aining!" replied Lanty in astonishment. "Why, I thought he
had nothing but the grey mare with the black legs."

"And sure, if he hasn't," responded Kerry crankily, "couldn't he buy
them when he wants them."

"Oh, that's it," said the other, laughing to himself. "No doubt of it
Kerry. Money will do many a thing."

"Oh, it's wishing it I am for money! Bad luck to the peace or ease I
ever seen since they became fond of money. I remember the time it was,
'Kerry go down and bring this, or take that,' and devil a more about it;
and lashings of every thing there was. See now! if the horses could eat
pease pudding, and drink punch, they'd got it for askin'; but now it's
all for saving, and saving. And sure, what's the use of goold? God be
good to us, as I heard Father Luke say, he'd do as much for fifteen
shillings as for fifty pounds, av it was a poor boy wanted it."

"What nonsense are you talking, you old sinner, about saving. Why man,
they haven't got as much as they could bless themselves on, among them
all. You needn't be angry, Kerry. It's not Lanty Lawler you can humbug
that way. Is there an acre of the estate their own now? Not if every
perch of it made four, it wouldn't pay the money they owe."

"And if they do," rejoined Kerry indignantly, "who has a better right,
tell me that? Is it an O'Donoghue would be behind the rest of the
country--begorra, ye're bould to come up here and tell us that."

"I'm not telling you any thing of the kind--I'm saying that if they are
ruined entirely--"

"Arrah! don't provoke me. Take your baste and go, in God's name."

And so saying, Kerry, whose patience was fast ebbing, pushed wide
the stable-door, and pointed to the stall where Lanty's hackney was
standing.

"Bring out that grey mare, Master Kerry," said Lanty in a tone of easy
insolence, purposely assumed to provoke the old huntsman's anger,
"Bring her out here."

"And what for, would I bring her out?"

"May be I'll tell you afterwards," was the reply. "Just do as I say,
now."

"The devil a one o' me will touch the beast at your bidding; and what's
more, I'll not let yourself lay a finger on her."

"Be quiet, you old fool," said a deep voice behind him. He turned, and
there stood Mark O'Donoghue himself, pale and haggard after his night's
excess. "Be quiet, I say. The mare is his--let him have her."

"Blessed Virgin!" exclaimed Kerry, "here's the hunting season beginning,
and sorrow thing you'll have to put a saddle