adapted from the irish of "an seabhac" in "an baile seo 'gainn-ne."
"bad cess to it for tay," said ned m'grane, as he came into the forge, wiping his lips after his evening meal, in which the much-abused beverage in question had been, and always was, a potent factor. "the people were healthier an' hardier, an' the country was better off when the good wholesome food was goin' an' there was little talk o' tay. now we can't do without it for more than half-a-day, bad cess to it!"
he took a piece of tobacco from his capacious vest pocket and proceeded to fill his pipe, while we eagerly and anxiously scanned his face in the hope of reading there indications that would lead us to expect a story, for we always knew by a close but seemingly careless scrutiny of ned's face whether we might venture to suggest his drawing upon that wonderful store of yarns for the possession of which he was famous throughout the length and breadth of the three parishes.
"i wonder how was it people took to the tay at all at first," said bartle nolan, carelessly, as he fingered a couple of horse-shoe nails and looked thoughtfully away into the shadows; "you'd think they were wise[pg 79] enough in them times to know what was good for them."
it was a fine bait, that innocent remark of bartle's, and we waited with drawn breath to see what its result would be on ned.
"well," said the latter, as he teased the tobacco between his fingers, while a far-away look that was hopeful came over his face and into his eyes, "there was many a reason, bartle. the praties began to get bad, an' bad seasons left the meal for the stirabout sour an' heavy an' ugly, an' then people goin' to dublin an' places like that began to get notions, an' the women began to think they weren't able for the strong food an' that tay would put more heart in them. but maybe the men, or most o' them, were like denis m'cann—god be good to him!—an' took the tay because they couldn't stand the other thing any longer."
"is it denis o' the hill that died last year?" said joe clinton, his voice trembling with eagerness, and before bartle nolan could give us a warning sign four or five of us had blurted out:
"what about denis, ned?"
"the very man," said ned, in reply to joe's question, and apparently paying no attention to us. "it wasn't any wonder poor denis took to the tay after all the heart-scald he got from the stirabout—not a wonder in the world."
we sat silent, hardly daring to breathe.
"when i was a gossoon about the size o' jimmy tully there, in all the three parishes there wasn't a harder-workin' family than the m'canns, an' the best[pg 80] woman in the barony was peg m'cann herself. she was a good wife to denis an' a good mother to patsy an' molly an' nell, an' she never stopped workin' from daylight till dark; but there was one thing denis was always grumblin' about, an' that was the stirabout. poor peg, no matter how many warnin's or threats or reminders she got, could never think o' puttin' salt on the stirabout, an' on that account there never came a mornin' or a night—except once in a blue moon now an' again when peg 'd think o' the salt—that there wasn't a shindy in the house over the same thing, an' no amount o' jawin' an' ragin' an' warnin' from denis could make poor peg think o' puttin' salt in the pot every time she started to make the stirabout. an' whenever a thing wasn't to anybody's likin' from one end o' the parish to the other end the word was 'that's like denis mccann's stirabout.'
"well, everythin' comes to an end some day or other, an' peg m'cann's stirabout pot got a rest at last. an' this is the way it happened out.
"one day denis an' patsy an' the girshas were out in the long field plantin' praties, an' when it was comin' on to the evenin' time peg took the stirabout pot an' scoured it an' wiped it an' put it on the fire with water enough in it to make the stirabout. when the water came to the boil she put in the meal, an' then for a wonder, whatever struck into her head, she put a good handful o' salt in the pot, an' says she to herself: 'he can't be sayin' anythin' about it to-night,' says she.
"the stirabout was simmerin' an' singin' away when denis an' the childre came home, an' when peg[pg 81] saw them comin' up the boreen she went out to the byre to milk the cow, an' she was smilin' to herself at the surprise denis 'd get, an' the quietness there 'd be in the house on account o' the salt bein' in the stirabout.
"denis left patsy an' the girshas to take the harness off the jennet an' put up the spades an' shovels an' things, an' he went into the house himself with a couple o' stone o' the seed that was left over after the day's work. he spied the pot on the fire, an' over he went to the salt-box an' took up a good big fistful o' the salt an' put it in the stirabout, an' gave it a stir or two, an' says he an' he lickin' his lips:
"'it'll be right to-night, anyway,' says he, an' down he goes to shut the gate at the end o' the boreen.
"in a few minutes in comes molly an' goes over to the fire to warm her hands, an' the sound o' the stirabout in the pot reminded her o' the ructions there used to be every night, an' 'i'm sure she didn't think of it to-night, no more than any other night,' says molly, an' up she jumps an' rams her hand into the salt-box an' takes out a big fistful an' puts it in the pot an' gives it a couple o' stirs an' goes out to see what was keepin' her mother.
"denis wanted the lantern to look after the young lambs, and patsy went into the house to get it for him. the smell o' the stirabout brought him to the fire, an' the sight o' the pot made him think o' the shindy every night an' 'for fear o' the worst,' says he an' took as much as he could lift in his hand of salt an' put it in the pot. then he gave it a stir an' darted out with the lantern, for denis was callin' to him to hurry.
[pg 82]
"peg was in the byre, milkin' away at her ease, an' says she to nell, when she saw her passin' the door: 'nell,' says she, 'run in quick an' stir the pot or the stirabout'll be burned to nothin'. i'll be in in a minute myself,' says she.
"nell went in an' gave a rousin' fine stirrin' to the supper, and she was just goin' out again to see was molly ready when she stopped. 'as sure as i'm alive,' says she, 'my mother never put a grain o' salt in it,' an' of course when she thought o' that she went to the salt-box an' done what the rest o' them were after doin' an' says she: 'my father won't have anythin' to say about it to-night,' an' she lightin' the candle.
"then peg came in an' put milk in the noggins an' lifted the pot off the fire an' gave it the last stir, an' denis came in, an' patsy an' molly, an' they all as hungry as huntsmen, an' each o' them thinkin' o' the fine, tasty stirabout there was for the supper that night anyway.
"denis sat down in his own place in the corner an' spread out his hands over the fire an' says he:
"'give us a noggin o' that, peg. i'm as hungry as callaghan's cow when she ate the hay rope off tom the tramp's leg an' he asleep.' an' peg filled up the noggin an' handed it over to him. 'that's the stuff for a hungry man,' says denis, an' he dug his spoon into the noggin an' lifted a spoonful out of it that would nearly make a meal for a man nowadays, an' stuffed it into his mouth, an'——
"'ugh! ach! o lord, i'm pisened!' yelled poor denis springin' to his feet, an' he tryin' to get rid o'[pg 83] the stirabout, an' as soon as he could get his tongue into shape for talk he did talk, an' the abuse he gave poor peg was terrible. he never said anythin' half as strong in his life before, an' that's sayin' a lot.
"'musha! sorrow's on it for stirabout!' says poor peg, an' she cryin' like the rain, 'it has my heart broke in two, so it has. when i don't put salt on it nobody can eat it, an' this evenin' when i put salt on it an' thought i had it right, it's worse than ever. bad cess to it for stirabout!' an' indeed 'twas no wonder the poor woman 'd cry!
"'arrah! don't be botherin' us with your cryin' an' wailin', an' you after makin' the stirabout like, like;—— an' then denis thought o' the fistful o' salt he put in the pot himself an' he stopped. 'as true as i'm a livin' man,' says he, in his own mind, ''twas myself that made a lad o' the stirabout. but, sure, one fistful would never pisen it like that!' but he cooled down an' sat lookin' into the fire.
"patsy thought it was himself that ruined the supper an' molly thought 'twas she that settled it, an' nell said to herself she was the rascal that was after doin' it, but they were all afraid to speak, an' they were so troubled an' knocked about, that they didn't even think of askin' for anythin' else to eat. denis was thinkin' an' thinkin' for a long time, an' he lookin' into the fire an' at last says he:
"'there's no use in talkin', says he, 'there's some misfortune or bad luck on this house above every house in the parish. the stirabout is never the same with us as it is with any o' the neighbours no matter how it's made. let us have done with it, once an'[pg 84] for all, an' have peace an' quietness in the house—what never was in it yet!'
"an', indeed, peg was only too glad to hear him talkin' like that, for the same stirabout had her heart nearly broke. she bought two ounces o' tay in the shop the next mornin', an' from that day out there never was a bit o' stirabout made under denis mccann's roof. an', sure, maybe that's the way the tay got into many another house as well, though i suppose if you said so to the women they wouldn't be over thankful to you.
"bad cess to it for tay!"
