Psyche understood a buck-jump; she sat down to it with a little coo of delight, and raced once more at the fence.
In a very pale grey habit she was as sprite-like riding as on foot.
"If we do not move on," said Mr. Freyne ill-humouredly, "we shall never leave this place."
Darby thought this a sound opinion. He limped off to his horse slowly, watching with amusement Miss Delorme's spirited efforts to master the balance of a jump.
The rejected grey was brought to the step by Phil, George explaining with disgust how he had been returned for some private spite.
"The quietest soort of a horse ever I seen," said Jamesey Rourke, and whistled absently.
It was unfortunately quite like the signal which Greybird had completely at heart.
At Darby's side, Mr. Freyne was moving off, feeling that all eyes were upon him, when without warning the Greybird died for his country with extreme spirit, decanting his rider on to the wet grass.
"Oh, heavens! someone whistled!" said Gheena. "It's two whistles sharply given, and he's got it on his mind now, and he's on the croquet hoops." The grey stood up, his saddle scratched, his side smeared, with a benign expression on his good-tempered face.
"The megrums," said Rourke, excitedly catching the horse. "The megrums he has, the craythur."