“IF YE BATE HIM ANY MORE HE’LL LIE DOWN.”
across the car towards me. As she spoke, the car gave a lurch and came to a standstill at the edge of the pool. Apparently the yellow horse was thirsty. He was with difficulty dragged into the middle of the road again, but beyond the pool he refused to go. The boy got down with the air of one used to these things.
“If ye bate him any more he’ll lie down,” he said to my cousin. “I’ll go to the house beyond and gether a couple o’ the neighbours.”
The neighbours—that is to say, the whole of the inhabitants of the house—turned out with enthusiasm, and, having put stones behind the wheels, addressed themselves to the yellow horse with strange oaths and with many varieties of sticks.
“’Tis little he cares for yer bating,” screamed the mother after several minutes of struggle. “Let him dhrink his fill o’ the pool and he’ll go to America for ye.”
We thought that on the whole we should prefer to return to Galway, and though assured by the boy of ultimate victory, we turned and made for the town on foot.