Tom Moore Part 7

"I 'll give you a six-pence."

"Patsy said it was a _shillin'_," insisted d.i.c.ky, stamping his feet by way of emphasis.

Moore yielded in shameful defeat.

"There you are, you highwayman, and you tell Patsy I 'll flake him when I catch him again," he said, handing out the desired coin. "You see that door? Well, get through it as quickly as you can, or I may do you bodily injury."

d.i.c.ky fled wildly across the school-room with Moore galloping at his heels, then the door shut with a bang, and the pair were alone again.

_Chapter Five_

_TOM MOORE GIVES MISTRESS d.y.k.e AN INKLING_

Moore regarded Bessie with a glance of reproving indignation, which was quite lost upon the young lady.

"I 'm in a den of thieves, I am," he remarked, sternly. "Bessie, I half believe you put those lads up to that same game. What share do you get?

Half, I 'll wager."

"When do you go back to Dublin, Tom?" asked the girl, waving aside his insinuation with a flirt of her handkerchief.

"I don't know," responded Moore. "I should be there now."

"Should you, Tom? What is keeping you, then?"

Simple child! She, of course, had not the slightest suspicion that she was in any way concerned in the poet's prolonged tarrying at Dalky.

Innocence is a truly beautiful thing, and that it is not more popular is much to be regretted.

"Keeping me?" repeated Moore. "Nothing but my heart, mavourneen."

"Indeed? Who has it in their possession, if it is no longer in yours?"

"You, Bessie," answered Moore, earnestly. "And pray do not return it.

After being in your keeping, no other woman would satisfy it, and I 'd have no peace at all. Ah, alanna, when I left Dublin, weary and discouraged at my failure to sell my poetry, and came to this quiet country place in search of rest, it is little I dreamed I would run across such a girl as you. You have put new thoughts in my head, Bessie. My soul is not the same at all."

Touched by the tenderness of his tone, the girl grew sober in her turn.

"And you _must_ go, Tom?" she asked, regretfully.

"I have my fortune to make, Bessie. Why, mavourneen, I have n't a penny of my own."

"And no pennies of anybody else's?"

Moore smiled broadly.

"How could I have?" said he. "I never went to school here. I don't know the system like your pupils."

Bessie laughed and looked so tempting in her mirth that Moore made another attempt to kiss her, with no better success than had rewarded his previous efforts.

"Poverty is a common complaint," she observed, shaking her head at the disappointed youth.

"I had rather be poor than a miser," said Moore, sitting down on a stool.

"A miser? Am I one?"

"Yes, with your kisses. Faith, they are spoiling to be picked."

"I am the best judge of when and by whom they shall be picked, good sir," replied Bessie, pensively nibbling on the end of a brown curl.

"It is hard to be poor, Bessie," sighed Moore, resting his feet on a rung of the stool, his elbows on his knees, and his chin in his hand, this being a favorite att.i.tude of the poet's.

"If you would marry Winnie Farrell you would have slews of money,"

suggested Bessie, leaning on the back of the bench with affected carelessness of demeanor, but there was a gleam in her eye, hidden 'neath drooping lids and long lashes, that seemed indicative of no little interest in the forthcoming answer.

Moore looked inquiringly at his fair companion.

"Winnie Farrell is it?" he said, laughing at the idea. "Not for me, Bessie. I have picked out another la.s.sie."

"But I 'm told you often call at Squire Farrell's," persisted the girl, not wholly rea.s.sured.

"To be sure I do, Bessie," replied Moore frankly. "And no wonder. The Farrells are pleasant people. Winnie is nice to chat with, and I like her brother. He is the cleverest lad in the country."

Bessie shook her head doubtfully, and a sunbeam that, slanting in the window, had comfortably nested in a coil of her bonny brown hair was rudely thrown forth to find no better resting-place than the floor, for the girl moved nearer to Moore as she spoke.

"He is too clever for his own good, I fear," she said. "The fewer dealings you have with Terence the better it will be for you."

Before Moore could reply the door opened, and Patsy, Micky, and w.i.l.l.y Donohue filed in, each clutching an arithmetic.

"Look, Tom," said Bessie, pointing out the new-comers.

Moore regarded the little party with wide-open eyes.

"Egad, Bessie," said he, "it's a committee. What do you lads want now?"

"Please, sir," said Patsy, acting as spokesman, "these two boys wants help wid their lessons. They each has a sum, sir, and their answer is sixpence apiece."

"Come here, then," said Moore, sweetly, "and I 'll hand it to you."

The boys, made confident by past successes, came forward without hesitation as their victim put both hands in his pockets.

"It is a long worm that has no turning," remarked Moore, seizing Patsy by the collar with one hand, while with the other he picked up the ruler from the desk. "This is where Thomas Moore worms--I mean turns. There is sixpence where you won't lose it, my lad."

The dust flew from Patsy's breeches, while from his mouth proceeded vigorous objections to his present treatment.

"Now run, you divil, or I will repeat the dose," cried Moore, throwing the ruler at Micky's bare shins as that youthful conspirator sought safety in headlong flight with w.i.l.l.y before him and Patsy close at his heels. A moment later they appeared outside the window and retaliated with derisive gestures for their recent defeat until Moore ran towards the door as though about to give chase, when the lads, squealing with fright, fled across the fields, disappearing in the distant trees.