Six strides of the horse into the darkness and Kate's hysteria was gone. She had been lost to herself the whole day-through, and now she possessed herself again. She grew quiet and silent, and even solemn. But Pete rattled on with cheerful talk about the day's doings. At the doors of the houses on the road as they passed, people were standing in the half-light to wave them salutations, and Pete sent back his answers in shouts and laughter. Turning the bridge they saw a little group at the porch of the “Ginger.” “There's company waiting for us yonder,” said Pete, giving the mare a touch of the whip. “Let us get on,” said Kate in a nervous whisper. “Aw, let's be neighbourly, you know,” said Pete. “It wouldn't be dacent to disappoint people at all. We'll hawl up for a minute just, and hoof up the time at a gallop. Woa, lass, woa, mare, woa, bogh!” As the gig drew up at the inn door, a voice out of the porch cried, “Joy to you, Capt'n, and joy to your lady, and long life and prosperity to you both, and may the Lord give you children and health and happiness to rear them, and may you see your children's children, and may they call you blessed.” “Glasses round. Mrs. Kelly,” shouted Pete. “Go on, please,” said Kate in a fretful whisper, and she tugged at Pete's sleeve. The stars came out; the moon gave a peep; the late hay of the Curragh sent a sweet odour through the night. Kate shuddered and Pete covered her shoulders with a rug. Then he began to sing snatches. He sang bits of all the songs that had been sung that night, but kept coming back at intervals to an old Manx ditty which begins-- “Little red bird of the black turf ground, Where did you sleep last night?” Thus he sang like a great boy as he went rolling down the dark road, and Kate sat by his side and trembled. They came to the town, rattled down the Parliament Street, passed the Court-house under the trees, turned the sharp angle by the market-place, and drew up at Elm Cottage in the corner. “Home at last,” cried Pete, and he leapt to the ground. A dog began to bark inside the house. “D'ye hear him?” said Pete. “That's the master in charge.” The porch door was opened, and a comfortable-looking woman in a widow's cap came out with a lighted candle shaded by her hand. “And this is your housekeeper, Mrs. Gorry,” said Pete. Kate did not answer. Her eyes had been fixed in a rigid stare on the hind-quarters of the horse, which were steaming in the light of the lamps. Pete lifted her down as he had lifted her up. Then Mrs. Gorry took her by the hand, and saying, “Mind the step, ma'am--this way, ma'am,” led her through the gate and along the garden path, and up to the porch. The porch opened on a square hall, furnished as a sitting-room. A fire was burning, a lamp was lit, the table was laid for supper, and the place was warm and cosy. “_There!_ What d'ye say to _that_?” cried Pete, coming behind with the whip in his hand.