“Faix, it just was, sor, and I’ll niver forget it. But ye’ll look loively, sor. There’s plinty of the little cakes iv Masther Frank didn’t ate thim all.”
“I did not touch them, Tim,” said Frank, eagerly.
“Then the day’s our own, sor. You come down and docthor ’em, and I’ll go and prepare the syle for the sade.”
“What are you going to do?” said Mr Braine, quickly.
“Only shmoke me poipe in the gyarden, sor, and soother and blarney them over a bit. It’ll kim aisier, thin, to go in and fetch a bit and sup from the panthry, and not be so suddint like. They’re such desayving thayves of the world, they suspect everybody.”
Tim went down, and the doctor busied himself at a medicine-chest for a few minutes before following him.
“Now, Greig, help me,” said the Resident, turning down the lamps a little. “Frank, keep out of sight in case we are watched. You know where the doctor keeps his ammunition.”
“Yes, father,” was the reply, and the pair busied themselves in examining revolvers and guns, placing ammunition ready for flight, and finally arming the ladies, and thrusting an ornamental kris from the walls into their belts.
Then weapons were placed ready for the doctor and his man, their arrangements being about complete as the former returned looking pale and anxious.
“Ah,” he said, on seeing the preparations, “that’s right. It’s hard to leave all our treasures and collections.”