“And has that boy gone forty miles on foot since last night?” Harry asked, in surprise.

“Oh, that’s nothing,” Mr. Blake said.  “Give him half an hour’s rest, and he’d keep up with us back to Killicuddery.  But where is your horse, and how did you get into this mess?  The boy tells me he found you in the bog.”

Harry related his adventures.

“You have had a lucky escape indeed,” Mr. Blake said.  “There are places in that bog thirty feet deep.  I would not try to cross it for a thousand pounds on a bright day, and how you managed to do so through the mist yesterday is more than I can imagine.  Now, the first thing is to get your horse.  I must apologize for not having brought one, but the fact is, my head was not exactly clear when I started, and I had not taken in the fact that you’d arrived on foot.  My servant was more thoughtful.  He had heard from the boy that an English gentleman was here, and judging that the larder was not likely to be stocked, he put a couple of bottles of claret, a cold chicken, and some bread into my wallet, so we can have breakfast while they are looking for your horse.  The ride has sharpened my appetite.”

Mr. Blake now addressed a few words in Irish to the men clustered round the door of the hut.  One of them climbed to the top of the hill, and presently shouted down some instructions, and another at once started across the bog.

“They see your horse,” Mr. Blake said, “but we shall have to wait for two or three hours.  It is some four miles off, and they will have to make a long detour to bring it back.”

Mr. Blake now distributed some silver among the men, and these, with the exception of the master of the house, soon afterward left.  Harry heartily enjoyed his breakfast, and in cheery chat with his host the time passed pleasantly until the peasant returned with the horse and saddle.  The horse was rubbed down with dry fern, and a lump of black bread given him to eat.

“What can I do for the boy?” Harry asked.  “I owe him my life, for I was so thoroughly drenched and cold that I question whether I should have lived till morning out in that bog.”

“The boy thinks nothing of it,” Mr. Blake said.  “A few hundred yards across the bog night or day is nothing to him.”

Harry gave the lad a gold piece, which he looked at in wonder.

“He has never seen such a thing before,” Mr. Blake laughed.  “There, Mickey,” he said in Irish, “that’s enough to buy you a cow, and you’ve only got to build a cabin and take a wife to start life as a man.”

The boy said something in Irish.

“I thought so,” Mr. Blake laughed.  “You haven’t got rid of him yet.  He wants to go as your servant.”

Harry laughed too.  The appearance of the lad in his tattered garments was in contrast indeed to the usual aspect of a gentleman’s retainer.

“You’ll find him useful,” Mr. Blake said.  “He will run errands for you and look after your horse.  These lads can be faithful to death.  You cannot do better than take him.”