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In other days Ould Michael had gloried beyond all in the display of loyal spirit; but to-day he sat, dark and scowling, in Paddy Dougan's barroom. McFarquhar and I were standing outside the door keeping an eye, but not too apparently, upon Ould Michael's drinking.
He did not try to instill theology into the old man's mind, but he read to him constantly the gospel stories and followed his reading with prayer always in Gaelic, however, for with this Ould Michael found no fault as to him it was no new thing to hear prayers in a foreign tongue. But one day McFarquhar ventured a step in advance.
Before the sun was high McFarquhar had his own and Michael's pony ready at the door and, however unwilling Ould Michael might be, there was nothing for it but march. As they rode off Ould Michael took off his hat under the flag and called out: "God save Her Majesty!" "God bless her!" I echoed heartily. At once the old soldier clambered down and, tearing open his coat, pulled out a flask. "Mr.
"Captain, did ye say?" said Ould Michael. "Ay, Captain!" said McFarquhar, surprised at the old man's eager face. "And what's his rigimint?"
McFarquhar," he said, solemnly, "it would be unbecoming in us to separate from our friend without duly honoring Her Gracious Majesty's name." Then, raising high the flask, he called out with great ceremony, and dropping his brogue entirely: "Gentlemen, I give you the Queen, God bless her!" He raised the flask to his lips and took a long pull and passed it to me.
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