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Updated: May 13, 2025
Now my father's opening address was not calculated to restore Petereeine's mental serenity and to add to his uneasiness, he also caught sight of that infernal implement, the black-thorn, which, in treacherous repose, was resting at my father's elbow. "On with some wood, you vagabond." The order was obeyed and Petereeine conveyed a couple of billets safely from the basket to the grate.
Such was the state of affairs, when the entrance of the chief butler harbingered other occurrences, and much more serious than Petereeine's damaged jaw. Mick Kalligan had been in the "heavies" with my father, and at Salamanca, had ridden the opening charge, side by side, with him, greatly to the detriment of divers Frenchmen, and much to the satisfaction of his present master. In executing this achievement, Mick had been a considerable sufferer his ribs having been invaded by a red lancer of the guard while a chausseur-
The Boheeil Kistanaugh, called in plain English, the kitchen boy, had entered, not like Caliban, "bearing a log," but with a basket full. He deposited the supply, and was directed by the commander to replenish the fire. I believe that Petereeine's allegiance to my father originated in fear rather than affection. He dreaded "the deep damnation of his 'Bah!"
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