The Manxman Part 8

"It's herself," whispered Pete. "She's coming! She's here!"

Philip turned, and saw Kate in the doorway of the dairy, the sweet young figure framed like a silhouette by the light behind.

"I'm going!" said Philip, and he edged up to the house as the girl stepped out.

Pete followed him a step or two in approaching Kate. "Whist, man!" he whispered. "Tell the old geezer I'll be going to chapel reglar early tides and late s.h.i.+fts, and Sunday-school constant. And, whist! tell him I'm larning myself to play on the harmonia."

Then Philip slithered softly through the dairy door, and shut it after him, leaving Kate and Pete together.

VII.

The kitchen of "The Manx Fairy" was now savoury with the odour of herrings roasting in their own brine, and musical with the crackling and frizzling of the oil as it dropped into the fire.

"It's a long way back to Ballure, Mrs. Cregeen," said Philip, popping his head in at the door jamb. "May I stay to a bite of supper?"

"Aw, stay and welcome," said Caesar, putting down the big book, and Nancy Joe said the same, dropping her high-pitched voice perceptibly, and Grannie said, also, "Right welcome, sir, if you'll not be thinking mane to take pot luck with us. Potatoes and herrings, Mr. Christian; just a Manxman's supper. Lift the pot off the slowrie, Nancy."

"Well, and isn't he a Manxman himself, mother?" said Caesar.

"Of course I am, Mr. Cregeen," said Philip, laughing noisily. "If I'm not, who should be, eh?'"

"And Manxman or no Manxman, what for should he turn up his nose at herrings same as these?" said Nancy Joe. She was dis.h.i.+ng up a bowlful.

"Where'll he get the like of them? Not in England over, I'll go bail."

"Indeed, no, Nancy," said Philip, still laughing needlessly.

"And if they had them there, the poor, useless creatures would be lost to cook them."

"'Deed, would they, Nancy," said Grannie. She was rolling the potatoes into a heap on to the bare table. "And we've much to be thankful for, with potatoes and herrings three times a day; but we shouldn't be thinking proud of our-selves for that."

"Ask the gentleman to draw up, mother," said Caesar.

"Draw up, sir, draw up. Here's your bowl of b.u.t.ter-milk. A knife and fork, Nancy. We're no people for knife and fork to a herring, sir. And a plate for Mr. Christian, woman; a gentleman usually likes a plate. Now ate, sir, ate and welcome--but where's your friend, though?"

"Pete! oh! he's not far off." Saying this, Philip interrupted his laughter to distribute sage winks between Nancy Joe and Grannie.

Caesar looked around with a potato half peeled in his fingers. "And the girl--where's Kate?" he asked.

"She's not far off neither," said Philip, still winking vigorously. "But don't trouble about them, Mr. Cregeen. They'll want no supper. They're feeding on sweeter things than herrings even." Saying this he swallowed a gulp with another laugh.

Caesar lifted his head with a pinch of his herring between finger and thumb half way to his open mouth. "Were you spaking, sir?" he said.

At that Philip laughed immoderately. It was a relief to drown with laughter the riot going on within.

"Aw, dear, what's agate of the boy?" thought Grannie.

"Is it a dog bite that's working on him?" thought Nancy.

"Speaking!" cried Philip, "of course I'm speaking. I've come in to do it, Mr. Cregeen--I've come in to speak for Pete. He's fond of your daughter, Caesar, and wants your good-will to marry her."

"Lord-a-ma.s.sy!" cried Nancy Joe.

"Dear heart alive!" muttered Grannie.

"Peter Quilliam!" said Caesar, "did you say Peter?"

"I did, Mr. Cregeen, Peter Quilliam," said Philip stoutly, "my friend Pete, a rough fellow, perhaps, and without much education, but the best-hearted lad in the island. Come now, Caesar, say the word, sir, and make the young people happy."

He almost foundered over that last word, but Caesar kept him up with a searching look.

"Why, I picked him out of the streets, as you might say," said Caesar.

"So you did, Mr. Cregeen, so you did. I always thought you were a discerning man, Caesar. What do you say, Grannie? It's Caesar for knowing a deserving lad when he sees one, eh?"

He gave another round of his cunning winks, and Grannie replied, "Aw, well, it's nothing against either of them anyway."

Caesar was gitting as straight as a crowbar and as grim as a gannet. "And when he left me, he gave me imperence and disrespeck."

"But the lad meant no harm, father," said Grannie; "and hadn't you told him to take to the road?"

"Let every bird hatch its own eggs, mother; it'll become you better,"

said Caesar. "Yes, sir, the lip of Satan and the imperence of sin."

"Pete!" cried Philip, in a tone of incredulity; "why, he hasn't a thought about you that isn't out of the Prayer-book."

Caesar snorted. "No? Then maybe that's where he's going for his curses."

"No curses at all," said Nancy Joe, from the side of the table, "but a right good lad though, and you've never had another that's been a patch on him."

Caesar screwed round to her and said severely, "Where there's geese there's dirt, and where there's women there's talking." Then turning back to Philip, he said in a tone of mock deference, "And may I presume, sir--a little question--being a thing like that's general understood--what's his fortune?"

Philip fell back in his chair. "Fortune? Well, I didn't think that you now----"

"No?" said Caesar. "We're not children of Israel in the wilderness getting manna dropped from heaven twice a day. If it's only potatoes and herrings itself, we're wanting it three times, you see."

Do what he would to crush it, Philip could not help feeling a sense of relief. Fate was interfering; the girl was not for Pete. For the first moment since he returned to the kitchen he breathed freely and fully.

But then came the p.r.i.c.k of conscience: he had come to plead for Pete, and he must be loyal; he must not yield; he must exhaust all his resources of argument and persuasion. The wild idea occurred to him to take Caesar by force of the Bible.

"But think what the old book says, Mr. Cregeen, 'take no thought for the morrow'----"

"That's what Johnny Niplightly said, Mr. Christian, when he lit my kiln overnight and burnt my oats before morning.".

"'But consider the lilies'----"

"I have considered them, sir; but I'm foiling still and mother has to spin."