Wood, was pronounced by that lady to be very much sprained; and she, forthwith, proceeded to bathe it with a reddish-coloured lotion. I'll send you word when I catch him. "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. "Shall I take the babby home with me!" persisted Wood, in a tone between jest and earnest. “I suppose some one makes a bit on the food,” she said. Wants me to look out for you a bit. Too damned chickenhearted to confess to me he’d run off with the woman. You two have a good time.
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