av us wint back together into the mess an' the Paythans were still
standin' up. They was not _too_ impart'nint though, for the Tyrone was
callin' wan to another to remimber Tim Coulan.

'Crook stopped outside av the strife an' looked anxious, his eyes
rowlin' roun'.

'"Fwhat is ut, Sorr?" sez I; "can I get ye anything?"

'"Where's a bugler?" sez he.

'I wint into the crowd--our men was dhrawin' breath behin' the Tyrone
who was fightin' like sowls in tormint--an' prisintly I came acrost
little Frehan, our bugler bhoy, pokin' roun' among the best wid a rifle
an' bay'nit.

'"Is amusin' yoursilf fwhat you're paid for, ye limb?" sez I, catchin'
him by the scruff. "Come out av that an' attind to your duty," I sez;
but the bhoy was not pleased.

'"I've got wan," sez he, grinnin', "big as you, Mulvaney, an' fair
half as ugly. Let me go get another."

'I was dishplease dat the personability av that remark, so I tucks him
under my arm an' carries him to Crook who was watchin' how the fight
wint. Crook cuffs him till the bhoy cries, an' thin sez nothin' for
a whoile.

'The Paythans began to flicker onaisy, an' our men roared. "Opin ordher!
Double!" sez Crook. "Blow, child, blow for the honour of the British