'
'And how is it with you?' asked Albinia.
'We've got no horses--that is, except my father's mare, and the colt,
and Fir Darrig--the swish-tailed pony--and the blind donkey that
brings in the turf. So we younger ones mostly go hunting on foot;
and after all I believe that's the best sport. Bryan always comes in
before any of the horses, and we all think it a shame if we don't!'
'I see where you learnt the swiftness of foot that was so useful last
July,' said Albinia.
'That? oh! but Bryan would have been up long before me,' said Ulick.
'He'd have made for the lock, not the gate! You should see what
sport we have when the fox takes to the Corrig Dearg up among the
rocks--and little Rosie upon Fir Darrig, with her hair upon the wind,
and her colour like the morning cloud, glancing in and out among the
rocks like the fairy of the glen. There are those that think her the
best part of the hunt; they say the English officers at Ochlochtimore
would never think it worth coming out but for her. I don't believe
that, you know,' he added, laughing, 'though I like to fetch a rise
out of Ulick at the great house by telling him of it.'
'How old is she?'
'Fifteen last April, and she is like an April wind, when it comes
warm and frolicking over the sea! So wild and free, and yet so
gentle and soft! Ellen and Mary are grave and steady, and work hard-
-every stitch of my stockings was poor Mary's knitting, except what
poor old Peggy would send up for a compliment; but Rosie--I don't
think she does a thing but sing, and ride, and row the boat, and keep
the house alive! My mother shakes her head, but I don't know what
she'll say when she gets my aunt's letter.
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