“I—I sent to Dublin for it—to Lesage’s, in Sackville Street.”
“I have no patience with the fellow for not coming over to see this joyous place,” said the priest, “and I really can’t understand his refusal.”
Miss Juey couldn’t understand it either, but held her peace.
According to Murty Mulligan’s veterinary opinion, the pony was still unfit to travel.
“It’s meself that’s watchin’ her like a magpie forninst a marrabone; but she is dawny still, the crayture! an’ it wud be a sin for to ax her to thravel for a cupple o’ days more, anyhow, your riverince.”
“Why, her knees are quite well, Murty.”
“But she’s wake, sir—as wake as Mrs. Clancy’s tay on the third wettin’—an’ I’m afeard for to thrust her; more betoken, yer riverince”—in a low, confidential tone—“she’s gettin’ a bellyful av the finest oats in the barony, that will stand to her bravely while she’s raisin’ her winther coat.”
Mr. Brown asked Father Maurice a considerable number of questions anent his visit, and was particularly anxious in reference to the departure of Mr. Jyvecote.
“He told me himself that he would leave Westport to-morrow by the night train for Dublin, in order to catch the early boat that leaves Kingston for Holyhead.”
Upon the following morning the artist, slinging his knapsack across his back, started in the direction of the Glendhanarrahsheen valley.