The Crock of Gold by James Stephens (black female authors TXT) 📗

“Tomas,” said the voice, “go and bring up the two dogs with you before I take the door off the chain.”

The door was then opened a few inches and a face peered out “What would you be wanting at this hour of the night?” said the woman.

“Not much, ma’am,” said the sergeant; “only a little direction about the road, for we are not sure whether we’ve gone too far or not far enough.”

The woman noticed their uniforms.

“Is it policemen ye are? There’s no harm in your coming in, I suppose, and if a drink of milk is any good to ye I have plenty of it.”

“Milk’s better than nothing,” said the sergeant with a sigh.

“I’ve a little sup of spirits,” said she, “but it wouldn’t be enough to go around.”

“Ah, well,” said he, looking sternly at his comrades, “everybody has to take their chance in this world,” and he stepped into the house followed by his men.

The women gave him a little sup of whisky from a bottle, and to each of the other men she gave a cup of milk.

“It’ll wash the dust out of our gullets, anyhow,” said one of them.

There were two chairs, a bed, and a table in the room. The Philosopher and his attendants sat on the bed. The sergeant sat on the table, the fourth man took a chair, and the woman dropped wearily into the remaining chair from which she looked with pity at the prisoner.

“What are you taking the poor man away for?” she asked.

“He’s a bad one, ma’am,” said the sergeant. “He killed a man and a woman that were staying with him and he buried their corpses underneath the hearthstone of his house. He’s a real malefactor, mind you.”

“Is it hanging him you’ll be, God help us?”

“You never know, and I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if it came to that. But you were in trouble yourself, ma’am, for we heard your voice lamenting about something as we came along the road.”

“I was, indeed,” she replied, “for the person that has a son in her house has a trouble in her heart.”

“Do you tell me now—What did he do on you?” and the sergeant bent a look of grave reprobation on a young lad who was standing against the wall between two dogs.

“He’s a good boy enough in some ways,” said she, “but he’s too fond of beasts. He’ll go and lie in the kennel along with them two dogs for hours at a time, petting them and making a lot of them, but if I try to give him a kiss, or to hug him for a couple of minutes when I do be tired after the work, he’ll wriggle like an eel till I let him out—it would make a body hate him, so it would. Sure, there’s no nature in him, sir, and I’m his mother.”

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, you young whelp,” said the sergeant very severely.

“And then there’s the horse,” she continued. “Maybe you met it down the road a while ago?”

“We did, ma’am,” said the sergeant.

“Well, when he came in Tomas went to tie him up, for he’s a caution at getting out and wandering about the road, the way you’d break your neck over him if you weren’t minding. After a while I told the boy to come in, but he didn’t come, so I went out myself, and there was himself and the horse with their arms round each other’s necks looking as if they were moonstruck.”

“Faith, he’s the queer lad!” said the sergeant. “What do you be making love to the horse for, Tomas?”

“It was all I could do to make him come in,” she continued, “and then I said to him, ‘Sit down alongside of me here, Tomas, and keep me company for a little while’—for I do be lonely in the night-time—but he wouldn’t stay quiet at all. One minute he’d say, ‘Mother, there’s a moth flying round the candle and it’ll be burnt,’ and then, ‘There was a fly going into the spider’s web in the corner,’ and he’d have to save it, and after that, ‘There’s a daddy-long-legs hurting himself on the window-pane,’ and he’d have to let it out; but when I try to kiss him he pushes me away. My heart is tormented, so it is, for what have I in the world but him?”

“Is his father dead, ma’am?” said the sergeant kindly.

“I’ll tell the truth,” said she. “I don’t know whether he is or not, for a long time ago, when we used to live in the city of Bla’ Cliah, he lost his work one time and he never came back to me again. He was ashamed to come home I’m thinking, the poor man, because he had no money; as if I would have minded whether he had any money or not—sure, he was very fond of me, sir, and we could have pulled along somehow. After that I came back to my father’s place here; the rest of the children died on me, and then my father died, and I’m doing the best I can by myself. It’s only that I’m a little bit troubled with the boy now and again.”

“It’s a hard case, ma’am,” said the sergeant, “but maybe the boy is only a bit wild not having his father over him, and maybe it’s just that he’s used to yourself, for there isn’t a child at all that doesn’t love his mother. Let you behave yourself now, Tomas; attend to your mother, and leave the beasts and the insects alone, like a decent boy, for there’s no insect in the world will ever like you as well as she does. Could you tell me, ma’am, if we have passed the first turn on this road, or is it in front of us still, for we are lost altogether in the darkness?”

“It’s in front of you still,” she replied, “about ten minutes down the road; you can’t miss it, for you’ll see the sky where there is a gap in the trees, and that gap is the turn you want.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” said the sergeant; “we’d better be moving on, for there’s a long tramp in front of us before we get to sleep this night.”

He stood up and the men rose to follow him when, suddenly, the boy spoke in a whisper.

“Mother,” said he, “they are going to hang the man,” and he burst into tears.

“Oh, hush, hush,” said the woman, “sure, the men can’t help it.” She dropped quickly on her knees and opened her arms, “Come over to your mother, my darling.”

The boy ran to her.

“They are going to hang him,” he cried in a high, thin voice, and he plucked at her arm violently.

“Now, then, my young boy-o,” said the sergeant, “none of that violence.”

The boy turned suddenly and flew at him with astonishing ferocity. He hurled himself against the sergeant’s legs