“They’ll mek a fine show for the twelfth of July, I’m thinkin’,” said Mrs. Macfarlane, complacently, as she walked by her beds, swinging a dripping watering-pot.
At the time of the blossoming of the orange lilies, James O’Brien was not at home, having had to go some twenty miles down the line on official business. The obnoxious flowers took advantage of his absence to make a gay show. When he returned, as luck would have it Mrs. Macfarlane was away, and had shut up the refreshment room, but had not locked it. No one locks doors in Toomevara unless their absence is to be lengthy. She had left “King William” behind, and told Joe Kelly to take care of the dog, in case he should be lonely, for she had been invited to the wedding of an old fellow servant, the late butler at Lord Dunanway’s, who was to be married that day to the steward’s daughter.
All this Joe Kelly told the stationmaster on his return, but he did not say a word about the orange lilies, being afraid of an explosion, and, as he said, “detarmined not to meddle or make, but just to let him find it out himself.”
For quite a time Jim was occupied over way-bills in his little office; but at last his attention was distracted by the long continued howling and yelping of a dog.
“Let the baste out, can’t ye?” he at length said to Kelly. “I can’t stand listening to um anny longer.”
“I was afeared ’twas run over he might be, agin’ she came back,” said Kelly, “‘an so I shut um up.”
“Sure, there’s no danger. There won’t be a thrain in for the next two hours, an’ if he was run over itself, God knows he’d be no loss. ’Tisn’t meself ‘ud grieve for um, th’ ill-favoured cur.”
“King William” was accordingly released.
When O’Brien had finished his task, he stood for a time at the office door, his hands crossed behind him, supporting his coat tails, his eyes fixed abstractedly on the sky. Presently he started for his usual walk up and down the platform, when his eye was at once caught by the flare of the stately rows of orange lilies.