ice in red ink: "An early settlement will oblige".

"I must, Johnny," she said, "worse luck!"

"Well, indeed, that's too bad, miss," said Johnny comprehendingly.
"There was a mare I had one time, and I sold her before I went to
America. God knows, afther she went from me, whenever I'd look at her
winkers hanging on the wall I'd have to cry. I never seen a sight of her
till three years afther that, afther I coming home. I was coming out o'
the fair at Enniscar, an' I was talking to a man an' we coming down
Dangan Hill, and what was in it but herself coming up in a cart! "An' I
didn't look at her, good nor bad, nor know her, but sorra bit but she
knew me talking, an' she turned in to me with the cart! Ho, ho, ho!'
says she, and she stuck her nose into me like she'd be kissing me. Be
dam, but I had to cry. An' the world wouldn't stir her out o' that till
I'd lead her on meself. As for cow nor dog nor any other thing, there's
nothing would rise your heart like a horse!"

* * * * *

It was early in July, a hot and sunny morning, and Fanny Fitz, seated on
the flawless grassplot in front of Craffroe Lodge hall-door, was engaged
in washing the dogs. The mother, who had been the first victim, was
morosely licking herself, shuddering effectively, and coldly ignoring
her oppressor's apologies. The daughter, trembling in every limb, was
standing knee-deep in the bath; one paw, placed on its rim, was ready
for flight if flight became practicable; her tail, rigid with anguish
would have hummed like a violin-string if it were touched. Fanny, with
her shirt-sleeves rolled up to her elbows, scrubbed in the soap. A
clipped fuchsia hedge, the pride of William O'Loughlin's heart, screened
the little lawn and garden from the high road.

"Good morning, Miss Fanny," said a voice over the hedge.

Fanny Fitz raised a flushed face and wiped a fleck of Naldyre off her
nose with her arm.

"I've just been looking at your mare," went on the voice.

"Well, I hope you liked her!" said Fanny Fitz defiantly, for the voice
was the voice of Rupert Gunning, and there was that in it that in this
connection acted on Miss Fitzroy as a slogan.

"Well, 'like' is a strong word, you know!" said Mr. Gunning, moving on
and standing with his arms on the top of the white gate and meeting
Fanny's glance with provoking eyes. Then, as an after-thought, "Do you
think you give her enough to eat?"

"She gets a feed of oats every Su