surprisinly dthry, an' dthrinks it as fast as my legs can carry it,"
says he; "but what kills me intirely," says he, "is the wakeness in my
leg," says he, "an' I want you to give it a pull or two to bring it to
shape," says he, "and that's the long an' the short iv it," says he.

'"Oh, plase your honour," says my father (for he didn't like to handle
the sperit at all), "I wouldn't have the impidence to do the likes to
your honour," says he; "it's only to poor crathurs like myself I'd do it
to," says he.

'"None iv your blarney," says the squire. "Here's my leg," says he,
cockin' it up to him--"pull it for the bare life," says he; an'"if you
don't, by the immortial powers I'll not lave a bone in your carcish I'll
not powdher," says he.

'When my father heerd that, he seen there was no use in purtendin',
so he tuk hould iv the leg, an' he kep' pullin' an' pullin', till the
sweat, God bless us, beginned to pour down his face.

'"Pull, you divil!" says the squire.

'"At your sarvice, your honour," says my father.

"'Pull harder," says the squire.

'My father pulled like the divil.

'"I'll take a little sup," says the squire, rachin' over his hand to the
bottle, "to keep up my courage," says he, lettin' an to be very wake in
himself intirely. But, as cute as he was, he was out here, for he 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.'

THE FORTUNES OF SIR R