ons went to
the shed beside the house to draw out their horses, the men followed,
challenged them for Papists, threw down five pounds in gold, and seized
the mare. The four were armed, and resistance was useless.

The story was received with a volley of oaths and curses. "But by the
Holy," Uncle Ulick flamed up, "I'd have hung on their heels and raised
the country! By G--d, I would!"

"Ay, ay! The thieves of the world!"

"They took the big road by Tralee," James McMurrough explained sulkily.
"What was the use?"

"Were there no men working in the bogs?"

"There were none near by, to be sure," Morty said. "But I'd a notion if
we followed them we might light on one friend or another--'twas in
Kerry, after all!"

"'Twas not more than nine miles English from here!" Uncle Ulick cried.

"That was just what I thought," Morty continued with some hesitation.
"Just that, but----" And his eye transferred the burden to The
McMurrough.

James answered with an oath. "A nice time this to be bringing the
soldiers upon us," he cried, "when, bedad, if the time ever was, we
want no trouble with the Englishry! What's the use of crying over spilt
milk? I'll give you another mare."

"But it'll not be Giralda!" Flavia wailed.

"Sure it's the black shame, it is!" Uncle Ulick cried, his face dark.
"It's enough to raise the country! Ay, I say it, though you're
listening, Asgill. It's more than blood can stand!"

"No one is more sorry than myself," Asgill replied, with a look of
concern. "I don't make the laws, or they'd be other than they are!"

"True for you," Uncle Ulick answered. "I'm allowing that. And it is
true, too, that to make a stir too early would ruin all. I'm afraid you
must be making the best of it, Flavvy! I'd go after them myself, but
the time's not convenient, as you know, and by this they're in Tralee,
bad cess to it, where there's naught to be done. They'll be for selling
her to one of the garrison officers, I'm thinking; and may the little
gentleman in black velvet break his neck for him! Or they'll take her
farther up country, maybe to Dublin."

Flavia's last hopes died with this verdict. She could not control her
tears, and she turned and went away in grief to the house.

Meantime the hangers-on and the beggars pressed upon the gentry,
anxious to hear. The McMurrough, not sorry to find some one on whom to
vent his temper, turned upon them and drove them away with blows of his
whip. The movement brought him