"No, sir, no," he said; "but we have plenty of food and plenty of fire. Heaven be praised!"
Tomnahurich all that day laid himself out to please his guests. He did all the cooking himself; and the food was by no means to be despised, for the old man was plentifully supplied with stores from shore, Creggan being the purchaser. Well, they had fish and bacon, and the eggs of sea-birds, so beautiful in colour and markings that Nugent said it was almost a sin to break them. The fish were of the best, for off the rocks mullet can be caught with rod and line. Rock pigs these delightful little seafarers are called.
They had potatoes, butter, and, last but not least, beautiful lobsters. What more could anyone expect on a hermit's isle?
When the sun went down the storm lulled somewhat, but it was thought advisable to remain one more night on the island.
After an early supper in the hut, and, the cave also, where the fishermen remained as troglodytes—if you don't know this word, dear young reader, take your dictionary and look it up;—after an early supper, I say, the hermit went down the cliff and returned soon.
"I'm going to bring up my wife," he said with a quiet smile.
"Your wife, Mr. M'Vayne!" cried Mrs. Nugent in astonishment. "Have you a wife, then? We will be delighted to see her."
"That you shall, and hear her too. Her voice is sweetness itself."
There was a roguish smile playing about his eyes as he departed.
Creggan was in a corner near the fire talking low to Matty, Pussy was curled up beside Collie (Oscar), and Polly was making droll remarks to all, when Tomnahurich entered with his "wife".