When I got to the pigsty there were several early callers lounging around. "Jowler" Hainey sat on a big stone near the slit. Mary McConnaughy stood with her arms akimbo, within a yard of the door, and Tommy Wilson was peeping into the sty through a knot-hole on the side. I took my turn at the hole. Hughie had evidently been awakened early. He was sitting arranging his pockets. Con Mulholland came down the entry with his gun over his shoulder. He had just returned from his vigil as night watchman at the Greens and was going the longest way around to his home.
He leaned his gun against the house side and lit his pipe. Then he opened the sty door, softly, and said:
"Morra, Hughie."
"Morra, Con," came the answer, in calliope tones from our guest.
"Haave ye a good stock ov tubacca?" Con asked Hughie.
"I cud shtart a pipe shap, Con, fur be th' first strake ov dawn I found five new pipes an' five half ounces ov tubacca inside th' doore ov th' sty!"
"Take this bit too. Avic, ye don't come ofen," and he gave him a small package and took his departure.
Eliza Conlon brought a cup of tea. Without even looking in, she pushed the little door ajar, laid it just inside, and went away without a word. Mulholland and Hainey seemed supremely concerned about the weather. From all they said it was quite evident that each of them had "jist dhrapped aroun' t' find out what Jamie thought ov th' prospects fur a fine day!" Old Sandy Somerville came hatless and in his shirt-sleeves, his hands deep in his pockets and his big watchchain dangling across what Anna called the "front of his back." Sandy was some quality, too, and owned three houses.
"Did aany o' ye see my big orange cat?" he asked the callers. Without waiting for an answer he opened the door of the pigsty and peeped in.
By the time Hughie scrambled out there were a dozen men, women and boys around the sty. As the beggar-man struggled up through his freight to his feet the eyes of the crowd were scrutinizing him. Sandy shook hands with him and wished him a pleasant journey.