CHAPTER IV The tourists returned to the Sha-mien at four o'clock. "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. Let me keep him. ‘Coward,’ she threw at him, brandishing the sword. ’ ‘Was. It was better even than the hymn-singing. It was hard to resist. A tinge of admiration rose in his breast. He had meant to come at his business in a roundabout way, but for that little slip. She returned home through a world that was as roseate as it had been gray overnight.
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