Collected Stories Read Free Page B

they’ll ever let ’im know, and last night ’e was all in the dark.”
    Donovan helps him to tie the handkerchiefs about his eyes. “Thanks, chum,” he says. Donovan asks him if there are any messages he would like to send. “Naow, chum,” he says, “none for me. If any of you likes to write to ’Awkins’s mother you’ll find a letter from ’er in ’is pocket. But my missus left me eight years ago. Went away with another fellow and took the kid with her. I likes the feelin’ of a ’ome (as you may ’ave noticed) but I couldn’t start again after that.”
    We stand around like fools now that he can no longer see us. Donovan looks at Noble and Noble shakes his head. Then Donovan raises his Webley again and just at that moment Belcher laughs his queer nervous laugh again. He must think we are talking of him; anyway, Donovan lowers his gun. “’Scuse me, chums,” says Belcher, “I feel I’m talking the ’ell of a lot… and so silly … abaout me being so ’andy abaout a ’ouse. But this thing come on me so sudden. You’ll forgive me, I’m sure.” “You don’t want to say a prayer?” asks Jeremiah Donovan. “No, chum,” he replies, “I don’t think that’d ’elp. I’m ready if you want to get it over.” “You understand,” says Jeremiah Donovan, “it’s not so much our doing. It’s our duty, so to speak.” Belcher’s head is raised like a real blind man’s, so that you can only see his nose and chin in the lamplight. “I never could make out what duty was myself,” he said, “but I think you’re all good lads, if that’s what you mean. I’m not complaining.” Noble, with a look of desperation, signals to Donovan, and in a flash Donovan raises his gun and fires. The big man goes over like a sack of meal, and this time there is no need of a second shot.
    I don’t remember much about the burying, but that it was worse than all the rest, because we had to carry the warm corpses a few yards before we sunk them in the windy bog. It was all mad lonely, with only a bit of lantern between ourselves and the pitch blackness, and birds hooting and screeching all round disturbed by the guns. Noble had to search ’Awkins first to get the letter from his mother. Then having smoothed all signs of the grave away, Noble and I collected our tools, said good-bye to the others, and went back along the desolate edge of the treacherous bog without a word. We put the tools in the houseen and went into the house. The kitchen was pitch black and cold, just as we left it, and the old woman was sitting over the hearth telling her beads. We walked past her into the room, and Noble struck a match to light the lamp. Just then she rose quietly and came to the doorway, being not at all so bold or crabbed as usual.
    â€œWhat did ye do with them?” she says in a sort of whisper, and Noble took such a mortal start the match quenched in his trembling hand. “What’s that?” he asks without turning round. “I heard ye,” she said. “What did you hear?” asks Noble, but sure he wouldn’t deceive a child the way he said it. “I heard ye. Do you think I wasn’t listening to ye putting the things back in the houseen?” Noble struck another match and this time the lamp lit for him. “Was that what ye did with them?” she said, and Noble said nothing—after all what could he say?
    So then, by God, she fell on her two knees by the door, and began telling her beads, and after a minute or two Noble went on his knees by the fireplace, so I pushed my way out past her, and stood at the door, watching the stars and listening to the damned shrieking of the birds. It is so strange what you feel at such moments, and not to be written afterwards. Noble says he felt he seen everything ten