Part 3

"The people long ago used to kill their own pigs, an' you'd never see backs of American bacon hangin' up in country houses like you do now, an' signs on it, everyone was twice as healthy. 'Twas the talk about what Father Martin said last Sunday that put this story about Neddy an' Phil an' Jimmy into my head. On account of only the two o' them an' the old uncle bein' in it, they used only kill one pig between them every year an' divide it. Neddy'd kill one this year, an' send the half of it over to Phil an' the uncle, an' whatever he had too much after that he'd give to the sister that was married in Knockbride; then the next year Phil 'd kill a pig an' send the half of it to Neddy, an' so on.

"This year, anyway, that I'm talkin' about, it happened that it was Neddy's turn to kill the pig, an' what do you think but one o' the shopkeepers in Castletown said to him that if he was thinkin' o' killin' a pig that year an' didn't want it all, that he had a customer that wanted a piece o' home-cured bacon, an' would give the highest price for it. Neddy wasn't very rich, an' he thought to himself when he came home that if he could get out o' the obligation o' givin' half the pig to Phil, he'd be all right. He could make a couple o' pound for himself an' have enough o' bacon for the year as well. What was he to do at all? The only thing he could think of was to pretend to sell it along with the other pig at the fair that was near at hand. But then Phil 'd be at the fair an' helpin' to make the bargain, an' he'd see that only one o' the pigs was sold. He couldn't hit on a plan of any kind that'd be good enough, an' he was goin' to give up in despair when who comes in but my brave Jimmy Malone--'twas evenin' time--to have a smoke an' to warm his shins at Neddy's fire.

"Neddy knew that Jimmy was never at a loss for a plan for anythin' an' he ups an' tells him the story o' the pig an' the terrible puzzle he was in. Jimmy listened with great attention, an' was very simple an' solemn-lookin', but the divilment came into his head, an' says he to Neddy, when he heard the whole story:

"'It'd be a mortial shame, Neddy,' says he, 'for you to lose the couple o' pound an' you wantin' it so badly, an' especially when you say that Phil's two pigs is better nor your own an' that he didn't divide fair with you last year. It'd be a terrible shame, Neddy, an' I'm goin' to get you out o' the hobble or know for what. I'll just tell you in a few words the best thing for you to do. Kill the pig unknownst to Phil, an' scrape it, an' clean it out, an' then hang it up at the gable end o' the house, an' leave it there when you're goin' to bed. Then the first thing in the mornin' get up before anyone else thinks o' risin' an' bring in the pig and salt it, an' put it above in the room, an' cover it as much as you can; an' then go round the whole townlan' from this to Larry Boylan's beyond, an' clap your hands an' cry an' moan an' be in a terrible state, an' tell everybody that someone took your pig down from the gable--an' sure that'll be no lie for you--an' no matter what Phil or your uncle or anyone else says, keep on lamentin' and cryin' an' sayin' that your pig is gone from the gable, an' that poor Phil 'll have to be eatin' American bacon this year; an' if that doesn't work all right an' leave your pig with you, my name is not Jimmy Malone.'

"Neddy kep' showerin' blessin's down on top o' Jimmy's head for half-an-hour, an' sayin' he was the cleverest man in Ireland, an' that he ought to be a lawyer, an' there was the boyo, drinkin' it all in as solemn as you please, an' assurin' Neddy that he'd do anythin' for a good neighbour. At last he got up to go home an' the word he said to Neddy an' he goin' out on the door was: 'Remember, Neddy, no matter what anyone says to you keep on cryin' and sayin' that the pig is gone. Don't forget that. In any case, I'll be down again to remind you of it.'

"Neddy said he wouldn't forget anythin', an' away went Jimmy the Thrick up to his own house, an' he laughin' to himself at the way he was goin' to hoax old Neddy M'Govern.

"Phil was away at the bog beyond for the turf the next day--the old uncle never used to stir out o' the house, and along with that he was bothered--an' my brave Neddy sent up for Jimmy Malone an' for Tom Molloy, the herd that was in Rowan's, an' Tom killed the pig, an' went off, an' then Neddy an' Jimmy cleaned it out, an' Jimmy went home, after goin' over the instructions again to Neddy, an' puttin' him on his guard to keep on cryin' the pig, no matter what any man, woman or child in the townland'd say to him.

"About ten o'clock that night--the people used to go to bed early them times--Neddy put a big holdfast the length o' your arm into the gable end o' the house, and tied the pig's hind crubeens together, an' histed it on his back--there wasn't a stronger man in the country than Neddy--an' brought it out an' hung it there, with its snout just tippin' the ground, an' back he goes an' into bed with him, leavin' the pig hangin' there for any dog that might have a fancy for fresh bacon.

"The dogs didn't get much of a chance, though, because Neddy wasn't half-an-hour in bed when down comes Jimmy the Thrick from his own house an' he creepin' along the same as if he didn't want to waken the birds, an' when he came to the gable-end o' Neddy's house he just rubbed down the pig with his hands to see if it was dry enough, an' then got in under it, an' histed it on his back, an' away with him up the path along the hedge to his own house an' he staggerin' under the weight o' the pig.

"He stayed up all that night cuttin' the bacon an' saltin' it--he was the best hand in the whole country at doin' up a pig--an' when he had it all cut he packed it in a big box that he had for turf in a corner o' the kitchen, an' then he went to bed an' slept like a top.

"The daylight was only in it when up gets Neddy an' out he goes to fetch in the pig, but it wasn't an easy job to do, because there was no pig at the gable. He looked all round the place, thinkin' maybe somebody took it down for a joke; but it was nowhere to be seen, an' Neddy ran like a madman over to Phil's, an' nothin' only his shirt an' trousers on him, an' wakened him up, an' accused him of takin' the pig. Phil got into a tearin' rage for he sayin' that at all, an' there was the two o' them into it at five o'clock in the mornin', bargin' away like two old women, an' callin' each other all the names they could think of. At last, Phil an' the uncle hunted Neddy, an' he went round all the neighbours clappin' his hands an' tellin' about some daylight robber stealin' his darlin' pig in the middle o' the night; an' everyone thought Neddy M'Govern was after goin' cracked entirely, an' they gave him no satisfaction at all, only told him to go home an' go to bed or to put the rest of his clothes on him, an' sorra consolation and sorra trace o' the pig Neddy could get, high up or low down; and back he comes to his own house, an' searched round twice as sharp as before in every hole an' corner, but dickens a sight or light o' the pig he could see anywhere.

"Then he thought o' Jimmy Malone, an' that maybe Jimmy could help him, an' away he went up to Jimmy's house an' he like a man out of his mind. Jimmy saw him comin', but he never pretended he was up out o' bed at all, and when Neddy began to knock at the door an' kick it, Jimmy shouted from the room like as if he was only wakenin' out of his sleep:

"'Who's that?'

"'It's me, Jimmy; I want you. Get up!'

"Jimmy put his head out o' the window.

"'Oh, is it you, Neddy?' says he, as if he wasn't expectin' Neddy at all. 'Well, did that work all right?' says he, rubbin' his eyes and yawnin'.

"'The pig is gone, Jimmy! Some robber stole him last night!'

"''Gorra, Neddy, you're a topper! That's the very way I wanted you to say it. What did Phil say, or did you go to him yet?'

"'Phil the divil, man!' shouted Neddy. 'The pig was stole last night, I tell you, an' I can't get sight or light of it.'

"'Good, Neddy, good! There's not an actor in Dublin could do it better than that. Stick at it, my boyo, an' there's not a man in the townland but 'll believe you lost the pig!'

"'Jimmy, will you listen to me, or are you gone mad like the rest o' them? I'm tellin' no lie at all. The pig wasn't there when I came out this mornin', an' tale or tidin's of it I can't find anywhere. What am I to do at all, at all?'

"''Gorra, Neddy, that's grand! An' only I'm in my shirt I'd go out an' clap you on the back. If you could only see your face this minute, you'd nearly believe yourself that the pig is gone. You lost it that didn't go with a circus when you were young, Neddy; you'd be a rich man to-day. Only go round the townland an' your face like that, an' the divil a bit o' the pig Phil 'll ever taste!'

"Jimmy kept on like that, an' Neddy kept fumin' an' pleadin' an' cursin' and lamentin' outside in the yard until he saw it was no use to stay there any longer, an' home he went again, tearin' an' swearin' an' he nearly crazy.

"In a few hours after that, Jimmy the lad strolled down as unconcerned as you please, an' there was Neddy with his Sunday clothes on him an' he just ready for a journey.

"'Where are you goin', Neddy?' says he, the same as if he got a terrible surprise.

"'I'm goin' over to Castletown to tell the peelers, an' to get them to look for the thief that stole my pig!' says Neddy, very uncivil like, because he wasn't at all thankful to Jimmy for his plan, when he saw the way it turned out.

"'Ah, that's goin' too far with it, Neddy,' says the Thrick. 'Doesn't Phil believe you yet about the stealin' o' the pig--the plan we made up? You'll only get found out if you go as far as tellin' the peelers.'

"'But, tundher an' ouns, man,' shouted poor Neddy, 'is there any use in tellin' you the pig was stole? See is he in the house, sure, if you don't believe me!'

"Jimmy looked round the house an' he winkin' at Neddy all the time, as much as to say, 'You're the king o' tricks, Neddy,' but at long last he was convinced that Neddy did lose the pig, an' he had great sympathy for him, by the way, an' 'twas no wonder any man to be vexed over such a dirty, mean deed, an' if he had the thief there he'd do this, that an' th'other to him as sure as his name was Jimmy Malone.

"'An' is it any wonder I'm goin' for the peelers, Jimmy?' says Neddy to him.

"'Not a bit o' wonder in the world, Neddy; but I'd advise you not to go.'

"'An why wouldn't I go, man? How do you think I'm goin' to catch the robber if I don't go?'

"'You oughtn't to go for the peelers,' says Jimmy, an' he lookin' about him an' speakin' very low, 'because I think I know who took the pig!'

"'Who?' says Neddy. 'Who, Jimmy?'

"'Sh!' says Jimmy, 'don't talk that loud. I'm thinkin' 'twas the good people--the fairies. Did you ever do anythin' to them--anythin' to vex them?'

"'Never!' says Neddy, 'that I know of!'

"'Are you sure, now?' says Jimmy, 'because they never do anythin' to anyone that doesn't offend them. Did you cut the grass round the lone bush in the Fort Field above last summer, an' you mowin' the meadow?'

"'I did, sure enough!' says Neddy; 'but I didn't touch the tree.'

"'Aye, but you cut the grass, Neddy, an' they claim the grass that grows round every lone bush in the land. It's the fairies that took the pig, Neddy, but that was only to warn you, an' I'm sure they'll give it back. Instead o' goin' for the peelers or anyone else, wait until to-morrow night--it's May Eve--at twelve o'clock, an' go up to the fort an' walk round the lone bush three times, an' you'll be sure to hear somethin' about the bacon. But tell no one, an' let no one see you goin' or you're done for. An' if the fairies speak to you, answer them very respectful, an' do whatever they tell you an' you'll be all right. It's only twice in the year they'd speak to any livin' person--at May Eve an' at Hollantide--an' you ought to make the most of your chance, considerin' that the fort is on your own land.'

"''Gorra, I'll chance it, anyway, Jimmy!' says Neddy, and down he sits himself at the fire, an' says no more about the peelers or the thief.

"Well, to make a long story short, Neddy was at the fort the next night at a quarter to twelve. As soon as Jimmy saw him goin'--for he was watchin' him--he lifts the box o' bacon on to a wheelbarrow--he was after greasin' the axle for twenty minutes so that it wouldn't screech--an' down he goes with it along the path an' left it where he got it, at the gable-end o' Neddy's house, an' then he left the barrow back an' stole away up along the hedges till he was standin' within half a perch o' Neddy, only that the big hedge was between them.

"When Neddy thought it was twelve o'clock he started an' walked three times round the lone bush, an' then he stopped an' listened an' he afraid of his life to look one side or th' other of him.

"'Neddy M'Govern!' says a queer, strange voice from the far side o' the hedge, an' when Neddy heard it he shivered from head to foot.

"'Yes, your Majesty,' says Neddy.

"'We're displeased with you, Neddy M'Govern,' says the voice, an' Neddy thought it was out o' the air it came this time, but he was afraid to look up; 'we're displeased with you, because last summer you cut the grass round this bush that's our property, an' for that reason we confiscated your pig. Are you sorry for cuttin' the grass, Neddy M'Govern?'

"'I am, indeed, your Majesty!' says Neddy, an' his voice shakin'.

"'Will you promise never to cut it again, Neddy M'Govern, an' will you give us your solemn word of honour to carry out all the commands an' conditions we're pleased to impose on you now?'

"'I will, your Majesty!' says Neddy, 'I'll do anything your Majesty wants.'

"'Very well, Neddy M'Govern, we'll give you back your pig on three conditions. You're to divide the bacon as usual with your brother, Phil!'

"'Yes, your Majesty.'

"'There's a decent, honest, respectable man livin' near you, called James Malone. You're to give him the biggest an' best ham off this pig an' off every pig you kill in future!'

"'Yes, your Majesty.'

"'An' you're never to open your lips to anybody about your visit here to-night, nor to tell livin' man or mortal anythin' we're after sayin' to you.'

"'No, your Majesty.'

"'That'll do, Neddy M'Govern. Now, walk round that bush three times again, an' then straight across to the gap an' down the boreen to your own house, an' look neither up in the air, nor behind you, nor to either side o' you, an' when you go home you'll find your pig in the place it was when we confiscated it. It's cut an' salted an' packed, an' will be fit for use in ten days an' ten nights. Remember your promises, Neddy M'Govern!'

"'Yes, your Majesty,' says Neddy again, an' then he done what he was told, an' when he went back there was the bacon at the gable-end o' the house where 'his Majesty,' Jimmy the Thrick, was after leavin' it. Neddy, of course, was delighted, an' he shared the bacon with Phil, an' gave the biggest ham to Jimmy--there was one ham cut very big--an' from that until he died there wasn't a pig he killed but Jimmy got a ham off it, an' no one knew anythin' about it until Jimmy himself told Father Martin about it the day o' Neddy's funeral, an' I dunno how they settled the matter between them. An' that's the whole story about Jimmy Malone an' the bacon."

"BOW-WOW"

Nobody could listen to Ned M'Grane's laughter and refrain from laughing himself; it was so airy, so wholehearted, so pleasant, that it became, after the initial explosion, contagious, and if the forge were full of young fellows--as it generally was--the smith's hearty "Ha, ha, ha-ah!" set them all in tune, and there would be a chorus of laughter under that old roof fit to rouse the most despondent heart that ever made its owner believe he was in the blues, and that caused passers-by to stand for a moment on the road and listen, and they usually murmured, as they wagged their heads and walked on, "Ned must be after tellin' a good one now." It was, I think, the most cheering and exhilarating thing I have ever heard--the laughter of Ned M'Grane, the blacksmith of Balnagore.

No wonder, then, that we chimed in with Ned's more than usually vigorous "Ha, ha, ha-ah!" when Andy Murtagh was telling the smith about the "tallyvangin'," as he called it, that old Maire Lanigan, of the Red Bog, had given to Larry Boylan of our own townland, at the inquiry in Castletown, under the Old Age Pensions Act. The smith, as Andy proceeded with the story, had laid down the hammer on the anvil, had taken off his cap and wiped his perspiring brow with the back of his hand, and had laughed until we caught the contagion, and were obliged to join him, though as to the real cause of his merriment we were at the time ignorant.

"What else did she say?" he inquired, the tears which the laughter had called forth streaming down his dust-covered cheeks. "I'm sure Old Crusty was sweatin', an' divil mend him! What's the likes of him wantin' with a pension anyhow?"

"She said 'twas a ticket for the next world he ought to be lookin' for an' not an old age pension," said Andy, "an' when she had everyone laughin' at him she said somethin' like the way an old dog'd bark, an' went off with herself, an' whatever it was it made Larry twice as mad as all the tallyvangin' o' the tongue she gave him. He was ragin'."

"Ha, ha, ha-ah!" shouted Ned M'Grane again, and of course we had to join in, though we couldn't see that there was very much to laugh at in Andy's story after all.

When Ned had laughed in boisterous fashion for a minute or two he resumed his work, but every now and then he would give a short chuckle of delight to himself, as he made the sparks fly in showers from the burning iron upon which he was working.

"It's not the first time she set Old Crusty mad," he said at length, more to himself than to us, as he gave the finishing short, sharp taps to the article he was shaping, and cast it from him into the trough beside the anvil to cool. We were beginning to guess from this remark and from his behaviour while Andy was telling him of the encounter between the old pair at the inquiry, that there was a story in Ned's head which we had not yet heard, and as he proceeded to fill his pipe, after donning his coat, I ventured to say:

"Why, what did she do to him before to-day, Ned?"

"What didn't she do to him?" Ned asked, in return. "She made him the maddest man I ever saw in my life, an' as small as--as that bit o' tobacco. I don't wonder what she said an' she goin' off to-day left him vexed enough; it put him in mind o' when she made him a laughin'-stock for the whole county--that's what it did."

"When was that, Ned?" we all asked, in a breath. "Was it long ago?"

"'Twas long ago, sure enough, but not long enough to make Larry forget it," said Ned, as he teased the tobacco in the hollow of his hand, and then packed his pipe.

"Gi' me a match, some o' you, an' when I have a few draws o' this I'll tell you all about it."

Everybody fumbled in all his pockets for matches, and soon Ned had a supply sufficient to last for a week. He carefully lighted his pipe, took a few pulls, and then seated himself on a box in which there had been horse-shoe nails--the only easy-chair the forge contained.

"Let me see," he said, as he took the pipe from his mouth for a minute and gazed intently into the bowl, as if his inspiration lay therein. "It's nearer to thirty years ago than it is to twenty, an' the oldest o' you here was only toddlin' from the fire to the dresser an' back again. I was a lump of a gossoon at the time, an' I remember it as well as yesterday, an' good reason I have to remember it, because every man, woman, an' child in the country was talkin' about it, an' laughin' at Larry, as well they might.

"Maire Lanigan, you must know, was a bigger play-actor of a woman when she was younger than she is now. She was as tricky as a fox, an' no one could match her in every kind o' cleverness, though you'd think to look at her that she was only a gom. She an' old Charley the husband--God be good to him!--had that little farm o' the Lynches at that time, an' were middlin' well off, havin' neither chick nor child to bother about. They used to rear calves an' pigs an' sell them at good prices, but the dickens a one o' them ever Charley sold, because he was too shy an' quiet an' easy-goin' always. Maire is the one that could thrash out a bargain an' haggle an' wrangle an' dispute until she'd have the whole fair lookin' at her an' laughin' at her; an' there wasn't a jobber ever came into the fair o' Castletown but knew her as well as they knew a good beast or a bad one.

"Well, one May fair--the biggest fair that ever was in Castletown, the old people 'll tell you--Charley an' Maire had a fine lump of a calf to sell that they reared themselves from he was calved, an' they brought him out brave an' early in the mornin' to get rid of him, if they could come across a buyer. They weren't long in the fair, anyway, when who comes up to them but Mickey Flanagan--God rest him!--Jack the Jobber's father, an' begins to make the bargain with Maire. After a lot o' disputin' an' squabblin' an' dividin' o' this crown an' that half-crown an' a lot o' shoutin' on Maire's part, Mickey bought the calf, an' says he:

"'Meet me at Kennedy's, below near the railway, at three o'clock, an' I'll pay you, along with the rest.'

"'No, but you'll pay me this minute,' says Maire, 'or you'll not get the calf at all. I have my rent to pay at twelve o'clock, an' if you don't gi' me the money now I'll have to sell him to some one that will.'

"Mickey Flanagan saw that the calf was a good one, so he paid for it at once, because he was afraid that if he made any delay Maire might sell to some other jobber. When all was settled says he:

"'Drive him down an' put him into Kennedy's yard, an' tell the gossoon to keep an eye to him till I go down myself with a few more.'

"He forgot with the hurry he was in to mark the calf, an' away he went. Whatever divilment put it into Maire's head, instead o' bringin' the calf to Kennedy's yard what did she do only go stravagle it off to the far end o' the town, an' made Charley go with her an' say nothin'--the poor man was afraid of his life of her always--an', by the powers, if she didn't sell the calf again in less than half an hour to a jobber from the North of Ireland, who sent it off on the eleven o'clock train, an' paid Maire just the same amount she was after gettin' from Mickey Flanagan.

"Maire made away home as fast as she could make Charley step out, an' she laughin' to herself at the way she done Mickey Flanagan, an' she was just after puttin' the pan on the fire with a bit o' meat on it that she brought home, when who comes up to the door but my brave Mickey himself, an' he in a tearin' temper.

"'Where's my calf?' he shouted, as soon as he saw Maire in the middle o' the floor.

"'What do I know where he is?' answered Maire, just as loud, an' a lot sharper, 'didn't I sell him to you? Do you think I ought to stay in the town all day watchin' him for you, an' that poor unfortunate man there, that was up out of his bed at four o'clock this mornin', nearly fallin' out of his standin' with the hunger. Do you think I'm a fool, Mickey Flanagan? I sold you the calf, an' if you can't find him now, you needn't blame anyone but yourself.'

"'You're a darin' woman, that's what y'are,' says Mickey, the eyes nearly jumpin' out of his head with madness, 'an' if you don't tell me where the calf is, or give me back my money, I'll make you remember this day as long as you live.'