” “I don’t care. “Perhaps you will not object to answering one for me. "Och! he's a broth of a boy!" "Why, I thought he'd broken your head, Terry?" "Phooh! that's nothing? A piece o' plaster'll set all to rights; and Terry O'Flaherty's not the boy to care for the stroke of a supple-jack. ” “We’ve come past it, miss,” the man answered, with a note of finality in his gruff voice. There were one or two bitter moments in his life when he had been made to feel that gentility laid on with a brush may sometimes crack and show weak places—that deportment and breeding are after all things apart. He trembled, not from any superstitious dread, but from an undefined sense of approaching danger. Wood, in indignant surprise.
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