, and rescue him," said
Murphy, affecting to put about the boat.

"Oh, by no means," said Furlong. "You're bettaw acquainted with the
customs of the countwy than I am."

"Then we'll row back to dinner as fast as we can," said Murphy. "Pull
away, my hearties!" and, as he bent to his oars, he began bellowing the
Canadian Boat-Song, to drown Andy's roar, and when he howled--

"Our voices keep tune,"

there never was a more practical burlesque upon the words; but as he
added--

"Our oars keep time,"

he seemed to have such a pleasure in pulling, and looked so lively and
florid, that Furlong, chilled by his inactivity on the water, requested
Murtough to let him have an oar, to restore circulation by exercise.
Murtough complied; but the novice had not pulled many strokes, before
his awkwardness produced that peculiar effect called "catching a crab,"
and a smart blow upon his chest sent him heels over head under the
thwarts of the boat.

"Wha-wha-a-t's that?" gasped Furlong, as he scrambled up again.

"You only caught a crab," said Murtough.

"Good Heaven!" said Furlong, "you don't mean to say there are crabs as
well as salmon in the wiver."

"Just as many crabs as salmon," said Murtough; "pull away, my hearty.

"Row, brothers, row--the stream runs fast,
The rapids are near, and the daylight's past!"

CHAPTER XII

The boats doubled round an angle in the river, and Andy was left in the
hands of Squire O'Grady still threatening vengeance; but Andy, as long
as the boats remained in sight, heard nothing but his own sweet voice
shouting at the top of its pitch, "They're going to murdher me!--Misther
Dick, Misther Dick, come back for the love o' God!"

"What are you roaring like a bull for?" said the Squire.

"Why wouldn't I roar, sir? A bull would roar if he had as much rayson."

"A bull has more reason than ever you had, you calf," said the Squire.

"Sure there he is, and can explain it all to you," said Andy, pointing
after the boats.

"Who is there?" asked the Squire.

"Misther Dick, and the jintleman that I dhruv there."

"Drove where?"

"To the Squire's."

"What Squire?"

"Squire Egan's, to be sure."

"Hold your tongue, you rascal; you're either drunk still, or telling
lies. The gentleman I mean wouldn't go to Mister Egan's; he was coming
to me."

"That's the jintleman I dhruv--that's all I know. He was in the shay,
and was nigh shootin' me; and Micky Doolin stopped on