'Twas bad even thin whin I was the Angil av Peace.
"I talked to me ould non-coms - they was sober - an' betune me an'
thim we wore the draf' over into their tents at the proper time.
The little orf'cer bhoy he conies round, dacint an' civil-spoken
as might be.
"'Rough quarthers, men,' sez he, 'but you can't look to be as
comfortable as in barricks. We must make the best av things. I've
shut my eyes to a dale av dog's thricks to-day, an' now there must
be no more av ut.'
"No more we will. Come an' have a dhrink, me son,' sez Peg Barney,
staggerin' where he stud. Me little orf'cer bhoy kep' his timper.
"'You're a sulky swine, you are,' sez Peg Barney, an' at that the
men in the tent began to laugh.
"I tould you me orf'cer bhoy had bowils. He cut Peg Barney as near
as might be on the oi that I'd squshed whin we first met. Peg wint
spinnin' acrost the tent.
"Peg him out, Sorr,' sez I, in a whishper.
"Peg him out!' sez me orf'cer bhoy, up loud, just as if 'twas
battalion p'rade an' he pickin' his wurrds from the Sargint.
"The non-coms tuk Peg Barney - a howlin' handful he was - an' in
three minut's he was pegged out - chin down, tight-dhrawn - on his
stummick, a tent-peg to each arm an' leg, swearin' fit to turn a
naygur white.
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