MEMORIES OF THE COUNTRY PEOPLE 77 



swish go the sticks. Con Nolan beckons open 

 armed. 



" Success. Over ye go, that'll tache him an' 

 his Hkes, the dirty sort of a coward he is." 



If the hounds are not hunting and j^ou walk 

 across the next field some spokesman will follow 

 to give advice and to pocket the shilling necessary 

 in return for so much exertion. 



" Thim class of pony horses is often cowards," 

 he will confide. " He has a sunken sort of an eye 

 on him. If we had to shove him off the bank now 

 an' into the dhrain he'd be near choked below 

 an' he might be afraid to stop agin." 



You breathe a faint sight of thanksgiving. 



" Me Uncle Tom Nolan used to folly the hunt 

 reg'lar, an' he had a black cob that wouldn't 

 face wather. So what did me uncle do but he 

 tipped him into the Commogue where the banks 

 is stheep and cruisted him down the sthrame, an' 

 I declare to the Hivins that vilyin 'd lep even a 

 puddle in the road afterwards for the resht of his 

 days. He broke two sets of shafts an' he doin' it, 

 an' he trappin'. 



" What's that, yer honor ? Did it make him a 

 great wather jumper," Mat Nolan scratches his 

 head. 



" That I could not say," he adds cheerily, 

 " for he was put to postin', he went in the wind I 

 think from the could he tuk in the Commogue. 

 It was a great way to larn him. There's the road. 



