the house that you could drench the crature with the way the houn's would
folly him?'

"Divil a drop of aniseed or anything else had I on the place, and I stood
there scratching my ear with my crop wondering what to do, when suddenly I
remembered that relic of my courting days, 'Florazora.' 'I have it,' I
said; 'I've got something that'll fix _that_ hare all right.'

"I fetched the bottle and rubbed a handful or so of the stuff well into Mr.
Flynn's pet dog and let him go with a flip of my whip lash to help him on
his way. He lit out for home as though the devil had kicked him, yelling
blue murder and laying a trail of flowers and honey across the country so
thick you could pretty nigh eat it. I gave him a fair start, then laid the
hounds on and we had a five-mile point, going like a steeplechase all the
way. Flynn lives in a lonely house about half a mile out of Ballinknock,
and the 'bag-man' got home to it and through the wee dog-hole into the yard
with just six inches to spare.

"Patsey went over the wall and borrowed the dog three times after that. It
was no trouble at all. Flynn was still away in Youghal, and his housekeeper
was that deaf Gabriel would have to announce the Crack of Doom to her on
his fingers. But it was too good to last. On the fourth day we were nearing
Flynn's house, the dog leading the pack by not fifty yards, when I saw him
cut across a field to the left, while the hounds tumbled into a little
boreen that runs up from the railway-station and went streaking down it
singing out as if they were on a breast-high scent and in view.

"'Begob,' says I to Patsey, 'they've changed; they're running a hare, I
believe.'