"She said 'Thank God I'm not a fool!'" replied her grandson.
The proposition was unanswerable, and I took it, so to speak, lying down.
"Here!" said Flurry, summoning the pantry boy. "These horses must go in out of the rain. I'll look over there for some place I can put them."
"I see Michael got back from the funeral," I said, following Flurry across the wide and wet expanse of the yard, "I suppose the cook killed Johnny?"
"Ah, not at all," said Flurry, "anyway, my grandmother had the two of them up unpacking her trunks when I left. Here, this place looks like a stable——"
He opened a door, in front of which a cascade from a broken water-shoot was splashing noisily. The potent smell of ferrets greeted us.
Seated on the ferrets' box were Mr. De Lacy McRory, and Sybil, daughter of Alice Hervey. Apparently she had again been bitten by the ferret, but this time the bite was not on her finger.
XI
OWENEEN THE SPRAT
I was labouring under the slough of Christmas letters and bills, when my wife came in and asked me if I would take her to the Workhouse.