Willy Reilly Part 36

"Speak wi' reverence, Mr. Lanigan, o' the art o' gerdening. Dinna ye ken that the founder o' the hail human race was a gerdener?-Hout awa, moil; speak o' it wi' speck."

"Upon my conscience," replied Lanigan, "whether he was a good gardener or not is more than I know; but one thing I do know, that he didn't hould his situation long, and mismanaged his orchard disgracefully; and, indeed, like many more of his tribe, he got his walkin' papers in double quick--was dismissed without a characther--ay, and his wife, like many another gardener's wife, got a habit of stalin' the apples. However, I wish Mr. Malcomson, that you, who do undherstand gardenin', would thry this fellow, because I want to know whether he's an imposthor or not."

"Weel," replied Malcomson, "I dinna care if I do. We'll soon find that out. Come wi' me and Maisther Lanigan here, and we'll see what you ken about the sceentific profession."

They accordingly went to the garden, and it is unnecessary to say that Reilly not only bore the examination well, but proved himself by far the better botanist of the two. He tempered his answers, however, in such a way as not to allow the gardener's vanity to be hurt, in which case he feared that he might have little chance of being engaged.

CHAPTER XV.--More of Whitecraft's Plots and Pranks

On the Sunday following, Miss Folliard, as was her usual custom, attended divine service at her parish church, accompanied by the virtuous Miss Herbert, who scarcely ever let her for a moment out of her sight, and, in fact, added grievously to the misery of her life. After service had been concluded, she waited until Mr. Brown had descended from the pulpit, when she accosted him, and expressed a wish to have some private conversation with him in the vestry-room. To this room they were about to proceed, when Miss Herbert advanced with an evident intention of accompanying them.

"Mr. Brown," said the _Cooleen Bawn_, looking at him significantly, "I wish that our interview should be private."

"Certainly, my dear Miss Folliard, and so it shall be. Pray, who is this lady?"

"I am forced, sir, to call her my maid."

Mr. Brown was startled a good deal, not only at the words, but the tone in which they were uttered.

"Madam," said he, "you will please to remain here until your mistress shall return to you, or, if you wish, you can amuse yourself by reading the inscriptions on the tombstones."

"Oh, but I have been ordered," replied Miss Herbert, "by her father and another gentleman, not to let her out of my sight."

Mr. Brown, understanding that something was wrong, now looked at her more closely, after which, with a withering frown, he said,

"I think I know you, madam, and I am very sorry to hear that you are an attendant upon this amiable lady. Remain where you are, and don't attempt to intrude yourself as an ear-witness to any communication Miss Folliard may have to make to me."

The profligate creature and unprincipled spy bridled, looked disdain and bitterness at the amiable clergyman, who, accompanied by our heroine, retired to the vestry. It is unnecessary to detail their conversation, which was sustained by the _Cooleen Bawn_ with bitter tears. It is enough to say that the good and pious minister, though not aware until then that Miss Herbert had, by the scoundrel baronet, been intruded into Squire Folliard's family, was yet acquainted, from peculiar sources, with the nature of the immoral relation in which she stood to that hypocrite. He felt shocked beyond belief, and a.s.sured the weeping girl that he would call the next day and disclose the treacherous design to her father, who, he said, could not possibly have been aware of the wretch's character when he admitted her into his family. They then parted, and our heroine was obliged to take this vile creature into the carriage with her home. On their return, Miss Herbert began to display at once the malignity of her disposition, and the volubility of her tongue, in a fierce attack upon, what she termed, the ungentlemanly conduct of Mr. Brown. To all she said, however, Helen uttered not one syllable of reply. She neither looked at her nor noticed her, but sat in profound silence, not, however, without a distracted mind and breaking heart.

On the next day the squire took a fancy to look at the state of his garden, and, having got his hat and cane, he sallied out to observe how matters were going on, now that Mr. Malcomson had got an a.s.sistant, whom, by the way, he had not yet seen.

"Now, Malcomson," said he, "as you have found an a.s.sistant, I hope you will soon bring my garden into decent trim. What kind of a chap is he, and how did you come by him?"

"Saul, your honor," replied Malcomson, "he's a divilish clever chiel, and vara weel acquent wi' our n.o.ble profession."

"Confound yourself and your n.o.ble profession! I think every Scotch gardener of you believes himself a gentleman, simply because he can nail a few stripes of old blanket against a wall. How did you come by this fellow, I say?"

"Ou, just through Lanigan, the cook, your honor."

"Did Lanigan know him?"

"Hout, no, your honor--it was an act o' charity like."

"Ay, ay, Lanigan's a kind-hearted old fool, and that's just like him; but, in the meantime, let me see this chap."

"There he is, your honor, tr.i.m.m.i.n.g, and taking care of that bed of 'love-lies-bleeding.'"

"Ay, ay; I dare say my daughter set him to that task."

"Na, na, sir. The young leddy hasna seen him yet, nor hasna been in the gerden for the last week."

"Why, confound it, Malcomson, that fellow's more like a beggarman than a gardener."

"Saul, but he's a capital hand for a' that. Your honor's no' to tak the beuk by the cover. To be sure he's awfully vulgar, but, ma faith, he has a richt gude knowledgeable apprehension o' b.u.t.tany and gerdening in generhal."

The squire then approached our under-gardener, and accosted him,

"Well, my good fellow, so you understand gardening?"

"A little, your haner," replied the other, respectfully touching his hat, or caubeen rather.

"Are you a native of this neighborhood?"

"No, your haner. I'm fwaither up--from Westport, your haner."

"Who were you engaged with last?"

"I wasn't engaged, s.h.i.+r--it was only job-work I was able to do--the health wasn't gud wid me."

"Have you no better clothes than these?"

"You see all that I have on me, s.h.i.+r."

"Well, come, I'll give you the price of a suit rather than see such a scarecrow in my garden."

"I couldn't take it, s.h.i.+r."

"The devil you couldn't! Why not, man?"

"Bekaise, s.h.i.+r, I'm under pinance."

"Well, why don't you shave?"

"I can't, s.h.i.+r, for de same raison."

"Pooh, pooh! what the devil did you do that they put such a penance on you."

"Why, I runned away wit' a young woman, s.h.i.+r."

"Upon my soul you're a devilish likely fellow to run away with a young woman, and a capital taste she must have had to go with you; but perhaps you took her away by violence, eh?"

"No, slur; she was willin' enough to come; but her fadher wouldn't consint, and so we made off wit' ourselves."

This was a topic on which the squire, for obvious reasons, did not like to press him. It was in fact a sore subject, and, accordingly, he changed it.