"Drive me to the cliffs!"
Moriarty made no reply, but struck the donkey another drum-sounding blow on the ribs, and, pulling at its bridle, turned the vehicle in the direction indicated.
"You'll be afther loosin' thim things," said Moriarty, without turning his head, as he toiled beside the donkey up the steep cliff path.
"I don't care if I do," said Miss French. "Besides, we can pick them up as we go back. Come off!"
She was apostrophising the boa. The big hat, the flap of which, falling on the ground, had drawn Moriarty's attention, was now followed by the boa, and Miss French, free of her lendings all but the cloak, sat up, a much more presentable and childlike figure, the wind blowing amid her curls, and her brown, seaweed-coloured eyes full of light and mischief.
"Now, Moriarty," said Miss French, when she had cleared herself sufficiently for action, "gimme the reins."
Moriarty unwisped the reins from the saddle of the harness and placed them in the small hands of his mistress, who, as an afterthought, had unlatched the Tara brooch and slipped off the cloak.
"Arrah! what have yiz been afther?" said Moriarty, looking back at the strewn garments as though he had only just discovered what the child had been doing. "Glory be to God! if you haven't left the half of yourself behint you on the road. Sure, what way is that to be behavin'? Now, look here, and I'll tell you for onct and for good, if you let another stitch off you, back yiz'll go, donkey and all, and its Mrs. Driscoll will give you the dhressin'. Musha! but you're more thrubble than all me money. Let up wid thim reins and don't be jibbin' the donkey's mouth!"
The last sentence was given in a shout as he ran to the donkey's head just in time to avert disaster.
Moriarty sometimes spoke to Miss French as though she were a dog, sometimes as though she were a horse, sometimes as though she were his young mistress. Never disrespectfully. It is only an Irish servant that can talk to a superior like this and in so many ways.