“Come, Baby, are you ready?”
“All right, sir,” said she, touching her cap knowingly with her forefinger.
“Will the tackle hold, Mike?” said I.
“We’ll take this with us, at any rate,” pointing, as he spoke, to a considerable coil of rope, a hammer, and a basket of nails, he carried on his arm. “It’s the break harness we have, and it ought to be strong enough; but sure if the thunder comes on again, they’d smash a chain cable.”
“Now, Charley,” cried Baby, “keep their heads straight; for when they go that way, they mean going.”
“Well, Baby, let’s start; but pray remember one thing,—if I’m not as agreeable on the journey as I ought to be, if I don’t say as many pretty things to my pretty coz, it’s because these confounded beasts will give me as much as I can do.”
“Oh, yes, look after the cattle, and take another time for squeezing my hand. I say, Charley, you’d like to smoke, now, wouldn’t you? If so, don’t mind me.”
“A thousand thanks for thinking of it; but I’ll not commit such a trespass on good breeding.”
When we reached the door, the prospect looked dark and dismal enough. The rain had almost ceased, but masses of black clouds were hurrying across the sky, and the low rumbling noise of a gathering storm crept along the ground. Our panting equipage, with its two mounted grooms behind,—for to provide against all accident, Mike ordered two such to follow us,—stood in waiting. Miss Blake’s horse, held by the smallest imaginable bit of boyhood, bringing up the rear.
“Look at Paddy Byrne’s face,” said Baby, directing my attention to the little individual in question.