A frank shout of laughter, from every one in court but the victim, greeted this sally, the chorus being, as it were, barbed by a shrill crow of whooping-cough.
“Mr. Byrne!” continued Mr. Heraty without a smile, “we must call upon you again!”
Mr. Byrne’s meek scholastic face once more appeared at the rood-screen.
“Well, I should say,” he ventured decorously, “that the expression is locally applied to what I may call a plume or a feather that is worn on various parts of the sheep’s back, for a mark, as I might say, of distinction.”
“Thank you, Mr. Byrne, thank you,” said Mr. Heraty, to whose imagination a vision of a plumed or feathered sheep seemed to offer nothing unusual, “remember that now, William!”
Dr. Lyden looked at his watch.
“Don’t you think Sweeny might go on with his defence?” he remarked. “About the children, Sweeny—how many have ye?”
“I have four.”
“And how old are they?”
“There’s one o’ thim is six years an another o’ thim is seven—”