scruff an' threw him under a bowlder, an' whin I sat down I heard the bullets patterin' on that same good stone.
'"Ye may dhraw your own wicked fire," I sez, shakin' him, " but I'm not goin' to be kilt too." '"Ye've come too soon," he sez. " Ye've come too soon, In another minute they cudn't ha' missed me. Mother av' God," he sez, "fwhy did ye not lave me be? Now 'tis all to do again," an' he hides his face in his hands.
'"So that's it," I sez, shakin' him again. "That's the manin' ay your disobeyin' ordhers."
'"I dare not kill meself," he sez, rockin' to and fro, " My own hand wud not let me die, and there's not a bullet this month past wud touch me I'm to die slow," he sez, "I'm to die slow, But I'm in hell now," he sez, shriekin' like a woman. "I'm in hell now!"
'"God be good to us all," I sez, for I saw his face. "Will ye tell a manthe throuble? If 'tis not murder, maybe we'll mend it yet."
'At that he laughed. "D'you remember fwhat I said in the Tyrone barricks about comin' to you for ghostly consolation. I have not forgot," he sez. "That came back, and the rest av my time is on me now, Terence. I've fought ut off for months an' months, but the liquor will not bite any more. Terence," he sez, "I can't get dhrunk!"
'Thin I knew he spoke the truth about bein' in hell, for whin liquor does not take hould the sowl av a man is rotten in him. But me bein' such as I was, fwhat could I say to him?
'"Di'monds an' pearls," he begins again. " Di'monds
