the house.

"My poor girl," he had said, "you've got little enough to ate, but then
you've a beautiful view."

"Sure she strayed," said Patsy in extenuation, "because she was hungry,
the creature."

So he had not had to leave the brightly lit bog-road for that black
tunnel of trees just beyond which led to old Hercules' tomb, and the
well where the woman fell in and the fields where old Michael Halloran,
who had been steward and general overseer to the O'Harts, was reputed
to be seen night after night--hedging and fencing the lands and he
years dead.

"You was a good little goat," said Patsy in his great relief. "Come
home now and I'll milk you: and maybe that cross ould man would let me
have a sup o' tay for my supper."

He had pulled the goat down the bank into the dry ditch. It was a good
thing he had stopped to "bawl," else maybe he'd have missed the goat
who had been having her fill of Mrs. McEnroe's after-grass. Still he
wondered now at his temerity since the bawlin' might have brought
_them_ upon him disturbin' their sleep that way.

He suddenly caught the sound of horses' feet coming along the bog-road
towards him. He stopped and listened, holding firmly on to the goat.
The bog-road was light as day. Two people were walking their horses
side by side, a dog at their heels. "It'll be Mr. Terence Comerford,
an' Sir Shawn O'Gara, comin' home together," Patsy said to himself.
"What at all would be keepin' them out till this hour of the night,
unless it was to be talkin' to Bridyeen Sweeney? Quare ways young
gentlemen has that they'd be talkin' to a poor girl an' maybe turnin'
her head, let alone settin' the neighbours to talkin' about her. God
help her."

In this musing, be it said, Patsy was but repeating the talk of his
elders, although he was naturally what is called an old-fashioned child.

He crouched low in the ditch while the horses came on at a walking
pace. The riders were talking, one in a low voice, so low that Patsy
could not make out what he said. This one was slender and young. The
other, young also, but big and burly, was riding a horse which
apparently did not like the walking pace. She--it was a mare--curveted
and caracoled in the road, which was one reason why Patsy could not
hear what was being said. The boy peered out, with fear in his heart.
The knowledge of horses was born in him. His father had been
stud-groom to Mr. Comerford of Inch. By and by Patsy meant to escape