soon 
 not for ever so long," she said, standing away 
 from him. Sitting on the window sill, he watched 
 her move about from room to room. 
 
 " I'm glad you won't have to promise to convert 
 me," she called out. Afterwards she approached 
 him with a look of grave concern. 
 
 " Well ? " he said eagerly. 
 
 " I think we'll do this room with rush matting 
 that greenish stuff." 
 
 Breslin was the only guest invited to the wedding. 
 On the back of an envelope he replied, " Certainly 
 not. The editor of The Star of Liberty discounte- 
 nances any such wicked exercise of freedom though 
 L. B. sends you both his best wishes." A week 
 later he wrote again : " Those egregious people have
 
 306 WAITING 
 
 been tinkering with their marriage laws some new 
 rot beginning * Ne Temere.' To-morrow I'll have 
 a leader, applauding it, in The Star. I haven't yet 
 grasped its full effect. You might read The Star 
 for once and see what you make of the thing. In 
 any case it's all the more necessary to keep your 
 little affair quiet." 
 
 " c Little affair,' indeed," Alice said, tossing her 
 head, when she read the letter, " we must hurry off 
 to see those pots and things. Shall I throw this in 
 the fire ? there's nothing in it." 
 
 Maurice nodded. 
 
 Within a week, at eleven o'clock one morning, 
 in a shabby registry office, dark with fog that blew 
 in from the sea, under the spluttering flare of a gas 
 jet, they were married.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 ALICE stood for a moment at the window watching 
 the last of the day. She lit a lamp on the desk by 
 her side, but she still lingered, the cord of the blind 
 in her hand, her eyes on a silver-grey patch of sky, 
 towards which a mass of sullen, black cloud was 
 slowly creeping. She sighed and pulled down the 
 blind. 
 
 " Sun gone bye-bye," a child said solemnly from 
 the centre of the floor. 
 
 Alice turned and looked at her. 
 
 " Sun wake up again," the child said, nodding 
 confidentially. 
 
 " There now, Alice, Maureen is teaching you 
 sense," Maurice said cheerfully from the settle, on 
 which he was stretched, smoking, idly watching rings 
 float up to the ceiling. " Besides, you know it's 
 shining brighter every day there isn't a cloud any- 
 where near it." 
 
 Maureen stared at him with wide-open, big blue 
 eyes, her little red lips pursed up. 
 
 " You little treasure," Alice said, sitting on the 
 floor. 
 
 Maureen's eyes brightened. This was some- 
 thing she understood. " Mammy put dolly bye-bye. 
 Daddy get dolly's bed," she said imperiously, 
 pushing back the golden hair that fell thick and 
 touzled over her forehead.
 
 3 o8 WAITING 
 
 Maurice jumped up and fished out a battered 
 doll's bed from under a table. 
 
 " Not daddy, not mammy, only Maureen done 
 it," the child said, taking possession of the bed and 
 pushing Maurice aside. She sat down and was 
 soon spreading sheets and blankets with much care, 
 then, with one pull, sweeping them, doll and all, on 
 to the floor. This she repeated half a dozen times, 
 saying occasionally " Maureen busy," while Alice, 
 on a low chair by the side of the open fire-place, 
 watched her lovingly. 
 
 " I can't help feeling afraid," she said, " and we 
 have been so happy nearly three years." 
 
 Maurice, half sitting on the table at her back, 
 put out his hand and fingered her hair. 
 
 " Afraid of what ? " he asked. 
 
 " Of nothing of everything I suppose it's 
 foolish but I can't help it." 
 
 He moved and stood in front of the fire. 
 
 " The convention may not choose me. Tom 
 may have been mistaken Breslin is certain the 
 League man will get in. Even if I am chosen I 
 can retire. I'd far rather be as I am," he spoke 
 hesitatingly, with a little catch in his voice, staring 
 at the dresser at the end of the room. 
 
 "Dolly wake up," Maureen said, shaking a 
 grimy faced doll violently. 
 
 " That's what you ought to do with me," Alice 
 said, stroking his hand. She stood up. " Retire, 
 indeed ! you'll do nothing of the kind," she said, 
 taking hold of his sleeve, her eyes flashing. " After 
 all your speaking and writing for the last three 
 years, too." 
 
 " The wind is nothing to you for sudden 
 changes," he said, with a relieved laugh.
 
 WAITING 309 
 
 " Tom would never think of sending a telegram," 
 she said, looking at the clock. " It must be all over 
 by now. The evening papers might have it Breslin 
 will be certain to know and he's home to-night. 
 You might run down to Dundrum after supper ? " 
 
 " Me with a chance of being a Member of 
 Parliament," Maurice said laughing boyishly. " It 
 sounds too ridiculous." 
 
 Maureen stood, her little arms akimbo, and gave 
 peal after peal of laughter. 
 
 " Maureen laugh too," she said, and started off 
 again. 
 
 " There's no one more fit to be in Parliament," 
 Alice said gravely. 
 
 " Your mother is an impartial judge," Maurice 
 said, swinging Maureen in his arms. 
 
 "Mammy partial judge partial judge," Maureen 
 crowed. 
 
 " From the lips of babes and sucklings ? " 
 
 Maurice said triumphantly. 
 
 " But you will run down, Maurice ? I can't sleep 
 to-night till I know," Alice said eagerly. 
 
 The old clock on the wall by the dresser wheezed 
 six. Maureen clapped her hands. 
 
 " Maureen's bath. Only mammy bath me," she 
 said sidling up to her mother. " Only daddy," she 
 shouted, rushing to him. 
 
 She superintended the bringing in of the tin bath 
 from the scullery, fussed round it as it lay on the 
 matting in front of the fire. " Soap ? " she said, 
 with a distressed look. When this was found, she 
 watched Maurice take the big pot of boiling water 
 off the fire and empty it into the bath. " Hot too 
 hot," she said judicially, her feet wide apart, her 
 hands clasped behind her knitted blue jersey.
 
 3 io WAITING 
 
 When Maurice brought a bucket of cold water from 
 the scullery she gave a sigh of satisfaction. " Nice 
 and cold," she said : " only daddy bath Maureen." 
 
 He took her in his arms, but she slipped down 
 again. " Coat off apron," she said reproachfully. 
 He took off his coat meekly, and put on a flannel 
 apron. Maureen said approvingly " Sit in daddy's 
 lap." 
 
 He was taking off her shoes when a knock 
 sounded on the front door. Alice went out to the 
 porch. Maureen said " postman," over and over 
 again. Maurice heard a muttered conversation. 
 
 " Hurrah, hurrah ! " Alice said, rushing in 
 excitedly. "The convention has selected you." 
 
 "sHe's not elected yet," Breslin said dryly, 
 following at her heels. 
 
 "Bressy, Bressy," Maureen shouted. 
 
 "By nearly two to one your own county too. 
 That's something for Father Mahon," she added 
 maliciously. 
 
 Breslin gave her a sharp look and muttered into 
 his beard. 
 
 Maureen struggled and shouted " Bressy, tick- 
 tick." 
 
 He took his watch off its chain and handed it to 
 her. " Maureen is a wise woman," he said. " She 
 ignores conventions and elections and all that rot." 
 
 " Only Bressy bath me," Maureen said empha- 
 tically. 
 
 A faint blush tinged the pallid cheeks above his 
 beard. " I never even saw a child in a bath," he 
 said, with a helpless look at his immaculate clothes. 
 
 " The water is getting cold. It's either you or 
 Maurice I'm nowhere when there's a man about," 
 Alice said.
 
 WAITING 311 
 
 Maureen, who was now cuddling round Breslin's 
 neck, said with a defiant look in her little rebellious 
 face, " Only Bressy bath me." 
 
 " She is so wise," Alice said demurely. 
 
 Breslin, following Maureen's minute instructions 
 donned the apron, took off his coat, turned up the 
 cuffs of his shirt and struggled with her buttons and 
 garments. With a set face he laid her at last in the 
 bath. Her first kick sent a huge splash over his 
 shirt front. She crowed with delight. Afterwards, 
 it was " Only Bressy feed Maureen," and " Only 
 Bressy put Maureen bye-bye." She knelt in her 
 cot, her hands over her eyes, " Gentle Jesus meek 
 and mild," she said brokenly. She peeped through 
 her fingers. " Bressy not kneel on toe-toes," she 
 complained anxiously. He knelt down. She began 
 a prayer again. " Bressy say it," she said insis- 
 tently. When he came out from the bedroom he 
 was wiping his brow with his handkerchief. 
 
 " If you've half her grit, you'll beat us," he said 
 to Maurice. 
 
 " Beat you ? " Maurice said. " Where does the 
 contest come in ? You can't go back on the con- 
 vention. There won't be a Unionist candidate, so 
 I'll have a walk over." 
 
 " Get me a looking-glass like a good fellow," 
 Breslin said, a faint smile on his lips. 
 
 Maurice lit a candle and led the way into the 
 second bedroom off the kitchen. He left Breslin 
 there, and coming back to the kitchen lowered a 
 small pot of potatoes, already simmering on the 
 crook, nearer to the fire. In a few minutes Breslin 
 appeared, stroking his beard, all traces of his en- 
 counter with Maureen gone. He threw himself 
 into a rush armchair. With an ironic smile, he
 
 3 i2 WAITING 
 
 watched Maurice emptying the bath and tidying up 
 the room. 
 
 " They've been on to me already by telephone," 
 he said, " and I've been in town. I motored here." 
 
 Who ? " 
 
 "The League people the head office." 
 
 " It was their own convention, under their own 
 rules. They were beaten. They may as well 
 accept defeat gracefully," Maurice said lightly. 
 
 " I'm going to throw suspicion on the Liscannow 
 convention in Monday's Star," Breslin said, lighting 
 a cigarette. He rolled the smoke luxuriously in his 
 mouth, emitted a series of perfect rings, and watched 
 them expand with one eye shut. 
 
 " Why, only this morning you patted it on the 
 back. What's this you called it ? in the choicest 
 Star language * a parliament of free and indepen- 
 dent citizens, with the authority of a united people 
 behind it,' and the usual trimmings l faith father- 
 land patriotism toleration.' ' 
 
 " On Monday it will be suspect. About the 
 middle of the week we shall probably say that it was 
 rigged by a malignant anti-national faction," Breslin 
 said, blowing more rings. 
 
 " You're colossal," Maurice said in mock 
 admiration. 
 
 " Hush," Breslin said, holding up his hand. 
 
 From Maureen's bedroom came the low croon- 
 ing of Alice's voice, with, now and again, the child's 
 treble, muffled, as if taking the note half asleep. 
 
 " It has a charm," Breslin said gently, after a 
 few minutes. 
 
 Maurice poured some water in to a saucepan of 
 eggs and placed it by the fire. 
 
 "The truth is," Breslin said, "our organizer
 
 WAITING 313 
 
 down there has been asleep. We're going to slough 
 him. He was so confident of a walk-over that 
 he didn't take the usual means " 
 
 " So it really was a free convention," Maurice 
 said, interested. 
 
 " Always, when we lose, the convention was 
 rigged by the other side," Breslin said, with a shrug. 
 
 " You give credit to us I suppose you call us 
 the other side for your own virtues : that is too 
 generous," Maurice said ironically. 
 
 " I won't bandy terms." 
 
 He listened again. The crooning still continued, 
 but in a lower tone. The child's voice came fainter, 
 and only at long intervals. 
 
 " Shut that door it's a little ajar," he whispered. 
 " I don't want Mrs. Blake to hear us." 
 
 Maurice crossed the room on tiptoe and shut 
 the door. When he returned to the fire-place, he 
 looked inquiringly at Breslin. 
 
 " This is going to be a fight without gloves," 
 Breslin said seriously. " Our people are frightened. 
 They'll stop at nothing. They've organizations 
 enough, but the people are slipping away. They're 
 weak in the towns " 
 
 " They've got the publicans and slum-owners, 
 and the priests, in so far it suits the interest of 
 the Church," Maurice interrupted dryly. 
 
 Breslin waved this aside. " The country people 
 are not as solid as they used to be. Then there are 
 all you foolish people who make a hash of thinking 
 for yourselves," he pursed his lips contemptuously. 
 
 " The Star talks enough of liberty and toleration. 
 I've often told you, Louis, that some day the people 
 would attach some real meaning to those words. 
 You talk of liberty and tolerance and hound down
 
 3 1 4 WAITING 
 
 every one who refuses to bend under your narrow, 
 bigoted tyranny." 
 
 "That's very crude," Breslin said, lighting 
 another cigarette. " Not good enough even for 
 a leading article in The Star. But we're wandering 
 from the point. I advise you to withdraw your 
 name," he said earnestly. " Don't stand for the 
 Liscannow division." 
 
 Maurice stared at him, then laughed. " Why, 
 I'm as good as in," he said confidently. 
 
 " The League will declare the convention 
 invalid, and start a candidate of its own." 
 
 "They'll only show their weakness," Maurice 
 said laughing. 
 
 "Our people never liked you. You weren't a 
 thick-and-thin party man. They hate those articles 
 of yours in The Dawn. They don't want people 
 to think only to vote straight. They're furious 
 with you for beating the official candidate. Yet 
 
 they'd probably let you in unopposed only " 
 
 he stroked his beard, and hesitated. "The Church 
 will be against you," he continued with a grimace : 
 " a dismissed teacher ; out of forty priests at the con- 
 vention only six supported you. We've all the 
 details already, you see." 
 
 " I won, nevertheless," Maurice said firmly. 
 
 " You don't see any other complications ? " 
 Breslin said gently. 
 
 " I suppose there'll be the usual rough and 
 tumble of an election. I don't mind a straight 
 
 fight '; 
 
 " But it won't be a straight fight." Breslin 
 pulled an orange slip out of his pocket. " They 
 got it at the League office five minutes after the 
 result of the convention a telegram from Father
 
 WAITING 315 
 
 Mahon. * Search registry offices of Dublin for 
 record of marriage of Maurice Blake and Alice 
 Barton about three years ago.' ' 
 
 Maurice walked up and down in front of the 
 fire-place with a set face and clenched hands. 
 
 " Will you use that weapon ? " he said bitterly. 
 
 " I oh ! damn it, there's some limit," Breslin 
 said sharply. "No 7 won't use it. The Star wont 
 either 1 told them at the League office it wouldn't 
 be wise to mix our man up with it in the Press," he 
 added dryly, " in view of the action this fellow 
 Mahon is likely to take. It told with them 
 danger of a charge of undue influence, etc. They 
 scented the truth at once I didn't tell them. They 
 don't half like the whole thing in a way plays into 
 the hands of the enemy. But you must be beaten 
 by fair means or foul. The organization couldn't 
 stand a defeat. They're chuckling for all they're 
 worth ; but they'll let Mahon and his friends do 
 the dirty work. Oh yes, the weapon will be used, 
 and used with a vengeance. Don't face it, Maurice. 
 I don't mind for yourself but your wife, and the 
 child." 
 
 Maurice stood opposite the fire, his eyes on the 
 pot which had now begun to boil. He lifted, with 
 the poker, the lid, which was being forced up and 
 down by the steam. 
 
 "It had to come some time," he said musingly. 
 " Do you know, I've hardly thought of that Ne Temere 
 decree since a few days before I was married you 
 wrote to me, you remember ? never as affecting 
 myself. Alice and Maureen did you say ? Maureen 
 will hardly mind. And Alice I'd like to keep her 
 out of it. It'll be pretty bad, I suppose ? " he 
 smiled drearily.
 
 3 r6 WAITING 
 
 " Mud, garbage, filth," Breslin said emphatically. 
 
 Maurice leant his forehead against the beam 
 across the fireplace. 
 
 " And this is religion," he said in a dull, wonder- 
 ing tone. 
 
 " The holier the name the better for leading the 
 hosts of hell to battle," Breslin said grimly. He 
 shrugged his shoulders and laughed. "If one only 
 sees it the right way it's as humorous as The 
 Star of Liberty. Though I doubt if the poor devils 
 we trample on have much sense of humour left in 
 them," he added, looking at Maurice through half- 
 closed lids. " Have sense, Maurice," he went on 
 airily, waving his cigarette. " You make a fetish of 
 names liberty, toleration, religion, principle what 
 are they? A mirage. Good names enough on a 
 banner to rouse the mob, but 
 
 He pitched his cigarette into the fire, and flicked 
 carefully some ash off his trousers. 
 
 "I'll go down to Liscannow on Monday," 
 Maurice said coldly. 
 
 "And Mrs. Blake? You'll subject her to all 
 this ? " 
 
 Maurice smiled slowly. " Oh, she believes in 
 those old names too," he said, lifting the pot from 
 the fire. He took it to the scullery, poured out 
 the water, covered the potatoes with a cloth, and 
 stood the pot beside the fire. 
 
 " They're done to a turn. You'll stay to supper, 
 Louis ? " he said heartily. " The eggs are new 
 laid." 
 
 "That's more than they'll be at Liscannow," 
 Breslin said dryly. " You're mad of course the 
 gods are sometimes merciful to those they are 
 about to destroy. If it weren't for your wife, I'd
 
 WAITING 317 
 
 rather enjoy it." He stared at the fire, and his eyes 
 gleamed a little. " It's a chance of finding out the 
 power of these fellows the sodality, the pulpit, 
 the confessional, and all that in an election." 
 
 " Your friends ! " Maurice said mockingly. 
 
 " They're of use for the moment. They play 
 their own game though. Take that damn Ne 
 Temere. They drop it on us just at the moment 
 when we're straining our lungs shouting * tolera- 
 tion.' They knife us with one hand and double 
 their subscriptions to our funds with the other. 
 Even I'm in doubt sometimes whether they're using 
 us or we're using them." 
 
 Maurice drew a table in front of the fire. 
 " You're a great help to a man, Louis," he said 
 gravely. "Whenever I'm inclined to waver you 
 set me right. There must be a lot of good in the 
 people since you fellows haven't killed it long ago. 
 'Twill win out, yet. I 
 
 Alice opened the bedroom door and shut it 
 behind her quietly. 
 
 " She's sound asleep for the night. You can 
 talk away there's no fear of disturbing her," she 
 said, taking a cloth from a drawer of the dresser and 
 laying it on the table. They both watched her 
 silently. 
 
 " Eggs, potatoes, butter, a cold apple tart," she 
 said, as they sat down to supper, " and I'll make you 
 some coffee afterwards." 
 
 " Excellent," Breslin said somewhat too fervently, 
 checking a rueful pursing of his lips. " It's so 
 peaceful and quiet up here," breaking the top off an 
 egg " ideal. I dream some day of giving up politics 
 and finding some such retreat as this. That husband 
 of yours, Mrs. Blake, doesn't know when he's
 
 318 WAITING 
 
 happy." Alice looked round the cosy living-room 
 wistfully. (i And of all the purposeless worries of 
 life," he continued, "Parliament is the worst a 
 man can do nothing there." 
 
 " Maurice can," she said eagerly, her eyes 
 brightening. " He'll have a chance of doing the 
 things he has been saying for years. Now that he'll 
 be inside the party but I'll spare his feelings," 
 looking at Maurice affectionately. "You can't 
 suppress his speeches in future in The Star" she 
 added, turning to Breslin with a smile. 
 
 " There's nothing we're not capable of doing in 
 The Star" he said calmly. 
 
 " Some day I know you'll see the truth," she 
 
 said simply. " Maureen trusts you. You " 
 
 She stopped abruptly and blushed. 
 
 " It shows how weak is the evidence of faith," 
 he drawled. "Tell her, Maurice," and he busied 
 himself with his egg. 
 
 She listened in silence while Maurice spoke, 
 for the most part with her eyes bent on her plate. 
 Once she looked at the door of Maureen's bedroom 
 for a moment, and once at Maurice's face, as if 
 interested in his appearance rather than in what he 
 was saying. 
 
 " But we are married," she said in a faltering 
 voice, when he finished. She looked helplessly at 
 Maurice. 
 
 "For ever," he said quietly. 
 
 " Not only in the eyes of the law, but before 
 God?" 
 
 " Father Mahon will say you are not ; people 
 will believe him and say things it will hurt you to 
 hear," Breslin said gently. 
 
 She did not take her eyes off Maurice's face.
 
 WAITING 319 
 
 " Before God ? Maurice," she repeated solemnly, 
 " you believe it ? " 
 
 " As firmly as that I live." 
 
 Her eyes flashed. She turned to Breslin. "It 
 doesn't matter to us what these people say now," 
 she said proudly.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 FOR some miles, as the train wound sinuously 
 through the valley, Maurice had been dreamily re- 
 cognizing familiar objects Slieve Mor, at different 
 angles ; Greenawn Abbey, which he had once 
 visited with Driscoll. 
 
 " It seems only yesterday," he said. " But 
 three years is a long time I wonder what it will all 
 be like." 
 
 " Mountain," Maureen said gleefully, standing 
 on the seat, her face pressed against the glass of the 
 window. 
 
 " I dare say it will be a hard pull," Maurice 
 said, with a short laugh. 
 
 " Your work in The Dawn will tell," Alice said 
 cheerfully. " Remember what Tom said in his 
 letter how enthusiastic those men at the convention 
 were about it. You've worked hard for a great 
 ideal and now you'll see the fruit not a Catholic 
 Ireland nor a Protestant Ireland, but an Ireland to 
 which all men, no matter what their creed, can give 
 their best service without fear of being victimized 
 in the name of religion." 
 
 " It sounds like a copybook maxim," Maurice 
 said with a shrug. 
 
 " It appealed to the convention you'll see they'll 
 act on it too. The country is sick of " 
 
 A great cheer interrupted her, and the opening
 
 WAITING 321 
 
 bars of " See the Conquering Hero comes," on a 
 strident brass band. 
 
 " What's up ? " Maurice said, peering through 
 the gathering dusk. " That's the Liscannow goods 
 store. We'll be in in a minute." 
 
 " It's you, of course," Alice said excitedly : then, 
 more sedately, and a little complacently, " It's very 
 different from your going away." 
 
 As the train moved slowly along the platform 
 the crowd cheered. Flares were lit and waved 
 wildly. The band played louder and louder, deter- 
 mined to be heard above the din. 
 
 "There he is." " That's him I tell you, with the 
 woman and the child." " The new member for 
 ever," passed from mouth to mouth. 
 
 The door was wrenched open. Tom, red in the 
 face and laughing shrilly, gripped Maurice's hand 
 and said 
 
 " It's not bad for a start. The hint of opposition 
 in The Star this morning put great heart into the 
 people. Keep back there, will ye ? " to the crowd. 
 " Would ye be frightening the child ? " 
 
 The band stopped. Maureen clapped on the 
 window. " More show more show more music," 
 she said eagerly, watching the swaying of the flares. 
 
 " Bedad, she'll be making a speech next my 
 own boy, and he older, hasn't the courage of a 
 rabbit in him," Tom said in astonishment. 
 
 The band began to play again, but it was beaten 
 down with cries of " The addresses." " Speech 
 speech." Dozens of hands were stretched into the 
 compartment and seized Maurice's hand or arm or 
 coat-tail, or Alice's hands indifferently. There were 
 shouts of welcome, and cheers for The Dawn and 
 Maurice Blake.
 
 322 WAITING 
 
 " Clear the way there for Dr. Fitzpatrick that's 
 reading the address on the part of the town," some 
 one called out. 
 
 " For town and country you might say," another 
 said. 
 
 " Aye, aye." 
 
 A stout, florid-faced, clean-shaven man, with a 
 severe mouth and twinkling blue eyes, elbowed his 
 way to the front. He stood on the footboard and 
 waved a sheet of blue foolscap at the crowd. 
 
 "The train can't be kept here all night," he said 
 good-humouredly, when he had secured something 
 approaching silence, " and there's a lady and a child 
 tired out after a long journey. I'll just present this 
 address I've half a dozen more in my pocket. Mr. 
 Blake can read them at his leisure, and we'll have 
 his speech at the Mechanics' Institute. Run off now 
 and form the procession. Ireland and Liscannow, 
 and Mr. Blake for ever." 
 
 The crowd cheered and made for the gates. 
 Maureen gazed wistfully after the vanishing torches 
 and sighed. Dr. Fitzpatrick shook hands heartily 
 with Alice and Maurice, saying a little conde- 
 scendingly 
 
 " You're a great man now, Mr. Blake. I'm sure 
 we're all very glad very glad indeed." 
 
 A small group of Bourneen people greeted 
 Maurice timidly when he stepped out of the train. 
 
 "Why, mother ! " he said kissing her. 
 
 " Oh, Maurice agra, and sure we didn't like to 
 intrude," she said, half-frightened. 
 
 " Your father'd be here as well as the rest only 
 he's stiff at home with the rheumatics. There isn't 
 a bit a jealousy of you in the whole townland, nor 
 in the parish as far as I can hear. It's great entirely,
 
 WAITING 323 
 
 glory be to God, and 'tis I'm beholden to all the 
 people, neighbours and strangers alike, and the 
 torches and the band, not to mention Dr. Fitzpatrick 
 himself." 
 
 " Come, come, Mr. Blake," Dr. Fitzpatrick in- 
 terrupted sharply. " The carriage is waiting oh, is 
 that you, Mrs. Blake ? Your mother, of course. 
 Oh, yes. How is Mike's rheumatism ? " 
 
 " Finely, thank you, doctor thanks be to God 
 and you," Mrs. Blake said. 
 
 But Dr. Fitzpatrick had rushed off, and was 
 trying to detach Alice and Maureen from Mrs. 
 Tom, Mrs. Crawford, and Mrs. Jim Reardon. 
 
 " There'll be time enough for all this," he said 
 fussily. "You really must come, Mrs. Blake 
 the people'll be getting impatient." 
 
 " Stop, Maurice, stop, Alice, stop, doctor agra," 
 Mrs. Blake shouted after them excitedly, when, at last, 
 they were on their way to the gate. " If we weren't 
 forgetting old Master Driscoll, and he within in the 
 waiting-room, and he that failing that Mrs. Hinnissey 
 had to stay and mind him." 
 
 "Really, Mr. Blake, I must insist," Dr. Fitz- 
 patrick said. He stamped his foot angrily as 
 Maurice, with Maureen in his arms, and Alice dis- 
 appeared into the waiting-room. 
 
 Driscoll held out a bandaged hand to Maurice, 
 and looked pathetically at Alice. 
 
 " They've grand rooms taken for ye at Leary's 
 Hotel, I'm told, and both sides of your own people 
 have a place ready for ye but but 
 
 " Couldn't you put us up, Mr. Driscoll ? " Alice 
 said with a smile. 
 
 " There, now, what did I tell you, master ? " 
 Mrs. Hinnissey said triumphantly.
 
 3 2 4 WAITING 
 
 " Maurice Mr. Blake I ought to say, only I'm 
 forgetting my good manners and you too, ma'am, 
 and the child, 'tis ye all are heartily welcome. 
 Didn't he send in this morning," she whispered with 
 a nod at Driscoll, " to Mac's shop for a beddeen, 
 fitted out with the best of everything, for the child 
 to sleep in. Sure 'tis his heart'd be broken entirely 
 if ye went anywhere else." 
 
 Driscoll laid his hand on Maureen, who was 
 staring at him solemnly. 
 
 " I brought a covered car to keep the wind off 
 the child," he said brokenly. 
 
 "Now, Mrs. Blake really," Dr. Fitzpatrick 
 said from the door. 
 
 " Maurice must go alone I'm going straight 
 home with Mr. Driscoll," she said decisively. 
 
 Fitzpatrick frowned and expostulated, but she was 
 firm. " Women have no sense of public duty or 
 of effect," he muttered, leading Maurice to a waiting 
 carriage. "A child, too, always looks well in a 
 procession and arouses sympathy. That old man 
 has a bad heart he ought to be in bed." 
 
 " All the more reason why my wife should see 
 him home besides, the child is tired," Maurice said. 
 " Capital ! " Fitzpatrick said, rubbing his hands. 
 " Excellent for the reporters. I'll make a point of 
 it in explaining Mrs. Blake's absence. A mother's 
 anxiety excellent." 
 
 They had some difficulty in getting into the 
 dilapidated landau. The band had struck up again 
 and the horses were restive. 
 
 " Hold on to them like blue blazes if they get 
 their heads they'll make smithereens of Thade Carty 
 and the big drum," the diminutive coachman, in 
 a battered silk hat and an old livery coat, several
 
 WAITING 
 
 325 
 
 sizes too large for him, cried out to the small 
 mob clinging desperately to the shafts and reins. 
 " Let ye spring in doctor and be starting the band 
 and the nags'll follow quiet enough." 
 
 An irregular troop of torch-bearers led the pro- 
 cession. The band followed. Then came the 
 candidate's carriage, and more torch-bearers behind. 
 A yelling crowd rilled the roadway on both sides. 
 Maurice's head was in a whirl. He seemed to 
 think of a dozen things at once : how ridiculous 
 it was to be seated in this grand carriage (it 
 creaked and swayed and lurched like a ship in a 
 rough sea) ; of Driscoll and Alice and the child ; 
 of the friendly Fitzpatrick whom he had known 
 for years, but who, hitherto, had ignored him 
 outside the brief moments of professional visits. 
 Here and there in the crowd he recognized a face, 
 Hinnissey, Jim Reardon, Tom. Their friendly 
 grins, though distorted by the curious lights and 
 shadows of the torches, gave him a feeling of relief. 
 Had he only dreamt of that telegram and of the 
 cryptic leader in to-day's Star ? He had feared dis- 
 trust and suspicion, and here, on every side, were 
 friendly and enthusiastic faces. 
 
 " There is no other candidate ? " he said. 
 
 "That's what I can't make out," Fitzpatrick 
 said in a cautious whisper. "There's all sorts of 
 hugger-muggering going on. As a rule, I'm on the 
 end of every wire, but I must admit I'm a bit at 
 sea in this. At twelve o'clock mass yesterday a 
 general mission through the diocese was announced, 
 to begin the Sunday following the day we expect 
 you to be nominated. 'Twas the first any one heard 
 of it. I'd make nothing of it, only Galey, the post- 
 master, said to me coming out, with a nod and a
 
 3 26 WAITING 
 
 wink, c Look out for squalls, doctor your man 
 isn't in yet.' I tried to get more out of him 
 there's nothing he doesn't know with his nose in 
 every telegram, but he wouldn't blab another 
 word. He's on the other side, more's the pity, or 
 he'd be sure to be more friendly. You haven't any 
 inkling yourself?" 
 
 A loud burst of cheering opposite an illuminated 
 house diverted the doctor's attention. 
 
 " There again," he said, " see ! I'm the only 
 house illuminated in that row. Not a candle in 
 Duggan's windows, the chairman of the urban 
 council, you probably know ? He was against you 
 at the convention, but the big vote on your side 
 brought him round. He promised me last night 
 he'd light up, and be on the platform to meet you. 
 And there's his house as dark as hell, and he hasn't 
 been at the station." He stared at the back of the 
 driver with a frown. 
 
 Fitzpatrick's spirits revived as the procession 
 passed through the main street. About one house 
 in three was illuminated with one or two rows of 
 guttering candles to each window. 
 
 " It's not bad not bad," he said. " You're 
 only middling strong in the best streets you're not 
 sound on the drink question, you see. I looked up 
 your writings in The Dawn to try and find some- 
 thing that'd appeal to a publican. Between you and 
 me, it's well for you that they only read The Star, or 
 they'd be even stronger against you." 
 
 A crowd in front of an unlighted house booed 
 lustily. Discordant brass instruments brayed through 
 the open windows. 
 
 " Timmins for ever. Down with Blake," rose 
 in a concerted shout above the din.
 
 WAITING 327 
 
 " What the devil do they mean by that ? " 
 Fitzpatrick asked excitedly. 
 
 A rotten egg broke on his hat. A paper bag 
 of flour, catching the driver's hat on the way, 
 enveloped Maurice in white. The torches in front 
 wavered. The band stopped playing. Instruments 
 were gripped like clubs. Fitzpatrick stood up and 
 shouted in a stentorian voice, " Don't break order, 
 boys play up the band take no notice of the 
 loafers quick march." These orders were echoed 
 by other excited voices. After a few minutes' 
 indecision, during which volleys of flour and eggs 
 came from the darkened building, the procession 
 moved on to the strains of " God save Ireland " 
 and the jeers and boos of the crowd on the side-walk. 
 
 Fitzpatrick wiped his hat gingerly with a hand- 
 kerchief, saying, "The Erinites that's their hall 
 aren't going to take their physic lying down 
 then. Damn that egg 'twas a year old if 'twas 
 a day and the hand that fired it. So they have 
 poor old Timmins still in their eye. I don't deny 
 he's a great orator but he has to be primed up 
 for it. He's not worth a damn sober, and a week's 
 speechifying always lands him in the horrors. It's 
 odd how it takes him an army of flies attacking 
 his face, and pigs eating him from the boots up 
 always the same way very interesting to medical 
 science." 
 
 Maurice was depressed and disgusted. How 
 many of his supporters were like Fitzpatrick ? He 
 had pictured them so differently. He recognized 
 a boat-builder whom he used to know. He held 
 out his hand and Tracy shook it silently. His 
 cordial grip, and the look of quiet enthusiasm in his 
 clean-cut face made Maurice feel better. He began
 
 328 WAITING 
 
 to scan the crowd closely. His spirits rose. Here 
 and there was a face with an ideal and capable of 
 fighting for it. 
 
 When the carriage stopped at the Mechanics' 
 Hall the crowd shouted itself hoarse. Ten or 
 twelve men accompanied Maurice to the first floor 
 room from which he was to speak. He knew 
 Dr. Grace, Tracy, the captain of the county football 
 team a clean-shaven, tongue-tied blacksmith, with 
 a strong jaw, whose name he forgot, a young 
 solicitor named Duffy, and Healy, the big draper. 
 They had all been active in the Gaelic League or 
 in the athletic association. He was a little surprised 
 to see Foster and Taylor, two Protestant shop- 
 keepers. He knew they were in sympathy with 
 the language movement, but he had always under- 
 stood that they were Unionist in politics. Taylor 
 laughed as they shook hands. 
 
 "You're wondering what I'm doing in this 
 galley," he said : and added gravely, " If your 
 views in The Dawn are to be Nationalist politics, 
 I'm a Nationalist and so are most of the Unionists 
 here." 
 
 " Come now, Blake, the people are getting 
 impatient," Fitzpatrick said fussily. 
 
 " Let them have it straight from the shoulder," 
 Tom whispered. 
 
 " Home Rule and black porter," a bibulous 
 voice shouted from the crowd as Maurice opened 
 his lips. 
 
 " No," he said, holding up a hand for silence ; 
 " but Home Rule and hard work. We shout for 
 freedom, for the right to manage our own affairs, 
 for a Parliament. What are we prepared to do 
 with this power when we get it ? "
 
 WAITING 329 
 
 " Get back our own," the same voice answered. 
 
 " It's a tired man youd be then, trudging round 
 the pubs after your money," a voice said jeeringly. 
 
 " Not so far neither," another said. " Hasn't 
 he it all banked in his nose ? " 
 
 " What'd we do with it but drive the Protestants 
 after the landlords," another voice said. 
 
 " Shut up you naygur of an Erinite." 
 
 " Don't be wasting a decent name on the old 
 Molly." 
 
 Maurice tried to get on. He developed the 
 idea of power begetting responsibility and even 
 sacrifice. 
 
 " No soft jobs for Erinites. They think they've 
 their hand in the Home Rule till already," some 
 one interrupted. 
 
 He wound up with an appeal for toleration. 
 Ireland needed every son she had. The very 
 name Home Rule created an atmosphere of distrust 
 and suspicion. He was afraid there was some 
 cause for this. It was for the Catholic majority 
 to prove by their actions that their hands were 
 clean. Here in this constituency let them show 
 that they respected the religious opinions of all 
 men and persecuted none. 
 
 There was loud cheering when he retired from 
 the window. 
 
 " Live and let live is my motto," a fishwife 
 shouted. "The poor Protestants ! sure they'll 
 be up agin hell in the next world, why not let them 
 have a bite and a sup in peace in this vale of woe ? " 
 
 In the room Fitzpatrick buttonholed Healy. 
 u What do you think of him, Frank ? So so, 
 eh?" 
 
 " I'm surprised at you, doctor, going agin the
 
 330 WAITING 
 
 clergy. And you after curing poor old Timmins 
 out of the D. T.'s so often too. Do you mean 
 to say you're getting in earnest over politics at 
 the end of your life ? " 
 
 u End, indeed I'm good for thirty years yet. 
 I've paid Timmins back, anyway, for his vote 
 against my nephew in that asylum appointment. 
 I'm not a man to be trifled with. Between our- 
 selves though, I was a bit sold that so many priests 
 went for Timmins at the convention and not 
 one of them turning up to-night. What do you 
 make of it, Frank ? " 
 
 " Begad, you might be caught out at last, 
 doctor. I met Duggan as I was coming in, and 
 he told me the supporters of Blake'd be in a queer 
 kettle offish before the week was out." 
 
 " And why, Frank, why ? " Fitzpatrick asked 
 eagerly. 
 
 " I asked him that, and he only blinked his old 
 fish eyes ; so I told him go and smother himself," 
 Healy said indifferently. 
 
 Fitzpatrick rubbed his chin anxiously, nodded 
 to Healy and crossed to the fireplace, where 
 Maurice was speaking to Duffy and Dr. Grace. 
 
 " I've only just remembered an urgent case- 
 very sorry, Blake, that I've to be off. I hoped to 
 have you up at the house for a bite or a nip of 
 something may see you later. Count me in with 
 any arrangements you may make." 
 
 " I'll attend the call for you, Fitz ; there's a 
 committee meeting and you're chairman," Grace 
 said slyly. 
 
 " Im possible, my dear boy, im possible." 
 With a wave of his hand he hurried out of the 
 room.
 
 WAITING 331 
 
 " Fitz always makes a professional exit," Duffy 
 said dryly. " What is it to-night ? Cards ? " 
 
 Grace shook his head. " There's more than cards 
 on his mind he has been uneasy all the evening." 
 
 " Oh, nothing weighs on Fitzy long," Duffy 
 said. " How in the world did he drift to our 
 side ? He usually keeps his eye on the palace, 
 and that hasn't smiled on us yet." 
 
 " The committee meeting, gentlemen," Tracy 
 said, " we can hold it here." 
 
 Some one drew attention to the fact that Maurice 
 had had no food. An adjournment to Leary's Hotel 
 was proposed, but was objected to by a sharp-nosed, 
 spectacled little man with a pointed beard, who said 
 that he was not on speaking terms with Leary, and 
 wouldn't be seen inside his door. He would, how- 
 ever, be proud to run out himself and bring in some 
 food for a brilliant fellow journalist. 
 
 " McCreery of the Liscannow Advertiser" he 
 added with a quick bob, shaking Maurice's hand 
 vehemently. 
 
 It was finally settled that the meeting should be 
 held in Dr. Grace's rooms, where Maurice could get 
 tea and ham. On the way, Maurice walked with 
 Tom. A few forlorn candles, burnt almost to the 
 stumps, still flickered in a window here and there. 
 
 " How does it feel ? " Tom asked anxiously. 
 
 " Rotten." 
 
 " You don't tell me now." 
 
 " Father James has got hold of the marriage." 
 
 Tom's face set firmly, and he walked a few paces 
 in silence. 
 
 " That's hell," he said, walking heavily, his head 
 well forward. After a few minutes he added, " Best 
 tell the lads."
 
 332 WAITING 
 
 " I'm going to at Dr. Grace's." 
 In less than half an hour afterwards he told 
 them. Dr. Grace's little sitting-room over Miss 
 Farrell's confectionery was overcrowded. Healy 
 was still at tea at the small round table. Dufiy, 
 his legs dangling from the sofa-end, fondled a glass 
 of whiskey and water. Tom's figure in front of the 
 firelight made a grotesque shadow, huge and terrible, 
 on the ceiling. The football captain, erect, awkward, 
 shy, stood like a sentinel beside the closed door. 
 Maurice stood at the corner of the mantelpiece, 
 watching gas hissing from the coal. 
 
 "In the absence of Dr. Fitz I move that Dr. 
 Grace takes the chair," Tracy said. 
 
 " Hear hear," came from all parts of the room. 
 " I'm in it," Grace said from his seat on the 
 edge of a writing-desk. " The minutes of the last 
 meeting, Mr. Tracy, please." 
 
 Tracy fumbled with a penny exercise-book. 
 " There's something I've got to say first," 
 Maurice said quietly. " All this has been so sudden 
 
 let me thank you for your confidence in me " 
 
 " You're deserving of it." " Hear, hear." 
 " That there was no opportunity of letting you 
 know it before this. In fact, it did not occur to me 
 as likely to have any bearing on the election till 1 
 got some information on Saturday night." 
 
 There was now dead silence. The football 
 captain relaxed his features, his head bent forward. 
 Healy held a knife, on which was impaled a pat of 
 butter, suspended over a slice of bread, his eyes fixed 
 on Maurice. 
 
 " There is to be a contest ' 
 
 " I guessed as much," Healy said, relieved, 
 spreading the butter on the bread.
 
 WAITING 333 
 
 " A matter in connection with my private life, 
 known, I thought, only to one or two down here- 
 to my brother and Mr. Driscoll of Bourneen, in 
 fact- 
 
 " I never told it even to my wife," Tom said 
 emphatically. 
 
 " Tom is as close as the grave in regard to any- 
 thing private," the football captain said sepulchrally. 
 
 Maurice smiled faintly. The audience now 
 craned attentive necks. 
 
 " Has come to the knowledge of our opponents, 
 and I've reason to believe the priests are forcing a 
 contest. I dare say it is more or less public at this 
 moment." 
 
 " Fitzy must have got wind of it," Duffy said, 
 holding up his glass to the light. " Come to the 
 point, man," he murmured. 
 
 " It's in regard to my marriage," Maurice said, 
 facing his hearers squarely. " I married a Protestant 
 in a registry office. The law of the land says I'm 
 married. The Church says I am not." 
 
 " That you're living with your wife without 
 being married to her," Healy said horrified, letting 
 his knife drop with a clatter on his plate. 
 
 The noise broke the tension. Maurice shrugged 
 his shoulders. 
 
 " Let any one say that outside, and we'll slap a 
 writ at him," Duffy said standing up. 
 
 " Much good that'd do you, with maybe a couple 
 of fellows or more on the jury," Healy said, " that 
 won't agree to a verdict agin their Church till 
 the crack of doom. Besides, I wouldn't be liking 
 myself to put the law of the land above the law of 
 the Church. Now, Mr. Blake, be sensible in the 
 matter. I don't mind having a whack at the clergy
 
 334 WAITING 
 
 for their interfering ways God knows it's hard 
 to stand them, and I was glad enough to support 
 you for the independent, respectful way you always 
 stood up agin them in The Dawn, but this is 
 another pair of shoes entirely. The sanctity of 
 the marriage bond is a ticklish thing sure we all 
 know there isn't luck nor grace when the priest's 
 hand isn't held over you. Have you any child 
 now ? " 
 
 " Yes," Maurice said dryly. 
 
 " That's surprising enough ! Listen to me now," 
 he said expansively. " All these things can be set 
 right. I'll speak to his lordship myself he's under 
 one or two little obligations to me. A quiet marriage 
 now I've known the like of it often done up in 
 the cathedral, in the dead of night or before the 
 dawn of day, and nobody the wiser " 
 
 " If that insult is put on a decent woman, damme, 
 if I won't vote for Timmins," the football captain 
 said explosively. 
 
 Maurice looked at him gratefully. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Flaherty, now, you and your hot- 
 heads of football players. Let ye all listen to reason. 
 I know what I'm saying. And my wife head of the 
 women's confraternity too she'd scrape the eyes 
 out of me, she's that holy, if she saw me supporting 
 a man that wasn't married," Healy said, sweat 
 oozing out of his forehead. 
 
 Maurice clenched his fists in an effort to control 
 himself. 
 
 " He's married as tightly as you are, my good 
 man," Duffy said dryly. 
 
 " The minutes, Mr. Tracy ? This is a private 
 matter of Mr. Blake's. Too much has already been 
 said on it," Dr. Grace said loudly.
 
 WAITING 335 
 
 " You won't ask him for a guarantee to set 
 things right ? " Healy said aggressively. 
 
 "Certainly not," Grace said. "The minutes, 
 Mr. Tracy ? " 
 
 " Then I rise out of ye, and wash my hands of 
 it," Healy said, walking out of the room. 
 
 " Any others who take that view and might like 
 to follow ? " Grace said. 
 
 Two men, whom Maurice did not know, 
 whispered together in a corner, took their hats 
 sheepishly off a bookcase and followed Healy. 
 One said from the door 
 
 " Believe you me, doctor, it can't be done and 
 myself, and Willy that's gone out there, having little 
 girls nuns in the convent too. It's past reason." 
 
 Duffy put away his untasted glass. He looked 
 round the room, scanning each face. 
 
 " There's only Fitzy left," he said, as if to him- 
 self. " Why in the world did you make him chair- 
 man ? " he asked pettishly. 
 
 " He just took it. Fitzy has a way with him," 
 Grace said ruefully. 
 
 " He has a way of turning tail, too, when things 
 get hot. Please God we'll see no more of him," 
 Duffy said hopefully. " I'll act as your agent, if 
 you'll have me ? " he said, turning to Maurice and 
 holding out his hand. " I'm sorry for you, Blake, 
 and for your wife, that this thing has to be fought 
 out over you. It's an awkward fix, but I'm almost 
 glad it has arisen. There are these people up in the 
 North saying that we Catholics'll ride rough-shod 
 over them in spite of the law. It's for us now to 
 show them they're wrong. This minute you have 
 a majority of voters in this division in favour of you. 
 There's very little security for any man, Protestant
 
 336 WAITING 
 
 or Catholic, in this country if the priests and Timmins 
 can secure your defeat on the head of your marriage." 
 
 " Hear, hear," Flaherty said loudly. 
 
 " We've got to show," Duffy went on, facing 
 his audience, " that the law of the land can't be 
 overridden by a Roman decree about which we were 
 never consulted. This blessed decree Ne Temere 
 the infernal cheek of it says that Mrs. Blake is 
 
 a I beg your pardon, Blake, I forgot you," 
 
 he said hesitating ; " not that there's much use 
 in sparing your feelings now, for worse and grosser 
 things'll be said." 
 
 " I'm quite prepared for them so is my wife," 
 Maurice said firmly, though his lips twitched a little. 
 
 " I take it that what we have heard makes no 
 change in our relation to Mr. Blake that he is 
 our candidate," Dr. Grace said. 
 
 u Blake for ever," Flaherty said, the others 
 clapping their hands. 
 
 " Then the minutes, Mr. Tracy," Dr. Grace said 
 with a sigh of relief. 
 
 But the minutes were never read. 
 
 It was Grace himself who started a desultory 
 talk with, " I wonder what they'll do ? " 
 
 " Use the mission, of course the holy fathers 
 will preach Ne Temere from the pulpits and tap every 
 house direct through the confessional," Duffy said 
 angrily. 
 
 They sat late making plans for the campaign. 
 It was after twelve when Maurice drove out to 
 Bourneen. Driscoll and the child were asleep. 
 Alice was sewing by the kitchen fire. 
 
 "Well?" she said. 
 
 " Our people know what they have to face," he 
 said cheerfully.
 
 WAITING 337 
 
 " And they're going on ? " 
 
 "They're fine fellows win or lose it will be 
 a victory." A shadow crossed her face. " You're 
 not losing heart ? " he asked. 
 
 " No," she said in a low tone, gazing sadly in 
 the fire ; " only sorry that so much wrong is done 
 in the name of God. You won't let it harden 
 your heart, Maurice ? . . . "
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 DRISCOLL'S appearance, as he hobbled out to break- 
 fast next morning, shocked Maurice. Huge knots 
 disfigured his fingers. His face was livid. His 
 white locks had become straggling yellow wisps. 
 Only the old gentle eyes remained. Yet these too 
 had changed. They had more fire in them, and 
 determination, when he spoke of anything in which 
 he was interested. 
 
 " I'm going down the hill quick," he said with 
 a smile, " ever since I left you in the summer, but 
 I'll not give in till they carry me out feet fore- 
 most." 
 
 In the garden, afterwards, as he was about to 
 set out for Liscannow, with some sinking of heart 
 Maurice told Driscoll of Father Mahon's telegram, 
 expecting the usual counsel of submission. The old 
 man struck his stick firmly on the path. 
 
 " If your heart tells you you're right," he said 
 feebly, " never mind the risk. These last few 
 months, and I not able to read or to work, my 
 thoughts were wandering a lot over my whole life. 
 What I was most sorry for was the times I was 
 cautious and prudent ; and the only consolation I 
 had was that I helped in the rearing of people more 
 courageous than myself. Never count the cost 
 when you think you're right. That's the only way 
 the world'll get out of the bog it's in."
 
 WAITING 339 
 
 He stood by the gate watching the children 
 pass by to school, a few sods of turf under an arm 
 of each. 
 
 " It's well they get some heat for their bodies 
 itself, for it's little they get for their minds since 
 you left," he said sadly. 
 
 They walked slowly towards the school. The 
 gate hung on one hinge. Grass and weeds covered 
 the flower beds. The plaster had fallen from 
 the walls in great irregular patches. The creeper 
 lay sodden on the ground. The paint on the front 
 door had worn away to the priming. Broken panes 
 were patched with cardboard. One window was 
 boarded half-way up. 
 
 "The sash fell out near a year ago," Driscoll 
 said angrily. 
 
 "Shall we go in ?" Maurice said. 
 
 " 'Twould break your heart and the poor man 
 within'd be frightened to death too. Long ago he 
 got orders from Father James to keep me out. 
 Poor fellow, he's one of them that some people say 
 is his own worst enemy. But the parish is suffer- 
 ing. The Board in Dublin made many an attempt 
 to get rid of him, but Father James wouldn't 
 budge. The people are grumbling what can 
 they do?" 
 
 "We shall make an effort to change all this." 
 
 "Do then. It's time something was done. I'll 
 walk with you as far as the chapel you can leave 
 me there." 
 
 During his walk to Liscannow, Maurice couldn't 
 get rid of the memory of the dilapidated school- 
 house almost in the shadow, too, of the glaring 
 limestone spire that now crowned the chapel tower. 
 Neighbours spoke to him, and congratulated him,
 
 340 
 
 WAITING 
 
 but he hurried on. The Father Mahons had seized 
 on the education of the country and were throttling 
 it they gave the people limestone spires instead. 
 He laughed bitterly. What were they aiming at ? 
 Durrisk gateway reminded him of the convents and 
 monasteries round Dublin. Soon, perhaps, Durrisk 
 would be a monastery. The whole country would 
 be one I5ig convent of priests and nuns. This, of 
 course, was ridiculous still. They were amass- 
 ing immense wealth. They held the people in 
 spiritual fear. . . . 
 
 He asked himself gravely if he had any religion 
 left if he ever had any. His thoughts went back 
 to his childhood. There were moments . . . and 
 priests had helped him too, old Father Boland, and 
 later, Father Malone. Yes, in spite of Father 
 Mahon he held to his earlier vision. Men had 
 suffered for their faith and for their priests. . . . 
 For the Father Mahons ? The country couldn't 
 be so foolish. . . . What did an awakening so 
 often lead to ? Breslin's scepticism. And the 
 scepticism of the ignorant would be worse still. 
 He stood on the bridge and watched the river 
 swirl rapidly under the arches. The Mahons were 
 damming it with their little spades. There were 
 so many of them ! Would they succeed ? 
 
 Liscannow had resumed its listless mood. Less 
 than a dozen people passed him between the bridge 
 and the main street. In front of Leary's hotel a 
 pack of hounds yapped loudly, impatient of re- 
 straining whips. He bought a Star which had just 
 arrived, but there was no reference to the election. 
 Liscannow seemed to ignore it too. He called at 
 Duffy's office. 
 
 "There's nothing to do till the other side
 
 WAITING 341 
 
 moves. They're active Timmins was with the 
 bishop this morning for over an hour but they've 
 said nothing yet, we'll just sit tight," was the 
 agent's advice. 
 
 Days passed. Maurice heard minute details of 
 Bourneen news : Father Malone had been sent to 
 a mountainy parish ; the new curate was always 
 galivanting into Liscannow, and had a piano, yellow 
 kid gloves and a gold-handled umbrella; the cess 
 for the new spire was something cruel. 
 
 There were visits to the Crawfords, the Blakes, 
 the Reardons, the Hinnisseys ; and return visits. 
 Miss Clancy, who was just home from a Dublin 
 convent school, called very formally on Alice, 
 dropping a card on the kitchen dresser. She com- 
 plained of the lack of society in Bourneen, and left, 
 hurriedly and blushingly, when Mrs. Hinnissey 
 came in and addressed her as Janie. Deputations 
 came to impress on Maurice the crying need of a 
 grant of Government money to be had for the 
 asking once he was in Parliament for draining 
 the bog, making a railway through the mountains, 
 lengthening the Strand boat-slip. 
 
 Every day he paid a visit to Liscannow, but 
 nothing happened. The Star was silent. Breslin 
 wrote that Timmins was to be supported by the 
 League, and Maurice repudiated. The delay was 
 due to the difficulty of finding some decent reason 
 for upsetting the decision of the convention. But 
 this, he thought, in experienced hands, would not 
 be of long duration. The Star would make no 
 reference to the marriage throughout the campaign : 
 the local League rag he believed it was called The 
 Liscannow News would do all that was necessary, 
 but guardedly. "I'll see that The Stat lets you
 
 342 WAITING 
 
 down lightly," he wound up. " Factionist, enemy 
 of the people, betrayer of your country, Socialist, 
 anti-clerical is the worst I'll let any one write in 
 the way of names.' And a P.S. : "I hope that it 
 won't be too beastly but it will. L.B." 
 
 Every day Maurice expected the blow, but it 
 didn't come. The Sheriff fixed the day of nomi- 
 nation, a Saturday. Maurice was still the only 
 candidate in the field. Next day the dead walls of 
 Liscannow, and the gates of all the Catholic churches 
 in the constituency, were placarded with notices of 
 a general mission in every parish of the diocese, to 
 begin at six o'clock in the evening of the Sunday 
 following the nomination. Maurice and his helpers 
 became more active. No public meetings were 
 held, but there was much interviewing of leading 
 supporters in all parts of the division. He went 
 about with a smiling face, but his nerves were on 
 the rack. He always returned to Bourneen with 
 a fear that something vague but terrifying had 
 happened to Alice during his absence. But always 
 he found her happy with some new wonder of 
 Maureen's doings and sayings on her lips. 
 
 Sometimes she said, " You're not minding, 
 Maurice ? " 
 
 And he said, " Nor you ? " 
 
 Then they sat silent for awhile before the fire, 
 and both seemed to sigh at the same moment. 
 
 On the Thursday before the nomination The 
 Star of Liberty announced in leaded type that the 
 Liscannow convention was found to be informal. 
 The political organization committee in Dublin, in 
 view of the fact that there was now no time to hold 
 a properly constituted convention, had nominated 
 Mr. Edward Timmins for the vacant seat. This
 
 WAITING 343 
 
 was the natural choice, as Mr. Timmins seemed to 
 have secured the majority of the legally accredited 
 votes at the informal convention. A moderate lead- 
 ing article supported the decision of the committee. 
 Mr. Timmins was an old and tried worker for the 
 cause, whose opinions on all national questions were 
 sound. The same could not be said of Mr. Blake. 
 He had a tendency to air views on policy dangerous 
 to national unity. What was needed at this 
 critical moment in the country's history was abso- 
 lute obedience to the dictates of their gifted leaders. 
 Mr. Blake was a literary man of eminence, as his 
 many contributions to the columns of The Star 
 proved, but the political ideas of literary men were 
 usually beneath contempt. Mr. Blake was a striking 
 example of this. Extracts from his political articles 
 in The Dawn followed. A concluding paragraph 
 applied to Maurice all the epithets promised by 
 Breslin, but without rancour. 
 
 While Maurice was reading this news in The 
 Star, in the private sitting-room reserved for him 
 at Leary's Hotel, Father Malone was announced. 
 
 The priest was pale and excited. His lips 
 moved to speak, but no sound came. He shook 
 Maurice's hand, and dropped it hurriedly. He 
 took off his glasses and wiped them nervously with 
 his handkerchief. 
 
 Maurice said, "This is a happy chance I was 
 looking forward to seeing you. I intended to call 
 to-morrow when I'm due in your parish. Take 
 that chair and make yourself comfortable." 
 
 " Yes, yes," Father Malone said abstractedly, 
 his eyes fixed on Maurice with a sort of unseeing 
 stare. He rubbed away at his glasses, but made no 
 movement towards the chair. Suddenly he started,
 
 344 WAITING 
 
 as if waking from a dream, said " Yes, yes," and sat 
 down. 
 
 Maurice sat near, in another armchair, and 
 waited somewhat apprehensively. 
 
 The priest put on his glasses. He took several 
 minutes to fix the clips satisfactorily behind his ears. 
 He stared at the fire. 
 
 " How have you been all those years ? " Maurice 
 said, feeling stupid and almost tongue-tied. 
 
 The priest looked at him reproachfully. " I 
 never expected it of you, Maurice," he said in a 
 flat tone. 
 
 " What didn't you expect ? " 
 
 "Oh, the sin of it," Malone said bitterly, 
 wringing his hands, and speaking as if to the fire. 
 
 " Of what ? " 
 
 "This marriage this unhappy, unhappy marriage 
 that's no marriage in the sight of God. Oh, 
 Maurice, that you, of all men, should do it." 
 
 The feeling of anger that momentarily arose in 
 Maurice gave way to one of pity. Unconsciously 
 he put out his hand and laid it on the priest's 
 sleeve. 
 
 " Don't feel it so much, Father," he said 
 anxiously, thinking only of the need of sympathy 
 expressed in the priest's face. 
 
 " You feel it then yourself," Malone said, look- 
 ing up hopefully. " You're sorry for it you'll do 
 your best to set it right." 
 
 " Sorry for what ? Set what right ? " 
 
 " The sin the marriage," Father Malone said, 
 a little impatiently. 
 
 Maurice stared at him. Again his anger gave 
 way, and he said gently 
 
 " I'm sorry if anything I have done gives you
 
 WAITING 345 
 
 pain. For the rest, I'm conscious of neither sin 
 nor sorrow," he added, shutting his lips tightly. 
 
 Father Malone extended his hands in a quick, 
 despairing movement towards the fire. 
 
 " It's always the way with the love of a woman," 
 he said sadly ; " it hardens a man's heart to the 
 grace of God. Why, if I reckoned them up 
 according to the rules of moral theology, the sins 
 you've committed in this miserable affair are as 
 numerous, maybe, as the hairs on your head. But, 
 take heart. Our Lord was never the One to crush 
 the bruised reed or quench the smoking flax," he 
 added with a wan smile. 
 
 " I'm neither a bruised reed nor smoking flax," 
 Maurice said with an answering smile. 
 
 " God help us, we all are. But that's neither 
 here nor there. You're going to rise out of it now, 
 there's a good fellow." 
 
 Maurice stood up and gazed down at the priest's 
 expectant face. 
 
 " You've already said enough to make me 
 angry with almost any one else in the world," he 
 said quietly. " 1 don't want to quarrel with you 
 for holding your view but 1 don't want to hear it 
 again. Try to conceive that another view mine, 
 for instance may be right. I'm married, and I'll 
 expect you to remember it. Don't quarrel with me 
 don't," he added appealingly. 
 
 " But you're not married you're living in 
 sin the Ne Temere" the priest said in amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 Maurice shrugged his shoulders, and walked 
 up and down the room. 
 
 " What would you have me do ? " he said dryly, 
 standing by the corner of the fireplace.
 
 346 WAITING 
 
 The priest gave a sigh of relief. " That's 
 talking reason," he said brightening. He held his 
 clasped hands to his lips and thought for a few 
 moments. " I saw his lordship before coming to see 
 you in fact, 'twas he that sent for me," Malone 
 said timidly. 
 
 " Oh, indeed ! " Maurice said dryly. 
 
 " He may be a hard man in many things I 
 won't be denying that it's not always easy to see 
 what he's driving at. But I'm sure he's all right in 
 this he couldn't be otherwise, and the law of God 
 at stake." 
 
 " Some Roman lawyer made it the law of God 
 here a couple of years ago. Up to then my marriage 
 would have been valid. One would think God 
 knew His own mind better," Maurice said harshly. 
 "Perhaps He does, in spite of Ne Temere? But 
 go on." 
 
 The priest shook his head sadly. " After all, 
 you're a layman and can't grasp these things," he 
 said slowly. " I don't much like the Church myself 
 to be making new sins to tell you the truth, I don't 
 like it at all. But once she says the word why, 
 it is God speaking, and there's nothing for it but 
 to obey," he said simply. " But you've put me off 
 the track. Where was I ? Oh yes. The bishop 
 was very kind. He isn't always that to me, I may 
 tell you, so it shows you how much he has taken 
 your affair to heart. He admitted even that he was 
 a bit rushed into the steps he has already taken (the 
 mission and the like), by Father James Mahon 
 he's a bad egg, may God forgive him and that 
 he'd far rather for the good of religion and the 
 glory of God that the matter was settled quietly." 
 
 " Well ? " Maurice said interested.
 
 WAITING 347 
 
 " Well, the long and the short of it is this. If 
 the woman " 
 
 Who ? " 
 
 " The woman oh well, Mrs. Blake can be got 
 to consent to a marriage by a priest in a Catholic 
 church, he'd be willing to forget everything, and 
 make it easy for you about the dispensation and all 
 that but you'd have to repair the scandal, of 
 course " 
 
 " Scandal ? " Maurice interrupted. 
 
 "The injury you've done to God, to our Holy 
 Church, to the bishop, to the pious faithful." 
 
 " My God ! Isn't it I who am injured and 
 my wife and child ? " Maurice said angrily. 
 
 "The sinner does suffer a little, of course ; but 
 think of God, Maurice. It's He 
 
 " Oh," Maurice said wearily. " But go on. 
 How am I to repair this scandal ? " 
 
 " By retiring from the contest I'd wish myself 
 there was some other way. Timmins is a disgrace 
 to a Christian community, and no more a real 
 Nationalist than my old boot. But the bishop was 
 firm. He said the honour of God, which was 
 insulted by your action, demanded at least that 
 much reparation from you." 
 
 Maurice laughed. " And if the woman doesn't 
 consent ? " he asked dryly, pressing the forefinger of 
 each hand tightly against the thumb. 
 
 " You'd have to separate from her at once. 
 Every minute you're living with her you're living 
 in sin. You'd keep the child, of course ; any 
 convent'd take her off your hands." 
 
 Maurice gazed at the fire. He turned and looked 
 Father M alone all over. 
 
 " And you are a man ? " he said, as if to himself.
 
 348 WAITING 
 
 " And the wonder of it is," he added, letting his 
 eyes wander to the fire, " that he is, and a good 
 man too in a hundred ways." 
 
 " You're a bit shaken by that," the priest said 
 sympathetically. " But the grace of God'll come 
 to your help and you'll soon get over it." 
 
 Maurice said nothing. After a pause Father 
 Malone continued. 
 
 "The worst of it is that after doing all that 
 Timmins'll get in in any event ; for you see you'd 
 still have the scandal to repair, and nothing less 
 than your retirement would satisfy his lordship on 
 that head." 
 
 Maurice smiled wearily. " Hadn't I better stick 
 to my wife and to the contest ? " he asked. " I 
 might keep out Timmins." 
 
 Father Malone blushed. " I was thinking more 
 of your soul all along," he said reproachfully. 
 
 " I'm sure you were," Maurice said impulsively. 
 "You think I've lost my soul. I think I'm nearer 
 to finding it. Can you be friends with a lost 
 soul ? " 
 
 The priest took his hand and shook it warmly. 
 Then he seemed uneasy. After a few moments his 
 face lit up. 
 
 " I'm right in keeping friends," he said gravely. 
 " You see if I give you up you might go from 
 bad to worse. And if I keep in with you I might 
 get you to come round yet." 
 
 He spoke of his mountain parish. " There were 
 few anxious to take it," he said, "but I'm as 
 happy there as a king. I'm far from the bishop, 
 and that's sometimes a God-send, and I've no priest 
 over me or under me, and that helps to keep a 
 man out of harm's way. I " All the time
 
 WAITING 349 
 
 he was evidently thinking of Maurice, for he 
 broke off suddenly, " To go back to your soul 
 again 
 
 But Maurice interrupted him. 
 
 " You won't get there now," he said emphatically. 
 " I'm due at Duffy's for the last ten minutes." 
 
 " They'll beat you. There are so many things 
 I have to say to you. Couldn't you give 
 
 Maurice wouldn't re-open the discussion. On 
 their way downstairs the priest said 
 
 " You're wrong, but I don't like the method by 
 which you're to be attacked a good many don't. 
 Only let me talk to you 
 
 In the hall Dr. Fitzpatrick almost ran into 
 them. " Oh ! " he said, " Father Malone, and 
 yes, it is Mr. Blake. Give him good advice, 
 Father." 
 
 " Hush ! " the priest said looking round anxiously. 
 
 " Mum is the word I know everything but 
 I'm as safe as a 
 
 "Leaking kettle," the priest said roughly. 
 
 " Father Malone will have his joke," Fitz- 
 patrick said complacently to Maurice. " Giving 
 in ? " he whispered. " I'd strongly advise you " 
 he turned towards Father Malone " for the sake 
 of religion and all that." Again to Maurice, " A 
 family man myself! so I didn't turn up after 
 Duggan told me how matters stood that first night : 
 he had it direct from his lordship. But I'm not 
 strait-laced, not by any manner of means. No 
 prejudice against you whatever." 
 
 Maurice must have looked very angry for Father 
 Malone took his arm and dragged him away ; while 
 Fitzpatrick muttered in amazement, " And I only 
 trying to be friendly."
 
 350 WAITING 
 
 On Friday night Maurice addressed an enthu- 
 siastic meeting in the market square. On Saturday 
 morning the Liscannow News gave brief biographies 
 of the two candidates, stating, without comment, 
 that Maurice was married to a Protestant lady, Miss 
 Alice Barton, in a Dublin Registry Office. 
 
 Later in the day the nominations took place 
 quietly.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 FATHER MAHON rang for the lamp, pulled down the 
 blinds to shut out the sodden, dark grey sky, and 
 took his seat in the little circle round his study fire. 
 
 " The sun hasn't gone down yet. I hope to God 
 the darkness isn't for rain. It'd spoil the mission 
 to-night," he said, spreading his hands to the cheer- 
 ful blaze. " God forbid," a rubicund priest, in the 
 black habit of the Seraphites, said unctuously. He 
 twirled his thumbs, which just met across his paunch, 
 his hands resting on it as if on a cushion. Little 
 grey eyes gleamed under his bushy eyebrows. 
 Layers of cheek, overhanging his jaws, hid his 
 collar. A few yellow stumps of teeth protruded 
 from a wide mouth. He smacked his lips. The 
 few, wiry hairs, surrounding his tonsure, seemed to 
 stand erect. " But God is very good to us in the 
 way of weather, especially on the opening night 
 isn't He, Father Mansuetudo ? " 
 
 " He is that, Father Prior, and He's sure not to 
 fail us on a great occasion like this," Father Man- 
 
 O * 
 
 suetudo said emphatically. He shut his thin lips 
 austerely, till the skin was drawn tight over his high 
 cheek-bones and narrow forehead. His eyes, set 
 close together, almost nestling against a long thin 
 nose, gleamed as he added, " Do you remember that 
 time, Father Benignus Father Prior, I should say 
 when we had to denounce that scandal up in the 
 North ? It was raining cats and dogs all day, and it
 
 352 WAITING 
 
 cleared up within an hour of the mission service 
 a special Providence, I call it," he looked around 
 questioningly. "You were in great fettle that 
 night, Father Prior." 
 
 " Oh, God fits the back to the burthen," the 
 prior said carelessly. " It's getting late, Father 
 Mahon, and I think we ought to be having the 
 dinner. I like to have it well settled down always 
 before I begin to preach." 
 
 " It's only ten to four, and four is the hour," 
 Father Mahon said firmly. " Besides, Father Dela- 
 hunty is coming. It's like him, I must say, to be 
 wandering about the country, dining out, and he 
 having a mission of his own to-night, too." 
 
 " I wish 7 could be away," a slim priest sighed. 
 He stroked tenderly the auburn curl on his fore- 
 head, and pulled his white cuffs well down over his 
 knuckles. "There's a good deal of rot about all 
 this fuss, you know -and I'm missing a musical 
 party in Liscannow. She's a likely piece of goods 
 enough too. I don't know but I'm half sorry for 
 her. There's no telling what I mightn't be doing 
 myself if the like of her put the comether on me, 
 and I wasn't tied down as I am." 
 
 Father Mahon and Father Mansuetudo frowned. 
 
 Father Benignus chuckled. "You're a gay 
 lad a regular Lothario. It must be a trial now, 
 Father Mahon, to have a curate like him all the 
 girls running after him ; I remember my own young 
 days. Keep a chain on him, Mahon." 
 
 Father Mansuetudo gave a hollow laugh. " One 
 of Father Prior's little jokes in the privacy of the 
 family, you know," he said in anxious explanation. 
 
 Father Benignus chuckled at some memory. 
 " Gay dog," he murmured.
 
 WAITING 353 
 
 " This is too serious a matter for joking," 
 Father Mahon said frowning. He glared angrily 
 at his curate. " I don't mind your being a fool so 
 long as you do your work, Father Brogan," he 
 spluttered, " but I won't have my curate lifting his 
 
 voice against me in my own parish. I'll I'll " 
 
 He glanced at the two Seraphites, who were watching 
 him, Father Mansuetudo anxiously, Father Benig- 
 nus with an amused grin, and tried to check his 
 temper. " This is a momentous occasion, Father 
 Benignus," he said ponderously. " This fellow, 
 Blake, has pitted himself against me there is also 
 the great virtue of purity ! and we have to maintain 
 the authority of the Church and her laws. I hope 
 I'm safe in trusting it entirely to your hands ? no 
 levity ?" 
 
 " Oh, I'll diddle him all right," Father Benignus 
 said, striking the arm of his chair with his open 
 palm as if crushing a fly. 
 
 "He's as solemn as a judge in the pulpit," 
 Father Mansuetudo said assuringly. " You never 
 heard him ? The eloquence pours out of him like 
 water out of a barrel and his big voice ! the 
 hammer of the Lord, we call him in the order," he 
 added admiringly. 
 
 Father Benignus smacked his lips complacently. 
 "The sooner I'll have that dinner, the better I'll 
 have my wind back," he said, his hands straying 
 feelingly over his paunch. 
 
 There was a knock at the front door. In a few 
 minutes Father Delahunty came in. As he shook 
 hands with Father Mahon, the servant announced 
 dinner. 
 
 " Oh, Seraphites ! " Delahunty said. " Father 
 Benignus, and Father Mansuetudo too ! 'Dad, 
 
 2 A
 
 354 WAITING 
 
 Mahon, you're going to give it to poor Blake hot. 
 * Mary had a little lamb, and she was meek and 
 mild,' " he hummed. 
 
 " You should have had me for your mission, 
 Delahunty, my boy," Father Benignus said boister- 
 ously, when they had taken their seats in the dining- 
 room. 
 
 " No fireworks for me this time. Cassidy 
 wouldn't have it he's never far wrong. Nothing'd 
 do him but a pair of Jesuits he picked them him- 
 self, too warranted mild." 
 
 " They're too mealy-mouthed for a job like this," 
 Benignus said, fixing his napkin under his many 
 chins. 
 
 " That's just it butter wouldn't melt in the 
 mouths of the pair we have. Besides, Cassidy has 
 reduced them to pulp by this. They're opening 
 on temperance to-night " 
 
 Father Mahon paused in his carving. " What ? " 
 he shouted. 
 
 " Temperance," Delahunty repeated, pouring a 
 little whiskey into his tumbler. " Shall I help you, 
 Father Benignus ? " 
 
 " Do. But you needn't be too careful about the 
 measuring." 
 
 " Yes, temperance. And why wouldn't they ? 
 Neither of the poor men drink. They're bubbling 
 over with cold water Cassidy is in that line himself 
 too." 
 
 " But the bishop's instructions the Ne Temere 
 the whole opening sermon and to be touched on 
 every night up to the election," Father Mahon said, 
 in a series of crescendo shouts. 
 
 " Father Benignus is watching that slab of 
 mutton on your fork like a hawk. Don't let
 
 WAITING 355 
 
 it be getting cold on him," Father Delahunty said 
 dryly. 
 
 Father Mahon dashed the mutton on a plate 
 recklessly. " Send it down to Father Brogan for 
 ham if you want it," he said angrily, almost 
 throwing the plate at Father Benignus. "This is 
 a nice business," he went on " downright insub- 
 ordination. I venture to say you'll be the only 
 parish in the diocese not doing your duty to-night." 
 
 " It's queer how men put things differently," 
 Delahunty said, sipping his whiskey and water. 
 " That fool of a Cassidy of mine has some notion 
 that he's keeping the parish decent ' It'll be an 
 oasis in a desert of shame for the next week at least,' 
 he says. And that's why he's sprinkling it with 
 cold water. ' It's cooler,' he says, c in election time 
 than the kind of blue vitriol Benignus here'll be 
 spouting.' ' 
 
 " He's a damn funny codger," Father Benignus 
 said, with his mouth full. 
 
 Father Mansuetudo frowned. " Would you put 
 it that way, Father Prior ? " he said, with a trace of 
 asperity. His eyes almost met, so close were they 
 together. " I should rather say self-willed dan- 
 gerous temerarious almost in fact, quasi-heretical 
 for flouting the authority of his bishop, apart 
 altogether from the disrespectful way he spoke of 
 you, Father Prior an insult to our Superior and to 
 our holy order." 
 
 " Of course, of course," Father Benignus said, 
 his little eyes blinking rapidly. " I've often told 
 you, Father," he said gravely, " that though I see 
 the humorous side of a situation, I'm none the less 
 blind to its deplorable circumstances a rash young 
 man ! likely to come to a bad end."
 
 356 WAITING 
 
 Father Mansuetudo gave a sigh of relief. " 1 
 ought to have known you better, Father Prior," he 
 said apologetically. 
 
 Father Mahon brooded over his untasted dinner. 
 He dabbed a knife viciously in his mutton. 
 
 " The bishop will hear of this, Father Dela- 
 hunty," he said aggressively. " A parish priest is 
 a parish priest, and you won't escape responsibility 
 by bringing in Cassidy." 
 
 " What wonderful insight you have, James," 
 Delahunty said ironically. "But I didn't tell you 
 all that Cassidy said," he went on with a chuckle. 
 " f Delahunty, my boy,' he said to me he looks on 
 me as a gossoon in petticoats, l that was a great 
 trick of sending round them marked copies of the 
 Liscannow News with the account of Blake's registry 
 marriage,' he said, * laying a train of powder in every 
 voter's house for the missioners to put a spark to 
 to-night and blow up the poor devil with. But 
 damn the fizzle even there'll be out of that same 
 powder in this parish the way I'll have it deluged 
 in cold water,' he said." 
 
 " But Cassidy and you, too is supposed to be 
 a priest of God," Father Mahon thundered. 
 
 " It's queer now," Delahunty said calmly, " that 
 them are the very words that Cassidy himself used. 
 * And I'm damned,' he said besides, ' if I'll have God 
 turned into an electioneering agent.' ' 
 
 "This is as good as a play I don't think I'm 
 missing much in not being in Liscannow," Father 
 Brogan whispered to Father Mansuetudo. 
 
 " It's a scandal a scandal," Father Mansuetudo 
 muttered angrily. He looked across at his prior ; 
 but Father Benignus was intent on his plate. There 
 was no movement in his face, but his breath came
 
 WAITING 357 
 
 in short, quick gasps through his nose, and the 
 napkin, on his breast, was shaking violently. 
 
 " The flame Father Prior'll kindle to-night 
 will spread through the length and breadth of the 
 diocese," Father Mansuetudo said ecstatically, the 
 light of vision in his eyes. " And there are thirty 
 of our Fathers in other parishes no temporizing 
 Jesuits, but true Seraphites to fan the torch with 
 their holy zeal." His lips moved as if in prayer. 
 
 " No doubt it'll be a great bonfire entirely," 
 Father Delahunty said thoughtfully. "Though 
 the Lord only knows who'll be burnt up in it in 
 the end the people that lit it as likely as not. 
 But as Cassidy'd say, may the devil mend them. 
 Do you know what, James," turning towards 
 Mahon : " I'm taking a disgust to coursing for 
 the last couple of days. I'm beginning to think 
 there's something to be said for the hare." 
 
 Father Mahon was speechless with anger. He 
 gulped down mutton and cabbage and ham and 
 potatoes as fast as his fork could convey them to 
 his mouth. He threw down his knife and fork 
 at last, saying 
 
 " The Church must be purged of its traitors." 
 
 "Amen, amen," Father Mansuetudo said 
 fervently. 
 
 " That reminds me of a good story," Father 
 Benignus said, wiping his greasy mouth with a 
 corner of his napkin. " No more, thank you, 
 Father James. I'm as taut as a drum no room 
 for anything but the punch. A red-haired woman 
 once came " 
 
 " Oh, that one ! " Father Mansuetudo said 
 uneasily. " Isn't it a little too too 
 
 " He's as scared as a young woman the night
 
 358 WAITING 
 
 of her wedding," Father Benignus said indulgently. 
 " Don't you know, Father, that 1 never cross the 
 border ? " 
 
 " You lean damn far over the mearing fence, 
 then," Father Delahunty said dryly. 
 
 Father Benignus chuckled. " Besides, Father 
 Mansuetudo," he said gravely, " I always told 
 you there was a good moral in it." 
 
 " I'm sorry I interrupted you," his subordinate 
 said meekly, his faith in Father Prior enabling 
 him, though hesitatingly, to move mountains. 
 
 It was a long story, and was interrupted twice 
 by the servant who came in to remove the plates, 
 and again with hot water. Father Mahon was 
 attentive only for short intervals, when his harsh 
 laugh grated through his teeth. For the most part 
 he was following thoughts of his own, his lips and 
 face twitching spasmodically. He made a glass 
 of punch and passed round the decanter. He 
 did not notice the close of the tale. Father 
 Benignus himself gave a loud guffaw and swallowed 
 the remainder of his punch. Father Mansuetudo 
 smiled feebly. Father Delahunty looked through 
 the amber liquid in his glass and said, " Poor 
 Blake." Father Brogan leant back in his chair 
 and shook with laughter. 
 
 " The best I ever heard," he said, short of 
 breath. " That's where you missioners have the 
 pull over us poor seculars," he added, regretfully. 
 " Knocking round the country so much, you get 
 the pick of the basket of all the prime stories 
 going." 
 
 Father Benignus looked at him with a more 
 kindly eye. 
 
 " Oh, I've better than that," he said, chuckling.
 
 WAITING 359 
 
 " It's nearly six o'clock we ought to be going 
 to the church," Father Mansuetudo said hastily. 
 
 Father Benignus sighed. "Well, well the 
 week is long. Just remind me, Father Brogan, 
 another night, of Paudeen Rafferty. That ' 
 
 Father Mansuetudo moved back his chair. 
 
 " Oh, it's time, is it," Father Mahon said. 
 " Run down, Father Brogan, and see that every- 
 thing is ready that the collectors are at the doors, 
 and at the box." 
 
 Father Brogan went reluctantly, Father Man- 
 suetudo at his heels. 
 
 " I'll not stir out of this till I have another 
 glass to oil my throat," Father Benignus said, 
 grasping the decanter. " It's as dry as a parched 
 pea this minute, and I'll be putting a great strain 
 on it down below." 
 
 " You won't fail ? " Father Mahon said 
 doubtfully. 
 
 " I'll fry the lad till he wriggles like a live eel 
 in hot grease," Father Benignus said good- 
 humouredly. " That's very good whiskey, Mahon." 
 
 Father Delahunty stood with his back to the 
 fire. Father Mahon came towards the fireplace 
 and said, with an effort to control his temper 
 
 " You know you pushed me too far, Delahunty 
 I nearly forgot the laws of hospitality." 
 
 Father Delahunty smiled. " You have that 
 
 virtue, James I wish he broke off. " Is 
 
 there no moving you ? The man's own parish 
 too." 
 
 Father Mahon straightened himself and his chin 
 protruded. " I, at least, know my duty to the 
 Church." 
 
 " L'Eglise c'est moi."
 
 360 WAITING 
 
 " What's that ? " Father Mahon said suspiciously. 
 
 " It's Dutch for my grandmother," Father 
 Delahunty said moodily. 
 
 Father Mahon looked at his watch, then, 
 impatiently at Father Benignus, who was just 
 finishing his punch. 
 
 " You won't even tell that swipe to deal decently 
 with the subject ? " Delahunty said in a low tone, 
 appealingly. 
 
 " The guilty have only themselves to blame. 
 Come on, Father Benignus." 
 
 " You're coming down to hear me ? " the prior 
 said boisterously, laying an affectionate arm on 
 Delahunty's shoulder. " I feel sure I'll surpass 
 myself to-night I'm that worked up." 
 
 Father Delahunty did not seem to listen. " I 
 must get back to Cassidy and decency," he murmured 
 to himself. 
 
 He lingered by the front gate, waiting for his 
 trap. Father Mahon and the missioner passed out, 
 Father Benignus clasping a crucifix, about two feet 
 long, to his breast. The silver figure, stretched on 
 the cross, shone impassive in the light of a newly 
 risen moon. 
 
 Father Delahunty looked from the crucifix to 
 the missioner's face and muttered, " I'm damned if it 
 isn't nearly enough to make one have some respect 
 for the Protestants." 
 
 " So long, then, if you won't come to hear a 
 treat," Father Benignus said cheerily, trotting with 
 short steps beside Father Mahon's long stride. 
 
 " Where does that Blake and his whore live ? " 
 he asked. 
 
 " In the village," Father Mahon said gruffly. 
 
 " See, if they're not belled out before me and
 
 WAITING 361 
 
 Mansuetudo are done with them great crowds 
 entirely," he added, as they passed several groups of 
 people. 
 
 "They're a stiff-necked lot," Father Mahon 
 growled. 
 
 " Wait till I pour the grace of God over them 
 I've a wonderful gift in that way glory be to His 
 Holy Name," Father Benignus said. 
 
 The path from the church gate to the tower 
 door was lined with canvas tents, open in front. 
 Smoky oil lamps cast a feeble light on the many 
 objects of religion exposed for sale on rough wooden 
 shelves highly coloured pictures, cheap plaster 
 statues, rosaries, little leaden saints, holy water 
 stoups, a varied assortment of paper-covered books, 
 ranging from " Hell opened to Christians " to " The 
 Imitation of Christ," with realistic illustrations. 
 One stall, more ambitious than the others, was 
 made brilliant by a naphtha flare. The owner, a 
 ferret- face little man with bleary eyes, ran after 
 Father Benignus and pulled his cloak. 
 
 " Hullo, Jimmy. Always on my track." 
 
 "And why wouldn't I, Father Prior, and you 
 such a seller." 
 
 " What's your best line this time ? " 
 
 " Red and blue plaster saints dirt cheap, and a 
 new brand of crucifix." 
 
 "All right I'll lay stress on them." 
 
 " I won't be forgetting your reverence God 
 Almighty pour blessings down on your head this 
 night." 
 
 Father Benignus bowed left and right, waved his 
 crucifix, in benediction, in response to the doffing of 
 hats, curtseys, and salutations of " God bless you, 
 Father." The thin line of people along the stalls
 
 362 WAITING 
 
 merged into a surging crowd at the front door. The 
 rattle of money in the wooden collecting boxes and 
 the strident voices of the collectors rose above the din. 
 
 " Keep back there crushing won't get you in 
 without your tuppences." 
 
 " 'Twas never more than a penny before." 
 
 " Any one that hasn't tuppence in the heel of 
 his fist'll go out by the scruff of the neck." 
 
 Father Mahon had passed on. Father Benignus 
 listened a while. 
 
 " Maurice Blake." " His wife isn't his wife at 
 all, they tell me." " The holy missioners'll throw a 
 light on it." " If he was a Turk itself with ten 
 wives I'd give him my vote." " Whist, there's the 
 missioner behind you." 
 
 "Wait till I talk to 'em," Father Benignus 
 chuckled to himself, and walked on towards the 
 sacristy. "A full house," he said cheerfully to 
 Father Brogan, who was standing beside a wooden 
 sentry box with " Gallery, sixpence " in large letters 
 over the ticket window. " It ought to nett out 
 well. I thought Mahon'd forget this side of the 
 business, he's so bent on hounding out the member 
 fellow." 
 
 "Catch him forgetting this, even if they made a 
 pope of him," Brogan said with a leer. 
 
 Inside the church Father Mahon was busy, 
 driving and packing people into seats. " Scrooge 
 up there's room for another there." There was 
 some sullen murmuring, but no active resistance. 
 " I'm in no one's way here. Can't you let me be, 
 Father." " Move on, I tell you," with a free use 
 of the wrist and knee that would have done credit 
 to a Rugby forward There was a hum of conversa- 
 tion in which "Blake, Maurice, wife," rose to the
 
 WAITING 363 
 
 surface. " Silence ! " Father Mahon shouted. " Re- 
 member you are in the house of God." 
 
 The stream through the doors ceased. Every 
 seat was occupied. The passages were filled with 
 swaying worshippers. Miss Clancy and her father 
 and mother were seated within the sanctuary close 
 to the soutaned and surpliced Father Mahon 
 and Father Brogan. The gaunt figure of Father 
 Mansuetudo appeared at the sacristy door. He 
 advanced to the altar, knelt in prayer for a minute, 
 elbowed his way to the pulpit, and gave out 
 the rosary to which the congregation made re- 
 sponse. As he drew near the end, Father Benignus 
 knelt at the altar steps and prayed silently. Father 
 Mansuetudo left the pulpit. The kneeling wor- 
 shippers rose to their feet. Before they had settled 
 in their seats, or had found a comfortable standing 
 position, Father Benignus was in the pulpit, the 
 silver crucifix, gleaming against the black wood, 
 held aloft in his right hand, while with his left he 
 wiped the sweat off his forehead with a red and white 
 check handkerchief. 
 
 He began quietly, his resonant voice filling the 
 church. Unfortunately the mission coincided with 
 a contested election. But their first duty was to 
 their souls. Outside the church the turmoil of an 
 election might claim them for a brief moment, for 
 he knew they were good Irishmen. But whether 
 in the quiet of the church, in peace with God, or 
 outside, amid all the winds of controversy, during 
 the time of this holy mission they were to keep God 
 in the forefront of their words, their thoughts, and 
 their actions. They were Irishmen, and were no 
 doubt rightly proud of it. But first and before all 
 they were Catholics, soldiers of God and of His Holy
 
 364 WAITING 
 
 Church. They were slaves, rightly struggling to be 
 free. He'd say nothing of politics beyond this, that 
 the great freedom, the only freedom that lasted into 
 the next world, that landed a man in heaven, or kept 
 him out of hell, was to be found, and found only, in 
 absolute obedience to the Catholic Church, the one 
 true religion of Jesus Christ, Who was speaking to 
 them to-night through his humble lips. But to-night 
 he intended to talk of religion only of the great 
 sacrament of marriage. 
 
 Every Catholic that was properly married was a 
 temple of the Holy Ghost, and had for a symbol the 
 mystic union of Christ and the Church. Every 
 Catholic who wasn't rightly married was a spawning 
 ground of hell. 
 
 And what was being rightly married ? 
 
 He boggled somewhat over the explanation. 
 Father Mahon frowned. " He knows less theology 
 than you do, and that's saying a good deal," he mut- 
 tered angrily to Father Brogan. 
 
 But Father Benignus had again got into his stride. 
 " You see how this beautiful Ne Temere decree sim- 
 plifies matters. A marriage of a Catholic, say, with a 
 Protestant in a registry office, that used to be a valid 
 marriage, though it was always damnable, is no 
 longer valid." 
 
 Loud talk broke out here and there in the 
 church. 
 
 " Silence," he thundered, " while the voice of 
 God is speaking." He waved the crucifix violently. 
 When silence was restored he continued, " This is 
 what every good Catholic here has to remember to- 
 night : since the passing of that noble decree every 
 
 Catholic man married to a Protestant woman " 
 
 he paused, evidently in doubt as to whether he
 
 WAITING 365 
 
 would reverse the sexes under each religious head- 
 ing. But he only repeated, " Every Catholic man 
 married to a Protestant woman in a registry office is 
 no more married in the sight of God than the cats 
 prowling round the streets at night." 
 
 " Oh, my God, my God ! " Mary Blake moaned 
 aloud from a side pew. 
 
 " In a registry office mind that it's important. 
 His wife is no better than a woman off the streets, 
 
 and his children are " he paused dramatically. 
 
 " But I won't sully my lips with vile names though, 
 after all, what are they but the protest of the holy 
 virtue of purity against abominable vice. If, in your 
 natural indignation, you are tempted to use them, I, 
 for one, would find it hard to blame you," his voice 
 trailed off on a sorrowful note. 
 
 " Come out of this, woman," Tom Blake said, 
 taking his wife roughly by the arm. She followed 
 him with a scared face as he elbowed his way through 
 the thronged passage. Jim Reardon, his wife, and 
 half a dozen young men rose to follow. In a moment 
 all the congregation seemed to be engaged in loud 
 argument. Father Mahon stood at the altar rails, 
 gesticulating furiously. 
 
 " Stop," Father Benignus shouted, in a voice 
 that dominated the church. He stood on tiptoe, 
 and held the crucifix high above his head with a 
 rigid arm. " Stand still, and be silent in the name 
 of God." 
 
 There was a sudden hush. Even Tom stood. 
 
 u In scenes like this before now and the virtue 
 isn't gone out of the priest of God even to-day 
 the voices that interrupted were struck dumb, and 
 people that attempted to leave their seats were 
 gripped to them tight."
 
 366 WAITING 
 
 " Though he's a queer man itself, maybe we 
 ought to go back," Minnie said in a frightened voice. 
 
 " We're not afraid of bird-lime," Tom said de- 
 fiantly. He had an easier passage now to the door. 
 
 The people held back, half scared. Several 
 whispered, " I wouldn't make so much of him." 
 " Let him spit it all out." " Who heeds him ? " 
 
 Tom and Minnie alone left the church. Jim 
 Reardon and the others sank back in their seats or 
 remained in the passage-way. 
 
 " Kneel down," Father Benignus shouted, 
 " and make reparation to an offended God for 
 such an outrage." Kneeling in the pulpit he 
 said a short prayer. " No more married than 
 prowling cats," he thundered at the top of his 
 voice when the people had resumed their seats, 
 and his crucifix was again in position. His squat 
 figure seemed to distend. His eyes gleamed fire. 
 He had the full attention of his audience now. 
 The majority were awed, many were sullen and 
 resentful, but all listened with necks craned forward. 
 The shuffling of feet, in the passages and aisles, ceased. 
 There wasn't a sound in the church except the boom- 
 ing voice of the preacher. He changed the crucifix 
 to his left hand and thumped the ledge of the pulpit 
 with his right. " What is that man ? A traitor to his 
 religion and to his Church. Every day that he 
 persists in his sin, in his crime, he plants a crown of 
 thorns on the head of his God. Look at our Divine 
 Lord writhing there on the cross." He held out the 
 crucifix. " That sinful traitor pierces His side with 
 a lance, spits in His face." He paused, and a long- 
 drawn sigh seemed to rend the church. 
 
 " Such things are not likely to be done in a 
 parish like this, but if they were, what is your
 
 WAITING 367 
 
 duty to yourselves and to your wives and children, 
 to your fellow-men, to your priests, to your religion, 
 to your reviled and outraged God ? This is a public 
 sin and demands public punishment If you have a 
 bad tooth you pull it out, a rotten member, you cut 
 it off." 
 
 He paused again, and then, in language of the 
 fiercest denunciation, in metaphors that mixed and 
 tumbled over one another, he left no place on earth 
 or in heaven, on which a Catholic man who married 
 a Protestant woman in a registry office should be 
 allowed to rest the sole of an untroubled foot. 
 
 He walked like a drunken man to the sanctuary, 
 wiping his streaming head with his handkerchief. 
 Conversation broke out loud all over the church. 
 
 " Couldn't be better," Father Mahon said, grasp- 
 ing the preacher's hand. 
 
 " The hammer of the Lord," Father Mansue- 
 tudo murmured with glistening eyes. 
 
 "There are a queer lot of humbugs in the 
 world," Father Brogan said, admiring his sleeve 
 links. 
 
 " I feel in the marrow of my bones that I did it," 
 Father Benignus said huskily, " but Lord, I've the 
 drought of a limekiln on me."
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 IN an hour the whole division had awakened from 
 apathy. In every chapel yard in twenty-nine parishes 
 Maurice Blake's marriage was discussed in varying 
 degrees of excitement ; even in Father Delahunty's 
 parish, notwithstanding the well- modulated douche 
 of cold water, there were surmises as to the mean- 
 ing of the marked passage in the Liscannow News. 
 The Timminsites openly rejoiced. Blake's sup- 
 porters, for the most part, spoke under their breaths, 
 with much shaking of heads, cautiously, or slunk 
 home quietly to discuss the situation with more 
 freedom in the seclusion of their firesides. Some 
 young men shouted defiance. 
 
 Maurice had dined in Liscannow with Dr. 
 Grace, and went with him and Duffy to hear the 
 mission sermon at the cathedral. In a back seat in 
 one of the aisles, under the shadow of the organ 
 gallery, he listened in vague wonder to an attack on 
 some unnamed fiend in human form, without faith 
 or morals or conscience, unworthy of trust, a traitor, 
 a renegade, false to his country and to his religion. 
 Under the fascination of the preacher's voice he 
 hardly thought of the sermon as having any relation 
 to himself. He could hardly take his eyes off the 
 refined face of the speaker, his thin lips pouring 
 out corrosive acid in silky tones, without anger or 
 resentment, but with an occasional gleam of white
 
 WAITING 369 
 
 teeth, and a half-contemptuous play of the lips and 
 nose. Once or twice Maurice glanced from the 
 preacher to the bishop, seated on the episcopal 
 throne, calm and impassive, wearing an air of 
 sadness. 
 
 " Let us get out before the crowd," Duffy said, 
 when the sermon was finished. Small groups of 
 excited talkers were, however, already in the 
 grounds. Men nudged one another as Maurice 
 passed. A few jeered. Three or four of his sup- 
 porters raised a feeble cheer. A group booed, half 
 in amusement, and broke off in a laugh. 
 
 "Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Blake," 
 one said. 
 
 " They'll have more heart in them when Timmins 
 opens the pubs to-morrow, he has them all," Duffy 
 said dryly. " Come along to my house. Out of 
 respect to the holy mission we have no meeting 
 to-night," he added bitterly. 
 
 " You didn't mind that fool in the pulpit ? " 
 Dr. Grace said as they passed through a slum 
 street. 
 
 " Oh no," Maurice said dully. 
 
 " The smell here'd knock down a horse. Why 
 don't you do something, Grace ? " Duffy said, 
 putting his handkerchief to his nose. 
 
 " 1 report these houses once a month waste- 
 paper basket," Grace said, shrugging his shoulders. 
 
 "Who owns them ?" 
 
 " Timmins the worst of them." 
 
 This somehow roused Maurice. He looked at 
 the wretched houses, with their broken doors, roofs, 
 and windows. 
 
 " Can nothing be done ? " he said. 
 
 "We're making the best effort we can in this 
 
 2 B
 
 370 WAITING 
 
 election," Grace said gravely. After a few seconds 
 he laughed. " Often 1 think we are taking ourselves 
 too seriously. Fitz may be right after all in taking 
 life as a joke. I almost regret 1 wasn't built like 
 him." 
 
 "You don't," Maurice said gently. 
 
 " Well, maybe I don't. But there you are," 
 waving his hand towards the houses. " Timmins 
 is killing off these poor devils like flies. The 
 death-rate in this street would make your hair 
 stand on end. The few that are left'll be shouting 
 1 up Timmins ' during the week in sheer gratitude 
 for being alive. But maybe, they're cynical, and 
 think that this excitement will make him drink him- 
 self to death." 
 
 " Poor fellow," Maurice said. 
 
 This made Grace angry. " Nonsense," he said 
 roughly. 
 
 Maurice looked at him in astonishment. The 
 usually mild face was distorted. 
 
 " You're strong enough in action, Blake, but 
 you have too many soft spots in you. Poor 
 Timmins ! indeed. Poor Timmins ! If you were 
 a doctor in this damned town sentimental clap- 
 trap," he muttered as Duffy opened a door with a 
 latch-key. 
 
 When Duffy had turned on the gas in his study, 
 Grace began again. " I don't know what's come 
 over me," he said apologetically. " It's the hypo- 
 crisy of that sermon, I suppose. You've tried to 
 act decently all your life and now you're going to 
 be broken " 
 
 " But I won't be broken," Maurice said quietly. 
 
 " For Timmins, the tried and proved lover of his 
 country," Grace went on heatedly, without noticing
 
 WAITING 371 
 
 the interruption. " My God ! it's enough to make 
 a man sick. Timmins puts up stained glass windows 
 in the cathedral and does jobs for the bishop on the 
 local boards in the intervals of D.T.'s " 
 
 " You're down on Timmins because the fever 
 always starts in Friar's Row. But it's the priests 
 we're up against now," Duffy interrupted. " He's 
 mad on sanitation," he added wryly to Maurice. 
 " Look here, Blake, I've made a few notes of that 
 sermon. They'll come in useful in a petition if they 
 beat us." 
 
 He held out an envelope on which he had 
 scribbled in pencil. Maurice read the notes and 
 dropped the envelope into the fire. 
 
 " I'll get in by votes or not at all," he said. 
 
 " Quixotish," Duffy said with a shrug. " Come 
 let us draw up the programme for the week. ..." 
 
 Maurice had only a confused impression of the 
 week preceding the poll. He saw the best and the 
 worst of men. Friends that he had known and 
 loved from childhood looked at him askance, or 
 passed him by without recognition. Mere ac- 
 quaintances and strangers became his warm friends. 
 Irritation, anger, joy, resentment, and a fierce 
 pleasure moved him in turns. There was no rest 
 for his feet, for his mind, for his emotions. Every 
 day supporters deserted him. Every day he dis- 
 covered finer qualities in the friends that remained. 
 He was hooted and jeered at, pelted with rotten 
 eggs, called ribald names. Alice was rescued from 
 a mob of roughs, who rushed her through the 
 main street of Liscannow, by Dr. Fitzpatrick, who 
 had now openly taken Timmins's side. Father 
 Mahon, who saw the attack, called it " a splendid
 
 372 WAITING 
 
 display of religious enthusiasm." The windows ot 
 Driscoll's cottage were broken : Teigue Donlon and 
 Dempsey were caught hanging dead cats to the gate 
 posts. Mary Blake begged Maurice, on her knees, 
 to go back to Dublin and give up the contest. 
 Then she kissed him and said she'd scrape the eyes 
 out of the mean hounds that called little Maureen a 
 bastard. He had to give up his rooms in Leary's 
 Hotel. Mrs. Leary said she couldn't sleep at night 
 with the fear of hell that was on her, on the head of 
 him, since she was with the missioner at confession. 
 From all districts he heard that the attacks from the 
 pulpit had become more pointed ; that persuasion 
 and threats of punishment, temporal and eternal, 
 were being used freely in the confessional. His 
 marriage was not referred to by Timmins or his 
 helpers, in their public speeches, but Maurice's 
 speeches were interrupted by constant allusions to it 
 in the vilest language. 
 
 Two nights before the poll, at a committee meeting 
 in Grace's rooms, Tom said, " We're losing ground 
 every day. Monday last, in . spite of the big splash 
 on Sunday night and all, we might have won." 
 
 " Timmins isn't making much of a fight Fitzy 
 tells me he's nearly done up. And our fellows 
 here are magnificent," Dr. Grace said hopefully. 
 
 " It's different in the country places. The 
 preaching every night, and the back-door business in 
 the confessional, is telling on 'em more there. I'm 
 not sure of my own father-in-law. I'm near certain 
 he's agin us. And my father even is keeping as 
 quiet as a mouse. Only that he has a spite agin 
 Father Mahon for fifty pounds he says he did him 
 out of once, it's as likely as not that he'd be voting 
 agin Maurice."
 
 WAITING 373 
 
 " It's extraordinary," Grace said musingly. 
 " I've given up being angry about it it's beyond 
 me. This morning I was called in to a case in 
 Friars Row typhus, I fear, aggravated by drink. 
 1 1 beg your pardon, doctor,' the fellow said as I 
 was going, * for throwing that brick-bat at you at the 
 meeting last night ' fortunately it only knocked 
 my hat off c but I had a drop of drink in me.' 
 4 You might have thrown it at Timmins, who gave 
 you this fever,' I said. * Sure,' he said, c the fever is 
 only the will of God, but you're on the side of the 
 devil himself, may God pardon you. Do you think 
 you'll have me out on the poll-day, doctor ? ' ' He 
 laughed heartily. "We're all on the side of 
 Timmins. Even I try to cure his victims. You 
 haven't the ghost of a chance, Blake. If you were 
 only a slum owner now, dispensing the will of 
 God in the shape of typhus, and giving a good 
 Catholic people the chance of practising the virtue 
 of resignation, you might " 
 
 " For God's sake, keep Grace off his hobby," 
 Duffy said anxiously. 
 
 Shouts arose from the street. A drum was 
 beaten loudly beneath the window. There was a 
 crash of glass, and a potato bounded off the wall 
 on to the table round which the committee sat. 
 
 " They're out from the mission and in a holy 
 mood, God bless them," Duffy said calmly. " Come 
 along we have a meeting in the market square. 
 One two three four panes gone already, and 
 there's no use in getting new glass before Saturday 
 night. The whole of the windows'll probably be 
 gone by then. We have a glazier on our side, 
 haven't we, Tracy ? "
 
 374 WAITING 
 
 On the morning of the poll Bourneen was white 
 with snow freshly fallen in the night. The sky 
 was clear but sullen, almost black against the dead 
 white of the ground. The slanted roof of the police 
 barrack sparkled more brightly than the bleak sun 
 itself. Maureen stood at the door of the cottage in 
 silent wonder. 
 
 " Maureen's powder," she said at last. 
 
 " Snow," Alice said. 
 
 " Maureen touch," the child said, suiting the 
 action to the word. " Cold," she said, with the awe 
 of one making a scientific discovery. 
 
 Alice took her up in her arms, clasped her to 
 her breast and kissed her warmly. 
 
 " Daddy coming ? " 
 
 " Not yet, dear," Alice said, drawing the child 
 closer. 
 
 Maureen fingered a pin in the collar of her 
 mother's blouse, murmuring, " Pretty, pretty." 
 
 Men passed the gate on their way to the polling 
 booth, in the school-house near by, but Alice was 
 looking beyond them, to the sharp, white peak of 
 Slieve Mor piercing the leaden sky. It was all so 
 still and peaceful. Even sounds had a depth and 
 clearness which only intensified the silence that 
 seemed to brood over the landscape. The latch 
 of the gate clicked and Bessy Reilly came up the 
 path. Alice put down the child and smiled a 
 welcome. 
 
 " How is the man of the house ? " Bessy said, 
 jerking her head towards Driscoll's bedroom. 
 
 " Not well." 
 
 "Why, you've everything done," Bessy grumbled, 
 looking round the kitchen. 
 
 " Maureen got toast milk," the child said.
 
 WAITING 375 
 
 " I was up all night and I had to do something," 
 Alice said. 
 
 Bessy pottered about. " It's women that do the 
 suffering. The poor old master not but he'd 
 rather go down the hill without being a trouble to 
 any one. Still there you are and you having 
 enough on your mind as it is, and your own man 
 going to be beat, they say." 
 
 Alice's tired eyes brightened and a faint flush 
 tinged her cheeks. She touched Maureen's hair 
 with her fingers. 
 
 " Oh no ; he'll win," she said confidently. 
 
 "Well, 'tis you're the queer woman, to go on 
 saying the like of that, and Tom Blake himself 
 telling me a minute ago up at the school gate, that 
 there was as much chance of it as of me being a 
 queen." 
 
 " Who knows, but you are," Alice said 
 gently. 
 
 " It's the want of sleep that's rising in your 
 head. If you'd only go and lie down for a bit, I'd 
 look after the child as if 'twas my own," Bessy said 
 anxiously. 
 
 " Would you warm the chicken jelly ? I might 
 get the master to take a little," Alice said, going 
 towards the bedroom. 
 
 Driscoll smiled as she entered. He tried to sit 
 up but he fell back exhausted. He panted for a 
 few seconds. 
 
 " I'm better feeling grand entirely," he mur- 
 mured in a weak voice. " I'm well able to get up 
 I must go out and give my vote." 
 
 " He won't need it. And the doctor said you 
 weren't to get up. He's going to win by ever so 
 much," she said.
 
 376 WAITING 
 
 "Tom told me the truth yesterday," he said 
 reproachfully. 
 
 "Then he'll need the vote less," she said. 
 
 " I'd feel the better for it and to give a vote 
 for him in his own schoolhouse too." 
 
 He lay quite still with his eyes closed. Bessy 
 brought in the chicken jelly. He took some, and 
 asked again to be allowed to get up. Alice shook her 
 head. He lay back and shut his eyes. 
 
 Bessy beckoned Alice out of the room. " I 
 doubt but we ought to be getting the priest for 
 him," she said in a whisper. 
 
 Alice shuddered. " Is it necessary ? But, of 
 course, it is," she added hastily. 
 
 " We might get the young curate coming on the 
 night. I wouldn't like to bring in the big man and 
 he in that temper." 
 
 After dinner Driscoll slept quietly. Alice went 
 for a rest in her own room. It was almost dark 
 when she awoke with a start. On her way through 
 the kitchen, Maureen called out from Bessy's 
 lap 
 
 " Grandpa Driscoll, bye-bye. Mammy, bye- 
 bye. Only Maureen wake-up." 
 
 Driscoll was sitting limply on the side of his 
 bed partially dressed. 
 
 " It's no use, Alice," he said, with a flicker of 
 his old smile. " If you don't help me, I'll go like 
 this, and maybe fall in the snow." 
 
 She argued, but he was firm. She went in 
 despair to Bessy, who said 
 
 " Best let him have his way. A day more or 
 less in this world isn't of much account to a man 
 that's sure to have heaven for his bed. And the 
 doctor told me he was done for this time. Maybe,
 
 WAITING 377 
 
 he'd die happier if his mind is set on it. I'll run 
 out and get a few of the neighbours decent ones 
 to carry him. They're round the school gate in 
 droves." 
 
 Hinnissey and Jim Reardon helped Driscoll to 
 the schoolhouse. 
 
 " How are they voting ? " he asked. 
 
 " Most of your training, master, as far as one can 
 know without seeing into the box, are going right, 
 thank God. But there's bad news from other parts. 
 And some here itself, my bad scran to 'em, are led 
 away by the missioners," Hinnissey said, his voice 
 rising angrily. 
 
 A knot of men by the gate, hearing Hinnissey's 
 last sentence, booed vigorously, and shouted, " Up 
 Timmins down with adultery." 
 
 " It isn't Teigue -Donlon 1 see among them ? 
 And the man with the stick raised is like your 
 father, Jim," Driscoll said uneasily. 
 
 Hinnissey hurried him forward. " Sure, master, 
 'tis your eyes are good yet, seeing that likeness ! 
 Two mountainy fellows they are, and the living 
 image of the men you mentioned. Any one'd be 
 deceived in the darkness of the night that's near 
 upon us. Wouldn't he, Jim ? " 
 
 " He would then," Jim Reardon said hesi- 
 tatingly. 
 
 While his name was being looked up in the 
 register, the old man gazed round the school sadly, 
 at the torn maps and stained walls. He was handed 
 a voting paper. 
 
 " It's going to rack and ruin," he said feebly. 
 
 He had to be reminded twice to fill the paper. 
 "That's a good day's work," he said with a smile as 
 it disappeared into the ballot-box.
 
 378 WAITING 
 
 At his own gate his head fell on Hinnissey's 
 shoulder. They laid him on his bed unconscious. 
 
 " The priest, the priest, for the love of God," 
 Bessy Reilly said excitedly. Driscoll opened his 
 eyes. " But maybe, he wouldn't want him yet 
 awhile, as the life is in him again," she said. 
 
 " I think it's time I had him I haven't far to 
 run now," he said in short breaths. 
 
 " Which of them would you rather to see you 
 on the road ? " Bessy said, as she took off his boots : 
 " the young man or the big man ? " 
 
 " It's all one to me either one or the other can 
 lift the hand of God over me." 
 
 " Run across for the young curate then, Jim," 
 Bessy said with relief. 
 
 Alice helped to put Driscoll to bed. He fell 
 back contentedly on the pillow. 
 
 " I'm ready now, when 'twill please the Lord to 
 take me," he said with a sigh. Maureen began to 
 cry in the kitchen. " I'd like to see her, and then 
 I wouldn't," he said half to himself. "Take her 
 away to bed, Bessy, out of the sight of death." 
 
 " Would you hand me my beads, Alice ? They're 
 hanging to the bedpost," he said after a few minutes. 
 " And, now, we must prepare for the priest. That 
 table there that's it. I had it ready this many a 
 year against my death. You'll find everything 
 in the drawers the white cloth, the candles, the 
 crucifix. The holy water is here on the wall. Now, 
 is there anything else ? Some plain water and a 
 towel to wash his hands, and a piece of breadcrumb 
 to wipe the holy oil off his fingers." 
 
 He spoke with difficulty, with intervals for 
 breath between the sentences, sometimes between the 
 words, but with a calm seriousness, as if death were
 
 WAITING 379 
 
 a visitor to be received with some ceremony, yet 
 not too ceremoniously. Fingering his beads he 
 watched Alice moving about and placing things in 
 order. When all was ready he said 
 
 " I doubt if God reads the label on a person to 
 see whether it's Protestant or Catholic. He's more 
 knowledgable than all that. Soon, maybe, I'll know 
 the rights of things. Anyway, a saint out of heaven 
 couldn't tend a man better to his death and you a 
 Protestant, too." 
 
 " I must send for Maurice," Alice said brokenly. 
 
 " Don't, then," he said firmly, rousing himself a 
 little. " It's enough he has on his mind this night, 
 and not to have the burthen of me on him. There's 
 only one thing I want to say to him, and I can say it 
 to you equally well. I near did him and you a 
 great wrong once. I tried to come between ye ; 
 but, sure, God knew best. The things that were 
 near at hand blinded me Maurice's work in the 
 school, and in the parish. They were great things, 
 too, in their way. But it's only lately it dawned on 
 me that there are greater. The love of you opened 
 Maurice's eyes to them. Maybe it opened mine, 
 too. All the good that a man has is his life and 
 his power to love. If these are chained up he's only 
 pottering about, fettered and useless. A free country 
 is free men, and no man is free as long as the soul 
 is crushed in him." 
 
 He fell back exhausted. 
 
 Bessie beckoned excitedly from the door. She 
 drew Alice out into the kitchen and whispered 
 
 " The curate couldn't be found anywhere. Jim 
 ransacked the whole place. He isn't at home, nor 
 in Father James's, nor in the chapel, nor with Miss 
 Clancy playing the piano. And there isn't tale or
 
 380 WAITING 
 
 tidings of him. So I had to pack the boy off again 
 for the big man." 
 
 " Everything is ready," Alice said. 
 
 " There's a nice fire in the sitting-room, and the 
 child's asleep. Maybe you'd be sitting there ? " 
 Bessy said anxiously. 
 
 " I can't leave him," Alice said, turning back 
 towards the bedroom. 
 
 Bessie fingered her apron uneasily, threw out 
 her hands, pursed her lips and muttered, " Well 
 I have done my part. If she isn't afeared, maybe 
 anyway, the big man can't swallow her." 
 
 Driscoll was dozing. Alice sat on the chair 
 by the bed. Soon she was nodding, half asleep. 
 She was awakened by Driscoll's voice. 
 
 "That's Father Mahon in the kitchen." 
 
 She started, stood up and listened, her hand 
 on the back of the chair. 
 
 " A nice time to send for me and ye well know- 
 ing the mission sermon is to begin in a minute. 
 Well, where is he ? " came in a loud hectoring voice. 
 
 Bessy opened the door. Father Mahon bustled 
 into the bedroom. He stopped short and glared 
 at Alice. He muttered something, half turned, faced 
 her again, hesitated as if he were about to speak. 
 His lips moved inaudibly. He took hold of the 
 chair on which her hand rested, jerking it off 
 roughly, and sat down. She stood silent and con- 
 fused. 
 
 " What are you waiting for ? A man's con- 
 fession is supposed to be private," he said with 
 heavy sarcasm. 
 
 " There's nothing else I can do, Mr. Driscoll ? " 
 she said quietly to the old man, whose eyes were 
 again closed.
 
 WAITING 381 
 
 " No, child you've done everything. You're 
 welcome, Father," he said, noticing Father Mahon 
 for the first time. 
 
 The priest waited till Alice had shut the door 
 behind her. He put on a purple stole, with a 
 frown. 
 
 " Are you bad enough to be anointed ? " he 
 said roughly. 
 
 " I feel as if I was only holding on by a thread, 
 and the doctor gave me up long ago." 
 
 " Well, begin your confession. Benedictio Dei 
 . . ." He waved his hand in blessing. He bit his 
 upper lip, frowned, and bit his nails impatiently 
 while Driscoll was speaking. 
 
 " That's all I can remember, Father," he wound 
 up with a faint smile, " and I beg God's pardon and 
 yours." 
 
 " And what about the public scandal you've been 
 giving in my parish for the last month ? " Father 
 Mahon asked violently. 
 
 " Scandal scandal," Driscoll murmured feebly. 
 " Maybe I was forgetting something. I spoke 
 cross once to Bessy Reilly in front of people, but 
 sure, I forgot it the minute after, and she took no 
 heed of it at all." 
 
 " None of this quibbling on your death-bed," 
 Father Mahon said angrily, pulling violently at the 
 gold wire threads at the end of his stole. 
 
 Driscoll's jaw dropped. He gazed at the priest 
 in feeble astonishment. He tried to move his lips, 
 but he could not make them meet. 
 
 " Harbouring an unmarried couple in your 
 house ! Flying in my face, and in the face of 
 God, and of His Holy Church ! Do you think 
 that's nothing to confess ? "
 
 382 WAITING 
 
 The priest's increasing anger seemed to make 
 Driscoll calm. 
 
 " I've no fear of God on the head of that. I 
 feel in my heart there's no sin on them, nor on me 
 either. Give me absolution, Father, and let me be 
 going my way." 
 
 The priest took off his stole. With set teeth 
 he began to wind it round the ritual he had let fall 
 
 D 
 
 in his lap. 
 
 " You're a public sinner equally with them," he 
 said, his voice shaking with passion. " You'll get 
 no sacrament, no absolution, no communion, no 
 anointing from me, a priest of God, till you repent 
 of your sin, and make reparation to me and God 
 by turning out these people from under your roof." 
 
 Driscoll stared at him with a half-dazed expres- 
 sion, as if he did not fully understand. 
 
 " Reparation turn out a woman and a child 
 in the snow that's in it," he murmured disjointedly. 
 
 " Snow or no snow, you must abide by the law 
 of God or suffer for it here and hereafter," Father 
 Mahon said ruthlessly. 
 
 He stood by the side of the bed looking down 
 menacingly at Driscoll, whose eyes had closed 
 again. 
 
 " Well ? " he said brusquely. 
 
 A smile grew slowly on the old man's face. 
 His eyes opened, and he looked at the priest 
 fearlessly. 
 
 " I'll leave myself to God. The kind heart of 
 Him might overlook my coming before Him with- 
 out the holy oil on me," he said simply. 
 
 The priest put his stole in the pocket of his 
 soutane, walked half-way to the door, stood, biting 
 his nails as if perplexed, and came back to the bedside.
 
 WAITING 383 
 
 " I want to give you every chance the Church 
 is a kind mother. Will you turn them out ? " he 
 said in a softer tone. 
 
 " God won't ask me to do what 1 haven't the 
 heart to do myself His own Mother, they say, 
 was once turned out in the snow, and He within 
 her. No, He won't ask me," Driscoll said wearily. 
 
 Father Mahon muttered, " Your sins be on your 
 own head then," and left the room. 
 
 He snatched his overcoat off the kitchen table, 
 and stalked out of the house, without a glance at 
 Alice and Bessy Reilly who were standing by the 
 fireplace. 
 
 Driscoll was praying in an intense voice when 
 Alice entered the bedroom. She could make out 
 the Irish words of Our Father. She smoothed his 
 pillow. He prayed on, unheeding. She sat by the 
 head of the bed and unconsciously repeated the 
 words as they fell from his lips. Soon the beads 
 slipped from his fingers, and he seemed to sleep. 
 After a while he opened his eyes and spoke rapidly. 
 
 "Now I'm ready going before God with all 
 the rites of the Church it's grand to feel my God 
 within me. And the young priest, Father Malone, 
 that gave me the Holy Communion, had the look 
 of a saint on him." 
 
 He looked at Alice with glassy eyes that opened 
 wide questioningly. Then, with a smile of re- 
 cognition, he said 
 
 " The rooms are all ready. There's nothing 
 now in our way," and he talked on to the girl he 
 had been about to marry years ago. 
 
 Half frightened, Alice called in Bessy Reilly, 
 who felt his pulse and watched the workings of his 
 livid face.
 
 384 WAITING 
 
 " Maurice, send me out a class," he said in a 
 feeble voice. " It's a lesson in grafting this 
 morning." 
 
 " The end is in his eyes," Bessy said, " and the 
 wit is gone out of his words. It's lucky we had the 
 priest in time." 
 
 " Could you send for my husband ? " Alice said. 
 " He's probably at Liscannow." 
 
 Bessy came back in about ten minutes, and said 
 that Jim Reardon had gone off on a horse of Clancy's, 
 and wouldn't be a minute. She knelt by the bed- 
 side and read the prayers for the dying. Now and 
 again Driscoll gave the responses, but mostly he 
 talked of Ireland and the great country she was 
 going to be. . . . 
 
 Two hours later, when Maurice came in hurriedly, 
 he found Driscoll propped up with pillows, breath- 
 ing with a stertorous rattle, his fingers twitching 
 the sheet. 
 
 " I'm afraid he won't know you," Alice said 
 tearfully. 
 
 Driscoll turned his head slightly on the pillow 
 and smiled. 
 
 " God kept the life in me till you came," he 
 whispered. His voice had a new strength, and the 
 unseeing stare had gone from his eyes. " How 
 many votes did you get ? " 
 
 " About one in three, we expect ; but don't 
 think of that now," Maurice said brokenly, kneeling 
 by the bed. 
 
 " I'm glad my vote was one of them. You'll 
 bear no malice, Maurice agra ? The heart of the 
 people is all right, only some of them are led 
 astray. Men make differences, but some day God'll 
 scatter them like the sun sucks up the mist on
 
 WAITING 385 
 
 a May morning. Only you won't run away, 
 Maurice ? It's in Ireland where you're most 
 wanted that you must work better still," he said 
 pleadingly, " in Bourneen." His voice faltered. 
 " And now if you'd say the Litany of the Blessed 
 Virgin for me ? I'd like to hear it." 
 
 A troubled look passed over his face while 
 Maurice was seeking the page of the Litany in 
 the Prayer-book. 
 
 "There's something else on my mind, and then 
 I'm ready. Oh ! Duffy, the lawyer'll tell you 
 all about it. That's how you can stay here if you 
 like. I don't put it on you to stay. And I can't 
 ease the hardest things you'll have to bear. But 
 I've left you the cottage and the garden and the 
 little I have put by. No one can take the bread 
 
 out of your mouths till " he paused and smiled 
 
 hopefully, " till, please God, nobody'll want to try ; 
 and now, begin f We fly to thy patronage, O holy 
 mother of God.' " 
 
 He gave the responses firmly for a few seconds. 
 Then his head fell back. Maurice read on. Bessy 
 Reilly came to the bed with an anxious face. She put 
 her hand over Driscoll's heart, took the watch, which 
 was hanging on the bed-post, and held the glass to 
 his lips. She scanned the glass closely in the light. 
 
 " He's gone home," she said quietly. 
 
 Alice sobbed aloud. Maurice looked at the bed 
 in silence for a few moments, then he read the 
 prayer to the end. 
 
 " Maurice," Alice called through the open back 
 door. 
 
 He wiped the earth off his spade and stuck it 
 in the ground. 
 
 2 C
 
 386 WAITING 
 
 " Breakfast ? " he said, smiling as he approached. 
 
 " And the post." 
 
 " A letter from Breslin," he said, opening it. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " He wants us back, says I'm even a worse fool 
 than he always thought me. And he has bought 
 a Chippendale bookcase his Chinese period. Louis 
 doesn't much like it not pure enough in design, 
 he says." 
 
 " Poor Louis ! " she said compassionately. She 
 laid her hand on Maurice's shoulder. " Though 
 Uncle John, too, says we're beating chaff," she 
 added thoughtfully, " and your father hasn't been 
 near us since the funeral. People shun me in the 
 street and the way they look at me. ..." Her 
 voice broke off in a whisper. 
 
 " I've brought all this on you it is too much 
 for you, we 
 
 " I'm a coward but I'm strong too," she 
 interrupted. She trembled and leant against him 
 for support. Her lips twitched. She bent her 
 head so that he could not see her face, and bit 
 her lips in an effort to control them. She 
 straightened herself and faced him with shining eyes. 
 
 " We'll wait," she said firmly. " You believe 
 it's worth while ? " 
 
 " It's more than the dawn already," he said with 
 enthusiasm. " Priests even have come round. 
 Father Malone says the mission was all wrong. 
 Father Cassidy and Father Delahunty are friendly. 
 Others " 
 
 " Then we'll wait for the sun to rise," she said, 
 watching the dark clouds on the horizon. " Truth 
 and freedom must come of faith and love we'll 
 stay here working, enduring, waiting."
 
 WAITING 387 
 
 Maureen stood between them, facing the open 
 door. She listened with a puzzled puckering of 
 her forehead. Her face brightened when Alice 
 stopped speaking. 
 
 " What is Maureen do-ning, mammy ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " I don't know, dear." 
 
 "Waiting just waiting. Mammy waiting. 
 Daddy waiting. Maureen waiting." 
 
 The clouds parted and a gleam of sun lit 
 her hair. 
 
 THE END 
 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM CI.OWKS AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES.
 
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