"If ye are there,
open your door. I have not got the pay for the spriggin' this month,
an' the childher are needin' food."
But Teig put the leash on his tongue, and never stirred till he heard
the tramp of her feet going on to the next cabin. Then he saw to it
that the door was tight-barred. Another knock came, and it was a
stranger's voice this time:
"The other cabins are filled; not one but has its hearth crowded; will
ye take us in--the two of us? The wind bites mortal sharp, not a morsel
o' food have ne tasted this day. Masther, will ye take us in?"
But Teig sat on, a-holding his tongue; and the tramp of the strangers'
feet passed down the road. Others took their place--small feet,
running. It was the miller's wee Cassie, and she called out as she ran
by.
"Old Barney's watchin' for ye. Ye'll not be forgettin' him, will ye,
Teig?"
And then the child broke into a song, sweet and clear, as she passed
down the road:
"Listen all ye, 'tis the Feast o' St. Stephen,
Mind that ye keep it, this holy even.
Open your door an' greet ye the stranger--
For ye mind that the wee Lord had naught but a manger.
Mhuire as truagh!
"Feed ye the hungry an' rest ye the weary,
This ye must do for the sake of Our Mary.
'Tis well that ye mind--ye who sit by the fire--
That the Lord he was born in a dark and cold byre.
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