the road appeared to be a heap of nine or ten saddles, on one of which a man was sitting, comfortably eating a bit of bread, while on another a second man, whose head was tied up in a white cloth, lay back in a recumbent position, held upright by the saddlery. Coming closer, I was disturbed to see that the man eating was Jem Bottles, while the other was undoubtedly poor Paddy, although his clothes were so badly torn that I had difficulty in recognizing them as my own. As we drew up Jem stood and saluted with his mouth full, while Paddy groaned deeply. I was off my horse at once and ran to Paddy.
"Where are ye hurted?" said I.
"I 'm killed," said Paddy.
"I 've done the best I could for him," put in Jem Bottles. "He 'll be all right in a day or two."
"I 'll not," said Paddy, with more strength than one would suspect; "I 'll not be all right in a day or two, nor in a week or two, nor in a month or two, nor in a year or two; I 'm killed entirely."
"You 're not," said Bottles. "When I was on the highway I never minded a little clip like that."
"Hush, Bottles," said I, "you talk altogether too much. Paddy," cried I, "get on your feet, and show yer manners here to Father Donovan."
Paddy got on his feet with a celerity which his former attitude would not have allowed one to believe possible.
"My poor boy!" said the kindly priest; "who has misused you?" and he put his two hands on the sore head.
"About two miles from here," said Paddy, "I was set on by a score of men"
