"Oh, leave it between them, Gheena," murmured Darby wearily. "They can put it in the settlements."
Mr. Keefe, with an outburst of unwilling honesty, now drew gloomy attention to the curb.
"He has a curb," he said darkly. "It never stopped him."
"But—I thought it was a very severe bridle," said the widow vaguely, "and was two bits; and it is only wearing one at present."
"If it was a gag on his hocks it would do her," gulped Darby, when he had recovered a little and emerged from the stable he had fled into. "He wears his curb behind, Mrs. Weston, not in his mouth."
Mrs. Weston said, "What absolute nonsense!" quite huffily and patted the Commander's white nose.
"I hate a horse with a white nose, he always looks like a sheep," said Darby. "And, hello, Mrs. Delaney! How many hens has the fox eaten now?"
A little withered old woman had come into the yard, a basket in her hands.
"It is not hens I am afther, Masther Darby, but the lind of a handful of flour from Anne to save me walkin' onto the village, the Guinanes being quite run out."
But they were taking it home last night from the ship, said Gheena quickly.