"You had better go to bed, grandfather, and take Thomas with you," he
said to the veteran.
"Not a wink this blissid noight, Squoire," replied Mr. Terry, "the smill
av the powther has put new loife into my owld carcash. The Captin can go
iv he plazes."
"Avast, there! I say, messmate," growled Captain Thomas, "I don't run
this mill, but my youngster's here under hatches, and I'm a goin' to
keep watch on, watch off along of any other man. I don't think that o'
yours is half up to the mark, Mr. Terry."
"Oi was thinkin' I was a bit wake mysilf," replied the old soldier,
filling up his glass, and handing the decanter to his neighbour, who
likewise improved the occasion.
"Oi'm suppawsin now, sorr," continued the veteran, addressing the
dominie, "that this is yer first apparance on shintry."
"You are right, Mr. Terry, in your supposition."
"An', sorr, it's a cridit to yeez to be shtandin' an' facin' the inimy
wid divel a thing in yer hand but a pishtil. Oi moind a big sthrappin'
liftinant av ours was called Breasel, an' sid he was discinded from the
great Breasel Breck av Oirish hishtry.
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