KATHLEEN EARNS A POUND
“There’s to be a big meet to-day,” Patrick said, as Danny and Kathleen were getting ready to start for the bog the next morning.
There had been a shower or two in the night, and raindrops sparkled on every blade of grass and twinkled among the green leaves of the trees; but the sun was breaking through the clouds and promised a fair day for the turf-cutting.
It was, indeed, a fair day and a fair green country, and Patrick, who had started for the barn with his milk pails, began singing in his hearty voice:
“Oh, Ireland, isn’t it grand you look,
Like a bride in her rich adornin’!
And with all the pent-up love of my heart,
I bid you the top of the mornin’.”
“What is a meet?” Kathleen asked, as she and her brother trudged down the road to the bog.
“It’s a hunting-party, and the ladies and gentlemen from the country round about meet together for it,” Danny answered, stopping a moment to look at the tiny green sloes on the blackthorn hedge.