Then, I thought, she has repented, all will be well. "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. But I have not done so, and will not. I tell you what, Thames," he added, flinging himself carelessly into a chair, "I'd give my right hand,—and that's no light offer for a carpenter's 'prentice,—if that little minx were half as fond of me as she is of you. Or become a thorough-going typist and stenographer and secretarial expert. Perhaps it had been pick-pocketed or jostled from her dress in a hunt.
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