id. Both were seated on the ground
pulling at the puppy for all they were worth; Miss Trinder had him by
the back of his neck and his tail, while Bridgie was dragging--what
_was_ she dragging at? Then I saw that the puppy's head was jammed in a
narrow-necked tin milk-can, and that, as things were going, he would
wear it, like the Man in the Iron Mask, for the rest of his life.

The small, grim face of Robert's aunt was scarlet with exertion; her
black bonnet had slipped off her head, and the thin grey hair that was
ordinarily wound round her little skull as tightly as cotton on a reel,
was hanging in scanty wisps from its central knot; nevertheless, she
was, metaphorically speaking, pulling Bridgie across the line every
time. I gave the filly to one of the audience, and took Bridgie's place
at the "tink-an". Miss Trinder and I put our backs into it, and suddenly
I found myself flat on mine, with the "tink-an" grasped in both hands
above my head.

A composite whoop of triumph rose from the spectators, and the filly
rose with it. She went straight up on her hind legs, and the next
instant she was away across the drive and into the adjoining field, and,
considering all things, I don't blame her. We all ran after her. I led,
and the various female retainers strung out after me like a flight of
wild-duck, uttering cries of various encouragement and consternation.
Miss Trinder followed, silent and indomitable, at the heel of the hunt,
and the released puppy, who had also harked in, could be heard throwing
his tongue in the dusky shrubbery ahead of us. It was all exasperatingly
absurd, as things seem to have a habit of being in Ireland. I never felt
more like a fool in my life, and the bitterest part of it was that it
was all I could do to keep ahead of Bridgie. As for the filly, she
waited till we got near her, and then she jumped a five-foot coped wall
into the road, fell, picked herself up, and clattered away into
darkness. At this point I heard Robert's horn, and sundry confused
shouts and sounds informed me that the filly had run into the hounds.

She was found next day on the farm where she was bred, fifteen miles
away. The farmer brought her back to Lisangle. She had injured three
hounds, upset two old women and a donkey-cart, broken a gate, and
finally, on arriving at the place of her birth, had, according to the
farmer, "fired the divil's pelt of a kick into her own mother's
stomach". Moreover, she "hadn't as much s