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Updated: June 18, 2025
In those days no man had call to be ashamed of his offspring, since it a baby was deformed or idiotic it was known to be a Changeling. It is sixty years now since old Mike Lonergan, who lived in a hovel in Moher Village, was robbed of his child.
"Something of a tenderfoot, but a good lad, Lon, a good lad." "You bet he is!" declared Jonas P. Lonergan, vigorously. "I knew his name when you spoke it, and now I know his face. He's the image of his mother that's what he is." Then he turned to Pratt again and roared: "Do you know who I am, boy?"
If we except the death of the brave Lonergan and that of half a dozen other noble fellows, whose names are unfortunately not at our command at this moment, and take into consideration the capture by the British of the Christian and chivalrous Father McMahon, who, regardless of his own personal safety, remained with the dead and dying, after the forces of O'Neill had recrossed the river, the victory of Ridgeway was completely unclouded.
Andy would shrink into the corner, and sit cuddled there with one arm round the pig's neck. Old Mike Lonergan took to drink, and spent every evening at the Shebeen small blame to him for how could a man be expected to stay at home with a Changeling sitting in a corner and staring at him?
The party arrived at the ranch-house Mr. Tooley and all after daybreak. The Captain had insisted upon Pratt's going, too. "What?" Lonergan demanded. "You a bank clerk, looking out through the wires of a cage like a monkey in the Zoo we saw years ago at Kansas City?" "That is a nice job for your nephew, hey Lon?" put in the Captain. "Drop it, boy, drop it.
"A prompt reply, Captain Rugley, if you are the old-time partner of my ancient friend, will be gratefully received by the undersigned, and joyfully by Mr. Lonergan. "Why! what do you think of that?" gasped Frances, when she had read the letter to the very last word. Her father's face was shining and there were tears in his eyes. His joy at hearing from his old companion-in-arms was unmistakable.
"Right you are, Captain, right you are!" agreed Lonergan. Frances and Pratt heard none of this. Pratt had entered the car and the two young people were talking to the Reverend Mr. Tooley, who was a demure little man in clerical black, who seemed quite happy over the reunion of the two old friends, Captain Dan Rugley and Jonas P. Lonergan. Lonergan was a lean old man who walked with a crutch.
"If you are Jonas P. Lonergan's old-time partner you will remember the particulars more clearly than I can state them. "If this be the case, I am sure I need only state the above and certify to the identity of Mr. Lonergan, to bring from you an expression of your remembrance and the statement whether or no any property to which Mr. Lonergan might make a claim is in your possession. "Mr.
She heard from the chaplain of the Bylittle Soldiers' Home the day before she was to start on her brief journey, and she sent José Reposa with a long prepaid telegraph message to the station, arranging for a private car in which Jonas P. Lonergan was to travel from Mississippi to the Panhandle. She hoped the chaplain would come with him. About the ex-orderly of the home the letter said nothing.
But it gets there, as Sankey got there always; and in time of blockade and desperation on the West End they still send out Sankey's double-header; though Sankey, as the conductors tell the children, traveling east or traveling west Sankey isn't running any more. A Comedy of Everyday Life By LLOYD E. LONERGAN "AUNTIE left on the six-o'clock train last night. Meet her at the depot.
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