Mat said:
"Hello, you coves, is it robbing my garden ye are?"
Mr. Tyers looked towards Mat and spoke, but his voice was weak, his
mouth full of peas, and Mat could not tell what he was saying. He
dismounted, hung the bridle on to a post, and came into the garden.
He looked at the men, and soon guessed what was the matter with them;
he had often seen their complaint in Ireland.
"Poor craythurs," he said, "it's hungry ye are, and hunger's a
killing disorder. Stop ating they pays to wonst, or they'll kill ye,
and come into the house, and we'll give ye something better."
The men muttered, but kept snatching off the peas. Norah had
unbolted the door, and was standing with the musket in her hand.
"Take away the gun, Norah, and put the big billy on the fire, and
we'll give 'em something warm. The craythurs are starving. I
suppose they are runaway prisoners, and small blame to 'em for that
same, but we can't let 'em die of hunger."
The strangers had become quite idiotic, and wou'd not leave the peas,
until Mat lost all patience, bundled them one by one by main force
into his hut, and shut the door.
He had taken the pledge from Father Mathew before he left Ireland,
and had kept it faithfully; but he was not strait-laced. He had a
gallon of rum in the hut, to be used in case of snake-bite and in
other emergencies, and he now gave each man a little rum and water,
and a small piece of damper.
Pages:
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376