Suddenly Connor’s face was clouded. “Whist, thin, Coolin,” said he hoarsely. “Hadendowas I’ve no fear uv, an’ Subadars are Injy nagurs anyhow, though fellow-soldiers uv the Queen that’s good to shtand befront uv biscuit-boxes or behoind thim; an’ wan has no fear of the thing that’s widout fear, an’ death’s iron enters in aisy whip mortial strength’s behind it. But drames--I’ve had enough uv drames in me toime, I have that, Coolin!” He shuddered a little. “What was it ye dramed again, Coolin? Was there anything but the dramin’--anny noise, or sound, or spakin’?” Coolin lied freely, for to disturb William Connor was little enough compensation for being held back at Suakim while the Berkshires and the Sikhs were off for a scrimmage in the desert. “Nothin’ saw I wid open eye, an’ nothin’ heard,” he answered; “but I dramed twice that I saw ye lyin’ wid y’r head on y’r arm and a hole in y’r jacket. Thin I waked suddin’, an’ I felt a cold wind goin’ over me--three toimes; an’ a hand was laid on me own face, an’ it was cold an’ smooth-like the hand uv a Sikh, William Connor dear.” Connor suddenly caught Coolin’s arm. “D’ye say that!” said he. “Shure, I’ll tell ye now why the chills rin down me back whin I hear uv y’r drame. Thrue things are drames, as I’ll prove to ye--as quare as condinsation an’ as thrue, Coolin; fer condinsation comes out uv nothin’, and so do drames.... There was Mary Haggarty, Coolin--ye’ll not be knowin’ Mary Haggarty. It was mornin’ an’ evenin’ an’ the first day uv the world where she were. That was Mary Haggarty. An’ ivery shtep she tuk had the spring uv the first sod of Adin. Shure no, ye didn’t know Mary Haggarty, an’ ye niver will, Coolin, fer the sod she trod she’s lyin’ under, an’ she’ll niver rise up no more.” “Fer choice I’ll take the sod uv Erin to the sand uv the Soudan,” said Coolin. “Ye’ll take what ye can get, Coolin; fer wid a splinterin’ bullet in y’r gizzard ye lie where ye fall.” “But Mary Haggarty, Connor?” “I was drinkin’ hard, ye understand, Coolin--drinkin’, loike a dhromedairy--ivery day enough to last a wake, an’ Mary tryin’ to stop me betimes. At last I tuk the pledge--an’ her on promise. An’ purty, purty she looked thin, an’ shtepping light an’ fine, an’ the weddin’ was coming an. But wan day there was a foire, an’ the police coort was burned down, an’ the gaol was that singed they let the b’ys out, an’ we rushed the police an’ carried off the b’ys, an’--” “An’ ye sweltered in the juice!” broke in Coolin with flashing eyes, proud to have roused Connor to this secret tale, which he would tell to the Berkshires as long as they would listen, that it should go down through a long line of Berkshires, as Coolin’s tale of William Connor. “An’ I sweltered in the swill,” said Connor, his eye with a cast quite shut with emotion, and the other nearly so. “An’ wance broke out agin afther tin months’ goin’ wake and watery, was like a steer in the corn. There was no shtoppin’ me, an’--”