CHAPTER XXXIV. — A DARING DEED.
Having failed to get any help from John Finnigan, Nora returned to the Castle. As she drove quickly home she was very silent. Even loquacious Molly did not care to interrupt her thoughts. As soon as they reached the Castle she turned to her cousin and spoke quickly.
“Go to the barn and look after father, Molly. Talk as many naughty words as ever you like; make him laugh; keep him occupied. After dinner I shall probably want your aid again. In the meantime you will help me best by taking father off my hands.”
“And I desire nothing better,” answered Molly. “I love the Squire; it is the height of entertainment, as he would call it, to talk to him.”
Molly accordingly ran off. The Squire was now well enough to sit up in a great easy-chair made of straw, which had been carted over from Cronane for his special benefit, for the padded and velvet-covered chairs of the Castle would not at all have suited his inclinations. He sat back in the depths of his chair, which creaked at his every movement, and laughed long and often at Molly's stories.
“But where's Light o' the Morning herself?” he said after a pause. “Why don't she come to visit her old father? Why, it's craving for a sight of her I am.”
“I think Nora is very busy to-day,” answered Molly, “May I read the paper to you, Squire?”
“You read the paper to me?” answered Squire O'Shanaghgan. “Why, bless yer little heart, my pretty girleen, but I must decline with thanks. It is perfect torture to listen to your English accent when you are trying to do the rich Irish brogue. Irish papers should be read by Irish colleens, and then you get the flavor. But what did you say my colleen was after—business, is it? She's very fond of poking that little finger of hers into other people's pies. What is she after now at all, at all?”