Bridget and Nora began to climb up a very steep and narrow winding path. It was nothing more than a grass path in the midst of a lot of rock and underwood, but the girls were like young chamois, and leaped over such obstacles with the lightness of fawns. Presently they arrived at the back entrance of Cronane, the Murphys' decidedly dilapidated residence. They had to cross a courtyard covered with rough cobbles and in a sad state of neglect and mess. Some pigs were wallowing in the mire in one corner, and a rough pony was tethered to a post not far off; he was endeavoring, with painful insistence, to reach a clump of hay which was sticking out of a hayrick a foot or two away. Nora, seeing his wistful eyes, sprang forward, pulled a great handful of the hay, and held it to his mouth. The little creature almost whinnied with delight.
“There you are,” said Bridget. “What right have you to give our hay to that pony?”
“Oh, nonsense,” said Nora; “the heart in him was starving.” She flung her arms round the pony's neck, pressed a kiss on his forehead, and continued to cross the yard with Biddy. Two or three ragged urchins soon impeded their path; one of them was the redoubtable Neil, the other Mike.
“Is it to-morrow night you want the boat, Miss Biddy?” said Neil.
Bridget dropped her voice to a whisper.
“Look here, Neil,” she said, “mum's the word; you are not to let it out to a soul. You and Mike shall come with us, and Miss Nora is coming too.”
Neil cast a bashful and admiring glance at handsome Nora, as she stood very erect by Biddy's side.
“All right, miss,” he said.
“At ten o'clock,” said Bridget; “have the boat in the cove then, and we'll be down there and ready.”
“But they say, miss, that the Banshee is out on the nights when the moon is at the full.”