Last of all, the grey horse, who would plough the rocks, came on indomitably, and made, as before, a bee-line for the river. Here, however, he was confronted by a demonstration hurriedly arranged by his friends, who advanced upon him waving tall furze-bushes, with which they beat him in the face. The grey horse changed his mind with such celerity that he burst his girths; some one caught him by the head, while his rider hung precariously upon his neck; some one else dragged off the saddle, replanted his jockey upon his broad bare back, and speeded him on his way by bringing the saddle down upon his hind-quarters with an all-embracing thump. "It's only the age he wants," said a partisan. "If they'd keep him up to the practice, he'd be a sweeper yet!" Tumult at the end of the course, and a pistol-shot, here announced that the race was over. "Lyney have it!" shouted some men, standing on the fence by the water-jump. "What happened Kenny?" bawled Peter Lynch. "He was passing the flag and he got clung in the pole, and the next man knocked him down out of the pole!" shouted back the Field Telegraph. "Oh pity!" said the old farmer. "He didn't get fair play!" vociferated Peter Lynch, glowering up at the adherents of Lyney with a very green light in his eye. The young priest made a slight and repressive gesture with his hand. "That'll do now, Peter," he said, and turned to the old farmer. "Well, Rambling Katty's a hardy bit of stuff," he went on, brushing the rock-lichen from his black coat. "She is that, Father," responded my late adherent, who, to my considerable relief, had now ceased to adhere. "And nothing in her but a fistful of bran!" "She's the dryest horse that came in," said the young priest, descending actively from the rock. With the knowledge that the Committee would allow an hour at least for the effects of a race to pass off before launching another, we climbed to the summit of the island, and began upon the luncheon basket; and, as vultures drop from the blue empyrean, so did Andrew and Miss Longmuir arrive from nowhere and settle upon the sandwiches. "Oh, I can't eat our own game, can I?" said the latter, with a slight shudder, as I placed the chicken before her. "No--really--not even for your sake!" She regarded me very pleasingly, but I notice that it is only since my hair began to turn grey over my ears that these things are openly said to me. "I had to feed four dozen of the brutes before we started this morning, and I shall have to do it all over again when we get home!" "I don't know how you stand it, I should let 'em starve," said Andrew, his eyes travelling from her white forehead to her brown hands. "_I_ don't consider it is work for ladies." "You can come and help the ladies if you like," said Miss Longmuir, glancing at him as she drove her white teeth into a sandwich. "Do you mean that?" said Andrew in a low voice.