The chief was nettled. He was not quite certain that the R.M. was not right, and merely replied:
"Perhaps so, sir; but it really was not of Lindley Murray I was thinking at the time."
The magistrate was softened. He felt that he had been sparring rather sharply with a lad not much more than one-third of his age.
"Well, I really beg your pardon," he said; "I did not intend to be so sharp."
"Granted," said the chief, laughing; for he was not an ill-tempered fellow. "But here we are at my box; come in and have some breakfast, and I'll drive you to petty-sessions after."
"Thank you very much, I'll take breakfast; for I came away in a horrid fuss without saying a word as to when I should be back again. I will not trespass upon you, however, to do more than you have already done in the driving way. I had some fears when we started that we should have breakfasted at dinner, some time this evening, after a coroner's inquest. But this is better."
They then gave "the trap" to the "private orderly," and proceeded to punish the tea, toast, eggs, and cold ham in a most exemplary manner.
CHAPTER XXVI.
The chief was well aware of the reputation which the priest had obtained through the parish for medical skill, and was himself convinced of how well he deserved it. Indeed, had the alternative rested in any case between Father Farrell and the dispensary doctor, there was not a parishioner who would not have preferred his pastor's medical as well as spiritual aid.
The chief, instead of ordering off the dispensary doctor to see young Lennon upon a rumor that he was worse, went quietly to Father Farrell, who must know the truth, and be able to give good advice as to what steps, if any, were necessary to adopt.