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"The Lord be merciful to us both if we're not to see the morning light! Ah, are ye back, Dan Dolan?" as his eyes fell upon the wandering sheep of his flock standing beside him. "May God forgive ye for this night's work! It was the looking for ye that killed me entirely."
I told him that I considered the last night's riot, not in the light of a mutiny, or a serious attempt to wound or scratch any man, but as a high frolic, without any real malice, and was an evidence of that boisterous liberty in which they had been bred up, and arising also from their high notions of right and wrong.
That Everett would make little of what had been done for him he did not in the least fear. Everett Wharton was sometimes silly but was never ungenerous. In spite of his night's work Lopez was in Manchester Square before nine on the following morning, and on the side of his brow he bore a great patch of black plaster. "My head is very thick," he said laughing, when Everett asked after his wound.
No wonder then Perk was thrilled to the core with the sense of mystery that brooded over this most peculiar locality to him it already assumed a condition bordering on some of those miraculous things he could remember once reading in his boyhood's favorite book "The Arabian Night's Entertainment," the glamour of which had never entirely left him.
A quarter of an hour's walk through the dimly lighted and squalid streets which intersect Miller's Point and Church Hill brought Barry out into the glare and noise of the lower part of the principal thoroughfares of the city, which, boisterous as was the night, was fairly thronged with the poorer class of people engaged in their Saturday night's shopping.
Among them are "Henry Esmond," "Bacon's Essays" and extracts from "English Literature." Perhaps next week I shall have some more books, "The Tempest," "A Midsummer Night's Dream" and possibly some selections from Green's history of England. Am I not very fortunate?
Mary Virginia took them from me and dropped them on the coals remaining from last night's fire the last fire of the season. They did not ignite quickly, though they began to turn brown, and thin spirals of smoke arose from them. The Butterfly Man knelt, thrust a handful of lightwood splinters under the pile, and touched a match here and there.
But in spite of much valiant talk no hero was found willing to take sword and spear and free the suffering village and win deathless fame; and each night's heated discussion always ended in nothing. Meanwhile the dragon, a happy Bohemian, lolled on the turf, enjoyed the sunsets, told antediluvian anecdotes to the Boy, and polished his old verses while meditating on fresh ones.
But for the delay caused by their companions going back they must have fallen into the hands of their enemies. They now turned eastward, and after a long night's march found themselves in the wild tract of country called the Braes of Glenmoriston.
"We'll all sleep," said Henry. "As Tom says, we're as safe as if we were in a stone fort, and we don't need any guard." An hour later all of the valiant five were slumbering peacefully within their warm walls, and when they ate a good hot breakfast the next morning, cooked in Jim Hart's best fashion, they laughed heartily and often over the night's great event. "I guess Mr.
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