Well, as you may fancy, if they loved Donald little before, they loved
him less now.
"What's the matter, friends?" said he, as he saw them tearing along,
their hats knocked in, and their coats torn off, and their faces black
and blue. "Is it fighting you've been? or mayhap you met the police,
ill luck to them?"
"We'll police you, you vagabond. It's mighty smart you thought
yourself, deluding us with your lying tales."
"Who deluded you? Didn't you see the gold with your own two eyes?"
But it was no use talking. Pay for it he must and should. There was a
meal-sack handy, and into it Hudden and Dudden popped Donald O'Neary,
tied him up tight, ran a pole through the knot, and off they started
for the Brown Lake of the Bog, each with a pole-end on his shoulder,
and Donald O'Neary between.
But the Brown Lake was far, the road was dusty, Hudden and Dudden
were sore and weary, and parched with thirst. There was an inn by the
roadside.
"Let's go in," said Hudden; "I'm dead beat. It's heavy he is for the
little he had to eat."
If Hudden was willing, so was Dudden. As for Donald, you may be sure
his leave wasn't asked, but he was dumped down at the inn door for all
the world as if he had been a sack of potatoes.
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