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"Troth I am, sir. I see him goin' wid me own two eyes not an hour ago, in the gig an' the white horse, wid the wan eye an' the loose tail,—that looks for all the world as if it was screwed on to him. An' 'tisn't Norry is callin' for him nayther (though I don't say but she'll be on the way), but Larry Moloney the sweep. 'Tis a stitch he got this morning, an' he's gone intirely this time, the people say. An' more's the pity too, for a dacent sowl he was, an' more nor a mortial sweep." Mona is quite pleased. All is new, which in itself is a pleasure to her, and the sanded floor carries her back on the instant to the old parlor at home, which was their "best" at the Farm. Each dark-green leaf in the long shrubberies bears its own sparkling burden. The birds hide shivering in the lourestine—that in spite of frost and cold is breaking into blossom,—and all around looks frozen..
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Some time elapses before he speaks again, and Mona is almost hoping he may have fallen into a quiet slumber, when he opens his eyes and says, regretfully,— But which way to go? To Mona all round is an undiscovered country, and for that reason possesses an indiscribable charm. Finally, she goes up the avenue, beneath the gaunt and leafless elms, and midway, seeing a path that leads she knows not whither, she turns aside and follows it until she loses herself in the lonely wood. "It was two hours ago," says Mona, gently. "And then it was quite daylight, or at least"—truthfully—"only the beginning of dusk." Since that time the deer has had no gall and the antelope no dew-claws..
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