Poor Bridget tended him as she would a weakly infant, and made many enquiries touching his friends, pursuits, etc., all of which he answered promptly, in his smooth, insinuating voice. Indeed, before he was in Bridget's company an hour he hobbled over and kissed her, whereupon she blushed, put up her apron, and said that he was 'revivin' purty fast since he got into the hait ov the fire.'
'My, but your poor knee must be very sore,' she said, looking at the huge swathing that enveloped that part of his body. 'What's the matter wid it? An evil?'
'Ah, yes, Bridget; a runneen sore. My life has been ebbeen through that hole since I was a child of twelve.'
Poor Bridget looked with moistened eyes upon the smooth-faced sufferer; and he struggled to his feet again, and saluted her wholesome lips.
The reader, of course, is not imposed upon by The Lifter. Inside these ostentatious wrappings our convert carried his skeleton keys, picklocks and screw-drivers; instead of a 'runneen sore' upon the knee, he had an entire tool chest there; yea, little files with teeth so fine that the noise they made would not be nearly so loud as the gnawing of a mouse.
Wonderful stories did the converted robber tell to Bridget before the glowing fire that winter's evening; and when the last sounds of the retiring inmates had died away he was not yet ended. Neither was Bridget willing to part from such sweet and interesting company. The sleek rascal saw this, and looking slyly into Bridget's delf-blue eyes, he said,
'Only for my affliction I think I might get some girl to marry me.'
Bridget sighed and looked down upon his amber hair. Indeed, if The Lifter is to be believed, she passed her fingers caressingly through these insinuating locks.
When the visitor was certain that everyone was asleep, he arose, and looking about him, said,
'This must be a very large house. Many rooms in it?'