Her fears were not
lessened by hearing that in several places the very road was undermined;
and she was thankful when Richard--himself rendered uneasy by the
precious cargo he bore--got out and walked at the horse's head. They
drew up before a public-house. Cramped from sitting and numb with cold,
Polly climbed stiffly down as bidden; and Mahony having unloaded the
baggage, mounted to his seat again to drive the cart into the yard. This
was a false move, as he was quick to see: he should not have left Polly
standing alone. For the news of the arrival of "Doc." Mahony and his
bride flew from mouth to mouth, and all the loafers who were in the bar
turned out to stare and to quiz. Beside her tumulus of trunk, bag,
bundle little Polly stood desolate, with drooping shoulders; and cursing
his want of foresight, Mahony all but drove into the gatepost, which
occasioned a loud guffaw. Nor had Long Jim turned up as ordered, to
shoulder the heavy luggage. These blunders made Mahony very hot and
curt. Having himself stowed the things inside the bar and borrowed a
lantern, he drew his wife's arm through his, and hurried her away.
It was pitch-dark, and the ground was wet and squelchy. Their feet sank
in the mud. Polly clung to Richard's arm, trembling at the rude voices,
the laughter, the brawling, that issued from the grog-shops; at the
continual apparition of rough, bearded men. One of these, who held a
candle stuck in a bottle, was accosted by Richard and soundly rated.
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