“Oh, Patrick! Patrick!”
Patrick folded Judith in his arms, took one kiss, and then hastened out of the house, saying—“Remember the shealing, Judith, dear, there we’ll talk the matter over easy and comfortable.”
Patrick returned to his house, where he found his mother and sisters in tears. They had received orders to prepare his wardrobe, which, by the bye, did not give them much trouble from its extent; they only had to mend every individual article. His father was sitting down by the hearth, and when he saw Patrick he said to him,—“Now just come here, my boy, and take a stool, while you listen to me and learn a little worldly wisdom, for I may not have much time to talk to you when we are at Dublin.”
Patrick took a seat, and was all attention.
“You’ll just observe, Pat, that it’s a very fine thing to be an officer in the king’s army; nobody dares to treat you ill, although you may ill-treat others, which is no small advantage in this world.”
“There’s truth in that,” replied Patrick.
“You see, when you get into an enemy’s country, you may help yourself; and, if you look sharp, there’s very pretty pickings—all in a quiet way, you understand.”
“That, indeed.”
“You observe, Pat, that, as one of his officers, the king expects you to appear and live like a gentleman, only he forgets to give you the means of so doing; you must, therefore, take all you can get from his Majesty, and other people must make up the difference.”
“That’s a matter o’ course,” said Patrick.