"Do you not remember," she said, turning to Mr. Plunkett, "at the end, before they went away, Pat O'Toole said he would be revenged, because you struck him?"
"Pat O'Toole!" exclaimed Mr. Blair. "Why, Plunkett, you forgot to mention this."
"I am sorry," replied Mr. Plunkett, feeling annoyed with himself for not having been strictly business-like. "I mentioned that I thrashed a boy, but I did not know his name, and I paid little attention to the threat."
"But," said Nessa, "this boy does not look much bigger than Murtagh; he has black hair, too, and I think he had a gray jacket yesterday. Mrs. Plunkett might easily have been mistaken. And, besides," she continued, "Murtagh could not have done it. Only one of those people would have done a thing so cowardly and so cruel."
"I think you are right, my dear," said her uncle, gravely. "Plunkett, this alters the affair," he said, turning to Mr. Plunkett. "I can do no more till I see this boy. Will you send for him? I should like to speak to him after breakfast. You may go now," he added, speaking to Murtagh. "I shall want you again. You are of my opinion, are you not, Plunkett?"
"No, sir," replied Mr. Plunkett, firmly. "My opinion is in no way altered."
Murtagh was in despair at the new turn affairs were taking.
"But Pat's four years older than me," he stammered, "and he's not a bit like me; is he, Winnie?"
Mr. Plunkett was looking at him coldly. "I quite agree with you," he said.
As they left the room Frankie hurried to seize Murtagh's arm, exclaiming, "I say, Myrrh, old fellow, what a shame!" But his mother contradicted him flatly.