'Is it me! please your honour? I would not use any jantleman so ill, BARRING I could do no other,' replied the postillion, coolly; then, leaping across the ditch, or, as he called it, the GRIPE of the ditch, he scrambled up, and while he was scrambling, said, 'If your honour will lend me your hand till I pull you up the back of the ditch, the horses will stand while we go.I'll find you as pretty a lodging for the night, with a widow of a brother of my shister's husband that was, as ever you slept in your life; for old Nick or St.Dennis has not found 'em out yet;and your honour will be, no compare, snugger than the inn at Clonbrony, which has no roof, the devil a stick.But where will I get your honour's hand; for it's coming on so dark, I can't see rightly.There, you're up now safe.Yonder candle's the house.'
'Go and ask whether they can give us a night's lodging.'
'Is it ASK? when I see the light!--Sure they'd be proud to give the traveller all the beds in the house, let alone one.Take care of the potato furrows, that's all, and follow me straight.
I'll go on to meet the dog, who knows me and might be strange to your honour.'
'Kindly welcome,' were the first words Lord Colambre heard when he approached the cottage; and 'kindly welcome' was in the sound of the voice and in the countenance of the old woman who came out, shading her rush-candle from the wind, and holding it so as to light the path.When he entered the cottage, he saw a cheerful fire and a neat pretty young woman making it blaze: she curtsied, put her spinning-wheel out of the way, set a stool by the fire for the stranger, and repeating, in a very low tone of voice, 'Kindly welcome, retired.
'Put down some eggs, dear, there's plenty in the bowl,' said the old woman, calling to her; 'I'll do the bacon.Was not we lucky to be up--The boy's gone to bed, but waken him,' said she, turning to the postillion; 'and he'll help you with the chay, and put your horses in the bier for the night.'
No; Larry chose to go on to Clonbrony with the horses, that he might get the chaise mended betimes for his honour.The table was set; clean trenchers, hot potatoes, milk, eggs, bacon, and 'kindly welcome to all.'
'Set the salt, dear; and the butter, love; where's your head, Grace, dear!'
'Grace!' repeated Lord Colambre, looking up; and, to apologise for his involuntary exclamation, he added, 'Is Grace a common name in Ireland?'
'I can't say, plase your honour, but it was give her by Lady Clonbrony, from a niece of her own that was her foster-sister, God bless her! and a very kind lady she was to us and to all when she was living in it; but those times are gone past,' said the old woman, with a sigh.The young woman sighed too; and, sitting down by the fire, began to count the notches in a little bit of stick, which she held in her hand; and, after she had counted them, sighed again.
'But don't be sighing, Grace, now,' said the old woman; 'sighs is bad sauce for the traveller's supper; and we won't be troubling him with more,' added she, turning to Lord Colambre with a smile.
'Is your egg done to your liking?'
'Perfectly, thank you.'
'Then I wish it was a chicken for your sake, which it should have been, and roast too, had we time.I wish I could see you eat another egg.'
'No more, thank you, my good lady; I never ate a better supper, nor received a more hospitable welcome.'
'Oh, the welcome is all we have to offer.'
'May I ask what that is?' said Lord Colambre, looking at the notched stick, which the young woman held in her hand, and on which her eyes were still fixed.
It's a TALLY, plase your honour.Oh, you're a foreigner;--it's the way the labourers do keep the account of the day's work with the overseer, the bailiff; a notch for every day the bailiff makes on his stick, and the labourer the like on his stick, to tally; and when we come to make up the account, it's by the notches we go.And there's been a mistake, and is a dispute here between our boy and the overseer; and she was counting the boy's tally, that's in bed, tired, for in troth he's overworked.'
'Would you want anything more from me, mother?' said the girl, rising and turning her head away.
'No, child; get away, for your heart's full.'
She went instantly.
'Is the boy her brother?' said Lord Colambre.
'No; he's her bachelor,' said the old woman, lowering her voice.
'Her bachelor?'
'That is, her sweetheart: for she is not my daughter, though you heard her call me mother.The boy's my son; but I am afeard they must give it up; for they're too poor, and the times is hard, and the agent's harder than the times; there's two of them, the under and the upper; and they grind the substance of one between them, and then blow one away like chaff: but we'll not be talking of that to spoil your honour's night's rest.The room's ready, and here's the rushlight.'
She showed him into a very small but neat room.'What a comfortable-looking bed!' said Lord Colambre.
'Ah, these red check curtains,' said she, letting them down;'these have lasted well; they were give me by a good friend, now far away, over the seas--my Lady Clonbrony; and made by the prettiest hands ever you see, her niece's, Miss Grace Nugent's, and she a little child that time; sweet love! all gone!'
The old woman wiped a tear from her eye, and Lord Colambre did what he could to appear indifferent.She set down the candle, and left the room; Lord Colambre went to bed, but he lay awake, 'revolving sweet and bitter thoughts.'
