The Kellys and the O'Kellys Part 37

"Och, Mr Bingham, shure I'm first," roared one fellow.

But the first, as he styled himself, was soon knocked down under the wheels of the cart by the others.

"Mr Blake, thin--Mr Blake, darlint--doesn't ye remimber the promise you guv me?"

"Mr Jerry, Mr Jerry, avick,"--this was addressed to the brother--"spake a word for me; do, yer honour; shure it was I come all the way from Teddy Mahony's with the breeches this morning, G.o.d bless 'em, and the fine legs as is in 'em."

But they were all balked, for Blake had his servant there.

"Get out, you blackguards!" said he, raising his tandem whip, as if to strike them. "Get out, you robbers! Are you going to take the cart and horses clean away from me? That mare'll settle some of ye, if you make so free with her! she's not a bit too chary of her hind feet. Get out of that, I tell you;" and he lightly struck with the point of his whip the boy who had Lambert Brown's horse.

"Ah, Mr Bingham," said, the boy, pretending to rub the part very hard, "you owe me one for that, anyhow, and it's you are the good mark for it, G.o.d bless you."

"Faix," said another, "one blow from your honour is worth two promises from Lambert Brown, any way."

There was a great laugh at this among the ragged crew, for Lambert Brown was still standing on the doorsteps: when he heard this sally, however, he walked in, and the different red-coats and top-boots were not long in crowding after him.

Lord Ballindine received them in the same costume, and very glad they all seemed to see him again. When an Irish gentleman is popular in his neighbourhood, nothing can exceed the real devotion paid to him; and when that gentleman is a master of hounds, and does not require a subscription, he is more than ever so.

"Welcome back, Ballindine--better late than never; but why did you stay away so long?" said General Bourke, an old gentleman with long, thin, flowing grey hairs, waving beneath his broad-brimmed felt hunting-hat.

"You're not getting so fond of the turf, I hope, as to be giving up the field for it? Give me the sport where I can ride my own horse myself; not where I must pay a young rascal for doing it for me, and robbing me into the bargain, most likely."

"Quite right, General," said Frank; "so you see I've given up the Curragh, and come down to the dogs again."

"Yes, but you've waited too long, man; the dogs have nearly done their work for this year. I'm sorry for it; the last day of the season is the worst day in the year to me. I'm ill for a week after it."

"Well, General, please the pigs, we'll be in great tune next October.

I've as fine a set of puppies to enter as there is in Ireland, let alone Connaught. You must come down, and tell me what you think of them."

"Next October's all very well for you young fellows, but I'm seventy-eight. I always make up my mind that I'll never turn out another season, and it'll be true for me this year. I'm hunting over sixty years, Ballindine, in these three counties. I ought to have had enough of it by this time, you'll say."

"I'll bet you ten pounds," said Bingham Blake, "that you hunt after eighty."

"Done with you Bingham," said the General, and the bet was booked.

General Bourke was an old soldier, who told the truth in saying that he had hunted over the same ground sixty years ago. But he had not been at it ever since, for he had in the meantime seen a great deal of hard active service, and obtained high military reputation. But he had again taken kindly to the national sport of his country, on returning to his own estate at the close of the Peninsular War; and had ever since attended the meets twice a week through every winter, with fewer exceptions than any other member of the hunt. He always wore top-boots--of the ancient cut, with deep painted tops and square toes, drawn tight up over the calf of his leg; a pair of most capacious dark-coloured leather breeches, the origin of which was unknown to any other present member of the hunt, and a red frock coat, very much soiled by weather, water, and wear. The General was a rich man, and therefore always had a horse to suit him. On the present occasion, he was riding a strong brown beast, called Parsimony, that would climb over anything, and creep down the gable end of a house if he were required to do so. He was got by OEconomy; those who know county Mayo know the breed well.

They were now all crowded into the large dining-room at Kelly's Court; about five-and-twenty redcoats, and Mr Armstrong's rusty black. In spite of his shabby appearance, however, and the fact that the greater number of those around him were Roman Catholics, he seemed to be very popular with the lot; and his opinion on the important subject of its being a scenting morning was asked with as much confidence in his judgment, as though the foxes of the country were peculiarly subject to episcopalian jurisdiction.

"Well, then, Peter," said he, "the wind's in the right quarter. Mick says there's a strong dog-fox in the long bit of gorse behind the firs; if he breaks from that he must run towards Ballintubber, and when you're once over the meering [5] into Roscommon, there's not an acre of tilled land, unless a herd's garden, between that and--the deuce knows where all--further than most of you'll like to ride, I take it."

[FOOTNOTE 35: meering--a well-marked boundary, such as a ditch or fence, between farms, fields, bogs, etc]

"How far'll you go yourself, Armstrong? Faith, I believe it's few of the crack nags'll beat the old black pony at a long day."

"Is it I?" said the Parson, innocently. "As soon as I've heard the dogs give tongue, and seen them well on their game, I'll go home. I've land ploughing, and I must look after that. But, as I was saying, if the fox breaks well away from the gorse, you'll have the best run you've seen this season; but if he dodges back into the plantation, you'll have enough to do to make him break at all; and when he does, he'll go away towards Ballyhaunis, through as cross a country as ever a horse put a shoe into."

And having uttered this scientific prediction, which was listened to with the greatest deference by Peter Dillon, the Rev. Joseph Armstrong turned his attention to the ham and tea.

The three ladies were all smiles to meet their guests; Mrs O'Kelly, dressed in a piece of satin turk, came forward to shake hands with the General, but Sophy and Guss kept their positions, beneath the coffee-pot and tea-urn, at each end of the long table, being very properly of opinion that it was the duty of the younger part of the community to come forward, and make their overtures to them. Bingham Blake, the cynosure on whom the eyes of the beauty of county Mayo were most generally placed, soon found his seat beside Guss, rather to Sophy's mortification; but Sophy was good-natured, and when Peter Dillon placed himself at her right hand, she was quite happy, though Peter's father was still alive, and Bingham's had been dead this many a year and Castletown much in want of a mistress.

"Now, Miss O'Kelly," said Bingham, "do let me manage the coffee-pot; the cream-jug and sugar-tongs will be quite enough for your energies."

"Indeed and I won't, Mr Blake; you're a great deal too awkward, and a great deal too hungry. The last hunt-morning you breakfasted here you threw the coffee-grouts into the sugar-basin, when I let you help me."

"To think of your remembering that!--but I'm improved since then. I've been taking lessons with my old aunt at Castlebar."

"You don't mean you've really been staying with Lady Sarah?"

"Oh, but I have, though. I was there three days; made tea every night; washed the poodle every morning, and clear-starched her Sunday pelerine, with my own hands on Sat.u.r.day evening."

"Oh, what a useful animal! What a husband you'll make, when you're a little more improved!"

"Shan't I? As you're so fond of accomplishments, perhaps you'll take me yourself by-and-by?"

"Why, as you're so useful, maybe I may."

"Well, Lambert," said Lord Ballindine, across the table, to the stingy gentleman with the squint, "are you going to ride hard to-day?"

"I'll go bail I'm not much behind, my lord," said Lambert; "if the dogs go, I'll follow."

"I'll bet you a crown, Lambert," said his cousin, young Brown of Mount Brown, "the dogs kill, and you don't see them do it."

"Oh, that may be, and yet I mayn't be much behind."

"I'll bet you're not in the next field to them."

"Maybe you'll not be within ten fields yourself."

"Come, Lambert, I'll tell you what--we'll ride together, and I'll bet you a crown I pound you before you're over three leaps."

"Ah, now, take it easy with yourself," said Lambert; "there are others ride better than you."

"But no one better than yourself; is that it, eh?"

"Well, Jerry, how do the new articles fit?" said Nicholas Dillon.

"Pretty well, thank you: they'd be a deal more comfortable though, if you'd pay for them."

"Did you hear, Miss O'Kelly, what Jerry Blake did yesterday?" said Nicholas Dillon aloud, across the table.

"Indeed, I did not," said Guss--"but I hope, for the sake of the Blakes in general, he didn't do anything much amiss?"

"I'll tell you then," continued Nicholas. "A portion of his ould hunting-dress--I'll not specify what, you know--but a portion, which he'd been wearing since the last election, were too shabby to show: well, he couldn't catch a hedge tailor far or near, only poor lame Andy Oulahan, who was burying his wife, rest her sowl, the very moment Jerry got a howld of him. Well, Jerry was wild that the tailors were so scarce, so he laid his hands on Andy, dragged him away from the corpse and all the illigant enthertainment of the funeral, and never let him out of sight till he'd put on the last b.u.t.ton."

"Oh, Mr Blake!" said Guss, "you did not take the man away from his dead wife?"

"Indeed I did not, Miss O'Kelly: Andy'd no such good chance; his wife's to the fore this day, worse luck for him. It was only his mother he was burying."