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。