The star-independent. [volume] (Harrisburg, Pa.) 1904-1917, 1915-01-19
tCoNTlNuED)

y
wishes"
He was equally responsible for me,
Yet he leaves ME 10 your care--a Kings.
north. The men masters and the won.
en- slaves, That is the kingsnorth
doctrine
\ servant came in TO tell Angela the
doctor had come. Without a word An.
Sela went out 10 see TO the wounded
man. The servant followed her.
Let alone. Nathaniel sat down. shock
view he had just had with his young.
er sister.
When Angela entered the sickroom
she found DIR. McGinnis. CHEEKY,
bright eyed. rotund little man of fifty,
talking freely TO the patient and pune
tuating each speech with hearty
laugh. His good humor was infec-
tious.
The wounded agitator felt the effect
of ii and was trying TO laugh feebly
himself
Sure it's the fine target We must
have made with yer six feet and one
inch, How could the poor soldiers
help hittin' We? Answer me that"
And the jovial doctor laughed again
as he dexterouSly wound a bandage
around O'Connelrs arm.
"AiSy now while tie the bandage.
me fine fellow. Yell live to see the
inside Of an English Jail yet"
He turned as he heard the door open
and greeted Angela.
Good afternoon TO We. Miss Kings
north. Faith. it's bleSsin' We brought
the boy here. There's no tellin' what
the prison surgeon would have done
TO him. 1t is saltpeter. they tell me,
the English doctors rub into the Irish
wounds TO kape them smartin. And,
by the like token. they do the same,
too. in the English house of commons.
Saltpeter in Ireland's wounds is what
they give us"
is he much hurt?' asked Angela.
We'll. they've broken nothin'. Just
blackened his face and made a few
holes in his skin. Its buckshot they
used. Buckshot, Thank the merciful
Mr.. Foster for that same. Buckshot
Foster as the Irish reverently call
him.
What dastardly thing TO dor' she
cried.
"Ye may well say that. Miss Kings
north" said the merry little doctor.
But it's betther than bullet from 4
Martini Henry rifle, that's what it is,
And there's many a poor Englis land
lords got one of 'em in the back for
ridin about at night on his own land.
It's fatherly government we have,
Miss Kingsnorth. Hurt 'em. but don't
quite kill EN- sez they. and then put
EN- in Jail and feed them on bread
and wather. That'll take the fine talk
in and patriotism out of them sez
they
They'll never take it out of me.
They may Kill me perhaps. but until
they do they'll never silence me-" muir
INJURED O'Connell in voice so low. yet
so bitter. that it startled Angela.
"le'll do that all in good time. me
fine boy" said the busy little doctor.
Here. take pull at this" and he
handed the patient Il glass in which he
had dropped few crystals into some
water.
DR.. McGinnis said in a whisper 10
Angela:
Let him have that every three
hours: oftener if he wants to talk.
We've got to get his mind at rest"
There's no danger:" asked Angela
in the same tone.
None in the wurrld. He's got n
fine constitution, and mebbe the buck,
shot was pretty clean. I've washed
them out we'll"
To think of men shot down like
dogs for speaking of their country.
It's horrible. It's wicked. It's mon
strous"
Faith. the English don't know what
else to do with them. miss. Its no use
arguin' with the like OF him. That
man lyin' on that bed 'ud talk the
hind foot of heifer. The only way
to kape the likes of him quiet is to
shoot him, and begob they have
Il heard you. DOCTOR" came from the
bed. IF they'd killed me today there
would be a thousand voices rise all
over Ireland to take the place of mine"
Faith. I'd rather kape me own life
than to have hundred thousand
spakin' for me and me dead. Is it
long yer stayin' hereF" and the little
man picked up his hat.
81 don't know said Angela.
well. it's you they'll miss when
we're gone. Miss Kingsnorth. Faith.
If all the English were, like you this
sort of thing couldn't happen
"We don't try to understand the
people. doctor. We Just govern them
blindly and ignorantly"
Faith. it's small blame to the Eng
lish. We're a mighty hard race to
make head or tail OF. and that's
fact-cryin' salt tears at the bedside OF
a sick child and LAWN to shoot a poor
man in the ribs for DARN to ask for
his rint"
They're not Irishmen." came from
the sIckbed
Faith. and they are, now. And it's
small wondher the men who sit in
Whitehall In London trate them like