"I've done the best I could for him," put in Jem Bottles. "He'll be all right in a day or two."
"I'll not," said Paddy, with more strength than one would suspect; "I'll not be all right in a day or two, nor in a week or two, nor in a month or two, nor in a year or two; I'm killed entirely."
"You're not," said Bottles. "When I was on the highway I never minded a little clip like that."
"Hush, Bottles," said I, "you talk altogether too much. Paddy," cried I, "get on your feet, and show yer manners here to Father Donovan."
Paddy got on his feet with a celerity which his former attitude would not have allowed one to believe possible.
"My poor boy!" said the kindly priest; "who has misused you?" and he put his two hands on the sore head.
"About two miles from here," said Paddy, "I was set on by a score of men—"
"There was only nine of them," interrupted Jem, "count the saddles."
"They came on me so sudden and unexpected that I was off my horse before I knew there was a man within reach. They had me down before I could say my prayers, and cudgelled me sorely, tearing my clothes, and they took away the packet of papers you gave me, sir. Sure I tried to guard it with my life, an' they nearly took both."
"I am certain you did your best, Paddy," said I; "and it's sorry I am to see you injured."