"Go on wid you now, Miss Clodagh!" she cried. "Sure 'tis a pair of ye that's there. I'm out wid ye."

"But the griddle cake, Hannah?"

"Let Betsy over at Mrs. a.s.shlin's make griddle cake for ye. Maybe she wouldn't put up wid Masther Larry as aisy as me."

"Of course Betsy would make a griddle cake at any time," said Clodagh promptly; "only we couldn't eat it--after yours."

For a moment Hannah made no response; then she gave another disdainful whisk to her ap.r.o.n and attacked the saucepan with renewed force.

Clodagh said nothing, but took a step forward. Her cheeks were bright and her eyes danced with mischief and amus.e.m.e.nt. As her foot touched the paving stones of the yard, Hannah raised her head.

"I suppose 'twill be at wan ye'll be wantin' the lunch?" she said in a suddenly lowered and mollified voice; and Clodagh responded with a laugh of triumph and delight.

Outside in the sunshine of the yard, she laughed again.

"Hannah is an old duck!" she said. "She is always getting as cross as two sticks, and then forgetting all about it. n.o.body could help teasing her. But where's Larry gone to? Larry! Larry!"

There was a pause, a stamping of horse's hoofs, and the sound of a voice whispering affectionate injunctions to an unseen animal; then young Laurence a.s.shlin emerged from the stables, leading his chestnut cob.

He was a well-made, long-limbed boy of fourteen, with skin as smooth and eyes as clear as Clodagh's own.

"Hullo, Clo!" he exclaimed. "That was a straight shot, wasn't it? Was she mad?"

"Pretty mad," responded Clodagh. "This is Mr. Milbanke. He came last night."

Young a.s.shlin eyed the stranger frankly and without embarra.s.sment.

"You're not at the meet?" he said with involuntary surprise. "I'd be there, only mother doesn't let me hunt yet. She thinks I'd break my neck or something," he laughed. "But I'll go to every meet within twenty miles when I'm a man," he added. "There's nothing as good as hunting--except sailing. Are you much of a sailor?"

Milbanke looked back into the bright, fearless eyes and healthy, spirited face, and again a touch of aloofness, of age, damped him.

There was a buoyancy in this boy and girl, a zest, an enthusiasm outside which he stood the undeniable alien.

"Yes, I am fond of the sea," he responded; "but probably not as you are fond of it."

Try as he might to be natural and pleasant, his speech sounded stilted, his words staid.

The boy looked at him doubtfully.

"Didn't know there were two ways of doing it," he said, rubbing his face against the cob's sleek neck.

But Clodagh came to her guest's rescue.

"Larry doesn't deserve any credit for liking the sea," she said. "His father was a sailor. You go on to the fields, Larry," she added; "you'll find Nance waiting there. I'll saddle Polly in a second, and be after you with Mr. Milbanke. Run now! you're only wasting time."

Larry hesitated for a moment, then he nodded.

"All right!" he acquiesced. "Only don't be long."

Instantly he was gone, Clodagh handed her whip to Milbanke and darted into the coach-house, reappearing with a saddle over her arm and a bridle swinging from her shoulder.

"You are not going to saddle the horse yourself?" he exclaimed in consternation. "Let me call one of the men. Please let me call one of the men."

Clodagh laughed.

"There's no one to call," she said. "Burke is the only proper man-servant we keep, and he drove into Muskeere for provisions as soon as he brought the bay round for father. You don't think I'd let any of the labourers touch the horses!" As she said this she laughed again and, nodding gaily, pa.s.sed into one of the stalls.

After she had disappeared Milbanke stood silent, listening with an uncomfortable embarra.s.sment to the soft whinnying of the horse, the soft murmuring of Clodagh's voice, the straining and creaking of leather that reached his ears. At last, yielding to his instincts, he stepped forward and spoke again.

"Miss Clodagh, let me help you," he said. "I'm afraid I'm rather useless, but you might let me try."

Again Clodagh's soft, humorous laugh answered him.

"It's done now," she said; "and anyway I've known how to saddle a horse since I was twelve. Stand back a little, please!"

He drew back hastily, and she led out a small grey mare.

"She isn't much to look at," she explained, "but she's grand to go--and I know she's going to win. She must win."

She kissed the animal impulsively on the soft, quivering nostril.

Together they threaded their way between the scurrying fowls and innumerable dogs that filled the yard--Clodagh leading the mare, Milbanke keeping close to her side.

"What is this race for?" he asked, as they pa.s.sed through the arched gateway. "A mere trial of strength?"

Clodagh's eyes widened.

"Oh no," she said; "that would be silly. There are stakes of course--Larry's telescope against my Irish terrier. The telescope belonged to Uncle Laurence, and is a beauty; but it's nothing at all to Mick--Mick is a pedigree dog, six months old, with the finest coat and the loveliest head you ever saw. If I lost him----" But here she stopped. "It's unlucky to say that, isn't it?" she added quickly. "Of course I'm not going to lose him."

Again she turned and fondled the mare; and a moment later they came into view of the long, level fields that lay between the house and the sea, and saw the erect figure of Larry clearly silhouetted against the sky, as he sat his cob with the ease of the born horseman.

It took Milbanke but a few minutes to place himself in a safe and advantageous position on a ditch that, dividing two of the fields, was to form the last jump of the race. And once ensconced in this pleasant and not uncomfortable seat, he watched the cousins move across the fields to the point where little Nance was waiting to arrange the preliminaries. He saw Clodagh mount the grey mare, observed the one or two inevitable false starts, then became conscious with a quickening of interest that the race had begun.

Had he been possessed of the humorous quality he would undoubtedly have been drawn into a smile at his own position; as it was, he saw nothing ludicrous in the idea of an elderly student seated on an Irish ditch, playing umpire to a couple of children. As the horses started, he merely settled himself more securely in his seat, and drew out his handkerchief in obedience to the instinct that some expression of enthusiasm would be demanded by the winner. He could not picture himself raising a cheer as the conqueror sailed past him; but his dignity affably bent to the idea of a friendly wave of a handkerchief.

A slight breeze was blowing in from the sea, and the intense freshness of the atmosphere again obtruded itself upon him as he watched the horses swing towards him across the fields, the thud of their hoofs upon the gra.s.s gaining in volume with every stride.

For a s.p.a.ce they galloped neck to neck; then slowly, almost imperceptibly, Clodagh drew away. For a couple of seconds the distance between the animals became noticeable; then young a.s.shlin, urging the chestnut, regained his lost position, and to Milbanke's eyes the two were again abreast as they crossed the last field.

Once more he settled himself in his place of vantage. Something in the freshness of the morning, something in the youth and vitality of the compet.i.tors gave the race an interest and attraction it would otherwise have lacked. With a reluctant sensation--half curiosity, half the alien's unaccountable attraction towards conditions of life other than his own--he found himself straining his eyes towards the two slight figures moving towards him across the short gra.s.s. Nearer and nearer they came, maintaining their level positions; then, as the last ditch came clearly into view, the grey mare seemed to gather herself together for the short final gallop and the jump. Leaning forward, he saw Clodagh straighten herself in the saddle as each stride increased the advantage she had gained.

Unconsciously--with the nearer pounding of the hoofs--the excitement of the moment touched him. But it touched him with disastrous results.

As the mare neared the ditch, he suddenly leant forward, losing the balance he had so carefully preserved.

The action was instantaneous, and it was but the work of another instant to grasp the st.u.r.dy weeds that topped the ditch, and regain his position; but unwittingly the harmless incident had changed the result of the race. As he involuntarily steadied himself, the handkerchief, held in readiness for the victor, slipped from his hand and fluttered down upon the gra.s.s.

It fell at the feet of the grey mare. She paused in sudden alarm, then hunched herself together, and shied away from it as from a ghost.

No harm was done. Clodagh kept her seat without a tremor; but in that second of lost time the cob drew level with his rival, then sailed triumphantly over the ditch.