TheSisters
Therewasnohopeforhimthistime：itwasthethirdstroke。NightafternightIhadpassedthehouse（itwasvacationtime）andstudiedthelightedsquareofwindow：andnightafternightIhadfounditlightedinthesameway，faintlyandevenly。Ifhewasdead，Ithought，Iwouldseethereflectionofcandlesonthedarkenedblind，forIknewthattwocandlesmustbesetattheheadofacorpse。Hehadoftensaidtome：`Iamnotlongforthisworld，’andIhadthoughthiswordsidle。NowIknewtheyweretrue。EverynightasIgazedupatthewindowIsaidsoftlytomyselfthewordparalysis。
Ithadalwayssoundedstrangelyinmyears，likethewordgnomonintheEuclidandthewordsimonyintheCatechism。Butnowitsoundedtomelikethenameofsomemaleficentandsinfulbeing。Itfilledmewithfear，andyetIlongedtobenearertoitandtolookuponitsdeadlywork。
OldCotterwassittingatthefire，smoking，whenIcamedownstairstosupper。Whilemyauntwasladlingoutmystirabouthesaid，asifreturningtosomeformerremarkofhis：
`No，Iwouldn’tsayhewasexactly……buttherewassomethingqueer……
therewassomethinguncannyabouthim。I’lltellyoumyopinion……’
Hebegantopuffathispipe，nodoubtarranginghisopinioninhismind。Tiresomeoldfool！Whenweknewhimfirstheusedtoberatherinteresting，talkingoffaintsandworms；butIsoongrewtiredofhimandhisendlessstoriesaboutthedistillery。
`Ihavemyowntheoryaboutit，’hesaid。`Ithinkitwasoneofthose……
peculiarcases……Butit’shardtosay……’
Hebegantopuffagainathispipewithoutgivingushistheory。Myunclesawmestaringandsaidtome：
`Well，soyouroldfriendisgone，you’llbesorrytohear。’
`Who？’saidI。
`FatherFlynn。’
`Ishedead？’
`MrCotterherehasjusttoldus。Hewaspassingbythehouse。’
IknewthatIwasunderobservation，soIcontinuedeatingasifthenewshadnotinterestedme。MyuncleexplainedtooldCotter。
`Theyoungsterandheweregreatfriends。Theoldchaptaughthimagreatdeal，mindyou；andtheysayhehadagreatwishforhim。’
`Godhavemercyonhissoul，’saidmyauntpiously。
OldCotterlookedatmeforawhile。Ifeltthathislittlebeadyblackeyeswereexaminingme，butIwouldnotsatisfyhimbylookingupfrommyplate。Hereturnedtohispipeandfinallyspatrudelyintothegrate。
`Iwouldn’tlikechildrenofmine，’hesaid，`tohavetoomuchtosaytoamanlikethat。’
`Howdoyoumean，MrCotter？’askedmyaunt。
`WhatImeanis，’saidoldCotter，`it’sbadforchildren。Myideais：
letayoungladrunaboutandplaywithyoungladsofhisownageandnotbe……AmIright，Jack？’
`That’smyprinciple，too，’saidmyuncle。`Lethimlearntoboxhiscorner。That’swhatI’malwayssayingtothatRosicrucianthere：takeexercise。
Why，whenIwasanipper，everymorningofmylifeIhadacoldbath，winterandsummer。Andthat’swhatstandstomenow。Educationisallveryfineandlarge……MrCottermighttakeapickofthatlegofmutton，’headdedtomyaunt。
`No，no，notforme，’saidoldCotter。
Myauntbroughtthedishfromthesafeandputitonthetable。
`Butwhydoyouthinkit’snotgoodforchildren，MrCotter？’sheasked。
`It’sbadforchildren，’saidoldCotter，`becausetheirmindsaresoimpressionable。Whenchildrenseethingslikethat，youknow，ithasaneffect……’
IcrammedmymouthwithstiraboutforfearImightgiveutterancetomyanger。Tiresomeoldred-nosedimbecile！
ItwaslatewhenIfellasleep。ThoughIwasangrywitholdCotterforalludingtomeasachild，Ipuzzledmyheadtoextractmeaningfromhisunfinishedsentences。InthedarkofmyroomIimaginedthatIsawagaintheheavygreyfaceoftheparalytic。IdrewtheblanketsovermyheadandtriedtothinkofChristmas。Butthegreyfacestillfollowedme。Itmurmured；andIunderstoodthatitdesiredtoconfesssomething。Ifeltmysoulrecedingintosomepleasantandviciousregion；andthereagainIfounditwaitingforme。ItbegantoconfesstomeinamurmuringvoiceandIwonderedwhyitsmiledcontinuallyandwhythelipsweresomoistwithspittle。ButthenIrememberedthatithaddiedofparalysisandI
feltthatItoowassmilingfeebly，asiftoabsolvethesimoniacofhissin。
ThenextmorningafterbreakfastIwentdowntolookatthelittlehouseinGreatBritainStreet。Itwasanunassumingshop，registeredunderthevaguenameofDrapery。Thedraperyconsistedmainlyofchildren’sbooteesandumbrellas；andonordinarydaysanoticeusedtohanginthewindow，saying：UmbrellasRe-covered。Nonoticewasvisiblenow，fortheshutterswereup。Acrapebouquetwastiedtothedoor-knockerwithribbon。Twopoorwomenandatelegramboywerereadingthecardpinnedonthecrape。Ialsoapproachedandread：1stJuly，1895
TheRev。JamesFlynn（formerlyofStCatherine’sChurch，MeathStreet），agedsixty-fiveyears。
R。I。P。ThereadingofthecardpersuadedmethathewasdeadandIwasdisturbedtofindmyselfatcheck。HadhenotbeendeadIwouldhavegoneintothelittledarkroombehindtheshoptofindhimsittinginhisarm-chairbythefire，nearlysmotheredinhisgreat-coat。PerhapsmyauntwouldhavegivenmeapacketofHighToastforhim，andthispresentwouldhaverousedhimfromhisstupefieddoze。ItwasalwaysIwhoemptiedthepacketintohisblacksnuff-box，forhishandstrembledtoomuchtoallowhimtodothiswithoutspillinghalfthesnuffaboutthefloor。Evenasheraisedhislargetremblinghandtohisnoselittlecloudsofsnuffdribbledthroughhisfingersoverthefrontofhiscoat。Itmayhavebeentheseconstantshowersofsnuffwhichgavehisancientpriestlygarmentstheirgreenfadedlook，fortheredhandkerchief，blackened，asitalwayswas，withthesnuff-stainsofaweek，withwhichhetriedtobrushawaythefallengrains，wasquiteinefficacious。
Iwishedtogoinandlookathim，butIhadnotthecouragetoknock。
Iwalkedawayslowlyalongthesunnysideofthestreet，readingallthetheatricaladvertisementsintheshop-windowsasIwent。IfounditstrangethatneitherInorthedayseemedinamourningmoodandIfeltevenannoyedatdiscoveringinmyselfasensationoffreedomasifIhadbeenfreedfromsomethingbyhisdeath。Iwonderedatthisfor，asmyunclehadsaidthenightbefore，hehadtaughtmeagreatdeal。HehadstudiedintheIrishcollegeinRomeandhehadtaughtmetopronounceLatinproperly。
HehadtoldmestoriesaboutthecatacombsandaboutNapoleonBonaparte，andhehadexplainedtomethemeaningofthedifferentceremoniesoftheMassandofthedifferentvestmentswornbythepriest。Sometimeshehadamusedhimselfbyputtingdifficultquestionstome，askingmewhatoneshoulddoincertaincircumstancesorwhethersuchandsuchsinsweremortalorvenialoronlyimperfections。HisquestionsshowedmehowcomplexandmysteriouswerecertaininstitutionsoftheChurchwhichIhadalwaysregardedasthesimplestacts。ThedutiesofthepriesttowardstheEucharistandtowardsthesecrecyoftheconfessionalseemedsogravetomethatIwonderedhowanybodyhadeverfoundinhimselfthecouragetoundertakethem；andIwasnotsurprisedwhenhetoldmethatthefathersoftheChurchhadwrittenbooksasthickasthePostOfficeDirectoryandascloselyprintedasthelawnoticesinthenewspaper，elucidatingalltheseintricatequestions。OftenwhenIthoughtofthisIcouldmakenoansweroronlyaveryfoolishandhaltingone，uponwhichheusedtosmileandnodhisheadtwiceorthrice。SometimesheusedtoputmethroughtheresponsesoftheMass，whichhehadmademelearnbyheart；and，asIpattered，heusedtosmilepensivelyandnodhishead，nowandthenpushinghugepinchesofsnuffupeachnostrilalternately。Whenhesmiledheusedtouncoverhisbigdiscolouredteethandlethistonguelieuponhislowerlip-ahabitwhichhadmademefeeluneasyinthebeginningofouracquaintancebeforeIknewhimwell。
AsIwalkedalonginthesunIrememberedoldCotter’swordsandtriedtorememberwhathadhappenedafterwardsinthedream。IrememberedthatIhadnoticedlongvelvetcurtainsandaswinginglampofantiquefashion。
IfeltthatIhadbeenveryfaraway，insomelandwherethecustomswerestrange-inPersia，Ithought……ButIcouldnotremembertheendofthedream。
Intheeveningmyaunttookmewithhertovisitthehouseofmourning。
Itwasaftersunset；butthewindow-panesofthehousesthatlookedtothewestreflectedthetawnygoldofagreatbankofclouds。Nanniereceivedusinthehall；and，asitwouldhavebeenunseemlytohaveshoutedather，myauntshookhandswithherforall。Theoldwomanpointedupwardsinterrogativelyand，onmyaunt’snodding，proceededtotoilupthenarrowstaircasebeforeus，herbowedheadbeingscarcelyabovethelevelofthebanister-rail。Atthefirstlandingshestoppedandbeckonedusforwardencouraginglytowardstheopendoorofthedead-room。Myauntwentinandtheoldwoman，seeingthatIhesitatedtoenter，begantobeckontomeagainrepeatedlywithherhand。
Iwentinontiptoe。Theroomthroughthelaceendoftheblindwassuffusedwithduskygoldenlightamidwhichthecandleslookedlikepalethinflames。Hehadbeencoffined。Nanniegavetheleadandwethreekneltdownatthefootofthebed。IpretendedtopraybutIcouldnotgathermythoughtsbecausetheoldwoman’smutteringsdistractedme。Inoticedhowclumsilyherskirtwashookedatthebackandhowtheheelsofherclothbootsweretroddendownalltooneside。Thefancycametomethattheoldpriestwassmilingashelaythereinhiscoffin。
Butno。WhenweroseandwentuptotheheadofthebedIsawthathewasnotsmiling。Therehelay，solemnandcopious，vestedasforthealtar，hislargehandslooselyretainingachalice。Hisfacewasverytruculent，greyandmassive，withblackcavernousnostrilsandcircledbyascantywhitefur。Therewasaheavyodourintheroom-theflowers。
Wecrossedourselvesandcameaway。InthelittleroomdownstairswefoundElizaseatedinhisarm-chairinstate。IgropedmywaytowardsmyusualchairinthecornerwhileNanniewenttothesideboardandbroughtoutadecanterofsherryandsomewine-glasses。Shesettheseonthetableandinvitedustotakealittleglassofwine。Then，athersister’sbidding，shefilledoutthesherryintotheglassesandpassedthemtous。Shepressedmetotakesomecreamcrackersalso，butIdeclinedbecauseIthoughtI
wouldmaketoomuchnoiseeatingthem。Sheseemedtobesomewhatdisappointedatmyrefusalandwentoverquietlytothesofa，whereshesatdownbehindhersister。Noonespoke：weallgazedattheemptyfireplace。
MyauntwaiteduntilElizasighedandthensaid：
`Ah，well，he’sgonetoabetterworld。’
Elizasighedagainandbowedherheadinassent。Myauntfingeredthestemofherwine-glassbeforesippingalittle。
`Didhe……peacefully？’sheasked。
`Oh，quitepeacefully，ma’am，’saidEliza。`Youcouldn’ttellwhenthebreathwentoutofhim。Hehadabeautifuldeath，Godbepraised。’
`Andeverything……？’
`FatherO’RourkewasinwithhimaTuesdayandanointedhimandpreparedhimandall。’
`Heknewthen？’
`Hewasquiteresigned。’
`Helooksquiteresigned，’saidmyaunt。
`That’swhatthewomanwehadintowashhimsaid。Shesaidhejustlookedasifhewasasleep，helookedthatpeacefulandresigned。Noonewouldthinkhe’dmakesuchabeautifulcorpse。’
`Yes，indeed，’saidmyaunt。
Shesippedalittlemorefromherglassandsaid：
`Well，MissFlynn，atanyrateitmustbeagreatcomfortforyoutoknowthatyoudidallyoucouldforhim。Youwerebothverykindtohim，Imustsay。’
Elizasmoothedherdressoverherknees。
`Ah，poorJames！’shesaid。`Godknowswedoneallwecould，aspoorasweare-wewouldn’tseehimwantanythingwhilehewasinit。’
Nanniehadleanedherheadagainstthesofa-pillowandseemedabouttofallasleep。
`There’spoorNannie，’saidEliza，lookingather，`she’sworeout。
Alltheworkwehad，sheandme，gettinginthewomantowashhimandthenlayinghimoutandthenthecoffinandthenarrangingabouttheMassinthechapel。OnlyforFatherO’RourkeIdon’tknowwhatwe’ddoneatall。
Itwashimbroughtusallthemflowersandthemtwocandlesticksoutofthechapel，andwroteoutthenoticefortheFreeman’sGeneralandtookchargeofallthepapersforthecemeteryandpoorJames’sinsurance。’
`Wasn’tthatgoodofhim？’saidmyaunt。
Elizaclosedhereyesandshookherheadslowly。
`Ah，there’snofriendsliketheoldfriends，’shesaid，`whenallissaidanddone，nofriendsthatabodycantrust。’
`Indeed，that’strue，’saidmyaunt。`AndI’msurenowthathe’sgonetohiseternalrewardhewon’tforgetyouandallyourkindnesstohim。’
`Ah，poorJames！’saidEliza。`Hewasnogreattroubletous。Youwouldn’thearhiminthehouseanymorethannow。Still，Iknowhe’sgoneandalltothat。’
`It’swhenit’salloverthatyou’llmisshim，’saidmyaunt。
`Iknowthat，’saidEliza。`Iwon’tbebringinghiminhiscupofbeefteaanymore，noryou，ma’am，sendhimhissnuff。Ah，poorJames！’
Shestopped，asifshewerecommuningwiththepast，andthensaidshrewdly：
`Mindyou，Inoticedtherewassomethingqueercomingoverhimlatterly。
WheneverI’dbringinhissouptohimthere，I’dfindhimwithhisbreviaryfallentothefloor，lyingbackinthechairandhismouthopen。’
Shelaidafingeragainsthernoseandfrowned；thenshecontinued：
`Butstillandallhekeptonsayingthatbeforethesummerwasoverhe’dgooutforadriveonefinedayjusttoseetheoldhouseagainwherewewereallborndowninIrishtown，andtakemeandNanniewithhim。Ifwecouldonlygetoneofthemnew-fangledcarriagesthatmakesnonoisethatFatherO’Rourketoldhimabout，themwiththerheumaticwheels，forthedaycheap-hesaid，atJohnnyRush’soverthewaythereanddriveoutthethreeofustogetherofaSundayevening。Hehadhismindsetonthat……PoorJames！’
`TheLordhavemercyonhissoul！’saidmyaunt。
Elizatookoutherhandkerchiefandwipedhereyeswithit。Thensheputitbackagaininherpocketandgazedintotheemptygrateforsometimewithoutspeaking。
`Hewastooscrupulousalways，’shesaid。`Thedutiesofthepriesthoodwastoomuchforhim。Andthenhislifewas，youmightsay，crossed。’
`Yes，’saidmyaunt。`Hewasadisappointedman。Youcouldseethat。’
Asilencetookpossessionofthelittleroomand，undercoverofit，Iapproachedthetableandtastedmysherryandthenreturnedquietlytomychairinthecorner。Elizaseemedtohavefallenintoadeepreverie。
Wewaitedrespectfullyforhertobreakthesilence：andafteralongpauseshesaidslowly：
`Itwasthatchalicehebroke……Thatwasthebeginningofit。Ofcourse，theysayitwasallright，thatitcontainednothing，Imean。Butstill……
Theysayitwastheboy’sfault。ButpoorJameswassonervous，Godbemercifultohim！’
`Andwasthatit？’saidmyaunt。`Iheardsomething……’。
Elizanodded。
`Thataffectedhismind，’shesaid。`Afterthathebegantomopebyhimself，talkingtonooneandwanderingaboutbyhimself。Soonenighthewaswantedfortogoonacallandtheycouldn’tfindhimanywhere。
Theylookedhighupandlowdown；andstilltheycouldn’tseeasightofhimanywhere。Sothentheclerksuggestedtotrythechapel。Sothentheygotthekeysandopenedthechapel，andtheclerkandFatherO’Rourkeandanotherpriestthatwastherebroughtinalightfortolookforhim……
Andwhatdoyouthinkbuttherehewas，sittingupbyhimselfinthedarkinhisconfession-box，wide-awakeandlaughing-likesoftlytohimself？’
Shestoppedsuddenlyasiftolisten。Itoolistened；buttherewasnosoundinthehouse：andIknewthattheoldpriestwaslyingstillinhiscoffinaswehadseenhim，solemnandtruculentindeath，anidlechaliceonhisbreast。
Elizaresumed：
`Wide-awakeandlaughing-liketohimself……Sothen，ofcourse，whentheysawthat，thatmadethemthinkthattherewassomethinggonewrongwithhim……’
AnEncounter
ItwasJoeDillonwhointroducedtheWildWesttous。HehadalittlelibrarymadeupofoldnumbersofTheUnionJack，Pluck，andTheHalfpennyMarvel。EveryeveningafterschoolwemetinhisbackgardenandarrangedIndianbattles。HeandhisfatyoungbrotherLeo，theidler，heldtheloftofthestablewhilewetriedtocarryitbystorm；orwefoughtapitchedbattleonthegrass。But，howeverwellwefought，weneverwonsiegeorbattleandallourboutsendedwithJoeDillon’swardanceofvictory。Hisparentswenttoeighto’clockmasseverymorninginGardinerStreetandthepeacefulodourofMrsDillonwasprevalentinthehallofthehouse。Butheplayedtoofiercelyforuswhowereyoungerandmoretimid。HelookedlikesomekindofanIndianwhenhecaperedroundthegarden，anoldtea-cosyonhishead，beatingatinwithhisfistandyelling：
`Ya！yaka，yaka，yaka！’
Everyonewasincredulouswhenitwasreportedthathehadavocationforthepriesthood。Neverthelessitwastrue。
Aspiritofunrulinessdiffuseditselfamongusand，underitsinfluence，differencesofcultureandconstitutionwerewaived。Webandedourselvestogether，someboldly，someinjestandsomealmostinfear：andofthenumberoftheselatter，thereluctantIndianswhowereafraidtoseemstudiousorlackinginrobustness，Iwasone。TheadventuresrelatedintheliteratureoftheWildWestwereremotefrommynaturebut，atleast，theyopeneddoorsofescape。IlikedbettersomeAmericandetectivestorieswhichweretraversedfromtimetotimebyunkemptfierceandbeautifulgirls。Thoughtherewasnothingwronginthesestoriesandthoughtheirintentionwassometimesliterary，theywerecirculatedsecretlyatschool。OnedaywhenFatherButlerwashearingthefourpagesofRomanHistory，clumsyLeoDillonwasdiscoveredwithacopyofTheHalfpennyMarvel。
`Thispageorthispage？Thispage？Now，Dillon，up。"Hardlyhadtheday"……Goon！Whatday？"Hardlyhadthedaydawned"……
Haveyoustudiedit？Whathaveyouthereinyourpocket？’
Everyone’sheartpalpitatedasLeoDillonhandedupthepaperandeveryoneassumedaninnocentface。FatherButlerturnedoverthepages，frowning。
`Whatisthisrubbish？’hesaid。`TheApacheChief！IsthiswhatyoureadinsteadofstudyingyourRomanHistory？Letmenotfindanymoreofthiswretchedstuffinthiscollege。Themanwhowroteit，Isuppose，wassomewretchedfellowwhowritesthesethingsforadrink。I’msurprisedatboyslikeyou，educated，readingsuchstuff！Icouldunderstanditifyouwere……NationalSchoolboys。Now，Dillon，Iadviseyoustrongly，getatyourworkor……’
ThisrebukeduringthesoberhoursofschoolpaledmuchofthegloryoftheWildWestforme，andtheconfusedpuffyfaceofLeoDillonawakenedoneofmyconsciences。ButwhentherestraininginfluenceoftheschoolwasatadistanceIbegantohungeragainforwildsensations，fortheescapewhichthesechroniclesofdisorderaloneseemedtoofferme。ThemimicwarfareoftheeveningbecameatlastaswearisometomeastheroutineofschoolinthemorningbecauseIwantedrealadventurestohappentomyself。Butrealadventures，Ireflected，donothappentopeoplewhoremainathome：theymustbesoughtabroad。
ThesummerholidayswerenearathandwhenImadeupmymindtobreakoutofthewearinessofschoollifeforonedayatleast。WithLeoDillonandaboynamedMahonyIplannedaday’smiching。Eachofussavedupsixpence。
WeweretomeetatteninthemorningontheCanalBridge。Mahony’sbigsisterwastowriteanexcuseforhimandLeoDillonwastotellhisbrothertosayhewassick。WearrangedtogoalongtheWharfRoaduntilwecametotheships，thentocrossintheferryboatandwalkouttoseethePigeonHouse。LeoDillonwasafraidwemightmeetFatherButlerorsomeoneoutofthecollege；butMahonyasked，verysensibly，whatwouldFatherButlerbedoingoutatthePigeonHouse。Wewerereassured，andIbroughtthefirststageoftheplottoanendbycollectingsixpencefromtheothertwo，atthesametimeshowingthemmyownsixpence。Whenweweremakingthelastarrangementsontheevewewereallvaguelyexcited。Weshookhands，laughing，andMahonysaid：
`Tilltomorrow，mates。’
ThatnightIsleptbadly。InthemorningIwasfirstcomertothebridge，asIlivednearest。Ihidmybooksinthelonggrassneartheashpitattheendofthegardenwherenobodyevercame，andhurriedalongthecanalbank。ItwasamildsunnymorninginthefirstweekofJune。Isatuponthecopingofthebridge，admiringmyfrailcanvasshoeswhichIhaddiligentlypipeclayedovernightandwatchingthedocilehorsespullingatramloadofbusinesspeopleupthehill。Allthebranchesofthetalltreeswhichlinedthemallweregaywithlittlelightgreenleaves，andthesunlightslantedthroughthemontothewater。Thegranitestoneofthebridgewasbeginningtobewarm，andIbegantopatitwithmyhandsintimetoanairinmyhead。Iwasveryhappy。
WhenIhadbeensittingthereforfiveortenminutesIsawMahony’sgreysuitapproaching。Hecameupthehill，smiling，andclamberedupbesidemeonthebridge。Whilewewerewaitinghebroughtoutthecatapultwhichbulgedfromhisinnerpocketandexplainedsomeimprovementswhichhehadmadeinit。Iaskedhimwhyhehadbroughtit，andhetoldmehehadbroughtittohavesomegaswiththebirds。Mahonyusedslangfreely，andspokeofFatherButlerasOldBunser。Wewaitedonforaquarterofanhourmore，butstilltherewasnosignofLeoDillon。Mahony，atlast，jumpeddownandsaid：
`Comealong。IknewFatty’dfunkit。’
`Andhissixpence……’Isaid。
`That’sforfeit，’saidMahony。`Andsomuchthebetterforus-abobandatannerinsteadofabob。’
WewalkedalongtheNorthStrandRoadtillwecametotheVitriolWorksandthenturnedtotherightalongtheWharfRoad。MahonybegantoplaytheIndianassoonaswewereoutofpublicsight。Hechasedacrowdofraggedgirls，brandishinghisunloadedcatapultand，whentworaggedboysbegan，outofchivalry，toflingstonesatus，heproposedthatweshouldchargethem。Iobjectedthattheboysweretoosmall，andsowewalkedon，theraggedtroopscreamingafterus`Swaddlers！Swaddlers！’
thinkingthatwewereProtestantsbecauseMahony，whowasdark-complexioned，worethesilverbadgeofacricketclubinhiscap。WhenwecametotheSmoothingIronwearrangedasiege；butitwasafailurebecauseyoumusthaveatleastthree。WerevengedourselvesonLeoDillonbysayingwhatafunkhewasandguessinghowmanyhewouldgetatthreeo’clockfromMrRyan。
Wecamethenneartheriver。Wespentalongtimewalkingaboutthenoisystreetsflankedbyhighstonewalls，watchingtheworkingofcranesandenginesandoftenbeingshoutedatforourimmobilitybythedriversofgroaningcarts。Itwasnoonwhenwereachedthequaysand，asallthelabourersseemedtobeeatingtheirlunches，weboughttwobigcurrantbunsandsatdowntoeatthemonsomemetalpipingbesidetheriver。WepleasedourselveswiththespectacleofDublin’scommerce-thebargessignalledfromfarawaybytheircurlsofwoollysmoke，thebrownfishingfleetbeyondRingsend，thebigwhitesailingvesselwhichwasbeingdischargedontheoppositequay。Mahonysaiditwouldberightskittorunawaytoseaononeofthosebigships，andevenI，lookingatthehighmasts，saw，orimagined，thegeographywhichhadbeenscantilydosedtomeatschoolgraduallytakingsubstanceundermyeyes。Schoolandhomeseemedtorecedefromusandtheirinfluencesuponusseemedtowane。
WecrossedtheLiffeyintheferryboat，payingourtolltobetransportedinthecompanyoftwolabourersandalittleJewwithabag。Wewereserioustothepointofsolemnity，butonceduringtheshortvoyageoureyesmetandwelaughed。Whenwelandedwewatchedthedischargingofthegracefulthree-masterwhichwehadobservedfromtheotherquay。SomebystandersaidthatshewasaNorwegianvessel。Iwenttothesternandtriedtodecipherthelegenduponitbut，failingtodoso，Icamebackandexaminedtheforeignsailorstoseehadanyofthemgreeneyes，forIhadsomeconfusednotion……Thesailors’eyeswereblue，andgrey，andevenblack。Theonlysailorwhoseeyescouldhavebeencalledgreenwasatallmanwhoamusedthecrowdonthequaybycallingoutcheerfullyeverytimetheplanksfell：
`Allright！Allright！’
WhenweweretiredofthissightwewanderedslowlyintoRingsend。Thedayhadgrownsultry，andinthewindowsofthegrocers’shopsmustybiscuitslaybleaching。Weboughtsomebiscuitsandchocolate，whichweatesedulouslyaswewanderedthroughthesqualidstreetswherethefamiliesofthefishermenlive。Wecouldfindnodairyandsowewentintoahuckster’sshopandboughtabottleofraspberrylemonadeeach。Refreshedbythis，Mahonychasedacatdownalane，butthecatescapedintoawidefield。Webothfeltrathertired，andwhenwereachedthefieldwemadeatonceforaslopingbank，overtheridgeofwhichwecouldseetheDodder。
ItwastoolateandweweretootiredtocarryoutourprojectofvisitingthePigeonHouse。Wehadtobehomebeforefouroclock，lestouradventureshouldbediscovered。Mahonylookedregretfullyathiscatapult，andI
hadtosuggestgoinghomebytrainbeforeheregainedanycheerfulness。
Thesunwentinbehindsomecloudsandleftustoourjadedthoughtsandthecrumbsofourprovisions。
Therewasnobodybutourselvesinthefield。WhenwehadlainonthebankforsometimewithoutspeakingIsawamanapproachingfromthefarendofthefield。IwatchedhimlazilyasIchewedoneofthosegreenstemsonwhichgirlstellfortunes。Hecamealongbythebankslowly。Hewalkedwithonehanduponhishipandintheotherhandheheldastickwithwhichhetappedtheturflightly。Hewasshabbilydressedinasuitofgreenish-blackandworewhatweusedtocallajerryhatwithahighcrown。Heseemedtobefairlyold，forhismoustachewasashen-grey。Whenhepassedatourfeetheglancedupatusquicklyandthencontinuedhisway。Wefollowedhimwithoureyesandsawthatwhenhehadgoneonforperhapsfiftypacesheturnedaboutandbegantoretracehissteps。Hewalkedtowardsusveryslowly，alwaystappingthegroundwithhisstick，soslowlythatIthoughthewaslookingforsomethinginthegrass。
Hestoppedwhenhecamelevelwithus，andbadeusgood-day。Weansweredhim，andhesatdownbesideusontheslopeslowlyandwithgreatcare。
Hebegantotalkoftheweather，sayingthatitwouldbeaveryhotsummerandaddingthattheseasonshadchangedgreatlysincehewasaboy-alongtimeago。Hesaidthatthehappiesttimeofone’slifewasundoubtedlyone’sschoolboydays，andthathewouldgiveanythingtobeyoungagain。
Whileheexpressedthesesentiments，whichboredusalittle，wekeptsilent。
Thenhebegantotalkofschoolandofbooks。HeaskeduswhetherwehadreadthepoetryofThomasMooreortheworksofSirWalterScottandLordLytton。IpretendedthatIhadreadeverybookhementioned，sothatintheendhesaid：
`Ah，Icanseeyouareabookwormlikemyself。Now，’headded，pointingtoMahony，whowasregardinguswithopeneyes，`heisdifferent；hegoesinforgames。’
HesaidhehadallSirWalterScott’sworksandallLordLytton’sworksathomeandnevertiredofreadingthem。`Ofcourse，’hesaid，`thereweresomeofLordLytton’sworkswhichboyscouldn’tread。’Mahonyaskedwhycouldn’tboysreadthem-aquestionwhichagitatedandpainedmebecauseIwasafraidthemanwouldthinkIwasasstupidasMahony。Theman，however，onlysmiled。Isawthathehadgreatgapsinhismouthbetweenhisyellowteeth。Thenheaskeduswhichofushadthemostsweethearts。Mahonymentionedlightlythathehadthreetotties。ThemanaskedmehowmanyIhad。IansweredthatIhadnone。HedidnotbelievemeandsaidhewassureImusthaveone。Iwassilent。
`Tellus，’saidMahonypertlytotheman，`howmanyhaveyouyourself？’
Themansmiledasbeforeandsaidthatwhenhewasouragehehadlotsofsweethearts。
`Everyboy，’hesaid，`hasalittlesweetheart。’
Hisattitudeonthispointstruckmeasstrangelyliberalinamanofhisage。InmyheartIthoughtthatwhathesaidaboutboysandsweetheartswasreasonable。ButIdislikedthewordsinhismouth，andIwonderedwhyheshiveredonceortwiceasifhefearedsomethingorfeltasuddenchill。
AsheproceededInoticedthathisaccentwasgood。Hebegantospeaktousaboutgirls，sayingwhatnicesofthairtheyhadandhowsofttheirhandswereandhowallgirlswerenotsogoodastheyseemedtobeifoneonlyknew。Therewasnothingheliked，hesaid，somuchaslookingataniceyounggirl，athernicewhitehandsandherbeautifulsofthair。Hegavemetheimpressionthathewasrepeatingsomethingwhichhehadlearnedbyheartorthat，magnetizedbysomewordsofhisownspeech，hismindwasslowlycirclingroundandroundinthesameorbit。Attimeshespokeasifheweresimplyalludingtosomefactthateverybodyknew，andattimesheloweredhisvoiceandspokemysteriously，asifheweretellingussomethingsecretwhichhedidnotwishotherstooverhear。Herepeatedhisphrasesoverandoveragain，varyingthemandsurroundingthemwithhismonotonousvoice。Icontinuedtogazetowardsthefootoftheslope，listeningtohim。
Afteralongwhilehismonologuepaused。Hestoodupslowly，sayingthathehadtoleaveusforaminuteorso，afewminutes，and，withoutchangingthedirectionofmygaze，Isawhimwalkingslowlyawayfromustowardsthenearendofthefield。Weremainedsilentwhenhehadgone。
AfterasilenceofafewminutesIheardMahonyexclaim：
`Isay！Lookwhathe’sdoing！’
AsIneitheranswerednorraisedmyeyes，Mahonyexclaimedagain：
`Isay……He’saqueeroldjosser！’
`Incaseheasksusforournames，’Isaid，`letyoubeMurphyandI’llbeSmith。’
Wesaidnothingfurthertoeachother。IwasstillconsideringwhetherIwouldgoawayornotwhenthemancamebackandsatdownbesideusagain。
HardlyhadhesatdownwhenMahony，catchingsightofthecatwhichhadescapedhim，sprangupandpursuedheracrossthefield。ThemanandI
watchedthechase。ThecatescapedoncemoreandMahonybegantothrowstonesatthewallshehadescaladed。Desistingfromthis，hebegantowanderaboutthefarendofthefield，aimlessly。
Afteranintervalthemanspoketome。Hesaidthatmyfriendwasaveryroughboy，andaskeddidhegetwhippedoftenatschool。IwasgoingtoreplyindignantlythatwewerenotNationalSchoolboystobewhipped，ashecalledit；butIremainedsilent。Hebegantospeakonthesubjectofchastisingboys。Hismind，asifmagnetizedagainbyhisspeech，seemedtocircleslowlyroundandrounditsnewcentre。Hesaidthatwhenboyswerethatkindtheyoughttobewhippedandwellwhipped。Whenaboywasroughandunrulytherewasnothingwoulddohimanygoodbutagoodsoundwhipping。Aslaponthehandoraboxontheearwasnogood：whathewantedwastogetanicewarmwhipping。Iwassurprisedatthissentimentandinvoluntarilyglancedathisface。AsIdidsoImetthegazeofapairofbottle-greeneyespeeringatmefromunderatwitchingforehead。Iturnedmyeyesawayagain。
Themancontinuedhismonologue。Heseemedtohaveforgottenhisrecentliberalism。Hesaidthatifeverhefoundaboytalkingtogirlsorhavingagirlforasweethearthewouldwhiphimandwhiphim；andthatwouldteachhimnottobetalkingtogirls。Andifaboyhadagirlforasweetheartandtoldliesaboutit，thenhewouldgivehimsuchawhippingasnoboyevergotinthisworld。Hesaidthattherewasnothinginthisworldhewouldlikesowellasthat。Hedescribedtomehowhewouldwhipsuchaboy，asifhewereunfoldingsomeelaboratemystery。Hewouldlovethat，hesaid，betterthananythinginthisworld；andhisvoice，asheledmemonotonouslythroughthemystery，grewalmostaffectionateandseemedtopleadwithmethatIshouldunderstandhim。
IwaitedtillhismonologuepausedagainThenIstoodupabruptly。LestIshouldbetraymyagitationIdelayedafewmoments，pretendingtofixmyshoeproperly，andthen，sayingthatIwasobligedtogo，Ibadehimgood-day。Iwentuptheslopecalmlybutmyheartwasbeatingquicklywithfearthathewouldseizemebytheankles。WhenIreachedthetopoftheslopeIturnedroundand，withoutlookingathim，calledloudlyacrossthefield：
`Murphy！’
Myvoicehadanaccentofforcedbraveryinit，andIwasashamedofmypaltrystratagem。IhadtocallthenameagainbeforeMahonysawmeandhallooedinanswer。Howmyheartbeatashecamerunningacrossthefieldtome！Heranasiftobringmeaid。AndIwaspenitent；forinmyheartIhadalwaysdespisedhimalittle。
Araby
NorthRichmondStreet，beingblind，wasaquietstreetexceptatthehourwhentheChristianBrothers’Schoolsettheboysfree。Anuninhabitedhouseoftwostoreysstoodattheblindend，detachedfromitsneighboursinasquareground。Theotherhousesofthestreet，consciousofdecentliveswithinthem，gazedatoneanotherwithbrownimperturbablefaces。
Theformertenantofourhouse，apriest，haddiedinthebackdrawing-room。
Air，mustyfromhavingbeenlongenclosed，hunginalltherooms，andthewasteroombehindthekitchenwaslitteredwitholduselesspapers。AmongtheseIfoundafewpaper-coveredbooks，thepagesofwhichwerecurledanddamp：TheAbbot，byWalterScott，TheDevoutCommunicant，andTheMemoirsofVidocq。Ilikedthelastbestbecauseitsleaveswereyellow。Thewildgardenbehindthehousecontainedacentralapple-treeandafewstragglingbushes，underoneofwhichIfoundthelatetenant’srustybicycle-pump。Hehadbeenaverycharitablepriest；inhiswillhehadleftallhismoneytoinstitutionsandthefurnitureofhishousetohissister。
Whentheshortdaysofwintercame，duskfellbeforewehadwelleatenourdinners。Whenwemetinthestreetthehouseshadgrownsombre。Thespaceofskyaboveuswasthecolourofever-changingvioletandtowardsitthelampsofthestreetliftedtheirfeeblelanterns。Thecoldairstungusandweplayedtillourbodiesglowed。Ourshoutsechoedinthesilentstreet。Thecareerofourplaybroughtusthroughthedarkmuddylanesbehindthehouses，whereweranthegauntletoftheroughtribesfromthecottages，tothebackdoorsofthedarkdrippinggardenswhereodoursarosefromtheashpits，tothedarkodorousstableswhereacoachmansmoothedandcombedthehorseorshookmusicfromthebuckledharness。Whenwereturnedtothestreet，lightfromthekitchenwindowshadfilledtheareas。Ifmyunclewasseenturningthecorner，wehidintheshadowuntilwehadseenhimsafelyhoused。OrifMangan’ssistercameoutonthedoorsteptocallherbrotherintohistea，wewatchedherfromourshadowpeerupanddownthestreet。Wewaitedtoseewhethershewouldremainorgoinand，ifsheremained，weleftourshadowandwalkeduptoMangan’sstepsresignedly。Shewaswaitingforus，herfiguredefinedbythelightfromthehalf-openeddoor。Herbrotheralwaysteasedherbeforeheobeyed，andIstoodbytherailingslookingather。Herdressswungasshemovedherbody，andthesoftropeofherhairtossedfromsidetoside。
EverymorningIlayonthefloorinthefrontparlourwatchingherdoor。
TheblindwaspulleddowntowithinaninchofthesashsothatIcouldnotbeseen。Whenshecameoutonthedoorstepmyheartleaped。Irantothehall，seizedmybooksandfollowedher。Ikeptherbrownfigurealwaysinmyeyeand，whenwecamenearthepointatwhichourwaysdiverged，Iquickenedmypaceandpassedher。Thishappenedmorningaftermorning。
Ihadneverspokentoher，exceptforafewcasualwords，andyethernamewaslikeasummonstoallmyfoolishblood。
Herimageaccompaniedmeeveninplacesthemosthostiletoromance。
OnSaturdayeveningswhenmyauntwentmarketingIhadtogotocarrysomeoftheparcels。Wewalkedthroughtheflaringstreets，jostledbydrunkenmenandbargainingwomen，amidthecursesoflabourers，theshrilllitaniesofshop-boyswhostoodonguardbythebarrelsofpigs’cheeks，thenasalchantingofstreet-singers，whosangacome-all-youaboutO’DonovanRossa，oraballadaboutthetroublesinournativeland。Thesenoisesconvergedinasinglesensationoflifeforme：IimaginedthatIboremychalicesafelythroughathrongoffoes。HernamesprangtomylipsatmomentsinstrangeprayersandpraiseswhichImyselfdidnotunderstand。
Myeyeswereoftenfulloftears（Icouldnottellwhy）andattimesafloodfrommyheartseemedtopouritselfoutintomybosom。Ithoughtlittleofthefuture。IdidnotknowwhetherIwouldeverspeaktoherornotor，ifIspoketoher，howIcouldtellherofmyconfusedadoration。
Butmybodywaslikeaharpandherwordsandgestureswerelikefingersrunninguponthewires。
OneeveningIwentintothebackdrawing-roominwhichthepriesthaddied。Itwasadarkrainyeveningandtherewasnosoundinthehouse。
ThroughoneofthebrokenpanesIheardtherainimpingeupontheearth，thefineincessantneedlesofwaterplayinginthesoddenbeds。Somedistantlamporlightedwindowgleamedbelowme。IwasthankfulthatIcouldseesolittle。Allmysensesseemedtodesiretoveilthemselvesand，feelingthatIwasabouttoslipfromthem，Ipressedthepalmsofmyhandstogetheruntiltheytrembled，murmuring：`Olove！Olove！’manytimes。
Atlastshespoketome。WhensheaddressedthefirstwordstomeI
wassoconfusedthatIdidnotknowwhattoanswer。SheaskedmewasI
goingtoAraby。IforgotwhetherIansweredyesorno。Itwouldbeasplendidbazaar；shesaidshewouldlovetogo。
`Andwhycan’tyou？’Iasked。
Whileshespokesheturnedasilverbraceletroundandroundherwrist。
Shecouldnotgo，shesaid，becausetherewouldbearetreatthatweekinherconvent。Herbrotherandtwootherboyswerefightingfortheircaps，andIwasaloneattherailings。Sheheldoneofthespikes，bowingherheadtowardsme。Thelightfromthelampoppositeourdoorcaughtthewhitecurveofherneck，litupherhairthatrestedthereand，falling，litupthehandupontherailing。Atfelloveronesideofherdressandcaughtthewhiteborderofapetticoat，justvisibleasshestoodatease。
`It’swellforyou，’shesaid。
`IfIgo，’Isaid，`Iwillbringyousomething。’
Whatinnumerablefollieslaidwastemywakingandsleepingthoughtsafterthatevening！Iwishedtoannihilatethetediousinterveningdays。
Ichafedagainsttheworkofschool。AtnightinmybedroomandbydayintheclassroomherimagecamebetweenmeandthepageIstrovetoread。
ThesyllablesofthewordArabywerecalledtomethroughthesilenceinwhichmysoulluxuriatedandcastanEasternenchantmentoverme。I
askedforleavetogotothebazaaronSaturdaynight。Myauntwassurprised，andhopeditwasnotsomeFreemasonaffair。Iansweredfewquestionsinclass。Iwatchedmymaster’sfacepassfromamiabilitytosternness；hehopedIwasnotbeginningtoidle。Icouldnotcallmywanderingthoughtstogether。Ihadhardlyanypatiencewiththeseriousworkoflifewhich，nowthatitstoodbetweenmeandmydesire，seemedtomechild’splay，uglymonotonouschild’splay。
OnSaturdaymorningIremindedmyunclethatIwishedtogotothebazaarintheevening。Hewasfussingatthehallstand，lookingforthehat-brush，andansweredmecurtly：
`Yes，boy，Iknow。’
AshewasinthehallIcouldnotgointothefrontparlourandlieatthewindow。Ifeltthehouseinbadhumourandwalkedslowlytowardstheschool。Theairwaspitilesslyrawandalreadymyheartmisgaveme。
WhenIcamehometodinnermyunclehadnotyetbeenhome。Stillitwasearly。Isatstaringattheclockforsometimeand，whenitstickingbegantoirritateme，Ilefttheroom。Imountedthestaircaseandgainedtheupperpartofthehouse。Thehigh，cold，empty，gloomyroomsliberatedmeandIwentfromroomtoroomsinging。FromthefrontwindowIsawmycompanionsplayingbelowinthestreet。Theircriesreachedmeweakenedandindistinctand，leaningmyforeheadagainstthecoolglass，Ilookedoveratthedarkhousewhereshelived。Imayhavestoodthereforanhour，seeingnothingbutthebrown-cladfigurecastbymyimagination，toucheddiscreetlybythelamplightatthecurvedneck，atthehandupontherailingsandattheborderbelowthedress。
WhenIcamedownstairsagainIfoundMrsMercersittingatthefire。
Shewasanold，garrulouswoman，apawnbroker’swidow，whocollectedusedstampsforsomepiouspurpose。Ihadtoendurethegossipofthetea-table。
Themealwasprolongedbeyondanhourandstillmyuncledidnotcome。
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