Patsy’s red hair bristled up like the spines of a hedgehog, as it always did when he was angry, but he said nothing. “Hurroo!” shouted Mrs Finnegan’s boy, when he had recovered from his simulated fit of laughter; “here’s Patsy Rooney burst out in buttons; here’s Patsy Rooney drawing water for the maids. Where’s your broom, Patsy? Where’s your dustpan and brush? Have yiz emptied the slops, Patsy, and made the beds and turned down the quilts?” “And what’s brought _you_ out to-day?” replied Patsy. “You’re afther your time; this isn’t the fifth of Novimber, this isn’t Guy Fawkes Day. Go back to your lumber-room, you stuffed straw imige, and wait till they takes you out and rides you on a rail.” “Carrots!” yelled the other, who was not gifted greatly with the art of repartee; “who’ll buy carrots?” “It’s ashamed of yourself you ought to be,” replied Patsy, in a tone of virtuous disgust. “And why is it ashamed of myself I ought to be?” queried the unsuspecting Micky. “For going about the country with your ould gran’mother slung over your shoulder,” replied Patsy. “You weren’t so fond of her when she was alive, seein’ you let her die of starvation and ould age, by the look of her.” This double insult levelled at himself and the goose he was carrying took the wind out of Micky’s sails. “Who are you talking to?” said he, shifting the goose from his left to his right shoulder, and advancing towards Patsy. “The son of the ould jackass that grazes on the common, I _b’lieve_,” replied Patsy, raising his bucket; “though ’tis well known all over the villige he disowns you.” “Do you see this fist?” cried Micky, shaking a grimy fist in the other’s face. “I do. Do you see the water in this bucket?” “I do.” “Well, taste it!” cried Patsy, flinging it in his face. The next moment the goose, swung like a club, caught Patsy on the side of the head, nearly stunning him, and the next both boys were rolling on the flags of the yard fighting like cats. At this moment who should enter the stable-yard but Miss Kiligrew, driving the governess-cart with the children, and at this moment also the kitchen door opened, and Mrs Kinsella appeared to see what was keeping Patsy so long in fetching the water. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER VIII THE BATTLE IN THE YARD “Separate them!” cried the governess, reining the pony in; whilst little Lord Gawdor, forgetting everything but the fight in progress, clapped his hands, calling out alternately: “Go it, Pipe-stems—give it him, Carrots!” as Patsy or his long antagonist came upwards in the fray. Doris felt frightened, but interested; as for Selina, she was in the bottom of the cart and was fast asleep covered with rugs. “Separate them!” cried Miss Kiligrew to the cook; “don’t stand there staring—separate them.”