"I wish to goodness to-morrow was come then!" ejaculated Bobbo, who remembered how very unpleasant the policeman's hand had felt on his shoulder that evening on the garden gate.
In this gloomy frame of mind they reached the island. Theresa had recovered from her terrors of the night before, and now feared only her stepfather.
It was impossible to comfort her, and notwithstanding Winnie's and Murtagh's confident assurances that everything would be settled on the morrow, the little party that dined on the island that day was very dreary and dismal.
The children stayed as long as they could to keep poor Theresa company, but towards four o'clock they thought it best to go and begin their watch for Mr. Plunkett.
"You mustn't expect us early to-morrow, Theresa," said Winnie; "on Sunday morning we can't get out before breakfast, because Donnie always comes and pomatums all our heads. Then we're dressed for church; then there's church; then there's dinner—oh, dear! I wish Sunday didn't come so often; we shan't be able to get up till the afternoon."
"Mornin' or evenin' it don't matter; I don't believe yez'll ever be able to get the rent," replied Theresa, disconsolately; and in that desponding condition they were obliged to leave her.
They wandered about down in the park, listening anxiously for the sound of Black Shandy's hoofs. The wind was very cold, and towards six o'clock the evening closed in dark and wet. Their teeth chattered and their clothes were soon soaked with rain. Still it was no use going home till they had seen Mr. Plunkett.
At last there was a sound of footsteps. The children ran eagerly forward in the hope that it might be Mr. Plunkett for some reason returning on foot, but it turned out to be a laborer going home from his work.
"Whatever are ye doing out here in the rain?" he exclaimed in surprise.
"We're waiting for Mr. Plunkett," replied Murtagh; "we want to speak to him."