THE MEET OF THE HOUNDS 109 



comes within five miles of Drumgool I'll put a 

 bullet in him, or my name's not Michael 

 French." 



They rode on through the grey, still day. Now 

 and again a whiff of turf smoke from a cabin by the 

 way made the air delicious; over the black bog 

 patches and wild, broken land a soft wind had 

 risen, blowing from the south and bringing with 

 it the scent of the earth, and far ahead of them a 

 trace of smoke from the chimneys of Cloyne went 

 up against the background of hills. 



They stopped at the station inn at Cloyne and 

 put the horses up. French ordered some bread 

 and cheese. " And now," said he, " whilst they're 

 getting it ready, would you Hke to see a real old 

 Irish cabin? I'll tpvke you to see old Mrs Moriarty 

 down the road, and you can amuse yourself talk- 

 ing to her for a minute whilst I run in and see 

 James, my agent. Mrs Moriarty is a witch, so 

 they say, but she's true to the Frenchs. She 

 was a kitchen-maid at Drumgool in my grand- 

 father's time. She beHeves in fairies and 

 leprachauns, and all that nonsense. Here we 

 are." 



lie stopped at the door of a cabin a hundred 

 yards away from the inn and knocked; then, 

 without waiting for an answer, he lifted the latch 

 and opened the door. 



" Are you there, Kate? " cried he into the dark 

 interior of the place. 



" Sure, and where else would I be? " replied a 



