“His eyes! God help us, Mary! that’s the queer sort of chat for a slip of a girl. Sure ye have no call to be looking at the young gentleman’s eyes.” “An’ how can I help it, mammy, when I’ve eyes of me own! He is not a bit like her ladyship--no, nor Barky, with the great roasted face on him.” “God be thanked for that same,” exclaimed Mrs. Foley piously. “He is the Colonel’s own boy; but, Mary asthore, ye must know yer place, and not be making free, or be talking to the young Captain. Ye have such funny, queer ways of spaking up to high and low--I tell ye, sometimes ye have me paralysed with fright.” “Oh, make yer mind easy, mammy; I know me place. Augh! do ye hear the bawls of the calf? I must hurry up with the milking.” After her mother’s word of warning, Mary Foley merely dropped a hasty curtsey when she encountered the Captain, and then hurried on; and he, manlike, was attracted by this avoidance; the less he saw of Mary, the more he thought of her. The unknown has a wonderful fascination. Ulick was at present an idler. Cub-hunting had not yet commenced; his home was not particularly congenial. He and Barky had nothing in common; Barky was frankly jealous of his brother’s smart soldier-like air, his knowledge of the world, his manner of speech, his well-cut clothes, and his popularity. Ulick contented himself with schooling young horses, reading, smoking, and making friends with the dogs, whom he overjoyed by taking out for many a long tramp. One afternoon it came on to drizzle as he was approaching Foley’s corner. He turned up his collar and pulled out his pipe. Alas! he had not a match left: there was nothing for it but to run into Katty’s and ask for a sod of turf. He pushed open the half-door and entered, and found Katty, with horn spectacles on nose, hunched up by the window, patching an old sack. “I just came in for a light, Katty,” he explained. “I hope you won’t mind the dogs,” as two setters and a terrier followed him. “Yer honour is welcome, and as many dogs as he likes.” “There are two more sitting outside, but these have no manners; I hope I see you well, Katty.” “Well, then, indeed I’m no great shakes, sir, and only among the middins; I’m gettin’ into years, ye see.” “What nonsense!” stooping to pick up a live sod. “You can’t be more than fifty, if you are that.” “I am fifty-seven, sir, and it’s a long age for a working woman; still,” and she sighed, “but God is good, and the devil himself not too bad entirely. And Mary is a grand help--and here she comes.” As the inner door opened, Mary, followed by the dogs with better manners, entered with a tin can on her arm. “Now go out, every one of you!” shouted their master, authoritatively. “Good evening, Mary.” “Good evening, sir,” she answered. “Sure, the poor dogs is doing no harm whatever. Me mother loves a dog, and so do I. ’Tis only the cat that’s so particular.”