However highly Mr. Sheridan's intellectual faculties might be rated by foreign philosophers, and corresponding savants, yet, like the typical prophet, he had no honour in his own country, and was credited by the most lenient, with wanting at least one day in the week! Even Andy All Right (who was dimly conscious of his own deficiencies), had more than once been heard to draw comparisons between himself and his master, which were by no means to the latter's advantage.
Helen saw but little of her uncle; indeed, only on those rare occasions, when he joined his family at dinner, and during that meal, he rarely opened his lips, save for the purpose of swallowing food, his attention was wholly absorbed by some object not present, that monopolized all his thoughts. Now and then he would pause, lay down his knife and fork, lean back in his chair, and meditatively comb his beard with somewhat inky fingers, sometimes he would suddenly catch fire at a passing remark, and use it as a text for an unexpected and eloquent lecture on astronomy, biology, philosophy, or even hydrophobia; he had an excellent and intelligent listener in his niece, who followed him patiently through all the mazes of his varied subjects, anxiously endeavouring to glean information for the benefit of herself and her pupils; (and what she could not comprehend, from its being enclosed in a labyrinth of words, she modestly attributed to her own mental density). As Mr. Sheridan proceeded with his discourse, his voice gradually gained such force, his words came so rapidly and so opportunely, that he seemed to be completely transformed. As he warmed to his subject, he would start from his seat, his dark eyes flashing, his weird hands waving, he looked more like an impassioned Druid, invoking his countrymen to war, and human sacrifices, than a modern paterfamilias, presiding at a frugal domestic meal. Then, as suddenly as it had kindled, the fire would expire, he would pause abruptly, sigh, and presently push back his chair, and steal noiselessly from the room.
He lived altogether in the tower, behind barred and bolted doors, and through which Dido and Biddy had the sole entrée, and there,—secure against interruption, or indiscreet investigation,—he carried on some mysterious undertaking, to which he gave the rather vague name of "scientific research." But loud explosive sounds, odours (not of Araby), and dense volumes of smoke, were the only outward symptoms of his industry.
During all the summer months every one at Crowmore pursued the even tenour of their way, with uneventful regularity. Larry drove the red car, and made surreptitious love to Sally, the "Fancy" clamoured at the Cross, Darby continued to plunder his master, and that master remained shut up in his fastness, throwing away time, and money, with both hands.
Helen was an adaptable girl, and was now as much at home at the Castle, as if she had lived there for years: she had completely regained her health, and spirits, and was as full of life and energy as the indefatigable Dido. She toiled in the garden with unremitting industry, and took as profound an interest in the weekly "cart," and the result of Sally's "day," as did her cousins themselves. She had learnt how to make butter, to bandy blarney with her relatives, to baffle Barry's compliments, and, the greatest feat of all,—elude Mr. Redmond's cross-examinations.
By the middle of August, the bushes in the garden were bent down with fruit, and many and many an hour, the three girls spent picking strawberries, currants, and gooseberries for the public market, or for private sale. Time passed merrily enough in songs, stories, jokes, and riddles, but no story, song, or riddle, had half as much interest for the Misses Sheridan as their cousin's experiences at Port Blair! This topic afforded inexhaustible entertainment to these two county mice; over and over again Helen was called upon to recount her arrival, her first impressions, to describe boating, shelling, and picnic parties. Indeed, after a time Dido and Katie said they were perfectly familiar with the appearance of every one in the settlement, and declared that they almost felt as if they had been in the islands themselves! Strange to say, that in the midst of all her glowing descriptions of people and places, Helen never once let fall the name of Lisle. It was—had her simple cousins but known—like the play of "Hamlet," without the Prince of Denmark. She gave spirited representations of Mrs. Creery, and mimicked Lizzie Caggett's screech, and Apollo's languid drawl. She had an extraordinary faculty (I will not say talent) for such imitations, a faculty that had been inflexibly nipped in the bud at school, an accomplishment that she doubtless inherited from her versatile Greek mother. Who would have guessed that, at a moment's notice, pretty Miss Denis, could take off the voice, laugh, and demure manner of any specified acquaintance? She had never practised this art till now, when she discovered that a few such illustrations, brightened up her narrative, and threw her audience into ecstasies of delight.—Helen was undoubtedly an unusually clever girl, when she could thus infuse interest, amusement, life and romance into a story—and yet omit the hero!
One evening, after early tea, the three girls were busy in the garden, sitting on little three-legged stools, among a thicket of bushes, picking raspberries into a huge tin can, when Helen—whose thoughts were sharpened by her cousins' grinding poverty, their unremitting endeavours to make both ends meet, and their father's apathetic seclusion—said suddenly,—
"Don't think me a Paul Pry, Dido; but do tell me what uncle is doing.—Is he writing a book?"
"No; not now.—He has written several splendid pamphlets on gravitation, and about a dozen on wind; there are thousands of them upstairs; they did not sell; they were above the average intellect; indeed, I could not understand them myself. But then, I'm not clever!"
"Yes, you are, Dido," said her cousin decidedly. "You are a first-rate musician, a capital German scholar. I wish I had half your brains!"