Now, small as the aforesaid face was, it contrived, within its limits, to exhibit an expression of unqualified fear. I had no time, however, to give a second look, when I jumped into the phaeton and seized the reins. Mike sprang up behind at a look from me, and without speaking a word, the stablemen and helpers flew right and left. The chestnuts, seeing all free before them, made one tremendous plunge, carrying the fore-carriage clear off the ground, and straining every nut, bolt, screw, and strap about us with the effort.
“They’re off now,” cried Mickey.
“Yes, they are off now,” said Baby. “Keep them going.”
Nothing could be easier to follow than this advice; and in fact so little merit had I in obeying it, that I never spoke a word. Down the avenue we went, at the speed of lightning, the stones and the water from the late rain flying and splashing about us. In one series of plunges, agreeably diversified by a strong bang upon the splash-board, we reached the gate. Before I had time to utter a prayer for our safety, we were through and fairly upon the high road.
“Musha, but the master’s mad!” cried the old dame of the gate-lodge; “he wasn’t out of this gate for a year and a half, and look now—”
The rest was lost in the clear ringing laugh of Baby, who clapped her hands in ecstasy and delight.
“What a spanking pair they are! I suppose you wouldn’t let me get my hand on them?” said she, making a gesture as if to take the reins.
“Heaven forbid, my dear!” said I; “they’ve nearly pulled my wrists off already.”
Our road, like many in the west of Ireland, lay through a level tract of bog; deep ditches, half filled with water, on either side of us, but, fortunately, neither hill nor valley for several miles.
“There’s the mail,” said Baby, pointing to a dark speck at a long distance off.