"Oh!" sais he, "I am kilt entirely. I am a dead man, Master Sam. By
the holy poker, but my arm is broke."
"I am afraid my gun is broke," said I, and off I set in search of it.
"Stop, yer Honour," said he, "for the love of Heaven, stop, or she'll
be the death of you."
"What?" sais I.
"There are five more shots in her yet, Sir. I put in six cartridges,
so as to make sure of that paper kite, and only one of them is gone
off yet. Oh! my shoulder is out, Master Sam. Don't say a word of it,
Sir, to the ould cratur, and--"
"To who?" said I.
"To her ladyship, the mistress," said he, "and I'll sarve you by day
and by night."
Poor Pat! you were a good-hearted creature naturally, as most of your
countrymen are, if repealers, patriots, and demagogues of all sorts
and sizes, would only let you alone. Yes, there is a great charm in
that word "Mr."
So, sais I, "Mr Jackson!"
"Yes, Sir," said he.
"Let me look at your bugle."
"Here it is, your Honour."
"What a curious lookin' thing it is," sais I, "and what's all them
little button-like things on it with long shanks?"
"Keys, Sir," said he.
"Exactly," sais I, "they unlock the music, I suppose, don't they, and
let it out? Let me see if I could blow it."
"Try the pipes, Mr Slick," said Peter. "Tat is nothin' but a prass
cow-horn as compared to the pagpipes."
"No, thank you," sais I, "it's only a Highlander can make music out of
that.
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