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Here he was in this splendid great room up above the water, and he had been so sure that there wasn't any room at all! He just didn't know what to make of it. Paddy's eyes twinkled. "Well," said he, "what do you think of it?" "I I think it is splendid, just perfectly splendid! But I don't understand it at all, Cousin Paddy. I I Where is that great pile of mud I helped you build in the middle?"
Old Man Coyote didn't know that the first time he had visited Paddy's pond he had left behind him a footprint in a little patch of soft mud. If he had known it, he wouldn't have believed that Paddy would be smart enough to guess what that footprint meant.
At once he heard the sound of snapping twigs at the top of a little ridge back of Paddy's pond and knew that Lightfoot had heard and understood. Down from the top of the ridge back of the pond of Paddy the Beaver plunged Lightfoot the Deer, his eyes blazing with rage. He had understood the screaming of Sammy Jay. He knew that somewhere down there was the big stranger he had been looking for.
"And my name's Patrick Doyle, at your service; and it's myself and my friends there have come to spend a few weeks in your country, or maybe longer; and we hope by-and-by to have the pleasure of your better acquaintance." The tone of Paddy's voice, as well as his gestures, seemed to give confidence to the savage, and to assure him that we had no hostile intentions.
After we had watched them for some time, I pulled Paddy's arm, and got him, not unwillingly, to retire from the scene. "Arrah, Misther Godfrey," he said, "sure they're curious crathurs, them black nagurs; and I confess, your honour, when I first saw them, that I felt nigh ready to sink into the ground and turn into a skeleton myself!
A small but lively stream, called Paddy's River, runs at the bottom of this pass, and immediately to the S.W. of it, an open forest country of granite base extends for many miles, on which the eucalyptus manifera is prevalent, and which affords the best grazing tracts in Argyle.
Old Man Coyote didn't know that the first time he had visited Paddy's pond he had left behind him a footprint in a little patch of soft mud. If he had known it, he wouldn't have believed that Paddy would be smart enough to guess what that footprint meant.
The intruder, off whom the water streamed, had to shout to make himself audible. "It's me Mat Doyle's me name! It's me wife, doctor; she's dying. I've bin all night on the road. Ah, for the love of " "Where is it?" Mahony put his hand to the side of his mouth, to keep his words from flying adrift in the wind. "Paddy's Rest. You're the third I've bin to. Not one of the dirty dogs'ull stir a leg!
The reinforcements came rushing up the eastern slope of the hill, to find their pathway encumbered with bearded men in frock-coats and bandoliers. On top of the crest, surrounded by the wounded and the dying, sat a single man in khaki, the light of victory in his gleaming eyes, and Paddy's lifeless body clasped in his weary arms.
When I came back, yesterday morning, dead tired and my horse all in a mess, I found Kruger Roberts calmly sitting on my extra blankets, cleaning my shoes with Paddy's best dishcloth. Paddy was in a wild state of mutiny, and told me that that chattering baboon had vowed he was Trooper Weldon's boy. Since then, I have tried in vain to dislodge him; but it is no use.
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