"'Sure 'tis a hurry you are in, Terence,' sez the Docthor; 'and you wid the nice bright day before you. Seventeen of the best I've brought you, Terence; I can't make an even number of them count them as I will. 'Tis hard to see Conlan there forming twos be himself, so it is.' "'You're looking younger iv'ry day, Terence me boy,' sez the Docthor, aisy like. 'What age would you be now?' "''Tis forty I am, Docthor darlin',' said Terence--'in me boots,' sez he. "''Tis the thick boots you're wearin'; won't you take them off, Terence?' sez the Docthor. 'What's your chist measurement?' sez he. "'Thirty-eight, no less,' sez Terence, expanding of himself to his full height like a pouther pigeon. "'I once heard tell of a man that gave his chist measurement be mistake for his age, Terence. Did you never make a mistake in your life now, Terence?' sez the Docthor. "'Did I not, Docthor, and only last night,' said Terence; 'mebbe you'll hear of it yet,' sez he. 'Gwan out o' that, Docthor, now.'" "I thought you said that Terence joined them," I remarked. "Wait now till I tell you," said Martin. "Was I not saying that the Widdy O'Grady was there? Next to the engine she was, looking out of the carriage window at the boys. 'Twas goin' part of the way wid them she was; and why not? "'You'll be late startin',' said the station-master to Terence, ''tis near eleven o'clock,' sez he; 'or after,' sez he. ''Tis me flag I'm lookin' for,' sez Terence. 'Sure the signal's against us, anyway,' sez he. "''Tis not this thrain the signal refers to,' said the station-master, ''tis the next thrain. Wave your flag and let her go, Terence,' sez he. "But 'twas flusthered Terence was wid losin' his flag," said old Martin. 'The divvle take the flag,' sez he. 'Sure I'll shtart her wid me handkerchief,' sez he. A red handkerchief at that," said Martin Cassidy. "You'd not expect an engine-dhriver to shtart the thrain be wavin' a red handkerchief at him--not an express thrain. Sure he'd know the by-laws betther than that. But 'twas Bridget O'Grady's eye caught the red handkerchief, so it did. "''Tis wavin' his handkerchief at me, he is,' sez she to the engine-dhriver. 'Good luck to you, mam,' sez he. 'Och the darlint,' sez she, waving back at Terence, 'he worships the ground I thread on,' sez she. 'Sure his feelings have overcome him, mam,' sez the engine-dhriver. 'Och me little Bo-peep,' sez she, blowing kisses to Terence be the dozen at a time. "'Is it wantin' me to come to you, so it is,' said Bridget, opening the carriage door, 'me little love-burrd?' sez she. 'I'm coming to you, Terence dear,' sez she.