IN THE ROAR OF THE SEA ii 



other Frenchs) have trained many a winner on 

 the four-mile track. Once upon a time those 

 big stables there at the back of Drumgool House 

 were filled with horses. Once upon a time — is not 

 that the sorrowful motto of Ireland? 



This morning, as beautiful a September morning 

 as one could wish to see, a bath-chair, drawn by a 

 spirited-looking donkey, stood at the front steps of 

 Drumgool House. 



By the donkey's head Moriarty, a long, foxy, 

 evil-looking personage in leggings, stood with a 

 blackthorn stick in his hand and a straw in his 

 mouth. He was holding the donkey by the bridle 

 whilst Miss French was being assisted into the 

 bath-chair by Mrs DriscoU, the cook and general 

 factotum of the French household. 



Miss French had on a black felt hat adorned 

 with a dilapidated ostrich feather. Her pale, 

 inconsiderable face and large dark eyes had a 

 decidedly elfish look seen under this structure. 

 She had also on a cloak, fastened at the neck by a 

 Tara brooch, and Mrs Driscoll was wrapping a 

 grebe boa round her neck, though the day was 

 warm enough in all conscience. 



Miss French had a weakness of the spine which 

 affected her legs. The doctors had given this con- 

 dition a long Latin name, but the country people 

 knew what was wrong with the child much better 

 than the doctors. She was a changeHng. Had 

 Miss French been born of poor folk a hundred 

 years ago she would have undoubtedly met with 



