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Show B-E-fa-B-H-ES-a-H-n-D-n-H-H-H-H-H-B-E-S-D-H-n-'a I IVT ANAS, The Miller. H i JU-? 0 By SEUMAS MacMANUS. i j i Author of "In Chimney Corners," "Through the Turf-Smoke" and J 2? other Stories. j B-E-S B'3-2-2-2-0-E-a-H-f2-B G-a-S-S-2-g-S!-a E3 V (Copyright. 11100, by Seumas MacManus.) There was a man from the mountain, named Donal, once married the (laughter (laugh-ter of a stingy old couple who lived on the lowlands. He used to stay and work on his own wee patch of land all the week round, till it came to Saturday even, and on Saturday evening he went to his wife's father's to spend Sunday with them, i Coming and going, he aiways passed J the mill of .Manas, the miller, and Man- i as, who used to be watching him pass- I infj, always noticed and thought it strange that while he jumped the mill- I race going to his wife's father's cn a ! Saturday evening, he had always to i wade through it coming back. For a I little time he noticed this ajid wondered, and at Ia.st he stopped Donal one Monday Mon-day morning and he asked him to tell him the meaning of it. "Well, I'll tell you," says Donal, says he. "It's this. My old father-in-law is such a very small eater that he says grace and blesses himself when I've only got a few pieces out of my meals. I so i rn always weaK coming back on Monday morning. Manas, he thought ovor this to himself him-self for awhile, and then says he: "Would you mind letting me go with you next Saturday evening? If you do, I promise you that you'll leap the mill-race mill-race coming back." "No, but I'll be glad to have you," says Donal. Very well and good. When Saturday evening came Manas joined Donal and off they both trudged to Donal's father-in-law. The old man was not too well pleased at seeing Donal bringing a fresh hand, but Manas, he didn't pretend to see this, but made himself as welcome as the flowers "of May, and when sur-per was laid down on Saturday night Manas Man-as gave Donal the nudge and both of them began to tie their shoes as if they had got loose, and they tied and tied away at their shoes till the old man had eaten a couple of minutes, and then I Mm rM$ C Heard the Room Door Open Easy. said grace and finished and got up from the table, thinking they wouldn't have the ill manners to sit down after the meal was over. But down to the table my brave Manas Man-as and Donal sit and eat their hearty skinful. And "when the old fellow saw this he was gruff and grumpy enough, and it's little they could get out of him between that and bedtime. But Manas kept a lively chat going, and told good stories that passed away the night, and when bedtime came and they offered Manas a bed in the room, Manas said no, that there was no place ne could sleep only one, and that was along the fireside. The old man and the old woman both objected to this, and said they couldn't think of allowing a stranger to sleep there, but all they could say or- do wasn't any use, and Manas said he couldn't nor wouldn't sleep in any other place, and insisted on lying down there, and lie down there he did in spite of them all, and they all went off to their beds. But though Manas lay down he was very sure not to let himself go-to sleep and when he was near about two h'urs lying he hears the room door open easy and the old woman puts her head out and listens, and Manas he snored as if he hadn't slept for ten days and ten nights before. When the old woman heard th's she came on up the floor and looked at him and saw him like as if he was dead,! asleep. Then she hastened to put a pot of water on the fire and began to make a pot of stir-about for herself and the old man, for this was the way, as Man- ' as had well suspected, that they used to cheat Donal. But just about the middle of the cooking cook-ing of the pot of stir-about, doesn't Manas roll over and pretend to waken I up. Up he sits and rubs his eyes and looks about him and looks at the wo- j man and at the pot on the fire. "Ah," says he, "is it here ye are, or is ! it mornin' with ye?" "Well, no," says she. "it isn't mornin morn-in , but Ave have a cow that's not well and I had to put on a mash on the fire here for it. I'm sorry I wakened ye." "Oh, no, no!" says Manas, says he "you haven't weakened me at all. it's this sore ankle. "I've a very, very sore ankle." says he. "and it troubles me sometimes at night," he says, "and no matter how sound asleep I may be it wakens me up. and I've got to sit up until I cure it." Says he: "There's "Qthln' cures it but soottill rub 1 plenty of soot out of the chimn-y to it." And Manas takes hold of the tor;-; and he begins pulling the soot down out of the chimney from above th" pot. and for every one piece that fell ori th--fire, there wtp five pieces that f.-;i ! into the pot. And when Manas thought he had the posset well enough spi, ,; with the soot he raised up a litfl- ,; the soot from the lire and rubbed his ankle with if. "And now." says he, "that's all right, and I'll sleep sound arid not waken again ti'l rnornin'." And he stretched himself out again and began to snore. The old woman was pretty vex-d that she had her night's work spoiidi, and she went up to the room to th oi.i He Hauled In a Calf. 'r man and told him what harl happened I to the stir-about. He got into a bad , rage entirely and asked her was Manas t asleep again, and she said he was. . Then he ordered her to go down and make an oat scowder and put it on the ashes for him. She went down and got the oatmeal and made a good scowder and set it on the ashes, and then sat by it for the short while it would be doing. But she hadn't it many minutes on the ashes when Manas let a cry out of him. as if it were in his sleep, and up he jumps and rubs his eyes and looks about him. and when he saw her he said: "Och! is it here ye are, and I'm glad ye are." says he, "because I've a great trouble on me mind that's lying ly-ing a load over me heart and wouldn't let me sleep, and I want to relieve me mind to ye." says Manas, "an' then I 11 sleep hearty and sound all the night after when I get rid of it. So I'll tell you a story," says he. So he catches hold of the tongs in his two hands, and as he told the story he Would wave about with the points of them in the ashes. "And," says he, "I want to tell you that my father afore he died was a very rich man and owned no end of land. II had three sons, myself, and Teddy, and Tom, and the three of us wore three good, hard workers. I always liked Teddy and Tom. but however it came out. Tom and Teddy hated me. and thev never lost a chance of trying . to damage me with my father and to turn him against me. He sent Teddy and Tom to school and gave them a grand education, but he only gave m; the spade in my fists and sent me out to the fields. And when Teddy and Tom came back from school they were two gentlemen and used to ride their horses and hunt with their hounds: and me they always made look after the horses and groom them and saddle them and bridle them, and be there in the yard to meet them when they would come in from their riding and take charge of their horses, give them a rubbing down, and stable them for them. "In my own mind I used to think that this wasn't exactly fair or broth- .; erly treatment, but I said nothing, for I I liked both Teddy and Tom. And proud- ' er and prouder of them every day got my father, and more and more every day he disliked me, until at long and at last when he came to die, he liked i Teddy and Tom that much, and he j liked poor Manas that little, that he I drew up his will and divided his land into four parts and left it in this way: "Now supposin'." says Manas, says j he, digging the point of the tongs into j the scowder. "supposin"." says he, ! "there was my father's farm. He cut ; it across this way," says he, drawing the tongs through the scowder in one ; way. "Then he cut it across this way." i says he, drawing the tongs through the scowder in the other direction, "and i that quarter.' says he, tossing away a quarter of the scowder with the point of the tongs, "he gave to my mother. And that quarter there," says he, toss- . SHE REACHED IT TO HIM IN THE DARK. . ing off the other quarter into the dirt, 1 1 "he gave to Teddy, and .this quarter Ij here," says he, tossing the third quar- j ter, "he gave to Tom. And this last , quarter," says Manas, says he, digging h the point of the tongs right into the H heart of the other quarter of the scow- i der. and lifting it up and looking at it, 'that quarter." says he. "he gave to the I priest," and he pitched it as far from M him down' the floor as he could. "And ,'j there," says he. throwing down the tongs, "he left poor Manas what he is . ' ! today a. beggar and an outcast. That, h ma'am." says he, "is me story, and now that I've relieved my mind, I'll sleep sound and well till'morning." ' And down he stretches himself by the i fireside and begins to snore again. H And the old woman, she started up to U the room, and she told the old man 'A what had happened to the scowder. and the old fellow got into a mighty rage ; . ; - . (Continued -on pase. 8.) ij ' " t ' s j ' MM, THE MILLER. J (Continued from page 4.) j entirely, and was for getting up and ! K'ii:ig down to Itave the life of Manas, j for lu was starving with the hunger. ; Pitt she tried to smooth him down as j well as she rould. And then he told 1 her to go down to the kitchen and J make something else on the fire for j him. j "h. it's no use." says she, a-trying to : make anything on the fire, for there'll I be some other a he coming on that fel- low's ankle or some other trouble on his mind and he'll be getting up in the middle of it to tell mo about it. But I'll tell you what I'll do," says she, "I'll go out and I'll milk the cow and give you a good jug of sweet milk to drink, and that will take the hunger off you till morning." He told her to get up quick and do it. I or she would find him dead of the hunger. hun-ger. And off phe went as Quickly as she could, and took a jug off the kitchen dresser and slipped out, leaving Manas snoring loudly in the kitchen. But when Manas thought that she j had time to have the jug near filled from the cow, he slips out to the byer and as it was dark he talked like the old man: "And," says he. "I'll die with the hunger if you don't hurry with that." So she tilled out the jug and she reached it to him in the dark and he drank it off and gave her back the empty jug and went in and lay down. Then she milked off another jug for herself and drank it and came slipping j in and put the jug easy on the dresser, l so as not to waken Manas, and went up to the room. AVhen she came up the old fellow was raging there. Says he: "You might have milked all the cows in the county j ! since, an' me dead with hunger here j waitin' on it. Give me my jug of milk," I says he. j "And what do ye mean?" says she. "What do you mean, you old blather- i skite?" says the old man, says he. I Says she: "Didn't you come out to 1 the byer and ask me for the jug of milk there, an' didn't I give it to you, an' didn't you drink it all?" "Be this and be that" says he, "but this is a nice how-do-ye-do. It's that scoundrel." says he, "in the kitchen that's tricked ye again. An' be this an' be that." says he, "I'm goin' down now an' have his life." And when she heard how she had been tricked she was not 'a bit sorry to let him go and have Manas' life. But Manas had been listening with his ear to the keyhole to hear what was going on. and when he heard this, and while the man was preparing to go diwn and take his life, he hauled in a calf and put it lying by the fireside where he had been lying and threw the cove: over it. And when the man came down with the. sledge hammer he went for the place where he knew Manas had been lyinsr. and he struck with all his might, and he drove the hammer through the calf's skull, and the calf only just. gav-one gav-one mew and died. And then the old fellow went back to his bed content and the miller went out and off home again. j When the old fellow and his woman I got up in the morning early to go and I bury the miller, they found the trick he had played on them, and they were ! in a pretty rage. But when the breakfast was made ! this morning, and Donal and all of-! of-! them sat down, J can tell you the old i fellow was in no hurry saying grace. !;md Donal he got his hearty fill for j once in his life, anyhow, and so did ho I at night. 1 And when Donal was going back for 1 home on Monday morning, he leapt the j mill race, and Manas came out and j gave him a cheer. He got Manas' both I hands and he shook them right hearty. I And every Monday morning after, for I the three "years that the old fellow lived, Manas always saw Donal leap tho mill race as easy as a sparrow j might hop over a rod. At tho end of three years, the old fellow died, and Donal went to live on the farm altogether, and there was no friend ever came to see him that was more heartily welcomed than Manas the Miller. |
