Presently comes Jimmy Burke himself—that lively, lovable scamp, to whom all were friendly; for he was both kind and gay, though a great braggart, and few believed that he had any stomach for the deeds he said he meant to do in battle.
"Faith," says he, "it's Misther Drogue, God bless him, an' in a sad plight along o' the bloody Sacandaga Tories! Wisha then, sorr, had I been there it's me would ha' trimmed the hair o' them!"
"Are you well, Jimmy?" I inquired, smiling, spite my pain.
"Am I well? I am that! I was never fitter f'r to fight thim dirty green coats of Sir John's. Och—the poor lad! Lave me fetch a hot brick——"
"I'm lame as a one-legged duck, Jimmy," said I. "Send word to the Fort that I've an account to render, and beg the Commandant to overlook my tardiness until I can be carried thither on a litter."
"And th' yoong leddy, sorr? Will she bait here?"
"Yes; where is she?"
"She lies on a wolf-skin on the bed in the next chamber, foreninst the wall, sorr. There's tears on her purty face, but I think she sleeps, f'r all that. Is she hurted, too, Misther Drogue?"
"Oh, no. When she wakes send a maid-servant to care for her. Find a loft-bed for my Indian and give him no rum—mind that, James Burke!—or we quarrel."
"Th' red divil gets no sup in my shabeen!" said he. "Do I lave him gorge or no?"