Phil, the Fiddler

Phil was quick to take the hint. He ran upstairs, and concealed himself as directed. While he was doing it, the lower door, which he had shut, was opened by Pietro. He was about to rush into the house, but the muscular form of Phil’s friend stood in his way.

“Out wid ye!” said she, flourishing a broom, which she had snatched up. “Is that the way you inter a dacint woman’s house, ye spalpeen!”

“I want my brother,” said Pietro, drawing back a little before the amazon who disputed his passage.

“Go and find him, thin!” said Bridget McGuire, “and kape out of my house.”

“But he is here,” said Pietro, angrily; “I saw him come in.”

“Then, one of the family is enough,” said Bridget. “I don’t want another. Lave here wid you!”

“Give me my brother, then!” said Pietro, provoked.

“I don’t know anything of your brother. If he looks like you, he’s a beauty, sure,” returned Mrs. McGuire.

“Will you let me look for him?”

“Faith and I won’t. You may call him if you plase.”

Pietro knew that this would do very little good, but there seemed nothing else to do.

“Filippo!” he called; “come here. The padrone has sent for you.”

“What was ye sayin’?” demanded Bridget not comprehending the Italian.

“I told my brother to come.”

“Then you can go out and wait for him,” said she. “I don’t want you in the house.”

Pietro was very angry. He suspected that Phil was in the rear room, and was anxious to search for him. But Bridget McGuire was in the way—no light, delicate woman, but at least forty pounds heavier than Pietro. Moreover, she was armed with a broom, and seemed quite ready to use it. Phil was fortunate in obtaining so able a protector. Pietro looked at her, and had a vague thought of running by her, and dragging Phil out if he found him. But Bridget was planted so squarely in his path that this course did not seem very practicable.

“Will you give me my brother?” demanded Pietro, forced to use words where he would willingly have used blows.

“I haven’t got your brother.”

“He is in this house.”

“Thin he may stay here, but you shan’t,” said Bridget, and she made a sudden demonstration with the broom, of so threatening a character that Pietro hastily backed out of the house, and the door was instantly bolted in his face.

CHAPTER XXI

THE SIEGE

When the enemy had fairly been driven out of the house Mrs. McGuire went upstairs in search of Phil. Our hero had come out from his place of concealment, and stood at the window.

“Where is Pietro?” he asked, as his hostess appeared in the chamber.

“I druv him out of the house,” said Bridget, triumphantly.

“Then he won’t come up here?” interrogated Phil.

“It’s I that would like to see him thry it,” said Mrs. McGuire, shaking her head in a very positive manner, “I’d break my broom over his back first.”

Phil breathed freer. He saw that he was rescued from immediate danger.

“Where is he now?”

“He’s outside watching for you. He’ll have to wait till you come out.”

“May I stay here till he goes?”

“Sure, and you may,” said the warm-hearted Irishwoman. “You’re as welcome as flowers in May. Are you hungry?”

“No, thank you,” said Phil. “I have eaten my dinner.”

“Won’t you try a bit of bread and cold mate now?” she asked, hospitably.

“You are very kind,” said Phil, gratefully, “but I am not hungry. I only want to get away from Pietro.”

“Is that the haythen’s name? Sure I niver heard it before.”

“It is Peter in English.”

“And has he got the name of the blessed St. Peter, thin? Sure, St. Peter would be mightily ashamed of him. And is he your brother, do you say?”

“No,” said Phil.

“He said he was; but I thought it was a wicked lie when he said it. He’s too bad, sure, to be a brother of yours. But I must go down to my work. My clothes are in the tub, and the water will get cold.”

“Will you be kind enough to tell me when he goes away?” asked Phil.

“Sure I will. Rest aisy, darlint. He shan’t get hold of you.”

Pietro’s disappointment may be imagined when he found that the victim whom he had already considered in his grasp was snatched from him in the very moment of his triumph. He felt nearly as much incensed at Mrs. McGuire as at Phil, but against the former he had no remedy. Over the stalwart Irishwoman neither he nor the padrone had any jurisdiction, and he was compelled to own himself ignominiously repulsed and baffled. Still all was not lost. Phil must come out of the house some time, and when he did he would capture him. When that happy moment arrived he resolved to inflict a little punishment on our hero on his own account, in anticipation of that which awaited him from his uncle, the padrone. He therefore took his position in front of the house, and maintained a careful watch, that Phil might not escape unobserved.

So half an hour passed. He could hear no noise inside the house, nor did Phil show himself at any of the windows. Pietro was disturbed by a sudden suspicion. What if, while he was watching, Phil had escaped by the back door, and was already at a distance!

This would be quite possible, for as he stood he could only watch the front of the house. The rear was hidden from his view. Made uneasy by this thought, he shifted his ground, and crept stealthily round on the side, in the hope of catching a view of Phil, or perhaps hearing some conversation between him and his Amazonian protector by which he might set at rest his suddenly formed suspicions.

He was wrong, however. Phil was still upstairs. He was disposed to be cautious, and did not mean to leave his present place of security until he should be apprised by his hostess that Pietro had gone.

Bridget McGuire kept on with her washing. She had been once to the front room, and, looking through the blinds, had ascertained that Pietro was still there.

“He’ll have to wait long enough,” she said to herself, “the haythen! It’s hard he’ll find it to get the better of Bridget McGuire.”

She was still at her tub when through the opposite window on the side of the house she caught sight of Pietro creeping stealthily along, as we have described.

“I’ll be even wid him,” said Bridget to herself exultingly. “I’ll tache him to prowl around my house.”