Still shaking from head to foot, and without turning her eyes, she replied:
"A small piece to the north. The house on the bare rock."
The situation showed no symptom of expansion; I faltered thanks to her profile and returned to Flurry.
The house of David Courtney produced David Courtney's large and handsome wife, who told us that Himself was gone to a funeral, and all that was in the village was gone to it, but there was a couple of the boys below in the bog.
"What have they done with those cubs?" asked Flurry.
Mrs. Courtney shot at him a dark-blue side-glance, indulgent and amused, and, advancing to the edge of her rock terrace, made a trumpet of her hands and projected a long call down the valley.
"Mikeen! Con! Come hither!"
From a brown patch in the green below came a far-away response, and we presently saw two tall lads coming towards us, running up the hill as smoothly and easily as a couple of hounds. Their legs were bare and stained with bog-mould, they were young and light and radiant as the May weather.
I did not withhold my opinion of them from their proprietor.
"Why, then, I have six more as good as them!" replied Mrs. Courtney, her hands on her hips.