Michael McGrath, Postmaster | Page 6

asked, keeping my temper
down, for I longed to reach for his throat.
"You'll find him boozing in one of the saloons, like enough, the old
sot."
I walked out without further word, for the longing for his throat grew
almost more than I could bear, and went across to Paddy Dougan's.
Paddy expressed great delight at seeing me again and, on my asking for

Ould Michael, became the picture of woe.
Four months ago the postoffice had been taken from Ould Michael and
set up in Jacob Wragge's store, and with the old soldier things had gone
badly ever since.
"The truth is, an' I'll not desave you," said Paddy, adopting a
confidential undertone, "he's drinkin' too much and he is."
"And where is he? And where's his flag?"
"His flag is it?" Paddy shook his head as if to say, "Now you have
touched the sore spot. Shure, an' didn't he haul down the flag the day
they took the affice frum him."
"And has he never put it up again?"
"Niver a bit av it, Man dear," and Paddy walked out with me in great
excitement.
"Do you know he niver heard a word till the stage druv be his dure with
the mail-bag an' the tap av it an' left the ould man standin' there alone.
Man, do you know, you wud ha' cried, so you wud, at the look av him;
and then he walked over to the flag and hauled it down an' flung it
inside the affice, an' there it's yit; an' niver a joke out av him since."
"And what is McFarquhar doing all the time?"
"Shure he's off on his spring hunt this three months; an' he thried to get
Ould Michael to go along wid him, but niver a bit wud he; but I heard
he'll be in to-day and, bedad, there he is!"
Sure enough there was McFarquhar, riding toward us. He gave me a
warm welcome back and then fell into talking of Ould Michael. He had
only seen him once after the loss of his position, but he feared things
were going badly with him. I told him all that Paddy had given me as
we searched the saloons. Ould Michael was not to be seen.
"He will be at home very likely," said McFarquhar. "We will jist put a

stop to this kind of work."
McFarquhar was torn between grief over his friend's trouble and
indignation at his weakness and folly. We rode up to Ould Michael's
cabin. The "office" door was locked and the windows boarded up. In
the garden all was a wild tangle of flowers and weeds. Nature was
bravely doing her best, but she missed the friendly hand that in the past
had directed her energies. The climbing rose covered with opening
buds was here and there torn from the bare logs.
"Man, man!" cried McFarquhar, "this is a terrible change whatever."
We knocked at the side door and waited, but there was no answer. I
pushed the door open and there, in the midst of disorder and dirt, sat
Ould Michael. I could hardly believe it possible that in so short a time
so great a change could come to a man. His hair hung in long grey
locks about his ears, his face was unshaven, his dress dirty and slovenly
and his whole appearance and attitude suggested ruin and despair. But
the outward wreck was evidently only an index to the wreck of soul,
that had gone on. Out of the dark-blue eyes there shone no inner light.
The bright, brave, cheery old soldier was gone, and in his place the
figure of disorder and despair. He looked up at our entering, then
turned from us, shrinking, and put his hands to his face, swaying to and
fro and groaning deeply.
McFarquhar had come prepared to adopt strong measures, but the sight
of Ould Michael, besotted and broken, was more than he could stand.
"Michael, man!" he cried, amazement and grief in his voice. "Aw,
Michael, man! What's this? What's this?"
He went to him and laid his big bony hand on Ould Michael's shoulder.
At his words and touch the old man broke into sobbing, terrible to see.
"Whisht, man," said McFarquhar, as he might to a child, "whist, whist,
lad! It will be well with you yet."
But Ould Michael could not be comforted, but sobbed on and on. A

man's weeping has something terrible in it, but an old man's tears are
hardest of all to bear. McFarquhar stood helpless for some moments;
then, taking Ould Michael by the arm, he said:
"Come out of this, anyway! Come out!"
But it was long before Ould Michael would talk. He sat in silence while
his friend discoursed to him about the