A cheerful luncheon with agreeable people will banish any amount of spooks. It is so in this case. Wingfield could never be called a lonely place. Each of its fair chatelaines has a pet dog of her own and there are half a dozen stray dogs belonging to no one and every one. They are not allowed in any room unless they find the door open and in Ireland doors are rarely closed. If the dining-room door is open at meal-time and they about, it's first come first served, with odds on the dogs,—ditto at tea-time,—in fact, any old time or meal, and there are dogs enough to fill all vacancies and be present upon all occasions.
It is a merry meal we have, but the best of things must end and so we rise to depart. As I step forward to open the door for the ladies I find the knob gone and the act impossible; but we troop around by another way and settle ourselves before a bright fire in the drawing-room.
We are told by our hostess that the parson came to call the other day. The doorbell was broken but the door open. Upon entering the drawing-room and closing the door the knob came off in his hand. In the meantime numbers of dogs had collected in the hall. Remembering that the family were probably all out, he went to the bell to summon help, when that handle came off also; going to the window to get out, he could not keep it up until he had called into service a small table; thus he managed to tumble out on to the lawn amidst ten or a dozen barking dogs not at that moment on duty inside. He has not called since.
However to my thinking Irish dogs are good-natured.
Warm-hearted hospitality reigns in that house and may good luck and happiness for ever abide therewith.
After luncheon we start again with our fair guides on a visit to another famous house, Ffranckfort Castle, some eleven miles away, a veritable moated grange owned by Major Rolleston.
Our way lies through the forest. There are few hills hereabouts and no sign-posts to any of the roads, so that one might well lose the route, and but for our fair companions we certainly should have done so several times since we lost sight of the hill of the fairies and entered these labyrinths of the forest.
Turning at last through an ancient gateway, we see through the vistas of the trees and on a level stretch of ground a great enclosure some hundreds of yards each way surrounded by a high stone wall, through whose pointed gateway there are glimpses of a castellated mansion. As we draw nearer a moat full of water discloses itself around the outer wall, and rumbling over a drawbridge which has long since forgotten its function, we enter the enclosure.