It is true that Tuesday is kept
By Michael in his full strength.
TEACHER. That's it. Now, Conall, say who has Monday.
CONALL. I can't.
TEACHER. Say the two lines before that and I will be satisfied.
Who has Monday?
CONALL (_crying_). I don't know.
TEACHER. Oh, aren't you the little amadan! I will never put
anything at all in your head. I will not let you go out till you know
that poem. Now, boys, run out with you; and we will leave Conall Amadan
here. (_The_ TEACHER _and all the other scholars go out._)
THE OLD MAN. Don't be crying, avourneen; I will teach the poem
to you; I know it myself.
CONALL. Aurah, Cormacin, I cannot learn it. I am not clever or
quick like the other boys. I can't put anything in my head (_bursts
into crying again_). I have no memory for anything.
OLD MAN (_laying his hand on his head_). Take courage, astore.
You will be a wise man yet, with the help of God. Come with me now, and
help me to divide these scraps. (_The child gets up._) That's it now;
dry your eyes and don't be discouraged.
CONALL (_wiping his eyes_). What are you making three shares of
the scraps for?
THE OLD MAN. I am going to give the first share to the geese; I
am putting all the cabbage on this dish for them; and when I go out, I
will put a grain of meal on it, and it will feed them finely. I have
scraps of meat here, and old broken bread, and I will give that to the
hens; they will lay their eggs better when they will get food like that.
These little crumbs are for the little birds that do be singing to me in
the morning, and that awaken me with their share of music. I have oaten
meal for them. (_Sweeps the floor, and gathers little crumbs of bread._)
I have a great wish for the little birds. (_The old man looks up; he
sees the little boy lying on a cushion, and he asleep. He stands a
little while looking at him. Tears gather in his eyes; then he goes down
on his knees._)
OLD MAN. O Lord, O God, take pity on this little soft child.
Put wisdom in his head, cleanse his heart, scatter the mist from his
mind, and let him learn his lesson like the other boys. O Lord, Thou
wert Thyself young one time: take pity on youth. O Lord, Thou Thyself
shed tears: dry the tears of this little lad. Listen, O Lord, to the
prayer of Thy servant, and do not keep from him this little thing he is
asking of Thee. O Lord, bitter are the tears of a child, sweeten them;
deep are the thoughts of a child, quiet them; sharp is the grief of a
child, take it from him; soft is the heart of a child, do not harden it.
(_While the old man is praying, the_ TEACHER _comes in. He
makes a sign to the children outside; they come in and gather about him.
The old man notices the children; he starts up, and shame burns on
him._)
TEACHER. I heard your prayer, old man; but there is no good in
it. I praise you greatly for it, but that child is half-witted. I prayed
to God myself once or twice on his account, but there was no good in it.
THE OLD MAN. Perhaps God heard me. God is for the most part
ready to hear. The time we ourselves are empty without anything, God
listens to us; and He does not think on the thing we are without, but
gives us our fill.
TEACHER. It is the truth you are speaking; but there is no good
in praying this time. This boy is very ignorant. (_He and the old man go
over to the child, who is still asleep, and signs of tears on his
cheeks._) He must work hard, and very hard; and maybe with the dint of
work, he will get a little learning some time. (_He puts his hand on the
cheek of the little boy, and he starts up, and wonder on him when he
sees them all about him._)
THE OLD MAN. Ask it to him now.
TEACHER. DO you remember the poem now, Conall?