'
'My, but your poor knee must be very sore,' she said, looking at the
huge swathing that enveloped that part of his body. 'What's the
matter wid it? An evil?'
'Ah, yes, Bridget; a runneen sore. My life has been ebbeen through
that hole since I was a child of twelve.'
Poor Bridget looked with moistened eyes upon the smooth-faced
sufferer; and he struggled to his feet again, and saluted her
wholesome lips.
The reader, of course, is not imposed upon by The Lifter. Inside
these ostentatious wrappings our convert carried his skeleton keys,
picklocks and screw-drivers; instead of a 'runneen sore' upon the
knee, he had an entire tool chest there; yea, little files with teeth
so fine that the noise they made would not be nearly so loud as the
gnawing of a mouse.
Wonderful stories did the converted robber tell to Bridget before
the glowing fire that winter's evening; and when the last sounds of
the retiring inmates had died away he was not yet ended. Neither was
Bridget willing to part from such sweet and interesting company. The
sleek rascal saw this, and looking slyly into Bridget's delf-blue
eyes, he said,
'Only for my affliction I think I might get some girl to marry me.
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