be
waggin' his tail; and Hugh McInerney was resolving that he would go on
straight to his own place, and defer the presentation of the ugly yellow
ribbon until to-morrow. All three were hot and fagged and dusty.

"Well, lad, and what's the best good news wid you?" Ody's aunt said to
him, as they met.

"Little enough," said Ody.

"And you comin' out of a fair?" she said. "Bedad now, we make a better
offer at it ourselves up here for the matter of news."

"What's that at all?" said Ody.

"Sure amn't I just after hearin' tell of a grand weddin' there's goin'
to be prisintly?" said his aunt, "and that doesn't happen every day of
the year."

"Och, a weddin'," said Ody. "I was thinkin' maybe there was somethin'
quare at our little place beyant yonder. But as long as it's nothin'
worser than weddin's you're hearin' tell of, I'm contint, if you
listened the two ears off your head."

"It's Denis O'Meara and Theresa Joyce has made a match of it," said his
aunt, conscious that she was slightly overstating facts; "settled up it
is on'y this evenin'. And the weddin's bound to be before his lave's
out--so there's for you."

"Sure good luck to the both of thim," said Ody, "Theresa Joyce is a
plisant little bein', I'll say that for her, and divil a bit of harm
there is in O'Meara aither. A fine chap he is for a sodger; not that
they're any great things as far as I can see--just polis a thrifle
smartened up."

Ody's thoughts were for the moment running on the police, a couple of
whom he had lately espied at a short distance coming across the bog.

"Well, if you wanted to see the two of thim," said his aunt, raising her
voice as he began to drive Rory on, "there they are, just at the back of
her place, sortin' the stuff he's after gettin' her on the bog. He
brought her the full of the pitaty-creel. Her mother's as plased over it
as anythin', and sot up too, aye is she bedad."

The old woman was for the time being almost as much disappointed as
relieved by the equanimity with which Ody had received her tidings; yet
if she had but known, they had not failed to produce a strong sensation.
Only she never thought of considering how they might affect that quare
big gawk Hugh McInerney. What did occur to her in his connection as he
begun to trudge alongside her after the pony, was that "he was as ugly
as if he had been bespoke." For Hugh's long tramp under the sultry sun
had scorched him a deeper and more uniform red brick than u