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Updated: May 3, 2025
"Take him on to Carnfother; but ye'll want to get five stitches in that to make a good job of it." "But I don't understand " stammered Mrs. Pat, shaken for once out of her self-possession by this sudden extension of her spiritual horizon. "What have you done? Won't it begin again?" She turned to the woman in her bewilderment: "Is is he mad?"
Major Booth shed a friendly grin upon his fallen comrade, who lay, a deplorable object, on the horrid velvet-covered sofa peculiar to indifferent lodgings, and said vaguely that one of his brutes was right anyhow, and he was going to ride him at Carnfother the next day. "You'd better come too, Mrs. Pat," he added; "and if you'll drive me I'll send my chap on with the horses. It's too far to ride.
Pat turned quickly from her task to see what this could portend, she heard a woman's voice say harshly: "Ah, have done with that thrash of music; sure, it'll be dark night itself before we're in to Lismore." There was something familiar in the coarse tones. The weirdness fell from the wail of the music as Mrs. Pat remembered the woman who had bothered her for money that morning in Carnfother.
They had cast back to the line that they had flashed over, and had begun to run again at right angles from the grassy valley down which they had come, up towards the heather-clad hills that lay back of Carnfother. "Say your prayers, Mrs. Pat!" he said, in what Mrs. Pat felt to be a gratuitously offensive manner, "and I'll ask the lady in the pretty blue habit to have an eye to you.
"I'll pay you well if you will take a message there for me " began Mrs. Pat. "Are ye sure have ye yer purse in yer pocket?" interrupted the yellow-haired woman with a laugh that succeeded in being as nasty as she wished; "or will I go dancin' down to Carnfother " "Have done, Joanna!" said the old man suddenly; "what trouble is on the lady? What lamed the horse?"
Pat been in the habit of instituting romantic parallels between the past and the present she might have thought of the priests of Baal who danced in probably just such measures round the cromlechs in the hills above Carnfother; as she wasn't, she remarked merely that this was all very well, but that the old maniac would have to clear out of that before they brought Pilot round, or there'd be trouble.
She and the blind old man were tramping slowly up the road, seemingly as useless a couple to any one in Mrs. Pat's plight as could well be imagined. "How far am I from Carnfother?" she asked, as they drew near to her. "Is there any house near here?" "There is not," said the yellow-haired woman; "and ye're four miles from Carnfother yet."
"The horse would have bled to death before the lady got to Carnfother, sir," said the Whip to the Master; "it isn't the first time I seen life saved by that one. Sure, didn't I see him heal a man that got his leg in a mowing machine, and he half-dead, with the blood spouting out of him like two rainbows!" This is not a fairy story. Neither need it be set lightly down as a curious coincidence.
Pat's affability returned as she settled her extremely smart little person on Pilot's curveting back, and was instantly aware that there was nothing present that could touch either of them in looks or quality. Carnfother was at the extreme verge of the D Hounds' country; there were not more than about thirty riders out, and Mrs.
It's fourteen Irish miles off; and fourteen Irish miles is just about the longest distance I know." Carnfother is a village in a remote part of the Co. Cork; it possesses a small hotel in Ireland no hostelry, however abject, would demean itself by accepting the title of inn a police barrack, a few minor public-houses, a good many dirty cottages, and an unrivalled collection of loafers.
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