"I don't think Theresa would think it much fun, Win," said Murtagh, shaking his head. "I think we'd better get the rent. The thing is—I say! isn't that old Plunkett himself on Black Shandy?"
He pointed to the avenue, where some one on a black horse was trotting away from the house.
"It is," replied Bobbo. "He's off to the farms now!"
It was useless to run after him; what was to be done? The children looked blankly at one another. Then Rose exclaimed vehemently: "Why didn't you ask him before he went, Murtagh? It was all your plan, and now what shall we do?"
"Ask him this evening instead," replied Winnie, coolly, while Murtagh looked troubled. "Never mind, Myrrh, it'll all come right in the end, because things always do. As we can't ask him now the first thing we had better do is just to get something from Donnie that will do for Theresa's dinner, and then go up and tell her."
"Poor Theresa!" said Murtagh, "she'll be awfully disappointed."
"I wish we'd never had anything to do with her," sighed Rose.
"No," said Murtagh; "because, you know, if she hadn't met us, perhaps she'd have gone home and been killed; so, of course, it's better this way."
"Yes, but supposing we don't get the rent!" suggested Rose, dolefully.
"Oh, we must get that. Nobody could refuse it after thinking she's dead and everything. If they don't find out before to-morrow, it will be all right."