mighty could,--a rigor, as old M'Lauchlan would call it."

"E'en sae, Maister Quill," said a broad Scotch accent behind him; "and I
canna see ony objection to giein' things their right names."

"The top of the morning to you," said Quill, familiarly patting him on the
back; "how goes it, old Brimstone?"

The conversation might not have taken a very amicable turn had M'Lauchlan
heard the latter part of this speech; but, as happily he was engaged
unpacking a small canteen which he had placed in the wagon, it passed
unnoticed.

"You'll nae dislike a toothfu' of something warm, Major," said he,
presenting a glass to O'Shaughnessy; "and if ye'll permit me, Mr. O'Mealey,
to help you--"

"A thousand thanks, Doctor; but I fear a broken arm--"

"There's naething in the whiskey to prevent the proper formation of
callus."

"By the rock of Cashel, it never made any one callous," said O'Shaughnessy,
mistaking the import of the phrase.

"Ye are nae drinking frae the flask?" said the doctor, turning in some
agitation towards Quill.

"Devil a bit, my darling. I've a little horn convaniency here, that holds
half-a-pint, nice measure."