The Tortoise stole round the end of the quay while he spoke. Kinsella eyed her. He noticed at once that Priscilla was steering with an oar. In his acutely suspicious mood every trifle was a matter for investigation.
“What’s wrong with her,” he said, “that she wouldn’t steer with the rudder when she has one?”
“It might be,” said Peter Walsh, “that she’s lost it. You couldn’t tell what the likes of her would do.”
“She was in trouble this morning when I seen her,” said Kinsella, “but she had the rudder then.”
Priscilla hailed them from the boat
“Hullo, Peter!” she shouted. “Go down to the slip and be ready to take the boat. Have you the bath chair ready?”
“I have, Miss. It’s there standing beside the slip where you left it this morning. Who’d touch the like? What’s happened the rudder?”
“Iron’s broken,” said Priscilla, “and it must be mended tonight. I say, Kinsella, Jimmy’s leg isn’t near as bad as you’d think it would be, after having the horn of a wild bull run through it.”
“It wasn’t a bull at all, Miss, but a heifer.”
“I don’t see that it makes much difference which it was,” said Priscilla.