tuk the wrong one. "Here's to your
good health, Terence," says he; "an' now
pull like the very divil." An' with that he
lifted the bottle of holy wather, but it was
hardly to his mouth, whin he let a screech
out, you'd think the room id fairly split
with it, an' made one chuck that sent the
leg clane aff his body in my father's hands.
Down wint the squire over the table, an'
bang wint my father half-way across the
room on his back, upon the flure. Whin
he kem to himself the cheerful mornin' sun
was shinin' through the windy shutthers,
an' he was lying flat an his back, with the
leg iv one of the great ould chairs pulled
clane out iv the socket an' tight in his
hand, pintin' up to the ceilin', an' ould
Larry fast asleep, an' snorin' as loud as
ever. My father wint that mornin' to
Father Murphy, an' from that to the day
of his death, he never neglected confission
nor mass, an' what he tould was betther
believed that he spake av it but seldom.
An', as for the squire, that is the sperit,
whether it was that he did not like his
liquor, or by rason iv the loss iv his leg, he
was never known to walk agin.'