There were now no large boys in the school to curb his resentment, he
therefore kicked him in the back when he fell. Many voices exclaimed in
alarm--"Oh, masther! sir; don't kill him! Oh, sir! dear, don't kill him!
Don't kill poor Jemmy, sir, an' him still sick!"
"Kill him!" replied the master; "kill him, indeed! Faith, he'd be no
common man who could kill him; he has as many lives in him as a cat!
Sure, he can live behind a ditch, wid the faver on his back, wid-out
dying; and he would live if he was stuck on the spire of a steeple."
In the meantime the boy gave no symptoms of returning life, and the
master, after desiring a few of the scholars to bring him oat to the
air, became pale as death with apprehension. He immediately withdrew
to his private apartment, which joined the schoolroom, and sent out his
wife to assist in restoring him to animation. With some difficulty
this was accomplished. The unhappy boy at once remembered what had just
occurred; and the bitter tears gushed from his eyes, as he knelt down,
and exclaimed "Merciful Father of heaven and earth, have pity on me! You
see my heart, great God! and that what I did, I did for the best!"
"Avourneen," said the woman, "he's passionate, an' never mind him. Come
in an' beg his pardon for callin' him a liar, an' I'll become spokesman
for you myself. Come, acushla, an' I'll get lave for you to stay in the
school still."
"Oh, I'm hurted!" said the poor youth: "I'm hurted inwardly--somewhere
about the back, and about my ribs!" The pain he felt brought the tears
down his pale cheeks.
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