“Poor boy! Poor boy! it's bitten he is, for sure.”
“Then it's yourself that's bitten me. Kirry——”
There was a little crow of gaiety. “Me? Am I the witch? You called me a fairy in the road this evening.”
“A fairy you are, girl, and a witch too; but listen, now——”
“You said I was an angel, though, at the cowhouse gable; and an angel doesn't bite.”
Then she barked like a dog, and laughed a shrill laugh like a witch, and barked again.
But Pete could bear no more. “Go on, then; go on with your capers! Go on!” he cried, in a voice of reproach. “It's not a heart that's at you at all, girl, but only a stone. You see a man going away from the island——”
“From the island?” Kate gasped.
“Middling down in the mouth, too, and plagued out of his life between the ruck of you,” continued Pete; “but God forgive you all, you can't help it.”
“Did you say you were going out of the island, Pete?”