'd be, wid these loonattic images gittin' away on
us--!" Further eloquence on Murty's part was checked by a determined
rush on the part of a red and white calf, which would certainly have
ended in freedom but for a well-aimed clod, which, hurled by the
Irishman, took the poddy squarely between the eyes and induced him to
pull up and meditate. Unfortunately Murty tripped in the act of
delivery, and went headlong, picking himself up just in time to stop a
second rush by the calf, which, on seeing his enemy on the ground,
promptly ceased to meditate. Cecil rocked with laughter.

"Oh, get off that fence and try and block these brutes, Cecil!" sang
out Jim, angrily. "Another hand would make all the difference, if you'd
exert yourself!"

Cecil's laughter came to a sudden stop. He looked indignantly at his
grey suit, and with pain at his patent leather shoes; then, apparently
coming to the conclusion that there was no help for it, descended
gingerly, and came into the line of defenders. A sturdy little
Shorthorn singled him out for attention, and charged in his direction.

"Block him! Block him, I say!"

Jim's voice rang out. Cecil uttered a feeble yelp as the calf came
racing past, waved his arms, and executed a few mild steps towards
him--attentions which but served to accelerate the Shorthorn's flight.
He went by the city lad like a meteor, rendering useless a wild run by
Wally, who was just too late to head him. Murty O'Toole uttered a shout
of wrath.

"Howly Ann! He's lost him! The blitherin'--yerra, glory be, there's Miss
Norah!"

The change from indignation to relief was comical. Norah and Bobs came
like a bolt from the blue upon the vision of the astonished Shorthorn,
which made one last gallant effort for freedom, dodging and twisting,
while gallant effort for freedom, dodging and twisting, while Bobs made
every movement, propping and swinging to cut him off in a manner that
would have disturbed any rider not used to the intricate ways of a
stock horse. Finally the calf gave it up abruptly, and raced back
towards the yard, the pony at his heels. He bolted in at the open gate,
promptly followed by his companions, and Murty cut off their exit with
a grunt of relief.

"Wisha, it's hot!" he said, mopping his brow. "Sure, Miss Norah, y' kem
in the nick av time--'twas run clane off our legs, we was."

"They CAN run, can't they?" said Norah, who was laughing. "Did you hurt
yourself, Murty?"

"Only me timper," sai