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Walter Pater - "Imaginary Portraits"

Henry Altemus - "The History of Tom Thumb, et. al."

Frances Hodgson Burnett - "The Dawn of A To morrow"

Max Beerbohm - "James Pethel"

The Crock of Gold

J >> James Stephens >> The Crock of Gold




"I wish," said the sergeant bitterly, "that all them
beasts were stuffed down your throttle the way you'd
have to hold your prate."

"It doesn't matter," said the Philosopher. "I do not
know why these animals should attach themselves to
men with gentleness and love and yet be able to preserve
intact their initial bloodthirstiness, so that while they will
allow their masters to misuse them in any way they will
yet fight most willingly with each other, and are never
really happy saving in the conduct of some private and
nonsensical battle of their own. I do not believe that it
is fear which tames these creatures into mildness, but that
the most savage animal has a capacity for love which has
not been sufficiently noted, and which, if more intelligent
attention had been directed upon it, would have raised
them to the status of intellectual animals as against in-
telligent ones, and, perhaps, have opened to us a corre-
spondence which could not have been other than bene-
ficial."

"Keep your eyes out for that gap in the trees, Shawn,"
said the sergeant.

"I'm doing that," said Shawn.

The Philosopher continued:

"Why can I not exchange ideas with a cow? I am
amazed at the incompleteness of my growth when I and
a fellow-creature stand dumbly before each other without
one glimmer of comprehension, locked and barred from
all friendship and intercourse--"

"Shawn," cried the sergeant.

"Don't interrupt," said the Philosopher; "you are al-
ways talking.--The lower animals, as they are foolishly
called, have abilities at which we can only wonder. The
mind of an ant is one to which I would readily go to
school. Birds have atmospheric and levitational in-
formation which millions of years will not render accessi-
ble to us; who that has seen a spider weaving his laby-
rinth, or a bee voyaging safely in the trackless air, can
refuse to credit that a vivid, trained intelligence animates
these small enigmas? and the commonest earthworm is
the heir to a culture before which I bow with the pro-
foundest veneration--"

"Shawn," said the sergeant, "say something for good-
ness' sake to take the sound of that man's clack out of
my ear."

"I wouldn't know what to be talking about," said
Shawn, "for I never was much of a hand at conversation,
and, barring my prayers, I got no education--I think my-
self that he was making a remark about a dog. Did you ever own a dog,
sergeant?"

"You are doing very well, Shawn," said the sergeant, "keep it up now."

"I knew a man had a dog would count up to a hun-
dred for you. He won lots of money in bets about it,
and he'd have made a fortune, only that I noticed one
day he used to be winking at the dog, and when he'd
stop winking the dog would stop counting. We made
him turn his back after that, and got the dog to count
sixpence, but he barked for more than five shillings, he
did so, and he would have counted up to a pound, maybe,
only that his master turned round and hit him a kick.
Every person that ever paid him a bet said they wanted
their money back, but the man went away to America in
the night, and I expect he's doing well there for he took
the dog with him. It was a wire-haired terrier bitch,
and it was the devil for having pups."

"It is astonishing," said the Philosopher, "on what slender compulsion
people will go to America--"

"Keep it up, Shawn," said the sergeant, "you are doing me a favour."

"I will so," said Shawn. "I had a cat one time and it used to have
kittens every two months."

The Philosopher's voice arose:

"If there was any periodicity about these migrations one could
understand them. Birds, for example, migrate from
their homes in the late autumn and seek abroad the sustenance and
warmth which the winter would withhold if they
remained in their native lands. The salmon also, a dignified fish with
a pink skin, emigrates from the Atlantic Ocean, and betakes himself inland to the streams and lakes, where he recuperates for a season, and is
often surprised by net, angle, or spear--"

"Cut in now, Shawn," said the sergeant anxiously.

Shawn began to gabble with amazing speed and in a mighty voice:

"Cats sometimes eat their kittens, and sometimes they don't. A cat that
eats its kittens is a heartless brute. I knew a cat used to eat its kittens--it had four legs and a long tail, and it used to get the head-staggers every time it had eaten its kittens. I killed it myself one day with a hammer for I
couldn't stand the smell it made, so I couldn't--"

"Shawn," said the sergeant, "can't you talk about something else
besides cats and dogs?"

"Sure, I don't know what to talk about," said Shawn. "I'm sweating this
minute trying to please you, so I arm. If you'll
tell me what to talk about I'll do my endeavours."

"You're a fool," said the sergeant sorrowfully; "you'll never make a
constable. I'm thinking that I would sooner listen
to the man himself than to you. Have you got a good hold of him now?"

"I have so," said Shawn.

"Well, step out and maybe we'll reach the barracks this night, unless
this is a road that there isn't any end to at all. What was that? Did you hear a noise?"

"I didn't hear a thing," said Shawn.

"I thought," said another man, "that I heard something moving in the
hedge at the side of the road."

"That's what I heard," said the sergeant. "Maybe
it was a weasel. I wish to the devil that we were out of
this place where you can't see as much as your own nose.
Now did you hear it, Shawn?"

"I did so," said Shawn; "there's some one in the hedge,
for a weasel would make a different kind of a noise if it
made any at all."

"Keep together, men," said the sergeant, "and march
on; if there's anybody about they've no business with
us.

He had scarcely spoken when there came a sudden
pattering of feet, and immediately the four men were
surrounded and were being struck at on every side with
sticks and hands and feet.

"Draw your batons," the sergeant roared; "keep a
good grip of that man, Shawn."

"I will so," said Shawn.

"Stand round him, you other men, and hit anything
that comes near you."

There was no sound of voices from the assailants, only
a rapid scuffle of feet, the whistle of sticks as they swung
through the air or slapped smartly against a body or
clashed upon each other, and the quick breathing of
many people; but from the four policemen there came
noise and to spare as they struck wildly on every side,
cursing the darkness and their opposers with fierce en-
thusiasm.

"Let out," cried Shawn suddenly. "Let out or I'll
smash your nut for you. There's some one pulling at
the prisoner, and I've dropped my baton."

The truncheons of the policemen had been so fero-
ciously exercised that their antagonists departed as
swiftly and as mysteriously as they came. It was just
two minutes of frantic, aimless conflict, and then the
silent night was round them again, without any sound
but the slow creaking of branches, the swish of leaves as
they swung and poised, and the quiet croon of the wind
along the road.

"Come on, men," said the sergeant, "we'd better be
getting out of this place as quick as we can. Are any
of ye hurted?"

"I've got one of the enemy," said Shawn, panting.

"You've got what?" said the sergeant.

"I've got one of them, and he is wriggling like an eel
on a pan."

"Hold him tight," said the sergeant excitedly.

"I will so," said Shawn. "It's a little one by the feel
of it. If one of ye would hold the prisoner, I'd get a
better grip on this one. Aren't they dangerous villains
now?"

Another man took hold of the Philosopher's arm, and
Shawn got both hands on his captive.

"Keep quiet, I'm telling you," said he, "or I'll throttle
you, I will so. Faith, it seems like a little boy by the feel
of it!"

"A little boy!" said the sergeant.

"Yes, he doesn't reach up to my waist."

"It must be the young brat from the cottage that set
the dogs on us, the one that loves beasts. Now then,
boy, what do you mean by this kind of thing? You'll
find yourself in gaol for this, my young buck-o. Who
was with you, eh? Tell me that now?" and the sergeant
bent forward.

"Hold up your head, sonny, and talk to the sergeant,"
said Shawn. "Oh!" he roared, and suddenly he made a
little rush forward. "I've got him," he gasped; "he
nearly got away. It isn't a boy at all, sergeant; there's
whiskers on it!"

"What do you say?" said the sergeant.

"I put my hand under its chin and there's whiskers on
it. I nearly let him out with the surprise, I did so."

"Try again," said the sergeant in a low voice; "you are
making a mistake."

"I don't like touching them," said Shawn. "It's a
soft whisker like a billy-goat's. Maybe you'd try your-
self, sergeant, for I tell you I'm frightened of it."

"Hold him over here," said the sergeant, "and keep
a good grip of him."

"I'll do that," said Shawn, and he hauled some re-
luctant object towards his superior.

The sergeant put out his hand and touched a head.

"It's only a boy's size to be sure," said he, then he slid
his hand down the face and withdrew it quickly.

"There are whiskers on it," said he soberly. "What
the devil can it be? I never met whiskers so near the
ground before. Maybe they are false ones, and it's just
the boy yonder trying to disguise himself." He put out
his hand again with an effort, felt his way to the chin, and
tugged.

Instantly there came a yell, so loud, so sudden, that
every man of them jumped in a panic.

"They are real whiskers," said the sergeant with a
sigh. "I wish I knew what it is. His voice is big enough
for two men, and that's a fact. Have you got another
match on you?"

"I have two more in my waistcoat pocket," said one
of the men.

"Give me one of them," said the sergeant; "I'll strike
it myself."

He groped about until he found the hand with the
match.

"Be sure and hold him tight, Shawn, the way we can
have a good look at him, for this is like to be a queer
miracle of a thing."

"I'm holding him by the two arms," said Shawn, "he
can't stir anything but his head, and I've got my chest
on that."

The sergeant struck the match, shading it for a mo-
ment with his hand, then he turned it on their new pris-
oner.

They saw a little man dressed in tight green clothes;
he had a broad pale face with staring eyes, and there was
a thin fringe of grey whisker under his chin--then the
match went out.

"It's a Leprecaun," said the sergeant.

The men were silent for a full couple of minutes--
at last Shawn spoke.

"Do you tell me so?" said he in a musing voice; "that's
a queer miracle altogether."

"I do," said the sergeant. "Doesn't it stand to reason
that it can't be anything else? You saw it yourself."

Shawn plumped down on his knees before his captive.

"Tell me where the money is?" he hissed. "Tell me
where the money is or I'll twist your neck off."

The other men also gathered eagerly around, shout-
ing threats and commands at the Leprecaun.

"Hold your whist," said Shawn fiercely to them. "He
can't answer the lot of you, can he?" and he turned again
to the Leprecaun and shook him until his teeth chattered.

"If you don't tell me where the money is at once I'll
kill you, I will so."

"I haven't got any money at all, sir," said the Lepre-
caun.

"None of your lies," roared Shawn. "Tell the truth
now or it'll be worse for you."

"I haven't got any money," said the Leprecaun, "for
Meehawl MacMurrachu of the Hill stole our crock a
while back, and he buried it under a thorn bush. I can
bring you to the place if you don't believe me."

"Very good," said Shawn. "Come on with me now,
and I'll clout you if you as much as wriggle; do you mind
me?"

"What would I wriggle for?" said the Leprecaun:
"sure I like being with you."

Hereupon the sergeant roared at the top of his voice.

"Attention," said he, and the men leaped to position
like automata.

"What is it you are going to do with your prisoner,
Shawn?" said he sarcastically. "Don't you think we've
had enough tramping of these roads for one night, now?
Bring up that Leprecaun to the barracks or it'll be the
worse for you--do you hear me talking to you?"

"But the gold, sergeant," said Shawn sulkily.

"If there's any gold it'll be treasure trove, and belong
to the Crown. What kind of a constable are you at all,
Shawn? Mind what you are about now, my man, and
no back answers. Step along there. Bring that mur-
derer up at once, whichever of you has him."

There came a gasp from the darkness.

"Oh, Oh, Oh!" said a voice of horror.

"What's wrong with you?" said the sergeant: "are
you hurted?"

"The prisoner!" he gasped, "he, he's got away!"

"Got away?" and the sergeant's voice was a blare of
fury.

"While we were looking at the Leprecaun," said the
voice of woe, "I must have forgotten about the other
one--I, I haven't got him--"

"You gawm!" gritted the sergeant.

"Is it my prisoner that's gone?" said Shawn in a deep
voice. He leaped forward with a curse and smote his
negligent comrade so terrible a blow in the face, that the
man went flying backwards, and the thud of his head on
the road could have been heard anywhere.

"Get up," said Shawn, "get up till I give you another
one."

"That will do," said the sergeant, "we'll go home.
We're the laughing-stock of the world. I'll pay you out
for this some time, every damn man of ye. Bring that
Leprecaun along with you, and quick march."

"Oh!" said Shawn in a strangled tone.

"What is it now?" said the sergeant testily.

"Nothing," replied Shawn.

"What did you say 'Oh!' for then, you block-head?"

"It's the Leprecaun, sergeant," said Shawn in a whis-
per--"he's got away--when I was hitting the man there
I forgot all about the Leprecaun: he must have run into
the hedge. Oh, sergeant, dear, don't say anything to
me now--!"

"Quick march," said the sergeant, and the four men
moved on through the darkness in a silence, which was
only skin deep.

CHAPTER XV

BY reason of the many years which he had spent in the
gloomy pine wood, the Philosopher could see a little in
the darkness, and when he found there was no longer any
hold on his coat he continued his journey quietly, march-
ing along with his head sunken on his breast in a deep
abstraction. He was meditating on the word "Me,"
and endeavouring to pursue it through all its changes and
adventures. The fact of "me-ness" was one which
startled him. He was amazed at his own being. He
knew that the hand which he held up and pinched with
another hand was not him and the endeavour to find out
what was him was one which had frequently exercised
his leisure. He had not gone far when there came a
tug at his sleeve and looking down he found one of the
Leprecauns of the Gort trotting by his side.

"Noble Sir," said the Leprecaun, "you are terrible
hard to get into conversation with. I have been talking
to you for the last long time and you won't listen."

"I am listening now," replied the Philosopher.

"You are, indeed," said the Leprecaun heartily. "My
brothers are on the other side of the road over there be-
yond the hedge, and they want to talk to you: will you
come with me, Noble Sir?"

"Why wouldn't I go with you?" said the Philosopher,
and he turned aside with the Leprecaun.

They pushed softly through a gap in the hedge and
into a field beyond.

"Come this way, sir," said his guide, and the Philo-
sopher followed him across the field. In a few minutes
they came to a thick bush among the leaves of which the
other Leprecauns were hiding. They thronged out to
meet the Philosopher's approach and welcomed him with
every appearance of joy. With them was the Thin
Woman of Inis Magrath, who embraced her husband
tenderly and gave thanks for his escape.

"The night is young yet," remarked one of the Lepre-
cauns. "Let us sit down here and talk about what should
be done."

"I am tired enough," said the Philosopher, "for I
have been travelling all yesterday, and all this day and
the whole of this night I have been going also, so I would
be glad to sit down anywhere."

They sat down under the bush and the Philosopher lit
his pipe. In the open space where they were there was
just light enough to see the smoke coming from his pipe,
but scarcely more. One recognized a figure as a deeper
shadow than the surrounding darkness; but as the ground
was dry and the air just touched with a pleasant chill,
there was no discomfort. After the Philosopher had
drawn a few mouthfuls of smoke he passed his pipe on
to the next person, and in this way his pipe made the cir-
cuit of the party.

"When I put the children to bed," said the Thin
Woman, "I came down the road in your wake with a
basin of stirabout, for you had no time to take your food,
God help you! and I was thinking you must have been
hungry."

"That is so," said the Philosopher in a very anxious
voice: "but I don't blame you, my dear, for letting the
basin fall on the road--"

"While I was going along," she continued, "I met
these good people and when I told them what happened
they came with me to see if anything could be done. The
time they ran out of the hedge to fight the policemen I
wanted to go with them, but I was afraid the stirabout
would be spilt."

The Philosopher licked his lips.

"I am listening to you, my love," said he.

"So I had to stay where I was with the stirabout under
my shawl--"

"Did you slip then, dear wife?"

"I did not, indeed," she replied: "I have the stirabout
with me this minute. It's rather cold, I'm thinking, but
it is better than nothing at all," and she placed the bowl
in his hands.

"I put sugar in it," said she shyly, "and currants, and
I have a spoon in my pocket."

"It tastes well," said the Philosopher, and he cleaned
the basin so speedily that his wife wept because of his
hunger.

By this time the pipe had come round to him again
and it was welcomed.

"Now we can talk," said he, and he blew a great cloud
of smoke into the darkness and sighed happily.

"We were thinking," said the Thin Woman, "that
you won't be able to come back to our house for a while
yet: the policemen will be peeping about Coille Doraca
for a long time, to be sure; for isn't it true that if there
is a good thing coming to a person, nobody takes much
trouble to find him, but if there is a bad thing or a punish-
ment in store for a man, then the whole world will be
searched until he be found?"

"It is a true statement," said the Philosopher.

"So what we arranged was this--that you should go
to live with these little men in their house under the yew
tree of the Gort. There is not a policeman in the world
would find you there; or if you went by night to the
Brugh of the Boyne, Angus Og himself would give you a
refuge."

One of the Leprecauns here interposed.

"Noble Sir," said he, "there isn't much room in our
house but there's no stint of welcome in it. You would
have a good time with us travelling on moonlit nights
and seeing strange things, for we often go to visit the
Shee of the Hills and they come to see us; there is al-
ways something to talk about, and we have dances in the
caves and on the tops of the hills. Don't be imagining
now that we have a poor life for there is fun and plenty
with us and the Brugh of Angus Mac an Og is hard to be
got at."

"I would like to dance, indeed," returned the Philoso-
pher, "for I do believe that dancing is the first and last
duty of man. If we cannot be gay what can we be? Life
is not any use at all unless we find a laugh here and there
--but this time, decent men of the Gort, I cannot go with
you, for it is laid on me to give myself up to the police."

"You would not do that," exclaimed the Thin Woman
pitifully: "You wouldn't think of doing that now!"

"An innocent man," said he, "cannot be oppressed, for
he is fortified by his mind and his heart cheers him. It
is only on a guilty person that the rigour of punishment
can fall, for he punishes himself. This is what I think,
that a man should always obey the law with his body and
always disobey it with his mind. I have been arrested,
the men of the law had me in their hands, and I will have
to go back to them so that they may do whatever they
have to do."

The Philosopher resumed his pipe, and although the
others reasoned with him for a long time they could not
by any means remove him from his purpose. So, when
the pale glimmer of dawn had stolen over the sky, they
arose and went downwards to the cross-roads and so
to the Police Station.

Outside the village the Leprecauns bade him farewell
and the Thin Woman also took her leave of him, saying
she would visit Angus Og and implore his assistance on
behalf of her husband, and then the Leprecauns and the
Thin Woman returned again the way they came, and
the Philosopher walked on to the barracks.

CHAPTER XVI

WHEN he knocked at the barracks door it was opened
by a man with tousled, red hair, who looked as though
he had just awakened from sleep.

"What do you want at this hour of the night?" said
he.

"I want to give myself up," said the Philosopher.
The policeman looked at him-

"A man as old as you are," said he, "oughtn't to be
a fool. Go home now, I advise you, and don't say a word
to any one whether you did it or not. Tell me this now,
was it found out, or are you only making a clean breast
of it?"

"Sure I must give myself up," said the Philosopher.

"If you must, you must, and that's an end of it. Wipe
your feet on the rail there and come in--I'll take your
deposition."

"I have no deposition for you," said the Philosopher,
"for I didn't do a thing at all."

The policeman stared at him again.

"If that's so," said he, "you needn't come in at all, and
you needn't have wakened me out of my sleep either.
Maybe, tho', you are the man that fought the badger on
the Naas Road--Eh?"

"I am not," replied the Philosopher: "but I was ar-
rested for killing my brother and his wife, although I
never touched them."

"Is that who you are?" said the policeman; and then,
briskly, "You're as welcome as the cuckoo, you are so.
Come in and make yourself comfortable till the men
awaken, and they are the lads that'll be glad to see you.
I couldn't make head or tail of what they said when they
came in last night, and no one else either, for they did
nothing but fight each other and curse the banshees and
cluricauns of Leinster. Sit down there on the settle by
the fire and, maybe, you'll be able to get a sleep; you look
as if you were tired, and the mud of every county in Ire-
land is on your boots."

The Philosopher thanked him and stretched out on the
settle. In a short time, for he was very weary, he fell
asleep.

Many hours later he was awakened by the sound of
voices, and found on rising, that the men who had cap-
tured him on the previous evening were standing by the
bed. The sergeant's face beamed with joy. He was
dressed only in his trousers and shirt. His hair was
sticking up in some places and sticking out in others which
gave a certain wild look to him, and his feet were bare.
He took the Philosopher's two hands in his own and
swore if ever there was anything he could do to comfort
him he would do that and more. Shawn, in a similar state
of unclothedness, greeted the Philosopher and proclaimed
himself his friend and follower for ever. Shawn further
announced that he did not believe the Philosopher had
killed the two people, that if he had killed them they must
have richly deserved it, and that if he was hung he would
plant flowers on his grave; for a decenter, quieter, and
wiser man he had never met and never would meet in the
world.

These professions of esteem comforted the Philo-
sopher, and he replied to them in terms which made the
red-haired policeman gape in astonishment and approval.

He was given a breakfast of bread and cocoa which
he ate with his guardians, and then, as they had to take
up their outdoor duties, he was conducted to the back-
yard and informed he could walk about there and that
he might smoke until he was black in the face. The po-
licemen severally presented him with a pipe, a tin of
tobacco, two boxes of matches and a dictionary, and then
they withdrew, leaving him to his own devices.

The garden was about twelve feet square, having high,
smooth walls on every side, and into it there came neither
sun nor wind. In one corner a clump of rusty-looking
sweet-pea was climbing up the wall--every leaf of this
plant was riddled with holes, and there were no flowers
on it. Another corner was occupied by dwarf nastur-
tiums, and on this plant, in despite of every discourage-
ment, two flowers were blooming, but its leaves also were
tattered and dejected. A mass of ivy clung to the third
corner, its leaves were big and glossy at the top, but near
the ground there was only grey, naked stalks laced to-
gether by cobwebs. The fourth wall was clothed in a
loose Virginia creeper every leaf of which looked like
an insect that could crawl if it wanted to. The centre
of this small plot had used every possible artifice to
cover itself with grass, and in some places it had wonder-
fully succeeded, but the pieces of broken bottles,
shattered jampots, and sections of crockery were so
numerous that no attempt at growth could be other than
tentative and unpassioned.

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