Dr Barrett took him aside.
“Paddy,” he said, “you must help me to keep up the men’s spirits. I depend upon you. I am doing my best. Help me. Will you?”
The tears rushed to the good fellow’s eyes.
“Doctor dear,” he exclaimed, “I’d lay down my life to plaze ye, and it’s the truth I’m telling you.”
“Well, my good honest fellow, there needn’t be any laying down of lives, only just you keep up your heart, and I’ll lay a wager the men will be merry enough, and that is half the battle. I will not conceal from you, Paddy,” continued the doctor, “that there is a hard struggle before us, a struggle perhaps for bare existence, but with God’s help we’ll get through it and conquer.”
“’Deed, then, and well try, sorr.”
“Yes, Paddy; and if the worst comes to the worst, we have but once to die, you know.”
“True for ye, sorr. I never heard of any one dying twice, sorr.”
“No, Paddy. And now you are my assistant—aren’t you?”
He extended his hand as he spoke, and Paddy grasped it with the grip of a vice.