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"Of course ye don't," agreed Patsy. "I don't, myself. But there's one thing more I'll be telling ye if ye'll swear never to let it pass your lips?" Patsy paused for dramatic effect while Gregory Jessup bound himself twice over to secrecy. "Well," she said, at length, "'tis this: If I had the road to travel again I'd pray to Saint Brendan to keep my feet fast to the wrong turn. That's what!"
Brendan; because, though it be but a monk-ideal, it is an ideal still: and therefore profitable for all who are not content with this world, and its paltry ways. And when St. Brendan asked him to make better cheer for him and his monks, he told him a strange tale.
Brendan, as from a saint of inferior powers, the innocent yeoman, laden with fetters, whom he had delivered out of the dungeon of Brancepeth, and, smiting asunder the massive Norman walls, led him into the forest, and bade him flee to sanctuary in Durham, and be safe; or visited the little timber vine-clad chapel of Lixtune, on the Cheshire shore, to heal the sick who watched all night before his altar, or to forgive the lad who had robbed the nest which his sacred raven had built upon the roof, and, falling with the decayed timber, had broken his bones, and maimed his sacrilegious hand.
Joe prowled around the bookshelves and found an Arthur W. Upfield mystery that he hadn't read. "Great stuff," he said later, as they ate a light dinner of soup and salad. "Off to yet another corner of Australia while Napoleon Bonaparte gets his man." "The keen senses of the aboriginal combined with the rational faculties of the white man," Brendan said.
She walked to a writing table that stood in a bow window and returned with checks in her hand. "The estate goes to me with the exception of ten thousand dollars to each of you and ten thousand to Kate." She gave Joe two checks and handed the other to Brendan.
So they rested three days and three nights. But when they went to the ship, St. Brendan charged them with theft, and told what was stolen, and who had stolen it. Then the brother cast out of his bosom a silver bit, and prayed for mercy.
Ann had always been nice to him, and he was glad to be there, to be a supportive presence. She sighed and stepped back. "How nice to see you, Joe. Brendan's here. He flew in yesterday." "Hi, Joe." Brendan, his half brother, came through the front door. They patted each other on the arms, a compromise between hugging and shaking hands. "Brendan. A sad day," Joe said. "Yes."
He pictured Wheeler, very tall, hawk nosed, wearing glasses, bent over an architectural drawing, the top of his head seeming to glow. "Oh, I couldn't survive without him," Brendan said, taking another swallow of Laphroaig. "He was a hard man, our father. Maybe you didn't know, not having lived with him and all." "I suppose so," Joe said. "Did he give you a hard time when you, umm, came out?"
"It is the ship of ghosts," said Dalfin. "I have heard tell of it. It comes from the blessed isles which holy Brendan sought." "Nay," said Gerda; "it is Aegir's ship, and it came for my grandsire." "Maybe," answered Dalfin. "I ken not who Aegir is of whom you speak. But the ship may indeed have come for Thorwald to take him to some land, like those isles, beyond our ken."
The Voyage of Saint Brendan, like its pagan predecessors, has a real and an ideal basis; and in both respects it shows an advancement over its prototypes. It contains some very poetic touches, and is credited with being the source of some of the most effective features of Dante's poem.
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