The horse, nothing loath, stood still.
Winifred leaped lightly to the ground, followed more clumsily by Moira.
"Ah, then, Moira," exclaimed her brother, "will you be all night gettin' out of the cart?"
Moira made no answer. Her red cheeks were aglow with delight at the prospect of escaping for a time from my embarrassing company and having a run along the grass-bordered road.
Winifred stopped a moment or two to pet the horse.
"Poor Danny!" she said. "Barney is always calling you names. But you don't mind; do you, Danny?"
The horse seemed to answer that he did not in the least, rubbing his nose against the child's arm in a gratified way. Then Winifred gave the word, and together the two girls were off, their happy voices coming back to us as we drove leisurely along in the soft, balmy air. They stopped now and again to pick flowers from the hedge or to seek out daisies and wild violets in the fresh grass; while Barney kept up a series of droll remarks,—sometimes addressed to the horse, sometimes to me.
"I hear you're thinking of taking a trip to America, Barney," I remarked.
"True for you, ma'am—between now and Doomsday. I'm afeard it will be that long before I get the passage money together."