“Are you sure he is not injured—that he has quite recovered from any possible effects?” he said.
Then came the husky voice of the man.
“Go'night, king, go'night. I'm alright—horse know's way. We're tram'led on, king—'pressed people—but wormil turn—wormil turn—never mind—Go save Ireland—green flag litters o'er us—tread th' land that bore us—go'night.”
The cart was in motion before the man's words had ceased.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
Look you lay home to him:
Tell him his pranks have been too broad to bear with.
What to ourselves in passion we propose,