Just then I heard somebody a long way off say, "Whip poor Will!" "Bedad!"
sez I, "I'm glad it isn't Jamie that's got to take it, though it seems its
more in sorrow than in anger they're doin' it, or why should they say,
'poor Will?' and sure they can't be Injin, haythen, or naygur, for its
plain English they're afther spakin?"
Maybe they might help me out o' this, so I shouted at the top of my voice,
"A lost man!" Thin I listened. Prisintly an answer came.
"Who: Whoo! Whooo!"
"Jamie Butler, the waiver," sez I, as loud as I could roar, an' snatchin'
up me bundle an' stick, I started in the direction of the voice. Whin I
thought I had got near the place I stopped and shouted again, "A lost man!"
"Who! Whoo! Whooo!" said a voice right over my head.
"Sure," thinks I, "it's a quare place for a man to be at this time of
night; maybe it's some settler scrapin' sugar off a sugar bush for the
childher's breakfast in the mornin'. But where's Will and the rest of
them?" All this wint through me head like a flash, an' thin I answered his
enquiry.
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