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Johnny Connolly advanced, still calling upon his God, and the mare uttered a low but vehement neigh. "Ye're deshtroyed, Miss Fanny! And Mr. Gunning, the Lord save us! Ye're killed the two o' ye! What happened ye at all? Woa, gerr'l, woa, gerrlie! Ye'd say she knew me, the crayture."
"Where did you get that one?" inquired the owner of the car of Mr. Fennessy, in the course of much lengthy conversation. "I got her from a cousin of my own that died down in the County Limerick," said Mr. Fennessy in his most agreeable manner. "'Twas himself bred her, and she was near deshtroyed fallin' back on a harra' with him. It's for postin' I have her."
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