declare to God, sir, I don’t know what he has took, for me eyes can’t be everywhere, but I do know he’s took the mower.”

“Why did you not tell Miss Phyl?”

“I did, sir, and she only said, ‘Oh, there must be a mistake—what would he be doin’ with it,’ says she. ‘Sellin’ it,’ says I. ‘Nonsense,’ says she. You see, sir, Rafferty and she has always been hand in glove, what with the fishin’ and shootin’, and the horses and such like, and she won’t hear a word against him.”

Mrs. Driscoll had called Rafferty a sly devil—he was.

At eleven o’clock next morning, Phyl, crossing the 64 stable yard with some sugar for the horses, met Rafferty. He was crying.

64

“Why, what on earth’s the matter, Rafferty?” asked the girl.

“I’ve got the shove, miss,” replied Rafferty, “after all me years of service, I’m put out to end me days in a ditch.”

“You mean you’re discharged!” she cried. “Was it Mr. Pinckney?”

“That’s him,” replied Rafferty. “Says he’s the masther of us all. ‘Out you get,’ says he, ‘or it’s I that’ll be callin’ a p’leeceman to put you,’ says he. Flung it in me face that I’d stolen a laan mower. Me that’s ben on the estate man and boy for forty year. A laan mower! Sure, Miss Phyl, what would I be doin’ with a laan mower?”

Phyl turned from him and ran to the house. Pinckney and Hennessey were seated in the library when the door burst open and in came Phyl. Her eyes were bright and her lips were pale.

“You told me you would keep all the servants,” said she. “Rafferty tells me you have dismissed him.”

“I should think I had,” said Pinckney lightly, and not gauging the mad disturbance of the other, “and it’s lucky for him I haven’t put him in prison.”

The word prison was all that was wanted to fire the mine. Pinckney stood for a moment aghast at the change in the girl.

“I hate you,” she cried, coming a step closer to him. “I loathe you—master of us all, are you? 65 Dare to touch any one here and I’ll burn the house down with my own hands—you—you—”

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