“Will you, indeed?” said Norah, with some heat, yet laughing. “You’re going to lend me Garryowen—you said so!”
“Garryowen!” said the owner of that proud steed mournfully. “Poor old Garryowen’s tail will be hopelessly out of joint. One thing, I’ll be able to ride him myself—being of a meek disposition!” His eyes twinkled.
Two red spots suddenly flamed into Norah’s face.
“Dad! You don’t mean——” She stopped, looking at him uncertainly.
“There’s something of a pony there,” said Mr. Linton, his keen eyes watching her through his smile. “An ownerless one—wi’ a long pedigree! I looked eight months before I found him. His name’s Bosun, Norah, and he wants an owner.”
There was a mist before Norah’s eyes. She tried to speak, but her head went down again upon the broad shoulder near her. A muffled word escaped her, which sounded like, “Bricks!” Norah was least eloquent when most moved.
Jim patted her shoulder hard, and said, “Buck up, old chap!” being also a person of few words. For there had been another pony of Norah’s—a most dear pony, who now slept very quietly under a cairn of stones on a rough hillside. Not one of those three, who were mates, could forget.
From the corridor Wally’s voice came, gently consolatory.
“I think they’ve all been kidnapped,” he was explaining. “Many a little hungry kidnapper would think Jim quite a treat! You and I seem left alone in this pathless forest, and probably the birds will find us, and cover us with leaves. Don’t let it worry you—I believe the leaves are quite comfortable!”
“Come in, Wally, you ass!” said Jim, laughing. “He may come in, Dad——?”