‘Your turnips!’ cried Nina contemptuously.
‘Why not? If you were a queen, would you not have to think of those who depended on you for support and protection? And how should I forget my poor heifers and my calves—calves of very tender years some of them—and all with as great desire to fatten themselves as any of us have to do what will as probably lead to our destruction?’
‘You’re not going to have the rain, anyhow,’ said Kearney; ‘and you’ll not be sorry, Nina, for you wanted a fine day to finish your sketch of Croghan Castle.’
‘Oh! by the way, has old Bob recovered from his lameness yet, to be fit to be driven?’
‘Ask Kitty there; she can tell you, perhaps.’
‘Well, I don’t think I’d harness him yet. The smith has pinched him in the off fore-foot, and he goes tender still.’
‘So do I when I go afoot, for I hate it,’ cried Nina; ‘and I want a day in the open air, and I want to finish my old Castle of Croghan—and last of all,’ whispered she in Kate’s ear, ‘I want to show my distinguished friend Mr. Walpole that the prospect of a visit from him does not induce me to keep the house. So that, from all the wants put together, I shall take an early breakfast, and start to-morrow for Cruhan—is not that the name of the little village in the bog?’
‘That’s Miss Betty’s own townland—though I don’t know she’s much the richer of her tenants,’ said Kearney, laughing. ‘The oldest inhabitants never remember a rent-day.’
‘What a happy set of people!’
‘Just the reverse. You never saw misery till you saw them. There is not a cabin fit for a human being, nor is there one creature in the place with enough rags to cover him.’