"I'm very pleased to see you out, Mr. Coppinger," Father David began, the kindly little blue eyes twinkling deep in his red face, confirming the assurance imparted by his extensive smile, that his friendship was still unshaken, "You've been missing some nice hunts."
"I've been too hard worked to get out, Father," apologised Larry.
"Ah, otherwise engaged, maybe?" said Father David, with a facetious stress on the word engaged. "I was greatly put out over the election," he continued. "Tell me now, why didn't the Unionists support you? I noticed that our worthy M.F.H. came to record his vote, but your cousin, the late M.F.H., was, as they say, conspicuous by his absence."
"He's quite an invalid now," said Larry shortly.
"Indeed? Indeed? And is that the case? I'm grieved to hear it!" Father David pressed the stout cob nearer to Joker, and murmured very confidentially. "I've known you since your boyhood I may say, Mr. Coppinger, and you will not consider me impertinent speaking to you. But could you tell me is it a fact what I'm 'hearing about the good Major—you, no doubt, have prior information——"
"I think that's very unlikely," said Larry, sulkily, flushing as he spoke.
Father David eyed Larry cautiously, and began to wonder if something he had been told not long since were true.
In Ireland, it may confidently be said, all things are known to the poor people, and a brief consideration of this position will show, that this being so, there is but little that is unknown to the Church.
"Well, Mr. Coppinger," Father Hogan resumed, "I'm told—only told, mind you—that the Major had Mount Music and the demesne advertised on the English papers——"
"Good God!" exclaimed Larry, startled out of his sulk; "to sell?"