Barry was palpably flattered, and grinned, and looked at Helen out of the corner of his left eye to see if she was impressed, as much as to say, "What do you think of that?"—But, unfortunately, she was grinning also.
"Indeed, it's bitterly cold in winter," put in Dido, "and I'm not a bit sorry that some one has taken your corner. With Andy in constant work, and milk, and potatoes, and a pinch of tea from us, you know you will never miss it."
"Arrah, Miss Dido! sure ye don't know what you are talking about. And how would ye? If that rapscallion gets a footing in my holding, it's ruin and destruction that's in it; just that, and no more! Why," lowering her voice mysteriously, "sure it's as good as a farm to me, darlin'! Aye, and betther; it's all in-comings, and no stock, and no rint."
This amazing confidence threw an entirely new light on the subject. Her three listeners stared at the old woman in respectful astonishment. They would have stared still more, could they have seen the comfortably-filled stocking that was hidden away under the thatch of Judy's cabin.
"Well, I can't stay here all day. I'll see what I can do for you," said Barry, abruptly. "I've important papers to sign at home, and I must be off."
The truth was, that the good gentleman was ruffled at Helen's attitude of repressed amusement, and at Dido's courageous candour; and he felt that he could not punish the offending couple more simply, or more effectually, than by removing himself, and leaving them to their own devices all through the long Sunday afternoon. He flattered himself that Miss Denis would soon learn his value.
Now Barry was the only eligible bachelor, in a neighbourhood where there were legions of girls,—and was fully sensible of his own importance. In his secret heart, he believed that he had only to ask any young woman within a radius of say twenty miles, and, in his own homely parlance, "she would be thankful to jump at him." And he felt conscious that he was dealing a cruel blow to the little circle at Crowmore when, seizing his hat and stick, and calling his dogs, he bade them a general farewell, and hurried down the steps.
His departure was the signal for the "Fancy" to take leave. Willy nilly, she escorted him to the gate,—to the intense delight of the spectators in the doorway. Vainly he tried to shake her off; vainly he increased his pace; his manœuvres were totally unavailing, his companion still trotted bare-footed beside him, gesticulating as she went with both head and hands. Her eloquence undoubtedly had its reward, for within a week "the dark man from beyond Terryscreen" had mysteriously disappeared, and she reigned in undisputed possession of her own warm corner.