12 STRAY-AWAYS 



It was a minor air, that swayed in low and persistent 

 dejection. There was a pause, while the tin cans 

 clanked again in time to a jovial footstep, and I saw 

 the songster at the edge of the river. She slapped 

 her cans on to the water, and the stream plunged 

 into them and pulled them under, and she pulled 

 them forth from it easily, though she was slight, with 

 small, fine hands. She sat down at the brink and 

 began to scour a wooden bowl with river sand and 

 a wisp of straw, lilting " Lanigan's Ball," and scouring 

 in time to its elastic rhythm. A young man in a 

 creamy flannel bauneen and a soft black hat came 

 riding do"\vn the opposite bank on a bare-backed, 

 yellow Connemara pony, and splashed out into mid- 

 stream (and, incidentally, into the spawning-bed that 

 there resided). The yellow pony stretched forth her 

 neck and laid her black lip on the sliding current. 

 " Lanigan's Ball " did not cease. 



" Mary Ellen," said the young man, leaning back 

 with his hand on the mare's quarter while she drew 

 the water up her long throat, " I'm goin' to be married 

 this Shraft, and I'll give you the preference." 



Mary Ellen glanced up at him with ethereal gi*ey 

 eyes, from under wisps of auburn hair. 



" Thank ye, Johnny, I'd sooner stay as I am," she 

 replied, as if she were declining the loan of an umbrella, 

 and instantly and blithely resumed the interrupted 

 phrase of " Lanigan's Ball," with its whirling sand and 

 straw obligato. 



The yellow pony splashed and stumbled through 

 the spawning-bed, and returned to the further shore. 



" Maybe it's looking for me on Shrove Tuesday 

 you'll be," said her rider, over his shoulder, as he 

 ascended the opposite bank. 



Mary Ellen lilted and scoured, and in due season 

 returned to the house. 



