Wherever they are this blessed day they don't admire the memory of
Captain Boycott. What I like is behaviour in aither man or baste, and
Captain Boycott had no behaviour. They killed a sheep to ate, or maybe
two, and sorra a blame to them. It was ate or die wid them; but ye see
the gallant Captain didn't like it." About this time a volley of
anathemas was poured out against the absent Captain.
During all this we were sitting on the car viewing the field where the
bivouac had been. A policeman with a questioning look on a pleasant face
came along from the great house with a tin pail in his hand. "What have
you got in the can!" asks this inquisitive car driver. "Milk," responded
the policeman. "You would have got no milk at the big house in Captain
Boycott's time."
"Oh; yes, I would," said the other, "when I paid for it." I did not like
to question this man, for he did swear so, but I ventured to ask if Mrs.
Boycott were equally as much disliked as her husband. "Never heard a
word against her in my life. The people had no reason but to like her.
Hard word or hard deed she left no memory of behind her."
We drove past the residence where Captain Boycott lived, a fine spacious
house finished in plaster to imitate stone.
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