CHAPTER IX. A MOONLIGHT EXPEDITION.
It was a lovely night when I set out with the merrymakers to the bog in search of peat. Barney was full of drollery, a typical Irish lad such as I had not seen in Wicklow before; and Moira, though at first fulfilling Winifred's predictions by sitting silently with her heels kicking together where they hung out of the cart, and her head hanging down, after a while awoke to the spirit of fun and frolic that was abroad.
"Ah, then, Danny avick, will you move on!" cried Barney to the horse. "Is it standin' still you'd be, you Tory, and Miss Winifred in the cart and the strange lady from America?"
The horse seemed moved by this adjuration, as well as by a touch of the whip, and trotted along the shining, silent road.
"I should enjoy a run with Moira on this road!" said Winifred.
"Get down, then, and have your run," I answered. "Barney and I will easily keep you in sight."
"You will not mind if I leave you for a little while?" asked Winifred.
"No, indeed, dear. Barney and I will entertain each other."
Barney pulled up the horse.
"Be still, you spalpeen," he cried, "and let Miss Winifred down!"