"I deny altogether having taken possession of you, uncle. I let you have your way very much, and only interfere for your own good."
"You will have another patient to look after now, dear, and to fuss over."
"I will do my best," she said softly, leaning forward and putting her hand on that of Terence. "I know that it will be terribly dull for you, at firstafter being constantly on the move for the last five years, and always full of excitement and adventureto have to keep quiet and do nothing."
"I shall get on very well," he said. "Just as first, of course, I shall not be able to get about very much, but I shall soon learn to use my crutches; and I hope, before very long, to get a leg of some sort; and I don't see why I should not be able to ride again, after a bit. If I cannot do it any other way, I must take to a side saddle. I can have a leg made specially for riding, with a crook at the knee."
Mary laughed, while the tears came in her eyes.
"Why, bless me, Mary," he went on, "the loss of a leg is nothing, when you are accustomed to it. I shall be able, as I have said, to ride, drive, shoot, fish, and all sorts of things. The only thing that I shall be cut off from, as far as I can see, is dancing; but as I have never had a chance of dancing, since the last ball the regiment gave at Athlone, the loss will not be a very grievous one.
"Look at O'Grady. There he is, much worse off than I am, as he has no one to make any particular fuss about him. He is getting on capitally and, indeed, stumped about the deck so much, coming home, that the captain begged him to have a pad of leather put on to the bottom of his leg, to save the decks. O'Grady is a philosopher, and I shall try to follow his example."
"Why should one bother oneself, Miss O'Connor, when bothering won't help? When the war is over, I shall buy Tim Doolan, my soldier servant, out. He is a vile, drunken villain; but I understand him, and he understands me, and he blubbered so, when he carried me off the
field, that I had to promise him that, if a French bullet did not carry him off, I would send for him when the war was over.
"'You know you can't do without me, yer honour,' the scoundrel said.
"'I can do better without you than with you, Tim,' says I. 'Ye are always getting me into trouble, with your drunken ways. Ye would have been flogged a dozen times, if I hadn't screened you. Take up your musket and join your regiment. You rascal, you are smelling of drink now, and divil a drop, except water, is there in me flask.'
"'I did it for your own good,' says he. 'Ye know that spirits always heats your blood, and water would be the best for you, when the fighting began; so I just sacrificed meself.
"'For,' says I to meself, 'if ye get fighting a little wild, Tim, it don't matter a bit; but the captain will have to keep cool, so it is best that you should drink up the spirits, and fill the flask up with water to quench his thirst.'"
"'Be off, ye black villain,' I said, 'or I will strike you.'
"'You will never be able to do without me, Captain,' says he, picking up his musket; and with that he trudged away and, for aught I know, he never came out of the battle alive."
The others laughed.
"They were always quarrelling, Mary," Terence said. "But I agree with Tim that his master will find it very hard to do without him, especially about one o'clock in the morning."
"I am ashamed of you, Terence," O'Grady said, earnestly; "taking away me character, when I have come down here as your guest."
"It is too bad, O'Grady," Major O'Connor said, "but you know Terence was always conspicuous for his want of respect towards his elders."
"He was that same, O'Connor. I did me best for the boy, but there are some on whom education and example are clean thrown away."
"You are looking pale, cousin Terence," Mary said.
"Am I? My leg is hurting me a bit. Ireland is a great country, but its by-roads are not the best in the world, and this jolting shakes me up a bit."
"How stupid I was not to think of it!" she said and, rising in her seat, told Cassidy to drive at a walk.
They were now only half a mile from the house.
"You will hardly know the old place again, Terence," his father said.
"And a very good thing too, father, for a more tumble-down old shanty I never was in."
"It was the abode of our race, Terence."
"Well, then, it says mighty little for our race, father."
"Ah! But it did not fall into the state you saw it in till my father died, a year after I got my commission."
"I won't blame them, then; but, at any rate, I am glad I am coming home to a house and not to a ruin.
"Ah, that is more like a home!" he said, as a turn of the road brought them in sight of the building. "You have done wonders, Mary. That is a house fit for any Irish gentleman to live in."
"It has been altered so that it can be added to, Terence; but, at any rate, it is comfortable. As it was before, it made one feel rheumatic to look at it."
On arriving at the house, Terence refused all assistance.