The Weans at Rowallan Part 16

"I niver heerd of any person dyin' of that afore," said Jane.

"Well, she did," said Patsy, "for I heard the s.e.xton ast the man, an'

he said she died a' labour."

"I wonder if it's catchin'?" said Jane.

Patsy walked on whistling.

"But what tuk ye to the woman's feeneral at all, Patsy?" Jane asked.

"I just went for the fun a' the thing," he said.

"Sure, there's no fun in that," said Jane.

"Isn't there just?" said Patsy. "That's all you know; I tell ye it's the quare ould sport." He stopped, and counted up on his fingers: "That makes two weman's, two childers', and one man's feeneral I've been chief mourner to since Christmas."

"But ye can't be chief mourner if ye're no relation," said Jane.

"Ye can just. I walked close behind the hea.r.s.e of every one of them,"

he said. "When I see the feeneral comin' up the road I take off my hat, an' they make room for me to walk with the best."

He bound Jane over by a promise not to tell. In return for her promise he showed her where he kept Mick's coat and hat--wrapped up in a newspaper, and covered with sods, under an old bell-gla.s.s at the top of the garden--and promised, on his part, he would tell her what the people died of whose funerals he attended in the future.

But, as it happened, that was the last one he went to. When they got home they found the secret was out. Mick met them. He knew all about it, he said; and Lull knew too, and was cross. Teressa had told. Her sister, who was in service at the Parsonage at Castle Magee, had been to see her, and told her all about the little gentleman from Rowallan who came to every funeral in the churchyard.

"She sez," Mick went on, "that ye were the thoughtful wee man, Patsy, an' it'd melt the heart of a stone to see ye standin' at the grave like an' ould judge, holdin' the mourner's black kid gloves."

"Bah!" said Patsy.

But Lull threatened awful things if Patsy ever went to a funeral again.

"Mind, I'll tell yer mother if I ever hear tell of it," she said; "dear knows what disease ye'll be bringin' home to us."

The lesson was impressed more deeply on Patsy's mind by Lull being ill that evening, and going to bed early with a headache. Patsy was terrified. He sat on the mat outside the door till past ten, and refused to go to bed.

"She's just the very ould one would catch it," he said when Jane tried to persuade him to go to bed, "for she works that hard herself."

"Well, I'll go in an' ast her if it's catchin'," Jane said at last.

Lull was awake when they went in. "What's the matter?" she said, sitting up in bed.

"There's nothin' the matter," said Jane; "only Patsy wants to know if what the woman died of was catchin'."

"What did she die of?" said Lull.

"She died a' labour," said Patsy in a trembling voice. "Is it catchin', Lull?"

Lull laughed so much that she could not answer.

"Patsy was afraid ye'd catched it," said Jane, laughing too, though she did not know why.

"G.o.d be thankit I have not," said Lull, and as they went joyfully off to bed they could hear her still laughing.

CHAPTER XII

A SAFEGUARD FOR HAPPINESS

May was at its height; all the apple-trees were in blossom, and the crimson thorn-trees on the lawn. Through the open nursery windows a soft wind brought the smell of hawthorn and lush green gra.s.s. Bright patches of sunlight spotted the bare floor and Jane's red and white quilt. It was early, and the children were still in bed. They were wide awake--the sun had waked them an hour ago--and already they had planned how they would spend the day. It was Sat.u.r.day--a whole holiday. n.o.body had to do lessons to-day; the long, rich sunny hours lay before them full of happiness. They had agreed that the rocks was the place for to-day's picnic; no place would be half so beautiful.

This was the weather for the sea. As they lay quiet in bed each one was thinking of the joys in store. First, there would be the walk across the soft, spongy gra.s.s--past the whins for the sake of the hot, sunny smell of the blossom. They would be tempted to stop and have the picnic there; but they would go on, towards the sea, and the sheep would move off as they came near, and rakish black crows would rise slowly, and sail away. Then the sea would come in sight: so blue this weather, how deep and full it looked, with what a soft splash it washed against the black rocks, and how it stung your naked body as you slid in for one dip and out again. Fly loved to look forward, as she called it. Pleasures were worth twice as much to her if she were able to think of them beforehand. Then there would be the long afternoon, when you lay on your face on the rocks, and watched the s.h.i.+ps sailing far away, and now and then caught sight of a trail of smoke on the horizon, that told you a steamer was pa.s.sing by. A sound of singing came from the convent garden, and in a moment all the five children were out of bed, leaning out of the window, watching the long procession of white nuns file slowly out of the convent door. The voices, low at first, grew stronger and clearer as the procession came along the cindered path. The nuns' white dresses, the black path they walked on, the delicate green of the apple-trees on each side, the blue of the banner, the s.h.i.+ning gold of the cross, make a wonderful picture in the strong sunlight. The children watched in silence. This singing procession of white and blue was one of the things they liked best in May. It came every fine morning to remind them how happy they were now that the good weather had come. Lull said the nuns sang because May was the month of Mary.

"Ave Maris Stella Dei Mater Alma!"

They were singing hymns to the Blessed Virgin now; their voices, very sweet and clear, seemed to fill the garden. They went on along the path, paused by a black cross that marked a grave, then went round the chapel, and the children could see them no longer. They listened till the singing died away, and then began to dress quickly. Fly was always last. The others teased her about it, but they could not make her hurry. Fly had a reason for being slow. She liked to say her prayers last. If she had been dressed sooner she would have had to say her prayers at the same time as the others, and then, she thought, Almighty G.o.d could not give her His undivided attention. Fly said her prayers very carefully; sometimes when she had said them once she went all through them again, in case she had forgotten anything. When the others had gone downstairs she knelt down by her cot. She said her proper prayers first, then added: "And, please, don't let any of us have anythin' the matter with our heart our liver our lungs, or any part of our insides that I don't know the name of; please don't let any of us kill or murder anybuddy, or be hanged or beheaded; an', please, remember that it's ould Mrs Bogue's turn to die first."

She rose from her knees, and ran downstairs. The hall door was open, and the sunlight streamed into the hall. There was really no need to say your prayers at all this weather, Fly thought; for, of course, n.o.body ever died except in winter, when the wind howled round the house and rain lashed the window-panes. Still, she liked to be on the safe side. She was very proud of her prayer: the last pet.i.tion she had thought of in the winter, when Mrs Darragh had been ill. She had reminded Almighty G.o.d that they had had a father and an uncle die, while the Bogues had never had a death in their family. Therefore it must be Mrs Bogue's turn next. Honeybird, the only one to whom she had told this pet.i.tion, was so pleased with it that she prayed it too.

Both children chuckled over the wisdom of it; for Mrs Bogue, in spite of her eighty years, was a strong old woman--Lull had said she would see ninety--so their turn could not come for years yet.

"It's the awful thing that people has to die at all." Jane's voice came from the schoolroom. "An it's quare that G.o.d thinks anybuddy'd like to go to heaven."

"Well, I niver want to go," said Patsy. "I'd hate the ould gold street an' gla.s.s sea; I'd far rather have a nice salt-water sea, with crabs an' herrin's in it."

Fly stood in the doorway. "What's happened?" she said.

"Ould Mrs Bogue's dead," said Jane, with her mouth full of porridge. A sharp pang of fear seized Fly. A moment before she had been altogether happy, now the light seemed to have gone from the day. She looked at Honeybird, but Honeybird was taking her breakfast calmly; she did not realise what this meant. Their safeguard was gone. If Mrs Bogue had died so suddenly and unexpectedly might it not mean that Almighty G.o.d wanted their turn to come quickly? She swallowed her breakfast, and went out into the garden. She could not go to the picnic with the others; she was too miserable for that. Why, oh, why did G.o.d make people only to kill them again? Why did He want them to go to such a dull place as heaven? Honeybird's voice called her from the garden gate, and the next minute Honeybird came running down the gra.s.sy path.

"Why didn't ye go for the picnic?" Fly asked.

"'Cause I know'd ye'd be sorry about ould Mrs Bogue," said Honeybird, sitting down beside her. "I'm thinkin' mebby Mrs Bogue wasn't as strong as we thinked. It might 'a' been better to say Mr Rannigan."

"That wouldn't 'a' been fair," said Fly; "he had a sister die. It was ould Mrs Bogue's turn right enough, only it come far sooner that I thought."

"What are ye goin' to do?" Honeybird asked.

Fly could think of nothing.

"Why don't ye pray to have ould Mrs Bogue alive again?" said Honeybird.

"That's no use wanst people's dead," said Fly.

"But couldn't G.o.d make her niver 'a' been dead at all?" Honeybird asked. "I'd try Him if I was you."

Fly thought for a moment. "We'll both pray hard, and then we'll go an'

see." They knelt down under an apple-tree. Honeybird prayed first, and then Fly. Then they started for Mrs Bogue's house. Honeybird would have liked Fly to tell her a story as they went along the road, but she dare not ask, for she could tell by Fly's face that she was still praying.

The road was hot and dusty. Both the children were soon tired.

Honeybird thought of the others enjoying themselves on the rocks. She wished she could have gone with them. She would have enjoyed it too, for though she pretended to Fly that she was anxious, she really was not troubled at all. She did not believe that Almighty G.o.d wanted one of them to die. Lull said their mother had not been so well for years.