The priest came in the evening.
“How is Eoineen of the Birds this weather, Eibhlin?” says he. (The other
boys had nicknamed him “Eoineen of the Birds” on account of the love he
had for the birds.)
“_Muise_, Father, he wasn’t as well for many a long day as he is since
the summer came. There’s a blush in his cheek I never saw in it before.”
The priest looked sharply at her. He had noticed that blush for a time,
and if he did, it didn’t deceive him. Other people had noticed it, too,
and if they did, it didn’t deceive them. But it was plain it deceived
the mother. There were tears in the priest’s eyes, but Eibhlin was
blowing the fire, and she didn’t see them. There was a stoppage in his
voice when he spoke again, but the mother didn’t notice it.
“Where’s Eoineen now, Eibhlin?”
“He’s sitting on the rock outside, ‘talking to the swallows,’ as himself
says. It’s wonderful the affection he has for those little birds. Do you
know, Father, what he said to me the other day?”
“I don’t know, Eibhlin.”
“He was saying that it’s short now till the swallows would be departing
from us again, and says he to me, suddenly, ‘What would you do, little
mother,’ says he, ‘if I’d steal away from you with the swallows?’”
“And what did you say, Eibhlin?”
“I said to him to brush out with him, and not be bothering me. But I’m
thinking ever since on the thing he said, and it’s troubling me. Wasn’t
it a queer thought for him, Father,--he going with the swallows?”
“It’s many a queer thought comes into the heart of a child,” says the
priest. And he went out the door, without saying another word.
* * * * *
“Dreaming, as usual, Eoineen?”
“No, Father. I’m talking to the swallows.”
“Talking to them?”
“Aye, Father. We do be talking together always.”
“And whisper. What do ye be saying to one another?”
“We do be talking about the countries far away, where it does be summer
always, and about the wild seas where the ships do be drowned, and about
the lime-bright cities where the kings do be always living.”
The wonder of his heart came on the priest, as it came on the mother
before that.
“It’s you do be discoursing on these things, and they listening to you,
it’s like?”
“No, Father. They, mostly, that do be talking, and I listening to them.”
“And do you understand their share of talk, Eoineen?”
“Aye, Father. Don’t you understand it?”
“Not too well I understand it. Make room for me on the rock there, and
I’ll sit a while till you explain to me what they do be saying.”
Up with the priest on the rock, and he sat beside the little boy. He put
an arm about his neck, and began taking talk out of him.
“Tell me what the swallows do be saying to you, Eoineen.”
“It’s many a thing they do be saying to me. It’s many a fine story they
do tell to me. Did you see that little bird that went past just now,
Father?”
“I did.”
“That’s the cleverest storyteller of them all. That one’s nest is under
the ivy that’s growing over the window of my room. And she has another
nest in the Southern World--herself and her mate.”
“Has she, Eoineen?”
“Aye--another beautiful little nest thousands and thousands of miles
from this. Isn’t it a queer story, Father?--to say that the little
swallow has two houses, and we having one only?”
“It’s queer, indeed. And what sort is the country she has this other
house in?”
“When I shut my eyes I see a lonely, awful country. I see it now,
Father! A lonely, terrible country. There’s neither mountain, nor hill,
nor valley in it, but it a great, level, sandy plain. There’s neither
wood, nor grass, nor growth in it, but the earth as bare as the heart of
your palm. Sand entirely. Sand under your feet. Sand on every side of
you. The sun scorching over your head. Without a cloud at all to be seen
in the sky. It very hot. Here and there there’s a little grassy spot, as
it would be a little island in the middle of the sea. A couple of high
trees growing on each spot of them. They sheltered from wind and sun. I
see on one of these islands a high cliff. A terrible big cliff. There’s
a cleft in the cliff, and in the cleft there’s a little swallow’s nest.
That’s the nest of my little swallow.”
“Who told you this, Eoineen?”
“The swallow. She spends half of her life in that country, herself and
her mate. Isn’t it the grand life they have on that lonely little island
in the middle of the desert! There does be neither cold nor wet in it,
frost nor snow, but it summer always.... And after that, Father, they
don’t forget their other little nest here in Ireland, nor the wood, nor
the brook, nor the ash-trees, nor me, nor my mother. Every year in the
spring they hear, as it would be, a whispering in their ears telling
them that the woods are in leaf in Ireland, and that the sun is shining
on the bawn-fields, and that the lambs are bleating, and I waiting for
them. And they bid farewell to their dwelling in the strange country,
and they go before them, and they make neither stop nor stay till they
see the tops of the ash-trees from them, and till they hear the voice of
the river and the bleating of the lambs.”
The priest was listening attentively.
“O!--and isn’t it wonderful the journey they do have from the Southern
World! They leave the big sandy plain behind them, and the high, bald
mountains that are on its border, and they go before them till they come
to the great sea. Out with them over the sea, flying always, always,
without weariness, without growing weak. They see below them the
mighty-swelling waves, and the ships ploughing the ocean, and the white
sails, and seagulls, and the ‘black hags of the sea’ (cormorants), and
other wonders that I couldn’t remember. And times, there rise wind and
storm, and they see the ships drowning and the waves rising on top of
each other; and themselves, the creatures, do be beaten with the wind,
and blinded with the rain and with the salt water, till they make out
the land at last. A while to them then going before them, and they
looking on grassy parks, and on green-topped woods, and on high-headed
reeks, and on broad lakes, and on beautiful rivers, and on fine cities,
as they were wonderful pictures, and they looking on them down from
them. They see people at work. They hear cattle lowing, and children
laughing, and bells ringing. But they don’t stop, but forever going till
they come to the brink of the sea again, and no rest to them then till
they strike the country of Ireland.”
Eoineen continued speaking like this for a long time, the priest
listening to every word he said. They were chatting till the darkness
fell, and till the mother called Eoineen in. The priest went home
pondering to himself.
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