Mona Road Darling Point For Sale

[Sean Vaidhyanathan]

I don't see why I shouldn't put in a month there very comfortably,"says Geoffrey, indolently, pulling the ears of a pretty, saucy littlefat terrier that sits blinking at him, with brown eyes full of love, ona chair close by. "And it will be something new to go to Ireland, at allevents. It is rather out of the running these times, so probably willprove interesting; and at least there is a chance that one won't meetevery town acquaintance round every corner. That's the worry of goingabroad, and I'm heartily sick of the whole thing."

"You will get murdered," says his mother, quite as indolently, halfopening her eyes, which are gray as Geoffrey's own. "They always killpeople, with things they call pikes, or burn them out of house and home,over there, without either rhyme or reason."

"Ever heard of Botany Bay?" asks he, idly; but, this question beingdistinctly frivolous, she takes no notice of it. "Well, it's inIreland," he goes on, after a slight but dignified pause. "You haveheard of the Emerald Isle, I suppose? It's the country where they growpotatoes, and say 'bedad'; and Bantry is somewhere south, I think. I'mnever very sure about anything: that's one of my charms."

"I am afraid of her; I was never so afraid of any one before. I havemade it the business of my life to avoid her ever since last New Year'sDay, when some kind fellow told me it was leap-year. You know I neveryet said 'No' to any one, and I shouldn't dare begin by saying it toMiss Cheviot. She has such a stony glare, and such a profusion of nose!"

"You think I am not impressionable? Well, time will tell. I shouldn'tcare about going into the House unless I went there primed and loadedwith a real live grievance, Now, why should I not adopt the Irish?Consider the case as it stands: I go and see them; I come home, ravingabout them and their wretched condition, their cruel landlords, theirnoble endurance, magnificent physique, patient suffering, honestrevenge, and so forth. By Jove! I feel as if I could do it already,even before I've seen them," says Mr. Rodney, with an irreverent laugh.

"What a partisan you do make!" says Lady Rodney, with a faint laugh."Perhaps after all we should consider Ireland the end and aim of allthings. I dare say when you come back you will be more Irish than theIrish."

"How nice!" says Geoffrey, with a careless smile. "Your 'faint praise'fails 'to damn'! Why, one is nothing nowadays if not eccentric. Well,"moving towards the door, with the fox-terrier at his heels, "I shallstart on Monday. That will get me down in time for the 12th. Shall Isend you up any birds?"

It is early morn. "The first low breath of waking day stirs the wideair." On bush and tree and opening flower the dew lies heavily, likediamonds glistening in the light of the round sun. Thin clouds of pearlyhaze float slowly o'er the sky to meet its rays; and

To his right lies Bantry Bay, that now is spreading itself out in allits glory to catch the delicate hues of the sky above. They rush togreet it, and, sinking deep down into its watery embrace, lie there allday rocked to and fro by the restless ocean.

Game as yet is not exactly plentiful: neither yesterday nor the daybefore could it be said that birds flock to his gun; there is, indeed, asettled uncertainty as to whether one may or may not have a good day'ssport. And yet perhaps this very uncertainty gives an additionalexcitement to the game.

He is, for instance, surprised, and indeed somewhat relieved, when hediscovers that the drivers of the jaunting-cars that take him on hisshooting-expeditions are not all modern Joe Millers, and do not let offwitty remarks, like bombshells, every two minutes.

He is perhaps disappointed in that every Irish cloak does not conceal aface beautiful as a houri's. And he learns by degrees that only one inten says "bedad," and that "och murther?" is an expression almostextinct.

The typical Irishman, in whom Lever delighted, with his knee-breechesand long-tailed coat, his pig under one arm and his shillalah under theother, is literally nowhere! The caubeen and the dhudheen which we arealways hearing about may indeed be seen, but they are very usual objectsin all lands, if one just alters the names, and scarcely createastonishment in the eyes of the on-looker.

The dhudheen is an institution, no doubt, but the owner of it, as arule, is not to be found seated on a five-barred gate, with a shamrockpinned in his hat and a straw in his mouth, singing "Rory O'More" or"Paddy O'Rafferty," as the case may be. On the contrary, poor soul, heis found by Geoffrey either digging up his potatoes or stocking his turffor winter use.

Altogether, things are very disappointing; though perhaps there iscomfort in the thought that no one is waiting round a corner, or lyingperdu in a ditch, ready to smash the first comer with a blackthornstick, or reduce him to submission with a pike, irrespective of cause orreason.

As they draw still nearer, Geoffrey becomes aware that the farmyardbefore him is rich with life. Cocks are crowing, geese are cackling, andin the midst of all this life stands a girl with her back turned to theweary travellers.

She is country bred, and clothed in country garments, yet her beauty istoo great to be deniable. She is not "divinely tall," but rather ofmedium height, with an oval face, and eyes of "heaven's own blue." Theircolor changes too, and deepens, and darkens, and grows black and purple,as doth the dome above us. Her mouth is large, but gracious, and full oflaughter mixed with truth and firmness. There is no feature that can sotruly express character as the mouth. The eyes can shift and change, butthe mouth retains its expression always.

"What greedy little things!" cries she aloud, with the merriest laugh inthe world. "Sure you can't eat more than enough, can you? an' do yourbest! Oh, Brownie," reproachfully, "what a selfish bird you are!"

Here Geoffrey comes forward quietly, and lifts his hat to her with allthe air of a man who is doing homage to a princess. It has occurred tohim that perhaps this peerless being in the cotton gown will feel somenatural chagrin on being discovered by one of the other sex with hersleeves tucked up. But in this instance his knowledge of human naturereceives a severe shock.

Far from being disconcerted, this farmyard goddess is not even ashamed(as indeed how could she be?) of her naked arms, and, coming up to him,rests them upon the upper rung of the entrance-gate and surveys himcalmly if kindly.

"Indeed, are you?" asks she, raising her pretty brows. Then she smilesinvoluntarily, and the pink flush in her rounded cheeks grows a shadedeeper. Yet she does not lower her eyes, or show the slightest touch ofconfusion. "I might have guessed it," she says, after a minute's surveyof the tall gray-coated young man before her. "You are not a bit likethe others down here."

"Would you bite me?" murmurs she, fondly, as the bird flies off againalarmed at the presence of the tall stranger, who already is busycomparing most favorably the face of its mistress with the faces of allthe fashionable beauties London has been raving about for eighteenmonths. "Every morning they torment me like this," she says, turning toGeoffrey, with a little pleasant confidential nod.

They walk up a little gravelled path, on either side of which trim bedsof flowers are cut, bordered with stiff box. All sorts of pretty,sweetly-smelling old wild blossoms are blooming in them, as gayly asthough they have forgotten the fact that autumn is rejoicing in all itsmatured beauty. Crimson and white and purple asters stand calmly gazingtowards the sky; here a flaming fuchsia droops its head, and there,apart from all the rest, smiles an enchanting rose.

"You're kindly welcome, sir," says the old man, bowing with the slow andheavy movement that belongs to the aged. There is dignity and warmth,however, in the salute, and Geoffrey accepts with pleasure the toil-wornhand his host presents to him a moment later. The breakfast is good,and, though composed of only country fare, is delicious to the youngman, who has been walking since dawn, and whose appetite just now wouldhave astonished those dwelling in crowded towns and living only on theirexcitements.

"There is hardly any taste so charming or so engrossing as that forflowers," says Geoffrey, making this trite little speech, that soundslike a copy-book, in his most engaging style. "My mother and cousin do agreat deal of that sort of thing when at home."

"She is that. More than I can say. An' keeps things together, too. Sheis clever like her father, an' he was on the fair way to make a fortune.Ay, I always say it, law is the thing that pays in Ireland. A good soundfight sets them up. But I'm keeping you, sir, and your gun is waitin'for ye. If you haven't had enough of me company by this," with anotherjolly laugh, "I'll take ye down to a field hard by, an' show ye where Isaw a fine young covey only yesternight."

"Nay, you can say all that on your way back, an' get a half-shot intothe bargain," says old Scully, heartily. "You'll hardly beat the potheenI can give ye." He winks knowingly, pats Rodney kindly on the shoulder,and leads the way out of the house. Yet I think Geoffrey would willinglyhave bartered potheen, partridge, and a good deal more, for just onelast glance at Mona's beautiful face before parting. Cheered, however,by the prospect that he may see her before night falls, he follows thefarmer into the open air.

It is ten days later. The air is growing brisker, the flowers bear nonew buds. More leaves are falling on the woodland paths, and the treesare throwing out their last bright autumn tints of red and brown andrichest orange, that tell all too plainly of the death that lies beforethem.

Great cascades of water are rushing from the high hills, tumbling,hurrying, with their own melodious music, into the rocky basins thatkind nature has built to receive them. The soothing voices of the airare growing louder, more full of strength; the branches of the elms bowdown before them; the gentle wind, "a sweet and passionate wooer,"kisses the blushing leaf with perhaps a fiercer warmth than it did amonth agone.

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