“Who are you, and where are you?” I asked, seeing no one.
“It’s me, Pat Nolan, then,” answered the ragged little urchin, creeping from under the bush. “May be he’s not far off just now, with that thief of the world, Dan Fegan, and one or two others looking out for ye.”
I was half inclined to go on in spite of Pat’s warning. “Why should I be afraid of those Irish chaps?” I thought to myself. But little Pat begged so hard that I would not, that I began to think it would be wise to follow his advice.
“Och ahone! ahone! you’ll be kilt entirely if you go now!” exclaimed the boy, crying and pulling at me to go in the direction he wanted.
I felt that it would be foolish to run into danger for no purpose, and that at all events I should have only rather a longer walk than I had expected. “Well, Pat, I’ll go with you,” said I.
The little chap gave a leap with delight. “Arrah! then there’s no time to be lost!” he exclaimed, leading the way down a lane which skirted the edge of the bog.
I followed, and had to step out fast to keep up with him.
“Ye’ll have to lape over some pools may be, but it’s all hard below where I’ll lead ye, so don’t be afraid now,” he whispered, putting his finger to his lips.
I laughed aloud.
“Hist, hist; he’ll be after hearing you,” he said, in the same tone as before; “but come on now.”