62 MELTON AND HOMESPUN 



" Aye, by me sowl," responded another, " she's the 

 divil of a long-winded one, an' niver a view iv' her yet, 

 begob." 



" An' niver did I run wid a sweeter ' cry ' iv dogs; 

 musha, God bless the darhnts ! " cried a third. 



The words were scarcely uttered than hounds came to 

 an abrupt check on the banks of a small osier-fringed 

 brook, utterly at fault, and unable to puzzle out another 

 yard of the line. The welcome check allowed the Squire, 

 Timothy O'Leary, and those of the followers who had 

 managed to " stay the burst," to come up. 



" Three good miles as the crow flies, the divil a foot less. 

 Did iver ye know a hare run so straight in all your life, 

 Tim?" asked McLoughlin, the village cobbler, as he 

 mopped his bald head with the tail of his checked woollen 

 shirt, which, in the scurry across country, had managed 

 to work itself free from the grip of the leathern belt 

 that he used to keep up his nether garments. 



" She must be off her pad " {i.e., out of her habitat), 

 explained O'Leary, with decided confidence. 



" Begorra, she is, Tim," added Pat Lynch, who came 

 up at that moment, clothed in a coating of the blackest 

 and most unsavoury mud imaginable. " An' she'll 

 never be on it again wanst we've done wid her." 



O'Leary lost no time in getting to work again, and, 

 making a cast forward, he very soon had his hounds on 

 the line once more. His skill as a huntsman was warmly 

 applauded by his admirers. 



" Takes ould Timothy yet," proudly remarked one of 

 the field to Pat Lynch. 



"An' if he couldn't, who could?" retorted Pat. 



