I HAVE made mention of the fact that during the haying season horses were difficult to get. We generally relied on Bert, but he was not always able to supply us with a means of conveyance to town. I had counted on him to bring Miss Paxton up, but I had neglected to say anything to him about it and our telepathic communication was out of kilter, for he never felt my desire, and so it fell out that when at four o’clock of Saturday afternoon I realized this and Ethel and I went down to his father’s to get him to harness up, we learned that he and his father were over in the “east lot” getting in some valuable hay—the weather threatening thunder storms—and that we could not possibly have either of the horses.

Here was a pretty how-de-do.

It was ten minutes after four and the train came to Egerton, three miles away, at 4:58. We might walk down and hire a livery team but even at that it would require speed.

In my dilemma Bert’s mother suggested that we try Pat Casey.

“He lives in the little red house beyond the ruins of the old church,” said she, “and you may be able to hire his horse.”

Across the fields to the little red house we hurried. A short, lithe, nimble-footed man was tossing hay in front of his house. We climbed the last fence and stood before him.

He looked up and greeted us pleasantly, his eyes twinkling with what looked like suppressed mischief.

“Is this Mr. Casey?”

“I’m Pat Casey. Divil a hair I care about the Misther,” said he, leaning on his rake and bobbing his head at us.

“Well,” said I, hurriedly, “We want to go down to Egerton to meet a friend who is coming on the 4:58. Can you let us hire your team?”

He threw back his head and laughed.

“Is it hire? Divil a hire. If ye dare trust your legs in me caart you’re welkim to use me ould scut of a harse—bad scran to her.”

The “bad scran” was delivered with a laugh that robbed it of all animosity and setting his rake against a tree he led the way to a tumble down barn that sheltered a more tumble down dirt cart, and a yet more tumble down horse. It certainly was an “ould scut,” whatever that is. It was blind in one eye; its back seemed trying to show Hogarth’s line of beauty in the form of a deep curve, and its four legs stood not under its body but at obtuse angles to it, as if it had been staggering with a heavy weight long enough and was now about to break in two in the middle.

And yet when Pat slapped the animal on the flank and spoke a word or two to it the horse whinnied and pricked up its ears and looked intelligently out of its only seeing eye, and I judged that it would not be cruelty to animals to take it.

But when I saw the harness, which was eked out by strings and ropes, when I saw that the cart was literally a dirt cart and that we would have to sit in hay, I decided that we would use the horse only to get us down there

“Th’ ould Scut.”

and that I would then hire a livery team to bring Cherry up and would pay Pat to go back in it and get his horse.

“You’re sure the horse will be able to pull us down?” said I to Pat.

“Hell, yes,” said he, genially, looking at Ethel as he spoke. “Sure ’tis gentle as a kitten. Ther’ wife there’d make a pet of um if she had him. Not afred of the trolley caars. Egorry when he was a colt there was not wan finer annywhere. He’d be a hell of a fine harse now, sorr, on’y fer a shlight weakness in his back. He’s the bye’ll carry you down on time. Don’t be afraid of the whip, on’y let him see it before you use it an’ thin he’ll know what to expect.”

All the time he was talking he was harnessing the “scut,” as he chose to designate it, and I, to save time, ran the cart out.

“Don’t you want to go back, Ethel?”

“No, it’ll be loads of fun to go down this way,” laughed Ethel, and immediately Pat gave her an encouraging nod of the head and said, “Me leddy, take life as it comes. It’s a dam site betther’n flndin’ fault.”

I would have resented these strong words addressed to Mrs. Vernon if he had been somebody else, but his oaths were as harmless and void of offense as the ejaculations of a sunny tempered child. I am not sure that he would have understood the nature of an oath.

He helped Ethel in with Irish politeness, handed me the dreadful looking reins, and taking off his hat he said:

“Don’t spare um. He’s strarng as a—as a harse, th’ould scut.”

Then he slapped the horse again on the flank and with a “To hell wid ye,” addressed to the animal, he went back to his haying and we started on our journey to town.

The horse could go but I soon learned that he did not regard the whip as anything at all. I showed it to him before using and he pricked his ears each time I showed it, but that was merely as much as to say, “I understand what you mean, but I’m doing my best as it is.”

The cart was not easy, but Ethel was out for a lark and she considered our passage in this vehicle in the nature of a lark. For my part I was ashamed of the rig.

“Remember that you are to dress for dinner,” said she.

“Does this look like dressing for dinner?” said I with a look at the impossible beast in front of me.

“Well, but Cherry won’t see him, and I am sure that she is always used to seeing men dressed for dinner.”

“If I know Cherry Paxton at all she will be glad to be free from all conventions for a short time. I will take her into our room and I will show her my suit all laid out on the bed and I’ll ask her to try to realize how I’d look if I wore it, and I will be comfortable in an outing shirt and sack coat as usual.”

Further conversation along these lines was s............