"The rogue put his hand in the sack and drew out a yellow mongrel dog.
"'Where did ye get that?' says I.
"'Shure didn't I borry it?' says he.
"'And who did ye borrow it from?' says I.
"'From Misther Flynn, no less,' says he. ''Tis his little foxey pet dog.'
"'Does Mr. Flynn know you borrowed it from him?' says I.
"'Begob that he does not,' says he. 'Mr. Flynn is beyond in Youghal and I borryed it in the dark dead of night over the yard wall. Faith, he'll run home like a flick of lightning, he's that scared, the same dog.'
"'Ye did well,' said I; 'but will the hounds chase him?'
"'That they will, Sor. What with foxes one day, stags the next and hares the next, there's sorra a born thing they wouldn't hunt given there's smell enough in it,' says the lad. 'Have ye the laste little trace of aniseed in the house that you could drench the crature with the way the houn's would folly him?'
"Divil a drop of aniseed or anything else had I on the place, and I stood there scratching my ear with my crop wondering what to do, when suddenly I remembered that relic of my courting days, 'Florazora.' 'I have it,' I said; 'I've got something that'll fix that hare all right.'