COILIN. Speak yourself, Padraic, if you won’t give leave to anyone else.
PADRAIC. Let’s jump!
EOGHAN. Let’s jump! Let’s jump!
DARAGH. I’ll bet I’ll beat you, Padraic.
PADRAIC. At jumping, is it?
DARAGH. Aye.
PADRAIC. Didn’t I beat you the day before yesterday at the School Rock?
DARAGH. I’ll bet you won’t beat me to-day. Will you try?
PADRAIC. I won’t. My feet are sore. (_The other boys begin laughing;
Padraic speaks with a shamed face._) I’d rather play ball.
EOGHAN. Ball! Ball!
DARAGH. Has anybody a ball?
CUIMIN. And if they had, itself, where would we play?
PADRAIC. Against Old Matthias’s gable-end. There’s no nicer place to be
found.
COILIN. Who has the ball?
CUIMIN. My soul, I haven’t it.
DARAGH. No, nor I.
PADRAIC. You yourself, Coilin, had it on Friday.
COILIN. By my word, didn’t the master grab it where I was hopping it in
the school at Catechism?
FEICHIN. True for you, lad.
CUIMIN. My soul, but I thought he’d give you the rod that time.
COILIN. He would, too, only he was expecting the priest to come in.
DARAGH. It’s the ball he wanted. He’ll have a game with the peelers
to-day after Mass.
PADRAIC. My soul, but he will, and it’s he can beat the peelers, too.
DARAGH. He can’t beat the sergeant. The sergeant’s the best man of them
all. He beat Hoskins and the red man together last Sunday.
FEICHIN. Ara, stop! Did he beat them?
DARAGH. He did, _muise_. The red man was raging, and the master and the
peelers all laughing at him.
PADRAIC. I bet the master will beat the sergeant.
DARAGH. I’ll bet he won’t.
PADRAIC. Do ye hear him?
DARAGH. I’ll bet the sergeant can beat any man in this country.
PADRAIC. Ara, how do you know whether he can or not?
DARAGH. I know well he can. Don’t I be always watching them?
PADRAIC. You don’t know!
DARAGH. I do know! It’s I that know it!
_They threaten each other. A quarrel arises among the boys, a share of
them saying, _“The sergeant’s the best!”_ and others, _“The master’s
best!”_ Old Matthias gets up to listen to them. He comes forward,
twisted and bent in his body, and barely able to drag his feet along.
He speaks to them quietly, laying his hand on Daragh’s head._
MATTHIAS. O! O! O! My shame ye are!
PADRAIC. This fellow says the master can’t beat the sergeant playing
ball.
DARAGH. By my word, wouldn’t the sergeant beat anybody at all in this
country, Matthias?
MATTHIAS. Never mind the sergeant. Look at that lonesome wild goose
that’s making on us over Loch Ellery! Look! _All the boys look up._
PADRAIC. I see it, by my soul!
DARAGH. Where’s she coming from, Matthias?
MATTHIAS. From the Eastern World. I would say she has travelled a
thousand miles since she left her nest in the lands to the north.
COILIN. The poor thing. And where will she drop?
MATTHIAS. To Aran she’ll go, it’s a chance. See her now out over the
sea. My love you are, lonesome wild goose!
COILIN. Tell us a story, Matthias.
_He sits on a stone by the strand-edge, and the boys gather round
him._
MATTHIAS. What story shall I tell?
FEICHIN. “The Adventures of the Grey Horse!”
CUIMIN. “The Hen-Harrier and the Wren!”
PADRAIC. “The Two-Headed Giant!”
COILIN. “The Adventures of the Piper in the Snail’s Castle!”
EOGHAN. Aye, by my soul, “The Adventures of the Piper in the Snail’s
Castle!”
THE BOYS (_with one voice_). “The Adventures of the Piper in the Snail’s
Castle!”
MATTHIAS. I’ll do that. “There was a Snail in it long ago, and it’s long
since it was. If we’d been there that time, we wouldn’t be here now; and
if we were, itself, we’d have a new story or an old story, and that’s
better than to be without e’er a story at all. The Castle this Snail
lived in was the finest that man’s eye ever saw. It was greater
entirely, and it was a thousand times richer than Meave’s Castle in Rath
Cruachan, or than the Castle of the High-King of Ireland itself in Tara
of the Kings. This Snail made love to a Spider--”
COILIN. No, Matthias, wasn’t it to a Granny’s Needle he made love?
MATTHIAS. My soul, but you’re right. What’s coming on me?
PADRAIC. Go on, Matthias.
MATTHIAS. “This Nettle-Worm was very comely entirely--”
FEICHIN. What’s the Nettle-Worm, Matthias?
MATTHIAS. Why, the Nettle-Worm he made love to.
CUIMIN. But I thought it was to a Granny’s Needle he made love.
MATTHIAS. Was it? The story’s going from me. “This Piper was in love
with the daughter of the King of Connacht--”
EOGHAN. But you didn’t mention the Piper yet, Matthias!
MATTHIAS. Didn’t I! “The Piper...” yes, by my soul, the Piper--I’m
losing my memory. Look here, neighbours, we won’t meddle with the story
to-day. Let’s have a song.
COILIN. “Hi diddle dum!”
MATTHIAS. Are ye satisfied?
THE BOYS. We are.
MATTHIAS. I’ll do that. (_He sings the following rhyme_):
“Hi diddle dum, the cat and his mother,
That went to Galway riding a drake.”
THE BOYS. And hi diddle dum!
MATTHIAS.
“Hi diddle dum, the rain came pelting,
And drenched to the skin the cat and his mother.”
THE BOYS. And hi diddle dum!
MATTHIAS.
“Hi diddle dum, ’twas like in the deluge
The cat and his mother would both be drownded.”
THE BOYS. And hi diddle dum!
MATTHIAS.
“Hi diddle dum, my jewel the drake was,
That carried his burden--”