Donald, with wonderful gentleness, took Neal’ clothes off him, put on him a night shirt of Felix Matier’s, and laid him between cool sheets. “Sit you here, Peg,” he said, when he had bandaged the cut head, “with the jug of water beside you, and keep the bandage wet. The other bruises are nothing, but a broken head needs to be minded. Now, Neal, don’t you talk.” Matier fetched a bottle of wine and set it with the light on the table which stood near the window. “We’ll have to sit here,” he said, “if we don’t disturb your nephew. Every other room in the house is in a state of scatteration. I have set the girls to clean up a bit, and after a while they’ll have beds for us to sleep in. It’s a devil of a business, but as poor Tone used to say when things went wrong with him-- ‘Tis but in vain For soldiers to complain.’” “What started the riot?” asked Donald. “The Lord knows. Those dragoons only marched into the town this afternoon. I suppose the devil entered into them, if the devil’s ever out of them at all.” “I guess,” said Donald, “those were the lads that marched through Antrim this morning.” “The very same.” “They’re strangers to the town, then?” “Ay; I don’t suppose one of them ever saw Belfast before.” “Tell me this, then. How did they know what house to attack? They came straight here.” “It was my sign angered them. They couldn’t abide the sight of Dumouriez’ honest face in a Belfast street. “Then let us fight about, Dumouriez; Then let us fight about, Dumouriez; Then let us fight about, Till freedom’s spark is out, Then we’ll be damned no doubt--Dumouriez.” “You miss the point, man; you miss my point. How did they know about your sign or you either, unless someone told them?” There was a knocking, gentle at first, and then more confident, at the street door. Donald looked inquiringly at his host. “It’s all right,” said Matlier, “I know that knock. It’s James Bigger, a safe man.” He left the room and returned with a young man whom he introduced to Donald Ward. “We were just talking about the riot,” said Donald. “What’s your opinion about it, Mr. Bigger?” “There are five houses wrecked,” said Bigger, “and every one of them the house of a man in sympathy with reform and liberty and the Union.” Donald and Matier exchanged glances. “They were well informed,” said Donald. “They knew what they were at, and where to go.” “They say,” said Bigger, “that the leaders of the different parties had papers in their hands with directions on them. They were seen looking at them in the streets.” “I’d like to put my hand on one of those papers,” said Donald. “Zipperty, zipperty, zand,” quoted Matier, “I wish I’d a bit of that in my hand.” “You know the old rhyme.”