How is it that the clouds still hang on you?
Affection! pooh! you speak like a green girl.
Hamlet.
WHEN the head of a community has, after due deliberation, resolved upon the carrying out of any bold social step, he may expect to meet with the opposition that invariably obstructs the reformer's advance; so that one is tempted—nay, modern statesmanship compels one—to believe that secrecy until a projected design is fully matured is a wise, or at least an effective, policy. The military stratagem of a surprise is frequently attended with good results in dealing with an enemy, and as a friendly policy why should it not succeed?
This was, beyond a question, the course of thought pursued by The Macnamara before he uttered those words to Eugene. He had not given the order without careful deliberation, but when he had come to the conclusion that circumstances demanded the taking of so bold a step, he had not hesitated in his utterance.
Eugene was indeed surprised, and so also was Standish. The driver took off his hat and passed his fingers through his hair, looking down to his bare feet, for he was in the habit of getting a few weeks of warning before a similar order to that just uttered by his master was given to him.
“Do you hear, or are you going to wait till the horse has frozen to the sod?” inquired The Macnamara; and this brought the mind of the boy out of the labyrinth of wonder into which it had strayed. He threw down the whip and the reins, and, tucking up the voluminous skirts of his coat, ran round the house, commenting briefly as he went along on the remarkable aspect things were assuming.
Entering the kitchen from the rear, where an old man and two old women were sitting with short pipes alight, he cried, “What's the world comin' to at all? I've got to put on me boots.”
“Holy Saint Bridget,” cried a pious old woman, “he's to put on his brogues! An' is it The Mac has bid ye, Eugene?”
“Sorra a sowl ilse. So just shake a coal in iviry fut to thaw thim a bit, alana.”