“Why, how do you do, Pat? I am so glad to see you,” said Dr. Maltby to his visitor, as soon as he could find voice to speak after his sudden surprise.

“I am well, Docther, and hope ye are the same,” said Pat. “I guess you are more for hearin’ of yer swateheart than anything else.”

“Yes, you bring me news of her, don’t you?”

“Faith, an’ ’tis news that I bring you of yer own swateheart, to be sure it is.”

“How was she when you left her?”

“She was parfectly well whin I left her, and I know she is suffering to see you.”

“Well, can’t I go to see her now or very soon?”

“No, sir-ree, ye can’t see her yet, that is sartin. But you shall see her shortly.”

“Are you sure I shall see her shortly?”

“If ye live, ye shall see har before another {three} month rolls away, so be quiet and patient {. . .} patient, be patient as ye can.”

“{. . .} be anything just so as I can {. . .} more meeting her.”

“If it pleases the saints to spare ye, ye shall see her and marry her,” affirmed Pat.

“If so, thank Heaven, thank Heaven!” ejaculated the doctor. “Where is she? Won’t you please tell me?” inquired he after a short pause. Pat looked at him in silence for some moments. Finally he said:

“I have said I wouldn’t tell ye yet awhile, and I’ll be true to me word.”

“All right, my friend, just as you say.”

“Docther, you had a sister when you went West, and you don’t know whether she is living now or not?” said Pat half-inquiringly.

“Yes, I had a sister when I left home, and I have never heard of or saw her since I left home,” said the doctor sadly.

“Well, I can tell something about her if you are willing to hear it, Docther.”

“Willing? Why, of course I would be very glad to hear of my dear sister,” responded the doctor, and he added, “If you can tell me something about her, I will pay you well for the information.” Pat looked at the “docther” as he called him—again for some time.

 

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[“. . . ]struggle for some considerable time—then the old folks forbid yer sister staying at their house, so she had to earn her living sewing for a long while. She at last took sick and the old folks had to take care of her, and when she got well, the old folks consented to the marriage.” Pat stopped, for he was out of breath.

“Go on, please. What came after the marriage?” said the doctor impatiently, but speaking kindly.

“Well, they got married and lived happy with the old folks for some time. Finally the ould man retired from business and gave all up in his son’s hands—his son proved to be a smart man and the business flourished, so the young man was soon very rich—richer than the ould man had ever been. Time wore on—the ould man died and the ould woman soon followed. I will correct a mistake, Docther, if you please—I said ‘ouldest son’ and I meant ‘only son,’ for he had but one child—well, the property was all willed to his son and the young man has grown gray—but he still carries on business at the same place.” Pat was exhausted.

“I am very much obliged for the information you have given me,” said the doctor. “And as a reward for your information you must take this.” As the doctor spoke, he handed Pat one hundred dollars in gold, but Pat refused it.

“I am not a money hunter, Docther, but I thank you for offering it. It seems proof that ye belave me story,” said Pat. “Your sister is living and doing well—she has had two clouds to kiver the sunshine of her life—they were in this shape—she grieved so much because you were gone and she believes ye dead—and she lost her first child, that grieved her too pretty bad—Oh, my memory is so bad I made anothoer mistake: the ould folks had a fine looking daughter and she ran away from home before your sister went to live with them—she was niver heard of, and it is believed she is dead, but I hope she may turn up some day and make glad her brother’s heart—oh, it would be a great blessing.”

“Yes, it would be a great blessing,” responded the doctor. “Your story is certainly interesting, and I hope I will soon see my sister and brother-in-law, and also my long-lost love.”

“So you don’t doubt my story?” inquired Pat.

“No sir, I do not. Well, Pat, you certainly speak English well, for it is very seldom you say ‘ye’ and other words common among the Sons of the Emerald Isle,” answered and commented the doctor.

“Yes sir, I was schooled in this country. That is the reason I speak your language so well,” responded Pat pleasantly.

“Where is my sister at present?” inquired the doctor, after a slight pause.

“I will have to decline telling you, Docther, at present. I do it for the best,” replied Pat kindly but positively.

“If it is for the best I am perfectly satisfied. I have hopes of seeing my darling sister once more,” responded the doctor.

“I am glad to hear ye say that, Docther,” said Pat. “And I bring you face to face with your sister when you least think it.”

“I don’t care how suddenly you bring me face to face with her,” said the doctor. “And I suppose,” continued he, “that you will reconcile my sister’s husband to his sister before you stop.”

Pat eyed the doctor furtively: “Yes sur,” said he. “I will try and do that very thing as sure as death.”

“What was the man’s name that my sister married?” inquired the doctor.

“Now, Docther, I don’t like to decline telling ye his name, but I must do so. It will be all the more surprising when you find all out—and it is nor use trying to guess, for the very person you guess at would prove to be the wrong person.”

“I am satisfied, sir, in any way you fix it,” responded the doctor.

“Well, I must be going, for it is five o’clock—or not quite five but very near it. I will go as far as Harpers Ferry tonight and the rist of the way tomorrow,” said Pat as he rose to go. The doctor walked up to the

 

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The day passed away quietly. Nothing occurred worth recording.

The doctor left the same sign for Willie that he left for Mattie when she was sick. Thus: at the end of nine days, he was to either get better or worse—there was to be some change.

The nine days soon passed and the change came for the better.

It was a hard struggle, but William conquered—the alleged William had a strong constitution.

He recovered very slowly.

Kent heard him say one day as he sat in his room, a moody expression on his face: “Foiled in all my plans. By Jingo!”

“Strange words, those,” thought Kent, for he was unobserved. “Strange words, and I will find out what they mean or die in the attempt.”