“Jump down and take her head,” said the priest.
“Be the powers! I’ll have for to carry her, av we want to raich the castle to-night.”
Father Maurice dismounted, as did Murty, and, by coaxing and blandishment of every description, endeavored to induce the pony to proceed; but the animal, with its ears cocked, and trembling in every limb, refused to budge an inch.
“Och, wirra, wirra! we’re bet intirely. It’s Missis Delaney he sees, that died av the horrors this day month,” growled Mulligan.
“Silence, you jackass!” cried Father Maurice, “and help me to blindfold the pony.”
This ruse eventually succeeded, and they spun merrily along the road, the terrified animal clattering onwards at racing speed.
“This pace is dangerous, Murty,” said the priest.
“Sorra a lie in it, yer riverince.”
“Pull in.”
“I can’t hould her. She’s me hands cut aff, bad cess to her!”