“D—n you, Cannie,” exclaimed the other, between jest and earnest, “why did you give me such a start? You told the affair as if Fergus had been shot—however, I'm glad that all's safe in O'Driscol's;—but about the night-boys? Were there any lives lost among them?”
“It's thought not, sir,” replied the pedlar. “They left the marks o' blood behind them, but the general opinion is, that there was no life lost; I hope there wasn't—for, indeed, I have such a hatred against the shed-din' of blood, that I don't wish even to hear of it.”
“What was their object, have you learned, in attacking O'Driscol's place?”
“Well, then, I didn't hear; but anyhow, they say that a new workin' boy of O'Driscol's, that dogged them up beyant Darby Hourigan's, was wounded by them, along with Darby himself, in regard, of his having joined the young fellow in dodgin' afther them.”
“Are they seriously hurt?” asked John.
“Throth that's more than I can say, but I hope they're not, poor fellows; at any rate, I'm sure Mr. O'Driscol will have them well taken care of till they're recovered.”
“Certainly,” observed the proctor, “if he thinks it his duty he will: my friend O'Driscol will do what he conceives to be right.”
The pedlar nodded significantly, and honored the observation with, a broad grin. “Well, sir,” said he, changing the conversation, “he may do for that as he likes, but I must look to number one. Come, ladies—and, by the way, where's my favorite, Miss Julia—from you?”
“She's not quite well this morning, Cannie,” said her mother; “she has a slight headache, I believe.”
“Well, Miss Mary, then? Any purchases to-day, Miss Mary?”