Stories by English Authors: Ireland | Page 8

or
no boycott. We have been about the best customers to the shopkeepers
round here, and it'll come near ruining the town--and serve them right,"
the young man added, with the first touch of bitterness he had
displayed in speaking of the persecution of his family.
By next day the situation had improved. A couple of servant-girls
arrived from the north. They were expected, and accordingly Dick was
on hand with the jaunting-car to meet them and drive them from the
station. The Emergency men had not yet appeared, so Jack and such of
his brothers as were old enough to be of use were kept pretty busy
round the place. Harold had wished to return to England and postpone
his visit till a more convenient time, but to this no one would listen. He
made no trouble; he was not a bit in the way; in fact, he was a great
help. So said they all, and the young New-Yorker was quite willing to
believe them.
He did occasionally offer assistance in stable or farm-yard, but he much
preferred to spend his time rambling over the old place, admiring the
lawns, the woods, the gardens, all strangely silent and deserted now.
Miss Connolly was often his companion. The importation from Belfast

relieved her of some of the pressure of household cares, and since her
brothers were fully occupied, it devolved upon her to play host as well
as hostess, and point out to the stranger the various charms of Lisnahoe.
This suited Harold exactly. He usually carried a gun and sometimes
shot a rabbit or a wood-pigeon, but generally he was content to listen to
Polly's lively conversation, and gaze into the depths of her eyes,
wondering why they looked darker and softer here under the shadow of
her native woods than they had ever seemed in the glare and dazzle of a
New York ball-room. Harold Hayes was falling in love--falling
consciously, yet without a struggle. He was beginning to realise that
life could have nothing better in store for him than this tall, graceful
girl, in her becoming sealskin cap and jacket, whose little feet, so
stoutly and serviceably shod, kept pace with his own over so many
miles of pleasant rambles.
One day--it was the last of the old year--Miss Connolly and Harold
were strolling along a path on which the wintry sunshine was tracing
fantastic patterns as it streamed through the naked branches of the giant
beech-trees. The young man had a gun on his shoulder, but he was
paying little attention to the nimble rabbits that now and then frisked
across the road. He was thinking, and thinking deeply.
He could not hope for many more such quiet walks with his fair
companion. She would soon have more efficient chaperons than the
children, who often made a pretence of accompanying them, but
invariably dashed off, disdainful of the sober pace of their elders.
Before long--next day probably--he would be handed over to the tender
mercies of Jack, who had constantly lamented the occupations that
prevented his paying proper attention to his guest. The heir of Lisnahoe
had promised to show the young stranger some "real good sport" as
soon as other duties would permit. That time was close at hand now.
The Emergency men had been at work for several days; they were
thoroughly at home in their duties; besides, the fat cattle would be
finished very shortly and sent off to be sold in Dublin. Jack had
announced his intention of stealing a holiday on the morrow, and taking
Hayes to a certain famous "snipe bottom," when the game was, to use
Dick's expression, "as thick as plums in one of Polly's puddings."
It was hard to guess then they might have such another rumble, and
Harold had much to say to the girl at his side; and yet, for the life of

him, he could not utter the words that were trembling on his lips.
"I don't believe you care much for shooting, Mr. Hayes."
A rabbit loped slowly across die road not twenty yards from the gun,
but Harold had not noticed it. He roused himself with a start, however,
at the sound of his companion's voice.
"Oh yes, I do, sometimes," he answered, glancing alertly to both sides
of the road; but no game was in sight for the moment.
"If this frost should break up, you may have some hunting," pursued
Miss Connolly. "I'm afraid you're having an awfully stupid time."
Harold interposed an eager denial.
"Oh yes, you must be," insisted the young lady; "but Jack will find
more time now, and if we have a thaw you will have a day with the
hounds. Are you fond of hunting?"
"I am very fond of riding, but I have never