Waysiders Part 8

When he first came the gardener had been more grimly hostile to the place than the Rector himself. There had been an ugly row on the road, and blows had been struck. But that was some years ago. The gardener now appeared very much merged in the life of the place; the gathering outside the Rectory garden was friendly, almost a family party. How was it to be accounted for? Once or twice the Rector found himself suspecting that at the bottom of the phenomenon there might be all unconscious among these people a spirit of common country, of a common democracy, a common humanity, that forced itself to the surface in course of time. The Rector stood, his lips working, his nicely-shaped little head quivering with a sudden agitation. For he found himself thinking along unusual lines, and for that very reason dangerous lines--frightfully dangerous lines, he told himself, as an ugly enlightenment broke across his mind, warming it up for a few moments and no more. As he turned in the gate at the Rectory it was a relief to him--for his own thoughts were frightening him--to see the peasants moving away and the head of the gardener disappear behind the wall. He walked up the path to the Rectory, the lawn dotted over with sombre yew trees all clipped into the shape of torpedoes, all trained directly upon the forts of Heaven! The house was large and comfortable, the walls a faded yellow. Like the church, it was thrown up against the background of the hills. It had all the sombre exclusiveness that made appeal to the Rector. The sight of it comforted him at the moment, and his mental agitation died down. He became normal enough to resume his accustomed outlook, and before he had reached the end of the path his mind had become obsessed again by the thought of the _Ne Temere_ decree.

Something should, he felt convinced, be done, and done at once.

He ground his umbrella on the step in front of the Rectory door and pondered. At last he came to a conclusion, inspiration lighting up his faded eyes. He tossed his head upwards.

"I must write a letter to the papers," he said. "Ireland is lost."

THE HOME-COMING

Persons: Mrs. Ford Donagh Ford Hugh Deely Agnes Deely

Scene: A farmhouse in Connacht.

Hugh: They'll make short work of the high field. It's half ploughed already.

Donagh: It was good of the people to gather as they did, giving us their labour.

Hugh: The people had always a wish for your family, Donagh. Look at the great name your father left behind him in Carrabane. It would be a fine sight for him if he had lived to stand at this door now, looking at the horses bringing the plough over the ground.

Donagh: And if he could move about this house, even in his great age. He never got accustomed to the smallness of the hut down at Cussmona.

Hugh: When I was a bit of a gosoon I remember the people talking about the eviction of Donagh Ford. It was terrible work used to be in Carrabane those times. Your father was the first man to fight, and that was why the people thought so well of him.

Donagh: He would never speak of it himself, for at home he was a silent, proud man. But my mother used to be telling me of it many a time.

Hugh: Your mother and yourself have the place back now. And you have Agnes to think of.

Donagh: Agnes is a good thought to me surely. Was she telling you we fixed the day of the wedding yesterday at your uncle's?

Hugh: She was not. A girl like her is often shy of speaking about a thing of that kind to her brother. I'd only be making game of her. (_A cheer is heard in the distance outside. Hugh goes to look out door._)

Hugh: Here is the car coming up the road with your mother and Agnes.

They're giving her a welcome.

Donagh (_looking out of window_): She'll be very proud of the people, they to have such a memory of my father.

Hugh: I'll run out and greet her. (_In a sly undertone._) Agnes is coming up. (_He goes out laughing. Donagh hangs up harness on some pegs.

Agnes Deely, wearing a shawl over her head and carrying a basket on her arm, comes in._)

Agnes: Donagh, your mother was greatly excited leaving the hut. I think she doesn't rightly understand what is happening.

Donagh: I was afeard of that. The memory slips on her betimes. She thinks she's back in the old days again.

Agnes (_going to dresser, taking parcels from the basket._): My father was saying that we should have everything here as much like what it used to be as we can. That's why he brought up the bin. When they were evicted he took it up to his own place because it was too big for the hut.

Donagh: Do you know, Agnes, when I came up here this morning with your brother, Hugh, I felt the place strange and lonesome. I think an evicted house is never the same, even when people go back to it. There seemed to be some sorrow hanging over it.

Agnes (_putting up her shawl_): Now Donagh, that's no way for you to be speaking. If you were to see how glad all the people were! And you ought to have the greatest joy.

Donagh: Well, then I thought of you, Agnes, and that changed everything.

I went whistling about the place. (_Going to her._) After coming down from your uncle's yesterday evening I heard the first cry of the cuckoo in the wood at Raheen.

Agnes: That was a good omen, Donagh.

Donagh: I took it that way, too, for it was the first greeting I got after parting from yourself. Did you hear it, Agnes?

Agnes: I did not. I heard only one sound the length of the evening.

Donagh: What sound was that, Agnes?

Agnes: I heard nothing only the singing of one song, a lovely song, all about Donagh Ford!

Donagh: About me?

Agnes: Yes, indeed. It was no bird and no voice, but the singing I heard of my own heart.

Donagh: That was a good song to hear, Agnes. It is like a thought that would often stir in a man's mind and find no word to suit it. It is often that I thought that way of you and could speak no word.

Agnes: All the same I think I would have an understanding for it, Donagh.

Donagh: Ah, Agnes, that is just it. That is what gives me the great comfort in your company. We have a great understanding of each other surely.

Hugh (_speaking outside_): This is the way, Mrs. Ford. They are waiting for you within. (_He comes in._) Donagh, here is your mother. (_Mrs.

Ford, leaning on a stick, comes to the door, standing on the threshold for a little. Hugh and Donagh take off their hats reverently._)

Mrs. Ford: And is that you, Donagh. Well, if it is not the fine high house you got for Agnes. Eh, pet?

Agnes (_taking shawl from her_): It is your own house Donagh has taken you back to.

Hugh: Did you not hear the people giving you a welcome, Mrs. Ford?

Donagh: Don't you remember the house, mother?

Mrs. Ford: I have a memory of many a thing, G.o.d help me. And I heard the people cheering. I thought maybe it was some strife was going on in Carrabane. It was always a place of one struggle or another. (_She looks helplessly about house, muttering as she hobbles to the bin. She raises the lid._) Won't you take out a measure of oats to the mare, Donagh? And they have mislaid the scoop again. I'm tired telling them not to be leaving it in the barn. Where is that Martin Driscoll and what way is he doing his business at all? (_She turns to close the bin._)

Hugh (_to Donagh_): Who is Martin Driscoll?

Donagh: A boy who was here long ago. I heard a story of him and a flight with a girl. He lies in a grave in Australia long years.

Mrs. Ford (_moving from bin, her eyes catching the dresser_): Who put the dresser there? Was it by my orders? That is a place where it will come awkward to me.

Agnes (_going to her_): Sit down and rest yourself. You are fatigued after making the journey.

Mrs. Ford (_as they cross to fire_): Wait until I lay eyes on Martin Driscoll and on Delia Morrissey of the cross! I tell you I will regulate them.

Donagh (_to Hugh_): Delia Morrissey--that is the name of the girl I spoke of. She was lost on the voyage, a girl of great beauty.