Argosy, Vol. 118, No. 4 — page 128: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

593 separately to the cave in Spinkle’s Chimney, where the man amused him with games and Stories, or allowed him to help about the daily tasks. After that they returned to- gether. Their appearance in the street at- tracted no attention. Darrance, meeting them, passed without speaking or exchang- ing looks. _Outwardly, peace and good-will had en- folded the village in brooding wings. In- wardly, it soured, watched, schemed, and waited. No one had forgotten. Darrance and his pallid little wife lived not many stone throws from Neysa Mc- Gann’s grey, rambling cottage. Between the two-women a curious friendship by de- grees sprang up. The big man was under his own roof but little, and in the hours of his absence stark loneliness and the crush- ing burden of work beyond her strength drove the woman out of doors. Down at her haunt in the rocks she would find the white-haired crone. Sitting, cross- legged, she usually was, on a broad, flat boulder, hidden from sight of the road. Her -apron was thrown over her head; she rocked slowly back and forth... Sometimes she crooned a strange, monotonous song. “ What are you singing, Granny Neysa?”’ the girl asked one day. - The old woman clasped her wrist, and pulled her down beside her. “Eh!” she exclaimed. ‘‘ Here again! Spinners enough, enough, God’s will! What am I singing? A song I learned when I was a girl. The old women in county Garragh sang it, the time a storm was moaning and their men would be fetched in from the sea. Look you, girl, what do you see out yonder, half way across the cove to the green hill, where the black rock stands up above the water? Nothing but foam, eh—green and white? Ah!. There was a wave breaking. Didst not see the white drops dancing? That was—”’ The girl’s hand, pointing at the waves, came before her eyes. She snatched at the slender wrist, pushed up the sleeve. “ Another mark! Wirra, wirra! that black brute of yours—”’ Silently the girl bared’ her arms, both to the shoulder, and her neck and bosom. Did THE ARGOSY. ‘‘ At night,” she whispered, “ he’s always away, lately. I am glad of that. But mornings when he’comes back he seems dis- appointed about something. He is cross, | and cannot sleep because of the pain in his face. Then— “ Ah!” breathed the old woman sharply. “ Away nights, eh, did you say? Every night?” 66 Yes.”’ ‘Every night, then, since he was hire “Yes. Almost every night.” ‘Where? What doing?” “T don’t know. He never says. But if he falls asleep he mutters a man’s name and curses him.”’ “That name,” broke in the old woman quickly, ‘“‘ would be my rascally son Larry’s? Eh?” “Yes. But last night he slept and did not cry out. And this morning he smiled at me and did not beat me when he left. I did not understand, but something about that smile made me afraid. I had rather he had flogged—’”’ Suddenly the girl burst into tears and flung herself into the old woman’s arms. Almost roughly the crone pushed her back and held her by the shoulders, fixing her with a fierce glance. “‘ Beatings every night, eh, till the last, and then a smile! tering to himself as he went out? name did he murmur, eh, girl?” | “Nothing,” quavered the other, shrink- ing from the look. “ Nothing that I heard.” It was near sun-down when this talk be- gan, and now it had gotten blue-black dark. Cat-like, Neysa McGann scrambled te her feet. Her clawish fingers gripped the girl’s thin arm cruelly. “Black the hour, white-faced chit, that ye knew this thing and did not come run- ning to tell me of it! Black the thoughts that will swarm like fishes into your mind, noon and night! Black the rocks where the sea-maidens will be calling, calling! Get ye home, girl, get ye to your knees and pray that the devil send not harm to curse ye for the death of a good man this night! As for me—hurry, girl, hurry, and give me your hand back to the road!” What What did he say, mut- _ JOO S (C(O)