“Good-bye to her money!” roared Barky. “Mother, you’ve done me out of a million dollars, if all you told me that you said to her is true!” Mrs. Doran’s face had become mottled with red patches. “Just what comes of associating with low company. A _lady_ would never have played us such a trick,” she said, when she had at last found her voice. “Is she going away early to-morrow?” “Yes, to Queenstown, to catch the American boat.” “Then I’ll write a line at once”--rising as she spoke. “Mother,” protested Barky, “_don’t_.” “Yes, I certainly will. I’ll apologise, and explain. After all, she has only herself to thank for her cool reception. Your aunt had no business to come home as a masquerader, and she really got what she deserved; but I will send her a nice letter. Tom shall take the dairy pony and ride down.” Once again the dairy pony carried an errand to Mrs. Aron at “The Arms,” but on the last occasion he had his journey for nothing--to Mrs. Doran’s note there was no reply. CHAPTER VII As winter advanced, the outlook for hunting was excellent, but, on the other hand, the prospects of the poor were lamentable. It had been a miserably wet harvest; there was a blight on most of the potato crops. Altogether, times were bad, and many decent, respectable old people were just struggling to keep the workhouse at arm’s length. The upper class in this part of the world were not wealthy; times were bad with them also, but they did what they could, and started a fund to provide firing, blankets, soup, and tea. In order to augment this subscription, Mrs. Doran, the ever bustling and benevolent, suggested holding a concert in the big drawing-room of the old part of the Castle, which, with one or two small passages, a cavernous kitchen, and pantries, was all of the dwelling that remained from the fire. This drawing-room lay at the opposite end of the yard from the present somewhat jerry-built mansion, and was utilised as a sort of general lumber- and store-room. It proved, when emptied, capable of holding three or four hundred people, and Mrs. Doran generously offered it free of charge. Decorations, she declared, were easy; chairs and forms could be borrowed; she would lend her piano--yes, and her youngest son should be one of the performers; for Ulick, as most people knew, had a delightful voice. The eager lady drove about the country and expounded her scheme to her neighbours with convincing eloquence. The concert, of course, to be undenominational: the schoolmistress could get up glees, Lady Tandragee would play the violin, Father Daly, the parish priest, should sing, and the rectory girls perform on the piano; kind friends must contribute their talents, and the public their money. Tickets were to be ten shillings, five shillings, and two shillings, and there were to be--oh, marvel!--refreshments, which would be served in the Castle dining-room and servants’ hall, according to the rank of the ticket-holders. For, as Mrs.