The house, too, when he reached it, seemed to be deserted. The front door was open but the rooms were empty.
"Janet!" he cried, but there came no answer. Then he heard a burst of laughter from the back, and going through the dining-room to the piazza, he saw what was happening.
The yellow corn field which had been waving to a light breeze when he was there a fortnight before, was now bare save for the stooks which were dotted over part of it, and in the corner nearest to the mansion house a group of persons stood waiting for the cutting of the last armful of the crop—the Deemster, leaning on his stick; the Governor smoking his briar-root pipe; Parson Cowley, with his round red face; Janet in her lace cap; the house servants in their white aprons; Robbie Creer, in his sleeve waistcoat; young Robbie, stripped to the shirt; a large company of farm lads and farm girls, and—Fenella, in a sunbonnet and with a sickle in her hand. It was the Melliah—the harvest home.
"Now for it," cried Robbie, "strike them from their legs, miss." And at a stroke from her sickle Fenella brought the last sheaf to the ground.
Then there was a shout of "Hurrah for the Melliah!" and at the next moment Robbie was dipping mugs into a pail and handing them round to the males of the company, saying, when he came to the Parson,
"The Parson was the first man that ever threw water in my face" (meaning his baptism), "but there's a jug of good Manx ale for his own."
The rough jest was received with laughter, and then the Deemster, being called for, spoke a few words with his calm dignity, leaning both hands on his stick:
"'Custom must be indulged with custom, or custom will weep.' So says our old Manx proverb. The sun is going west on me, and I cannot hope to see many more Melliahs. But I trust my dear son, when he comes after me, will encourage you to keep up all that is good in our old traditions."
Then there was another shout, followed by some wild horseplay, with the farm-boys vaulting the stocks and the girls stretching straw ropes to trip them up, while the Deemster and his company turned back to the house.
Fenella, coming along in her sun bonnet (a little awry) and with her sheaf over her arm, was the first to see Victor, and she cried,