It was not so, however, because as they crested the slope and looked into the little hollow beyond, they saw a central wooden building, hall or mission or church, and people crowding like flies.
But Tom turned up to Paddy's white inn, up the side slope. He was remorseful about having galloped the horses at the beginning of such a long trip. The inn seemed deserted. Tom coo-eeed! but there was no answer.
"All shut up!" he said. "What's that paper on the door?"
Jack got down and walked stiffly to the door, for the ride had been long and hard and downhill, and his knees were hurting. "'Gone to the wedin be ome soon P. O. T.'" he read. "What is P. O. T.?" he asked.
"What I stand in need of," said the amazing Tom.
They were just turning their horses towards the stable when, with a racket and a canter, an urchin drove round from the yard in a pitch-black wicker chaise, a bone-white, careworn horse slopping between the shafts.
"You two blokes," yelled the urchin, "'d better get on th' trail for th' church, else Father Prendy 'll be on y' tail, I tell y'."
"What's up?" shouted Tom.
"I'm just off fer th' bride. Ol' Nick 'ere 'eld me up runnin' away from me in the paddock."
Tom grinned, the outfit swept past. Our heroes took their horses to the stable and settled them down conscientiously. Then they set off, glad to be on foot, down to the church.