"You could motor me," she said, "to points and places. As petrol is too dear to use now we are to have out the wagonette and drive the farm horses. But wait until Dearest misses the first train to Cortra," said Gheena hopefully, "and mother takes his advice as to hiring a car to go on in, because she must have supplies for the week and the curry powder is out."
Darby put his horse up and accepted a drive to the village in Gheena's pony-trap. The pony was a creature of moods which occasionally rattled along at a gallop, and more often walked and grazed. It had a hard side to its mouth, a failing which made traffic a difficulty, and it occasionally kicked when beaten.
As they drove, Gheena explained that she had strong hopes of Whitebird being returned to her. She had written to her uncle, telling of the horse's little accomplishment, which was lying down flat at a certain signal. The grey had been brought up in a circus. He had done it once out hunting at the sound of a whistle.
"And ... Uncle Tony has learnt the whistle," said Gheena softly and with meaning.
Darby observed that he understood the sixty pounds had been carefully spent, so the money would have to be returned, and a bump stopped further conversation.
"If they won't pick up their legs in time I can't help them doing it too late and overbalancing," she said severely. "It's your own fault, Ned Kavanagh, you know Topsy."
The aggrieved Kavanagh remarked sourly that he was greatly hurted where he met the road, and that it was to fall or the loss of two good legs.
He mounted his cart again, glaring balefully at the pony.
Topsy having declined to come over, they had grazed a donkey cart, and the driver's wild swoop to save his dangling limbs had resulted in his overbalancing.
They skated off a large heap of stones and pulled up in the village, when they saw two motors outside Mrs. Weston's cottage.