CHAPTER III 



Torrents of soft grey rain were falling 

 on Fornagh Hill. The furze-bushes were 

 grey with it, the slatey walls gleamed 

 darkly, the streams rushed in yellow fury 

 over the ledges of rock. The new red coat 

 of Dan O'Driscoll the huntsman (familiarly 

 known as Danny- 0) had purple patches on 

 it where the wet had soaked through, and, 

 as he himself expressed it to one of his 

 friends, " every step he'd take, the wather 

 was gabblin' in his boots.'' At the time of 

 this remark, he was on foot in the centre of 

 a crowd of men and boys, who had appar- 

 ently risen from the hillside to point out 

 the precise spot where the fox had gone to 

 ground. 



" 'Tis within in the gully he is ! " shouted 



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