let go his prisoner till he reached the quartermaster-general, and they
were both bathed in blood by that time."

"Poor Mike! we must do something for him."

"Oh, he's as happy as a king! Maurice has been in to see him, and they've
had a long chat about Ireland, and all the national pastimes of whiskey
drinking and smashing skulls. My very temples ache at the recollection."

"Is Mister O'Mealey at home?" said a very rich Cork accent, as the
well-known and most droll features of Dr. Maurice Quill appeared at the
door.

"Come in, Maurice," said the major; "and for Heaven's sake, behave
properly. The poor fellow must not have a row about his bedside."

"A row, a row! Upon my conscience, it is little you know about a row, and
there's worse things going than a row. Which leg is it?"

"It's an arm, Doctor, I'm happy to say."

"Not your punch hand, I hope. No; all's right. A neat fellow you have for
a servant, that Mickey Free. I was asking him about a townsman of his
own--one Tim Delany,--the very cut of himself, the best servant I ever had.
I never could make out what became of him. Old Hobson of the 95th, gave
him to me, saying, 'There he is for you, Maurice, and a bigger thief and a
greater blackguard there's not in the 60th.'

"'Strong words,' said I.