“Nine o’clock, sir; and there’s a big baste of a fox in the Galtee woods where they’re goin’ to draw, wid a white tip to his tail, as ’ill go like clock-work, for I set me eyes on him on’y a wake ago whin I was settin’ snares the day before they stuck me in buttons and made a page-boy of me.” “How do you like being page-boy?” asked Mr Fanshawe, who was working at the unpacking of his things in his shirt sleeves and, despite James’s warning, with a cigarette in his mouth. “Faith,” said Patsy, “if it wasn’t for the childer it’s back to the woods I’d be to-morrow, for it’s nothing but ‘Patsy’ here and ‘Patsy’ there, and ‘Patsy, ye divil, what are you standin’ idle for?’ if I stops to rest me bones for the quather of a minit. Sure, it’s twelve pair of hands on the ends of me arms I’d want to plaze Mrs Kinsella; but as for the childer, faith, anything plazes thim.” “So you’re acting as nursery governess as well as page-boy,” said Mr Fanshawe, who was beginning to perceive that Patsy was a person of an original disposition, and not at all a page-boy of the ordinary type. Patsy grinned. “They’re in prizen,” said he. “Who are in prison?” asked Mr Fanshawe. “The childer.” “Why, what are you talking about? I saw them looking out of a top window.” “Faith, and they’re in prizen all the same,” said Patsy. “That was the windy Mr Robert kicked the futball through; and between that and Miss Doris hittin’ me a belt on the nose wid an arringe, the ould lady gave orders they wasn’t to stir out of the top of the house till to-morrow mornin’.” Mr Fanshawe, remembering the potato that had hit him on the shoulder, began to form ideas of his own about the children of his cousin Robert. “They must find it rather dull,” he said. “Not they,” replied Patsy. “They always find something to be afther; on’y half an hour ago when I lift them they were settin’ the dolls’ house afire wid a tin of paraffin.” “Good Heavens! You don’t mean to say you let them!” “Oh, they’re all right,” said Patsy. “Sure, they had it on the hearthstone.” -------------- That evening, just before bedtime, the schoolroom door opened and Patsy’s head appeared. “Mr Fanshawe’s give me half a crown,” said he. “And he’s got lave for the both of yiz to go to the meet to-morra mornin’ in the cart. I’m to drive you.” He put the half-crown in his eye like an eye-glass, drew the corners of his mouth almost up to his eyes by some extraordinary muscular action known to himself alone, protruded his tongue, waggled it from side to side and vanished, just in time to escape a Principia Latina aimed at him by Lord Gawdor. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XIII THE MEET OF THE HOUNDS The next morning was dull and grey, with not a trace of frost—an ideal hunting morning.