ll was high, but, as is usual with fruit-garden walls,
it had a well-worn feasible corner that gave on to the lane leading to
the village. We flung ourselves over it, and landed breathless and
dishevelled, but safe, in the heart of the bed of nettles that plumed
the common village ash-heap. Now that we were able, temporarily at all
events, to call our souls our own, we (or rather I) took further stock
of the situation. Its horrors continued to sink in. Driven from home
without so much as a hat to lay our heads in, separated from those we
loved most (the mutton chops, the painting materials, the fishing
tackle), a promising expedition of unusual charm cut off, so to speak,
in the flower of its youth--these were the more immediately obvious of
the calamities which we now confronted. I preached upon them, with
Cassandra eloquence, while we stood, indeterminate, among the nettles.

"And what, I ask you," I said perorating, "what on the face of the earth
are we to do now?"

"Oh, it'll be all right, my dear girl," said Robert easily. Gratitude
for his escape from the addresses of Miss McEvoy had apparently blinded
him to the difficulties of the future. "There's Coolahan's pub. We'll
get something to eat there--you'll see it'll be all right."

"But," I said, picking my way after him among the rusty tins and the
broken crockery, "the Coolahans will think we're mad! We've no hats, and
we can't tell them about the Dohertys."

"I don't care what they think," said Robert.

What Mrs. Coolahan may have thought, as we dived from the sunlight into
her dark and porter-sodden shop, did not appear; what she looked was
consternation.

"Luncheon!" she repeated with stupefaction, "luncheon! The dear help us,
I have no luncheon for the like o' ye!"

"Oh, anything will do," said Robert cheerfully. His experiences at the
London bar had not instructed him in the commissariat of his country.

"A bit of cold beef, or just some bread and cheese."

Mrs. Coolahan's bleared eyes rolled wildly to mine, as seeking sympathy
and sanity.

"With the will o' Pether!" she exclaimed, "how would I have cold beef?
And as for cheese--!" She paused, and then, curiosity over-powering all
other emotions. "What ails Julia Cronelly at all that your honour's
ladyship is comin' to the like o' this dirty place for your dinner?"

"Oh, Julia's run away with a soldier!" struck in Robert brilliantly.

"Small blame to her if she did itself!" said Mrs. Coolahan, g