She jumped out of the carriage and ran down the railway embankment. Sir James and the engine driver watched her anxiously. “I wouldn’t wonder,” said Michael, “but it might be my wife she’s after.”
He was quite right. Five minutes later, Molly and the engine driver’s wife were climbing the embankment together.
“I don’t see,” said Sir James, “what your wife has to do with the matter.”
“By this time to-morrow,” said Michael, “you will see; if so be you’re married by then, which is what Miss Molly said you will be.”
His wife, with Molly after her, climbed into the carriage.
“Michael,” she said, “did the young lady tell you she’s to be married to-morrow?”
“She did tell me,” he said, “and I’m sorry for her. But what can I do? If I was to take that engine into Dunadea they’d call me a blackleg the longest day ever I lived.”
“I’d call you something a mighty deal worse if you don’t,” said his wife. “You and your strikes! Strikes, Moyah! And a young lady wanting to be married!”
Michael turned apologetically to Sir James.
“Women does be terrible set on weddings,” he said, “and that’s a fact.”