Since his accident, too,
the fellow had suffered from frequent fits of colic or cramp, and was
for ever slipping off to the township to find the spirits in which his
employer refused to deal. For the unloading and warehousing of the
goods, it was true, old Ocock had loaned his sons; but the strict watch
Mahony felt bound to keep over this pretty pair far outweighed what
their help was worth to him.
Now it was Sunday evening, and for the first time for more than a week
he could call his soul his own again. He stood at the door and watched
those of his neighbours who were not Roman Catholics making for church
and chapel, to which half a dozen tinkly bells invited them. The weather
had finally cleared up, and a goodly number of people waded past him
through the mire. Among them, in seemly Sabbath dress, went Ocock, with
his two black sheep at heel. The old man was a rigid Methodist, and at a
recent prayer-meeting had been moved to bear public witness to his
salvation. This was no doubt one reason why the young scapegrace Tom's
almost simultaneous misconduct had been so bitter a pill for him to
swallow: while, through God's mercy, he was become an exemplar to the
weaker brethren, a son of his made his name to stink in the nostrils of
the reputable community. Mahony liked to believe that there was good in
everybody, and thought the intolerant harshness which the boy was
subjected would defeat its end. Yet it was open to question if clemency
would have answered better.
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