"I swear by all's blue," shrieked the girl. "Anything! Quick! Push her off, or we'll be over."
"Faith, and that was a near shave," said Mr. Giveen, shoving the boat off with an oar.
He got the sculls in the rowlocks, and a few strokes brought them out under the arch into daylight again.
"Mind, you've sworn," said Mr. Giveen, who evidently had a very present and wholesome dread of his cousin, Michael French.
"Don't speak to me," replied his charge, whose lips were dry, but whose terror had now, on finding herself in comparative safety, turned into burning wrath. "Don't speak to me, you coward! You—you beast—or I'll hit you with this."
A boat-hook of ash and phosphor-bronze lay at her feet, and she seized it.
Mr. Giveen eyed the boat-hook. It did not promise kisses on landing, but it was a very efficient persuader, in its way, to a swift return.
* * * * * * *
Now, Mr. French, that day after luncheon, had ridden into Drumboyne about some pigs he was anxious to sell. He had failed to come to terms with the pig merchant, and had returned out of temper.