“Think, if we were running away, if we were chased, and if we found a tree to hide in, think how glad we would be to have some one to—to help us.”
“Listen to her voice!” came a voice from the tree that seemed communing with itself. “Sure, it’s like running wather over pebbles to hear her.”
“It would be unlucky for us,” went on she, “not to help a person who——”
“Yes, it would,” said Dicky. “Sit down. All right—we’ll do what we can for you.”
“God in hivin bless you; may God in hivin rain His blessin’s on you; may the saints make your bed, and the howly angels smooth your pillas; may the——”
“Shut up!” said Mr Fanshawe.
“Listen!” said Violet.
Voices were audible in the wood close by.
“Swear be all’s blew you saw me runnin’ towards Castle Knock,” came the voice, muted and confidential.
“Hold your beastly tongue,” replied Mr Fanshawe, irritated at the way in which the rascal had made him a tool to assist his flight, and the familiar tone of his voice.