“Don’t say a word of it to him,” he said harshly. “Poor lad, it would break his heart.”
“Not tell him?”
“Dinny, lad, you’ll keep your tongue about this night’s work?”
“Not tell the boys?”
“Not tell a soul,” said Bart. “We’re friends, and it’s our secret, lad. You’ll hold your tongue?”
“Howlt my whisht? Yes,” said Dinny, “I will. Bart, lad, d’ye feel freckened now?”
“No.”
“Nor I, nayther. It was the thought that there was something else that freckened me. Phew, lad! it’s very hot.”
He wiped the great drops of sweat from his brow, and then, as Bart ended his task—
“Ye were scared, though, Bart,” he said.