126 SPORTING REMINISCENCES 



demanded a bath. Mary, the maid, a comely 

 Connemara girl, promising it immediately. 



But the day brightened, and it did not come. 

 The old tassel bell was hauled. Mary came 

 smiling. 



" It would be here now — this verra minnit." 



It came not. One of the girls dashed out in 

 to the passage to find Mary on her knees looking 

 unashamed through a keyhole. 



" One minnit, miss, one minnit," Mary turned 

 a happy face. "Ye will have it this verra minnit 

 whatever, the Captain is just steppin' oot of it." 



I often wonder if the Captain wondered why 

 two blameless young tourists should have become 

 stricken with suppressed laughter when he met 

 them at breakfast. 



Two soldier friends of mine, quartered here in 

 the nineties, had a wondrous experience seeking 

 for a lodging, though it was not in an hotel. 



They had gone down the sleepy grey old 

 Shannon, with its shimmering mud shores, to 

 shoot duck, were caught in a violent storm and 

 forced to run for shelter late at night to the clan 

 side. 



Leaving the man to secure the boat, they 

 tramped towards a house which showed light 

 and knocked at the door, to ask for chairs to sit 

 in for the night ; bed they hardly hoped for. 



They had been out for two days ; they were 

 unshaven and muddy, clad in old shooting clothes. 



