“I don’t mean a nigger, Andy!” I thought I would be even with him for once in a way. He laughed heartily.
“Oh, my, but that’s a good wan. Be the hokey, a girrul can be dark enough fur any man widout bein’ a naygur. Glory be to God, but I niver seen a faymale naygur meself, but I suppose there’s such things; God’s very good to all his craythurs! But, barrin’ naygurs, must she be all dark?”
“Well, not of necessity, but I certainly prefer what we call a brunette.”
“A bru-net. What’s that now? I’ve heerd a wheen o’ quare things in me time, but I niver heerd a woman called that before.”
I tried to explain the term; he seemed to understand, but his only comment was:
“Well, God is very good,” and then went on with his queries.
“How might she be dressed?” he looked very sly as he asked the question.
“Simply. The dress is not particular — that can easily be altered. For myself, just at present, I should like her in the dress they all wear here, some pretty kind of body and a red petticoat.”
“Thrue for ye,” said Andy.
Then he went over the list, ticking off the items on his fingers as he went along:
“A long, dark girrul, like belly bakin, but not a naygur, some kind iv a net, an’ wid a rid petticoat, an’ a quare kind iv an eye! Is that the kind iv a girrul that yer ‘an’r wants to set yer eyes on?”
“Well,” said I, “item by item, as you explain them, Andy, the description is correct; but I must say that never in my life did I know a man to so knock the bottom out of romance as you have done in summing up the lady’s charms.”
“Her charrums, is it? Be the powers! I only tuk what yer ‘an’r tould me. An” so that’s the girrul that id shute yer?”
“Yes, Andy, I think she would.” I waited in expectation, but he said nothing. So I jogged his memory. “Well?”
He looked at me in a most peculiar manner, and said, slowly and impressively:
“Thin I can sahtisfy yer ‘an’r. There’s no such girrul in all Knocknacar!”
I smiled a smile of triumph:
“You’re wrong for once, Andy. I saw such a girl only yesterday, here on the top of this mountain, just where we’re sitting now.”
Andy jumped up as if he had been sitting on an ant-hill, and had suddenly been made aware of it. He looked all round in a frightened way, but I could see that he was only acting, and said:
“Glory be to God! but maybe it’s the fairies, it was, or the pixies! Shure, they do say that there’s lots an’ lots an’ lashins iv them on this hill. Don’t ye have nothin’ to say to thim, surr! There’s only sorra follys thim. Take an ould man’s advice, an’ don’t come up here any more. The shpot is dangerous to ye. If ye want to see a fine girrul go to Shleenanaher, an’ have a good luk at Miss Norah in the daylight.”
“Oh, bother Miss Norah!” said I. “Get along with you, do! I think you’ve got Miss Norah on the brain, or perhaps you’re in love with her yourself.”
Andy murmured, sotto voce, but manifestly for me to hear:
“Begor, I am, like the rist iv the bhoys, av course!”
Here I looked at my watch, and found it was three o’clock, so thought it was time to get rid of him.
“Here,” said I, “run down to the men at the cutting and tell them that I’m coming down presently to measure up their work, as Mr. Sutherland will want to know how they’ve got on.”
Andy moved off. Before going, however, he had something to say, as usual:
“Tell me, Misther Art” — this new name startled me, Andy had evidently taken me into his public family — “do ye think Misther Dick” — this was another surprise — “has an eye on Miss Norah?” There was a real shock this time.
“I see him lukin’ at her wance or twice as if he’d like to ate her; but, bedad, it’s no use if he has, for she wouldn’t luk at him. No wondher, an’ him helpin’ to be takin’ her father’s houldin’ away from him.”
I could not answer Andy’s question as to poor old Dick’s feelings, for such was his secret and not mine; but I determined not to let there be any misapprehension regarding his having a hand in Murdock’s dirty work, so I spoke hotly:
“You tell any one that dares to say that Dick Sutherland has any act or part, good or bad, large or small, in that dirty ruffian’s dishonorable conduct, that he is either a knave or a fool, at any rate he is a liar. Dick is simply a man of science engaged by Murdock, as any other man of science might be, to look after some operations in regard to his bog.”
Andy’s comment was made sotto voce, so I thought it better not to notice it.
“Musha! but the bogs iv all kinds is gettin’ mixed up quarely. Here’s another iv them. Misther Dick is engaged to luk afther the bogs. An’ so he does, but his eyes goes wandherin’ among thim. There does be bogs iv all kinds now all over these parts. It’s quare times we’re in, or I’m gettin’ ould!”
With this Parthian shaft Andy took himself down the hill, and presently I saw the good effects of his presence in stimulating the workmen to more ardent endeavours, for they all leaned on their spades while he told them a long story, which ended in a tumult of laughter.
I might have enjoyed the man’s fun, but I was in no laughing humor. I had got anxious long ago because she had not visited the hill-top. I looked all round, but could see no sign of her anywhere. I waited and waited, and the time truly went on leaden wings. The afternoon sun smote the hill-top with its glare, more oppressive always than even the noontide heat.
I lingered on and lingered still, and hope died within me.
When six o’clock had come I felt that there was no more chance for me that day; so I went sadly down the hill, and, after a glance for Dick’s sake at the cutting, sought the sheebeen where Andy had the horse ready harnessed in the car. I assumed as cheerful an aspect as I could, and flattered myself that I carried off the occasion very well. It was not at all flattering, however, to my histrionic powers to hear Andy, as we were driving off, whisper in answer to a remark deploring how sad I looked, made by the old lady who kept the sheebeen:
“Whisht! Don’t appear to notice him, or ye’ll dhrive him mad. Me opinion is that he’s been wandherin’ on the mountain too long, an’ tamperin’ wid the rings on the grass — you know — an’ that he has seen the fairies!”
Then he said aloud and ostentatiously:
“Gee up, ye old corn-crake! Ye ought to be fresh enough; ye’ve niver left the fut iv the hill all the day.” Then turning to me, “An’ sure, surr, it’s goin’ to the top that takes it out iv wan — aythera horse or a man.”
I made no answer, and in silence we drove to Carnaclif, where I found Dick impatiently waiting dinner for me.
I was glad to find that he was full of queries concerning the cutting, for it saved me from the consideration of subjects more difficult to answer satisfactorily. Fortunately I was able to give a good account of the time spent, for the work done had far exceeded my expectations. I thought that Dick was in much better spirits than he had been; but it was not until the subject of the bog at Knocknacar was completely exhausted that I got any clew on the subject. I then asked Dick if he had had a good time at Shleenanaher?
“Yes!” he answered. “Thank God, the work is nearly done! We went over the whole place to-day, and there was only one indication of iron. This was in the bog just beside