"Och! he's a broth of a boy!" "Why, I thought he'd broken your head, Terry?" "Phooh! that's nothing? A piece o' plaster'll set all to rights; and Terry O'Flaherty's not the boy to care for the stroke of a supple-jack. Wood lifted up his hands in mute despair. Away up on the hillside was the little country railway station. To his consternation, she was holding an unwieldy, ugly-looking pistol, all wood and tarnished steel, with both hands about the butt. . “Turned out to be an impostor, too. . Anna was having tea by herself when she entered. The fresh air, which blew in his face, greatly revived him.
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