“But here’s my father coming across the fields (which is a queer way for him to come, because he went away by the road), and I’m thinking that he has a basket under his arm and there will be food in it.”
VII
It was true enough. Mac Cann was coming to them from a point at right angles to where he was expected.
Now and again he turned to look over his shoulder, and as he was taking advantage of dips in the ground, bushes, and suchlike to shield his advance his daughter divined that something had occurred in addition to the purchase of food. She had often before observed her father moving with these precautionary tactics, and had many times herself shared and even directed a retreat which was full of interest.
When her father drew nigh he nodded meaningly at her, set down a basket and a bundle, and stood for a moment looking at these while he thumbed his chin.
“Faith!” said he, “the world is full of trouble, and that’s a fact.”
He turned to the strangers.
“And I’m telling you this, that if the world wasn’t full of trouble there’d be no life at all for the poor. It’s the only chance we get is when people are full of woe, God help them! and isn’t that a queer thing?
“Mary”—he turned, and his voice was full of careless pride—“try if there isn’t some small thing or other in the basket, and let your honours sit down on the grass while the young girl is getting your breakfast.”
So the angels and Patsy sat down peacefully on the grass, and Mary opened the basket.
There were two loaves of bread in it, a fine square of butter, a piece of cheese as big as a man’s hand and four times as thick; there was a leg of mutton in the basket, and only a little bit had been taken off it, a big paper bag full of tea, a package of soft sugar, a bottle full of milk, a bottle half full of whisky, two tobacco pipes having silver bands on their middles, and a big bar of plug tobacco. Those were the things in the basket.
Mary’s eyes and her mouth opened when she saw them, and she blessed herself, but she made no sound; and when she turned her face towards the company there was no expression on it except that of hospitality.
She cut slices from each of these things and piled them on a large piece of paper in the centre of the men; then she sat herself down and they all prepared to eat.
The second angel turned courteously to Mac Cann.
“Will you kindly begin to eat,” said he, “and by watching you we will know what to do.”
“There can be nothing more uncomely,” said the first angel, “than to see people acting in disaccord with custom; we will try to do exactly as you do, and although you may be troubled by our awkwardness you will not be shocked by a lapse from sacred tradition.”
“Well!” said Patsy thoughtfully.
He stretched a hand towards the food.
“I’ll stand in nobody’s light, and teaching people is God’s own work; this is the way I do it, your worships, and anyone that likes can follow me up.”
He seized two pieces of bread, placed a slice of cheese between them, and bit deeply into that trinity.
The strangers followed his actions with fidelity, and in a moment their mouths were as full as his was and as content.
Patsy paused between bites:
“When I’ve this one finished,” said he, “I’ll take two more bits of bread and I’ll put a lump of meat between them, and I’ll eat that.”
“Ah!” said that one of the angels whose mouth chanced to be free.
Patsy’s eye roved over the rest of the food.
“And after that,” he continued, “we will take a bit of whatever is handy.”
In a short time there was nothing left on the newspaper but soft sugar, butter, tea, and tobacco. Patsy was abashed.
“I did think that there was more than that,” said he.
“I’ve had enough myself,” he continued, “but maybe your honours could eat more.”
Two of the angels assured him that they were quite satisfied, but the youngest angel said nothing.
“I’m doubting that you had enough,” said Patsy dubiously to him.
“I could eat more if I had it,” returned that one with a smile.
Mary went to the cart and returned bearing two cold potatoes and a piece of bread, and she placed these before the young angel. He thanked her and ate these, and then he ate the package of soft sugar, and then he ate a little piece of the butter, but he didn’t care for it. He pointed to the plug of tobacco:
“Does this be eaten?” he enquired.
“It does not,” said Patsy. “If you ate a bit of that you’d get a pain inside of your belly that would last you for a month. There’s some people do smoke it, and there’s others do chew it; but I smoke it and chew it myself, and that’s the best way. There’s two pipes there on the paper, and I’ve a pipe in my own pocket, so whichever of you would like a smoke can do exactly as I do.”
With a big jackknife he shredded pieces from the plug, and rolled these between his palms, then he carefully stuffed his pipe, pulled at it to see was it drawing well, lit the tobacco, and heaved a sigh of contentment. He smiled around the circle.
“That’s real good,” said he.
The strangers examined the pipes and tobacco with curiosity, but they did not venture to smoke, and they watched Patsy’s beatific face with kindly attention.
VIII
Now at this moment Mary was devoured with curiosity. She wanted to know how her father had become possessed of the basketful of provisions. She knew that three shillings would
