The moat proper was a narrow strip of water which encircled the Hall and had been placed there by the first Carmody in the days when householders believed in making things difficult for their visitors. With the gradual spread of peace throughout the land its original purposes had been forgotten, and later members of the family had broadened it and added to it and tinkered with it and sprinkled it with little islands with the view of converting it into something resembling as nearly as possible an ornamental lake. Apparently it came to an end at the spot where a mass of yew trees stood forbiddingly in a gloomy row, that haunted spot which Pat as a child had named Ghost Corner; but if you approached this corner intrepidly you found there a narrow channel. Which navigated, you came into a winding stream which led past meadows and under bridges to the upper reaches of the Skirme.
"How old were you, Johnnie, when you were first brave enough to come past Ghost Corner at night all by yourself?" asked Pat.
"Sixteen."
"I bet you were much more than that."
"I did it on my sixteenth birthday."
Pat stretched out a hand and the branches brushed her fingers.
"I wouldn't do it even now," she said. "I know perfectly well a skinny arm covered with black hair would come out of the yews and grab me. There's something that looks like a skinny arm hovering at the back of your neck now, Johnnie. What made you such a hero that particular day?"
"You had betted me I wouldn't, if you remember."
"I don't remember. Did I?"
"Well, you egged me on with taunts."