“You may—and now I’ll fetch you the money. Just wait; do you buy; give the man the thirty shillings, and a bottle of porter, and get a receipt.”
And she flew upstairs and returned with a dirty one-pound note, and ten shillings in silver. The bargain was concluded and duly “wet” by a pint of stout, and the man, before he walked off with the sack on his back, said:
“Well—good luck to yer honour! If that black horse ever comes round—mind, I’m not saying he will—ye will find ye have got grand value for yer thirty shillings; for me own part, I’m glad I’m not taking the poor baste to the hounds; and faix, even if I did, there’s little on him—he just wore himself out between being so anxious to do his best, and them corns that were killing him.”
There was a popular forge at a cross-road half a mile away from Clontra, and there Tom himself led the new purchase to have his shoes removed that same afternoon.
Old Jimmy was a good judge of horses, a gossip and a well-known character.
“’Tis Broughal’s ould bread horse!” he exclaimed. “May I never—well, ’tis a charity to take the shoes off. Faix, I know what it is—I’ve bad corns meself, and I’ll soon give him aise. A great horse!” he said, standing back and surveying the tall, emaciated animal—whose ribs were easily counted. “He’s terrible well-bred too—Broughal got him at a sale for nothing at all—but as sure as I’m a sinner, he’s a Harkaway. Will ye look at the head on him? What are ye going to do with him—is it cart, or plough?”
“He’s to have a run on the bog,” replied Tom. “He belongs to Miss Helena.”
“The Lord love her! she’s a saint! It nearly bruk me own heart to see the poor fellow limping by under two ton of a load, all this frightful hot summer. Miss Helena will get it back—and with grand interest.”
But this was not Kate’s (the cook’s) opinion, who when she heard that her mistress had bought a great spectre of a lame black horse, was very sorrowful.
“Thirty shillings, Miss Helena! The money for your new hat for the garden-party. You can’t go in the ould wan, and goodness knows what chances you’ve thrown behind ye! Well,” piously raising her hands and eyes, “sure, ’tis all the will of God.”