“Hear it? Hear what?”
“It!” cried Pat. “There’s no mistake this time.”
“O, come, Pat, none of that nonsense. That does very well for the little boys; but I understand it all.”
“Didn’t ye hair it?” cried Pat. “It nairly blew me head off, so it did. An doun hair I coom wid wan lape, so I did—an it afther me.”
“It? What It?”
“Shure you know what.”
“You don’t mean that rubbish about a ghost. I know all about that. You needn’t talk to me that way.”
At this moment the distant bray of the donkey sounded once more. Pat clutched Bart’s arm, and cried,—
“There it is agin. It’s a coomin. O, I knowed it.”
“That!” said Bart, opening the door and listening. “Why, that’s only the bray of a donkey. You’ve heard it often enough—-haven’t you?”