Chapter 1

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    Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a moocow ing down along the road and this moocow that was ing down along the road met a nis little boy named baby tuckoo

    His father told him that story: his father looked at him through a glass: he had a hairy face.

    He was baby tuckoo. The moocow came down the road where Betty Byrne lived: she sold lemon platt.

    O, the wild rose blossoms

    Otle green place.

    He sang that song. That was his song.

    O, the green wothe botheth.

    When you wet the bed first it is warm then it gets cold. His mother put on the oilsheet. That had the queer smell.

    His mother had a nicer smell than his father. She played on the piano the sailors hornpipe for him to dance. He danced:

    Tralala lala,

    Tralala tralaladdy,

    Tralala lala,

    Tralala lala.

    Uncle Charles and Dante clapped. They were older than his father and mother but uncle Charles was older than Dante.

    Dante had two brushes in her press. The brush with the maroo back was for Michael Davitt and the brush with the gree back was for Parnell. Dante gave him a cachou every time he brought her a piece of tissue paper.

    The Vances lived in number seven. They had a different father and mother. They were Eileens father and mother. When they were grown up he was going to marry Eileen. He hid uhe table. His mother said:

    -- O, Stephen will apologize.

    Dante said:

    -- O, if not, the eagles will e and pull out his eyes.--

    Pull out his eyes,

    Apologize,

    Apologize,

    Pull out his eyes.

    Apologize,

    Pull out his eyes,

    Pull out his eyes,

    Apologize.

    The wide playgrounds were swarming with boys. All were shouting and the prefects urged them on with strong cries. The evening air ale and chilly and after every charge and thud of the footballers the greasy leather orb flew like a heavy bird through the grey light. He kept on the fringe of his line, out of sight of his prefect, out of the reach of the rude feet, feigning to run now and then. He felt his body small and weak amid the throng of the players and his eyes were weak and watery. Rody Kickham was not like that: he would be captain of the third line all the fellows said.

    Rody Kickham was a det fellow but Nasty Roche was a stink. Rody Kickham had greaves in his number and a hamper in the refectory. Nasty Roche had big hands. He called the Friday pudding dog-in-the-bla. And one day be had asked:

    -- What is your name?

    Stephen had answered: Stephen Dedalus.

    Then Nasty Roche had said:

    -- What kind of a name is that?

    And when Stephen had not been able to answer Nasty Roche had asked:

    -- What is your father?

    Stephen had answered:

    -- A gentleman.

    Then Nasty Roche had asked:

    -- Is he a magistrate?

    He crept about from point to point on the fringe of his line, making little runs now and then. But his hands were bluish with cold. He kept his hands in the side pockets of his belted grey suit. That was a belt round his pocket. A was also to give a fellow a belt. One day a fellow said to twell:

    -- Id give you such a belt in a sed.

    twell had answered:

    -- Go and fight your match. Give Cecil Thunder a belt. Id like to see you. Hed give you a toe in the rump for yourself.

    That was not a nice expression. His mother had told him not to speak with the rough boys in the college. her! The first day in the hall of the castle when she had said goodbye she had put up her veil double to her o kiss him: and her nose and eyes were red. But he had pretended not to see that she was going to cry. She was a her but she was not so nice when she cried. And his father had given him two five-shilling pieces for pocket money. And his father had told him if he wanted anything to write home to him and, whatever he did, o pea a fellow. Then at the door of the castle the rector had shaken hands with his father and mother, his soutane fluttering in the breeze, and the car had driven off with his father and mother on it. They had cried to him from the car, waving their hands:

    -- Goodbye, Stephen, goodbye!

    -- Goodbye, Stephen, goodbye!

    He was caught in the whirl of a scrimmage and, fearful of the flashing eyes and muddy boots, bent down to look through the legs. The fellows were struggling and groaning and their legs were rubbing and kig and stamping. Then Jack Lawtons yellow boots dodged out the ball and all the other boots and legs ran after. He ran after them a little way and then stopped. It was useless to run on. Soon they would be going home for the holidays. After supper iudy hall he would ge the number pasted up inside his desk from seventy-seven to seventy-six.

    It would be better to be iudy hall than out there in the cold. The sky ale and cold but there were lights in the castle. He wondered from which window Hamilton Rowan had thrown his hat on the ha-ha and had there been flowerbeds at that time uhe windows. One day when he had been called to the castle the butler had shown him the marks of the soldiers slugs in the wood of the door and had given him a piece of shortbread that the unity ate. It was nid warm to see the lights in the castle. It was like something in a book. Perhaps Leicester Abbey was like that. And there were nice sentences in Doctor wells Spelling Book. They were like poetry but they were only senteo learn the spelling from.

    Wolsey died in Leicester Abbey

    Where the abbots buried him.

    ker is a disease of plan is,

    cer one of animals.

    It would be o lie on the hearthrug before the fire, leaning his head upon his hands, and think on those sentences. He shivered as if he had cold slimy water  his skin. That was mean of Wells to shoulder him into the square ditch because he would not swop his little snuff box for Wellss seasoned hag chestnut, the queror of forty. How cold and slimy the water had been! A fellow had once seen a big rat jump into the scum. Mother was sitting at the fire with Dante waiting fid t iea. She had her feet on the fender and her jewelly slippers were so hot and they had such a lovely warm smell! Dante knew a lot of things. She had taught him where the Mozambique el was and what was the lo river in Amerid what was the name of the highest mountain in the moon. Father Arnall knew more than Dante because he riest but both his father and uncle Charles said that Dante was a clever woman and a well-read woman. And when Dante made that er dinner and then put up her hand to her mouth: that was heartburn.

    A voice cried far out on the playground:

    -- All in!

    Then other voices cried from the lower and third lines:

    -- All in! All in!

    The players closed around, flushed and muddy, and he went among them, glad to go in. Rody Kickham held the ball by its greasy lace. A fellow asked him to give it one last: but he walked on without even answering the fellow. Simon Moonan told him not to because the prefect was looking. The fellow turo Simon Moonan and said:

    -- We all know why you speak. You are McGlades suck.

    Suck was a queer word. The fellow called Simon Moonan that name because Simon Moonao tie the prefects false sleeves behind his bad the prefect used to let on to be angry. But the sound was ugly. Once he had washed his hands in the lavatory of the Wicklow Hotel and his father pulled the stopper up by the  after and the dirty water went down through the hole in the basin. And when it had all gone down slowly the hole in the basin had made a sound like that: suck. Only louder.

    To remember that and the white look of the lavatory made him feel cold and then hot. There were two cocks that you turned and water came out: cold and hot. He felt cold and then a little hot: and he could see the names printed on the cocks. That was a very queer thing.

    And the air in the corridor chilled him too. It was queer aish. But soon the gas would be lit and in burning it made a light noise like a little song. Always the same: and when the fellows stopped talking in the playroom you could hear it.

    It was the hour for sums. Father Arnall wrote a hard sum on the board and then said:

    -- Now then, who will win? Go ahead, Yo ahead, Lancaster!

    Stephen tried his best, but the sum was too hard and he felt fused. The little silk badge with the white rose on it that inned on the breast of his jacket began to flutter. He was no good at sums, but he tried his best so that York might not lose. Father Arnalls face looked very black, but he was not in a wax: he was laughing. Then Jack Lawton cracked his fingers and Father Arnall looked at his copybook and said:

    -- Right. Bravo Lancasbbr></abbr>ter! The red rose wins. e on now, York! Fe ahead!

    Jack Lawton looked over from his side. The little silk badge with the red rose on it looked very rich because he had a blue sailor top on. Stephe his own face red too, thinking of all the bets about who would get first pla elements, Jack Lawton or he. Some weeks Jack Lawton got the card for first and some weeks he got the card for first. His white silk badge fluttered and fluttered as he worked at the  sum and heard Father Arnalls voice. Then all his eagerness passed away and he felt his face quite cool. He thought his face must be white because it felt so cool. He could not get out the answer for the sum but it did not matter. White roses and red roses: those were beautiful colours to think of. And the cards for first plad sed plad third place were beautiful colours too: pink and cream and lavender. Lavender and cream and pink roses were beautiful to think of. Perhaps a wild rose might be like those colours and he remembered the song about the wild rose blossoms otle green place. But you could not have a green rose. But perhaps somewhere in the world you could.

    The bell rang and then the classes began to file out of the rooms and along the corridors towards the refectory. He sat looking at the two prints of butter on his plate but could he damp bread. The tablecloth was damp and limp. But he drank off the hot weak tea which the clumsy scullion, girt with a white apron, poured into his cup. He wondered whether the scullions apron was damp too or whether all white things were cold and damp. Nasty Roche and Saurin drank cocoa that their people sent them in tins. They said they could not drink the tea; that it was hogwash. Their fathers were magistrates, the fellows said.

    All the boys seemed to him very strahey had all fathers and mothers and different clothes and voices. He loo be at home and lay his head on his mothers lap. But he could not: and so he longed for the play and study and prayers to be over and to be in bed.

    He drank another cup of hot tea and Fleming said:

    -- Whats up? Have you a pain or whats up with you?

    -- I dont know, Stephen said.

    -- Si your breadbasket, Fleming said, because your face looks white. It will go away.

    -- O yes, Stephen said.

    But he was not sick there. He thought that he was si his heart if you could be si that place. Fleming was very det to ask him. He wao cry. He leaned his elbows oable and shut and opehe flaps of his ears. Then he heard the noise of the refectory every time he opehe flaps of his ears. It made a roar like a train at night. And when he closed the flaps the roar was shut off like a train going into a tuhat night at Dalkey the train had roared like that and then, when it went into the tuhe roar stopped. He closed his eyes and the trai on, r and then stopping; r again, stopping. It was o hear it roar and stop and then roar out of the tunnel again and then stop.

    Then the higher line fellows began to e down along the matting in the middle of the refectory, Paddy Rath and Jimmy Magee and the Spaniard who was allowed to smoke cigars and the little Puese who wore the woolly cap. And then the lower liables and the tables of the third line. And every single fellow had a different way of walking.

    He sat in a er of the playroom pretending to watch a game of dominoes and once or twice he was able to hear for an instant the little song of the gas. The prefect was at the door with some boys and Simon Moonan was knotting his false sleeves. He was telling them something about Tullabeg.

    Then he went away from the door and Wells came over to Stephen and said:

    -- Tell us, Dedalus, do you kiss your mother before you go to bed?

    Stephen answered:

    -- I do.

    Wells turo the other fellows and said:

    -- O, I say, heres a fellow says he kisses his mother every night before he goes to bed.

    The other fellows stopped their game and turned round, laughing. Stephen blushed uheir eyes and said:

    -- I do not.

    Wells said:

    -- O, I say, heres a fellow says he doesnt kiss his mother before he goes to bed.

    They all laughed again. Stephen tried to laugh with them. He felt his whole body hot and fused in a moment. What was the right ao the question? He had given two and still Wells laughed. But Wells must know the right answer for he was in third of grammar. He tried to think of Wellss mother but he did not dare to raise his eyes to Wellss face. He did not like Wellss face. It was Wells who had shouldered him into the square ditch the day before because he would not swop his little snuff box for Wellss seasoned hag chestnut, the queror of forty. It was a mean thing to do; all the fellows said it was. And how cold and slimy the water had been! And a fellow had once seen a big rat jump plop into the scum.

    The cold slime of the ditch covered his whole body; and, when the bell rang for study and the lines filed out of the playrooms, he felt the cold air of the corridor and staircase inside his clothes. He still tried to think what was the right answer. Was it right to kiss his mother  to kiss his mother? What did that mean, to kiss? You put your face up like that to say good night and then his mother put her face down. That was to kiss. His mother put her lips on his cheek; her lips were soft and they wetted his cheek; and they made a tiny little noise: kiss. Why did people do that with their two faces?

    Sitting iudy hall he opehe lid of his desk and ged the number pasted up inside from seventy-seven to seventy-six. But the Christmas vacation was very far away: but oime it would e because the earth moved round always.

    There icture of the earth on the first page of his geography: a big ball in the middle of clouds. Fleming had a box of crayons and one night during free study he had coloured the earth green and the clouds maroon. That was like the two brushes in Dantes press, the brush with the gree back for Parnell and the brush with the maroo baichael Davitt. But he had not told Fleming to colour them those colours. Fleming had do himself.

    He opehe geography to study the lesson; but he could not learn the names of places in America. Still they were all different places that had different hey were all in different tries and the tries were in tis and the tis were in the world and the world was in the universe.

    He turo the flyleaf of the geography and read what he had written there: himself, his name and where he was.

    Stephen Dedalus

    Class of Elements

    gowes Wood College

    Sallins

    ty Kildare

    Ireland

    Europe

    The World

    The Universe

    That was in his writing: and Fleming one night for a cod had written on the opposite page:

    Stephen Dedalus is my name,

    Ireland is my nation.

    gowes is my dwellingplace

    And heaven my expectation.

    He read the verses backwards but then they were not poetry. Then he read the flyleaf from the bottom to the top till he came to his own hat was he: and he read down the page again. What was after the universe?

    Nothing. But was there anything round the universe to show where it stopped before the nothing place began?

    It could not be a wall; but there could be a thin thin lihere all round everything. It was very big to think about everything and everywhere. Only God could do that. He tried to think what a big thought that must be; but he could only think of God. God was Gods name just as his name was Stephen. Dieu was the French fod and that was Gods oo; and when anyone prayed to God and said Dieu then God k ohat it was a French person that raying. But, though there were different names fod in all the different languages in the world and God uood what all the people who prayed said in their different languages, still God remained always the same God and Gods real name was God.

    It made him very tired to think that way. It made him feel his head very big. He turned over the flyleaf and looked wearily at the green rouh in the middle of the maroon clouds. He wondered which was right, to be for the green or for the maroon, because Dante had ripped the gree back off the brush that was for Parnell one day with her scissors and had told him that Parnell was a bad man. He wondered if they were arguing at home about that. That was called politics. There were two sides in it: Dante was on one side and his father and Mr Casey were oher side but his mother and uncle Charles were on no side. Every day there was something in the paper about it.

    It pained him that he did not know well olitics meant and that he did not know where the universe ended. He felt small and weak. When would he be like the fellows iry and rhetoric? They had big voices and big boots and they studied trigory. That was very far away. First came the vacation and then the erm and then vacation again and then again aerm and then again the vacation. It was like a train going in and out of tunnels and that was like the noise of the boys eating in the refectory when you opened and closed the flaps of the ears. Term, vacation; tunnel, out; op. How far away it was! It was better to go to bed to sleep. Only prayers in the chapel and then bed. He shivered and yawned. It would be lovely in bed after the sheets got a bit hot. First they were so cold to get into. He shivered to think how cold they were first. But then they got hot and then he could sleep. It was lovely to be tired. He yawned again. Night prayers and then bed: he shivered and wao yawn. It would be lovely in a few minutes. He felt a warm glow creeping up from the cold shivering sheets, warmer and warmer till he felt warm all over, ever so warm a he shivered a little and still wao yawn.

    The bell rang fht prayers and he filed out of the study hall after the others and dowaircase and along the corridors to the chapel. The corridors were darkly lit and the chapel was darkly lit. Soon all would be dark and sleeping. There was cold night air in the chapel and the marbles were the colour the sea was at night. The sea was cold day and night: but it was colder at night. It was cold and dark uhe seawall beside his fathers house. But the kettle would be on the hob to make punch.

    The prefect of the chapel prayed above his head and his memory khe responses:

    O LOrd open our lips

    And our mouths shall annouhy praise.

    Ine unto our aid, O God!

    O Lord make haste to help us!

    There was a cold night smell in the chapel. But it was a holy smell. It was not like the smell of the old peasants who k at the back of the chapel at Sunday mass. That was a smell of air and rain and turf and corduroy. But they were very holy peasants. They breathed behind him On his ned sighed as they prayed. They lived in e, a fellow said: there were little cottages there and he had seen a woman standing at the half-door of a cottage with a child in her arms as the cars had e past from Sallins. It would be lovely to sleep for one night in that cottage before the fire of smoking turf, in the dark lit by the fire, in the warm dark, breathing the smell of the peasants, air and rain and turf and corduroy. But O, the road there betweerees was dark! You would be lost in the dark. It made him afraid to think of how it was.

    He heard the voice of the prefect of the chapel saying the last prayers. He prayed it too against the dark outside uhe trees.

    Visit, we beseech Thee, O Lord, this habitation and drive

    away from it all the snares of the enemy. May Thy holy

    angels dwell herein to preserve us in pead may Thy

    blessings be always upon us through Christ our Lord.

    Amen.

    His firembled as he undressed himself in the dormitory. He told his fio hurry up. He had to undress and then kneel and say his own prayers and be in bed before the gas was lowered so that he might not go to hell when he died. He rolled his stogs off and put on his nightshirt quickly and krembling at his bedside aed his prayers quickly, fearing that the gas would go down. He felt his shoulders shaking as he murmured:

    God bless my father and my mother and spare them to me!

    God bless my little brothers and sisters and spare

    them to me!

    God bless Dante and Uncle Charles and spare them to me!

    He blessed himself and climbed quickly into bed and, tug the end of the nightshirt under his feet, curled himself together uhe cold white sheets, shaking and trembling. But he would not go to hell when he died; and the shaking would stop. A voice bade the boys in the dormitood night. He peered out for an instant over the coverlet and saw the yellow curtains round and before his bed that shut him off on all sides. The light was lowered quietly.

    The prefects shoes went away. Where? Dowaircase and along the corridors or to his room at the end? He saw the dark. Was it true about the black dog that walked there at night with eyes as big as carriage-lamps? They said it was the ghost of a murderer. A long shiver of fear flowed over his body. He saw the dark entrance hall of the castle. Old servants in old dress were in the ironing-room above the staircase. It was long ago. The old servants were quiet. There was a fire there, but the hall was still dark. A figure came up the staircase from the hall. He wore the white cloak of a marshal; his face ale and strange; he held his hand pressed to his side. He looked out of strange eyes at the old servants. They looked at him and saw their masters fad cloak and khat he had received his death-wound. But only the dark was where they looked: only dark silent air. Their master had received his death-wound otlefield ue far away over the sea. He was standing on the field; his hand ressed to his side; his face ale and strange and he wore the white cloak of a marshal.

    O how cold and stra was to think of that! All the dark was cold and strahere were pale strange faces there, great eyes like carriage-lamps. They were the ghosts of murderers, the figures of marshals who had received their death-wound on battlefields far away over the sea. What did they wish to say that their faces were se?

    Visit, we beseech Thee, O Lord, this habitation and drive away from it all

    Going home for the holidays! That would be lovely: the fellows had told him. Getting up on the cars in the early wintry m outside the door of the castle. The cars were rolling on the gravel. Cheers for the rector!

    Hurray! Hurray! Hurray!

    The cars drove past the chapel and all caps were raised. They drove merrily along the try roads. The drivers pointed with their whips to Bodenstown. The fellows cheered. They passed the farmhouse of the Jolly Farmer. Cheer after cheer after cheer. Through e they drove, cheering and cheered. The peasant women stood at the half-doors, the men stood here and there. The lovely smell there was in the wintry air: the smell of e: rain and wintry air and turf smouldering and corduroy.

    The train was full of fellows: a long long chocolate train with cream fags. The guards went to and fro opening, closing, log, unlog the doors. They were men in dark blue and silver; they had silvery whistles and their keys made a quick music: click, click: click, click.

    And the train raced ohe flat lands and past the Hill of Allen. The telegraph poles were passing, passing. The trai on and on. It khere were lanterns in the hall of his fathers house and ropes of green brahere were holly and ivy round the pierglass and holly and ivy, green awined round the deliers. There were red holly and green ivy round the old portraits on the walls. Holly and ivy for him and for Christmas.

    Lovely

    All the people. Wele home, Stephen! Noises of wele. His mother kissed him. Was that right? His father was a marshal now: higher than a magistrate. Wele home, Stephen!

    Noises

    There was a noise of curtain-rings running back along the rods, of water being splashed in the basins. There was a noise of rising and dressing and washing in the dormitory: a noise of clapping of hands as the prefect went up and down telling the fellows to look sharp. A pale sunlight showed the yellow curtains drawn back, the tossed beds. His bed was very hot and his fad body were very hot.

    He got up and sat on the side of his bed. He was weak. He tried to pull on his stog. It had a horrid rough feel. The sunlight was queer and cold.

    Fleming said:

    -- Are you not well?

    He did not know; and Fleming said:

    -- Get bato bed. Ill tell McGlade youre not well.

    -- Hes sick.

    -- Who is?

    -- Tell McGlade.

    -- Get bato bed.

    -- Is he sick?

    A fellow held his arms while he loosehe stog ging to his foot and climbed bato the hot bed.

    He crouched dowween the sheets, glad of their tepid glow. He heard the fellows talk among themselves about him as they dressed for mass. It was a mean thing to do, to shoulder him into the square ditch, they were saying. -- Then their voices ceased; they had gone. A voice at his bed said:

    -- Dedalus, dont spy on us, sure you wont?

    Wellss face was there. He looked at it and saw that Wells was afraid.

    -- I dido. Sure you wont?

    His father had told him, whatever he did, o pea a fellow. He shook his head and answered no a glad.

    Wells said:

    -- I dido, honour bright. It was only for cod. Im sorry.

    The fad the voice went away. Sorry because he was afraid. Afraid that it was some disease. ker was a disease of plants and cer one of animals: or another different. That was a long time ago then out on the playgrounds in the evening light, creeping from point to point on the fringe of his line, a heavy bird flying low through the grey light. Leicester Abbey lit up. Wolsey died there. The abbots buried him themselves.

    It was not Wellss face, it was the prefects. He was not foxing. No, no: he was sick really. He was not foxing. And he felt the prefects hand on his forehead; and he felt his forehead warm and damp against the prefects cold damp hand. That was the way a rat felt, slimy and damp and cold. Every rat had two eyes to look out of. Sleek slimy coats, little little feet tucked up to jump, black slimy eyes to look out of. They could uand how to jump. But the minds of rats could not uand trigory. When they were dead they lay on their sides. Their coats dried then. They were only dead things.

    The prefect was there again and it was his voice that was saying that he was to get up, that Father Minister had said he was to get up and dress and go to the infirmary. And while he was dressing himself as quickly as he could the prefect said:

    -- We must pack off to Brother Michael because we have the collywobbles!

    He was very det to say that. That was all to make him laugh. But he could not laugh because his cheeks and lips were all shivery: and then the prefect had to laugh by himself.

    The prefect cried:

    -- Quick march! Hayfoot! Strawfoot!

    They went together dowaircase and along the corridor and past the bath. As he passed the door he remembered with a vague fear the warm turf-coloured bogwater, the warm moist air, the noise of pluhe smell of the towels, like medie.

    Brother Michael was standing at the door of the infirmary and from the door of the dark et on his right came a smell like medie. That came from the bottles on the shelves. The prefect spoke to Brother Michael and Brother Michael answered and called the prefect sir. He had reddish hair mixed with grey and a queer look. It was queer that he would always be a brother. It was queer too that you could not call him sir because he was a brother and had a different kind of look. Was he not holy enough or why could he not catch up ohers?

    There were two beds in the room and in ohere was a fellow: and when they went in he called out:

    -- Hello! Its young Dedalus! Whats up?

    -- The sky is up, Brother Michael said.

    He was a fellow out of the third of grammar and, while Stephen was undressing, he asked Brother Michael t him a round of buttered toast.

    -- Ah, do! he said.

    -- Butter you up! said Brother Michael. Youll get your walking papers in the m when the doctor es.

    -- Will I? the fellow said. Im not well yet.

    Brother Michael repeated:

    -- Youll get your walking papers. I tell you.

    He bent down to rake the fire. He had a long back like the long back of a tramhorse. He shook the pravely and nodded his head at the fellow out of third of grammar.

    Then Brother Michael went away and after a while the fellow out of third of grammar turned in towards the wall and fell asleep.

    That was the infirmary. He was sick then. Had they written home to tell his mother and father? But it would be quicker for one of the priests to go himself to tell them. Or he would write a letter for the priest t.

    Dear Mother,

    I am sick. I want to go home. Please e and take me home. I am in the infirmary.

    Your fond son,

    Stephen

    How far away they were! There was cold sunlight outside the window. He wondered if he would die. You could die just the same on a sunny day. He might die before his mother came. Then he would have a dead mass in the chapel like the way the fellows had told him it was when Little had died. All the fellows would be at the mass, dressed in black, all with sad faces. Wells too would be there but no fellow would look at him. The rector would be there in a cope of blad gold and there would be tall yellow dles oar and round the catafalque. And they would carry the coffin out of the chapel slowly and he would be buried itle graveyard of the unity off the main avenue of limes. And Wells would be sorry then for what he had done. And the bell would toll slowly.

    He could hear the tolling. He said over to himself the song that Brigid had taught him.

    Dingdong! The castle bell!

    Farewell, my mother!

    Bury me in the old churchyard

    Beside my eldest brother.

    My coffin shall be black,

    Six angels at my back,

    Two to sing and two to pray

    And two to carry my soul away.

    How beautiful and sad that was! How beautiful the words were where they said Bury me in the old churchyard! A tremor passed over his body. How sad and how beautiful! He wao cry quietly but not for himself: for the words, so beautiful and sad, like music. The bell! The bell! Farewell! O farewell!

    The cold sunlight was weaker and Brother Michael was standing at his bedside with a bowl of beef-tea. He was glad for his mouth was hot and dry. He could hear them playing in the playgrounds. And the day was going on in the college just as if he were there.

    Then Brother Michael was going away and the fellow out of the third of grammar told him to be sure and e bad tell him all the news in the paper. He told Stephen that his name was Athy and that his father kept a lot of racehorses that were spiffing jumpers and that his father would give a good tip to Brother Michael any time he wa because Brother Michael was very det and always told him the news out of the paper they got every day up in the castle. There was every kind of news in the paper: acts, shipwrecks, sports, and politics.

    -- Now it is all about politi the papers, he said. Do your people talk about that too?

    -- Yes, Stephen said.

    -- Mioo, he said.

    Thehought for a moment and said:

    -- You have a queer name, Dedalus, and I have a queer oo, Athy. My name is the name of a town. Your name is like Latin.

    Then he asked:

    -- Are you good at riddles?

    Stephen answered:

    -- Not very good.

    Then he said:

    --  you answer me this one? Why is the ty of Kildare like the leg of a fellows breeches?

    Stephen thought what could be the answer and then said:

    -- I give it up.

    -- Because there is a thigh in it, he said. Do you see the joke? Athy is the town in the ty Kildare and a thigh is the other thigh.

    -- Oh, I see, Stephen said.

    -- Thats an old riddle, he said.

    After a moment he said:

    -- I say!

    -- What? asked Stephen.

    -- You know, he said, you  ask that riddle another way.

    --  you? said Stephen.

    -- The same riddle, he said. Do you know the other way to ask it?

    -- No, said Stephen.

    --  you not think of the other way? he said.

    He looked at Stephehe bedclothes as he spoke. Then he lay ba the pillow and said:

    -- There is another way but I wont tell you what it is.

    Why did he not tell it? His father, who kept the racehorses, must be a magistrate too like Saurins father and Nasty Roches father. He thought of his own father, of how he sang songs while his mother played and of how he always gave him a shilling when he asked for sixpend he felt sorry for him that he was not a magistrate like the other boys fathers. Then why was he sent to that place with them? But his father had told him that he would be ner there because his granduncle had presented an address to the liberator there fifty years before. You could know the people of that time by their old dress. It seemed to him a solemn time: and he wondered if that was the time when the fellows in gowes wore blue coats with brass buttons and yellow waistcoats and caps of rabbitskin and drank beer like grown-up people a greyhounds of their own to course the hares with.

    He looked at the window and saw that the daylight had grown weaker. There would be cloudy grey light over the playgrounds. There was no noise on the playgrounds. The class must be doing the themes or perhaps Father Arnall was reading out of the book.

    It was queer that they had not given him any medie. Perhaps Brother Michael would bring it back when he came. They said you got stinking stuff to drink when you were in the infirmary. But he felt better now than before. It would be tier slowly. You could get a book then. There was a book in the library about Holland. There were lovely fn names in it and pictures of strange looking cities and ships. It made you feel so happy.

    How pale the light was at the window! But that was he fire rose and fell on the wall. It was like waves. Someone had put coal on and he heard voices. They were talking. It was the noise of the waves. Or the waves were talking among themselves as they rose and fell.

    He saw the sea of waves, long dark waves rising and falling, dark uhe moonless night. A tiny light twi the pierhead where the ship was entering: and he saw a multitude of people gathered by the waters edge to see the ship that was entering their harbour. A tall man stood on the deck, looking out towards the flat dark land: and by the light at the pierhead he saw his face, the sorrowful face of Brother Michael.

    He saw him lift his hand towards the people and heard him say in a loud voice of sorrow over the waters:

    -- He is dead. We saw him lying upoafalque. A wail of sorrow went up from the people.

    -- Parnell! Parnell! He is dead!

    They fell upon their knees, moaning in sorrow.

    And he saw Dante in a maroo dress and with a gree mantle hanging from her shoulders walking proudly and silently past the people who k by the waters edge.

    ________________________________________

    A great fire, banked high and red, flamed in the grate and uhe ivy-twined branches of the delier the Christmas table read. They had e home a little late and still dinner was not ready: but it would be ready in a jiffy his mother had said. They were waiting for the door to open and for the servants to e in, holding the big dishes covered with their heavy metal covers.

    All were waiting: uncle Charles, who sat far away in the shadow of the window, Dante and Mr Casey, who sat in the easy-chairs at either side o9９ｌｉb.he hearth, Stepheed on a chair between them, his feet resting ooasted boss. Mr Dedalus looked at himself in the pierglass above the mantelpiece, waxed out his moustache ends and then, parting his coattails, stood with his back to the glowing fire: and still from time to time he withdrew a hand from his coat-tail to wax out one of his moustache ends. Mr Casey leaned his head to one side and, smiling, tapped the gland of his-neck with his fingers. And Stephen smiled too for he knew now that it was not true that Mr Casey had a purse of silver in his throat. He smiled to think how the silvery noise which Mr Casey used to make had deceived him. And when he had tried to open Mr Caseys hand to see if the purse of silver was hidden there he had seen that the fingers could not be straightened out: and Mr Casey had told him that he had got those three cramped fingers making a birthday present for Queen Victoria. Mr Casey tapped the gland of his ned smiled at Stephen with sleepy eyes: and Mr Dedalus said to him:

    -- Yes. Well now, thats all right. O, we had a good walk, hadnt we, John? YesI wonder if theres any likelihood of dihis evening. YesO, well now, we got a good breath of ozone round the Head today. Ay, bedad.

    He turo Dante and said:

    -- You didnt stir out at all, Mrs Riordan?

    Dante frowned and said shortly:

    -- No.

    Mr Dedalus dropped his coat-tails a over to the sideboard. He brought forth a great stone jar of whisky from the locker and filled the deter slowly, bending now and then to see how much he had poured in. Then replag the jar in the locker he poured a little of the whisky into two glasses, added a little water and came back with them to the fireplace.

    -- A thimbleful, John, he said, just to whet your appetite.

    Mr Casey took the glass, drank, and placed it near him on the mantelpiece. Then he said:

    -- Well, I t help thinking of our friend Christopher manufacturing.

    He broke into a fit of laughter and coughing and added:

    -- manufacturing that champagne for those fellows.

    Mr Dedalus laughed loudly.

    -- Is it Christy? he said. Theres more ing in one of those warts on his bald head than in a pack of jack foxes.

    He ined his head, closed his eyes, and, lig his lips profusely, began to speak with the voice of the hotel keeper.

    -- And he has such a soft mouth when hes speaking to you, dont you know. Hes very moist and watery about the des, God bless him.

    Mr Casey was still struggling through his fit of coughing and laughter. Stephen, seeing and hearing the hotel keeper through his fathers fad voice, laughed.

    Mr Dedalus put up his eyeglass and, staring down at him, said quietly and kindly:

    -- What are you laughing at, you little puppy, you?

    The servaered and placed the dishes oable. Mrs Dedalus followed and the places were arranged.

    -- Sit over, she said.

    Mr Dedalus went to the end of the table and said:

    -- Now, Mrs Riordan, sit over. John, sit you down, my hearty.

    He looked round to where uncle Charles sat and said:

    -- Now then, sir, theres a bird here waiting for you.

    When all had taken their seats he laid his hand on the cover and then said quickly, withdrawing it:

    -- Now, Stephen.

    Stephen stood up in his place to say the grace before meals:

    Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts which through

    Thy bounty we are about to receive through Christ our

    Lord. Amen.

    All blessed themselves and Mr Dedalus with a sigh of pleasure lifted from the dish the heavy cover pearled around the edge with glistening drops.

    Stephen looked at the plump turkey which had lain, trussed and skewered, o table. He khat his father had paid a guinea for it in Dunns of DOlier Street and that the man had prodded it often at the breastboo show how good it was: and he remembered the mans voice when he had said:

    -- Take that one, sir. Thats the real Ally Daly.

    Why did Mr Barrett in gowes call his pandybat a turkey? But gowes was far away: and the warm heavy smell of turkey and ham and celery rose from the plates and dishes and the great fire was banked high and red in the grate and the green ivy and red holly made you feel so happy and when dinner was ehe big plum pudding would be carried in, studded with peeled almonds and sprigs of holly, with bluish fire running around it and a little green flag flying from the top.

    It was his first Christmas dinner ahought of his little brothers and sisters who were waiting in the nursery, as he had often waited, till the pudding came. The deep low collar and the Eton jacket made him feel queer and oldish: and that m when his mother had brought him down to the parlour, dressed for mass, his father had cried. That was because he was thinking of his own father. And uncle Charles had said so too.

    Mr Dedalus covered the dish and began to eat hungrily. Then he said:

    -- Poor old Christy, hes nearly lopsided now with roguery.

    -- Simon, said Mrs Dedalus, you havent given Mrs Riordan any sauce.

    Mr Dedalus seized the sauceboat.

    -- Havent I? he cried. Mrs Riordan, pity the poor blind. Dante covered her plate with her hands and said:

    -- No, thanks.

    Mr Dedalus turo uncle Charles.

    -- How are you off, sir?

    -- Right as the mail, Simon.

    -- You, John?

    -- Im all right. Go on yourself.

    -- Mary? Here, Stephen, heres something to make your hair curl.

    He poured sauce freely over Stephens plate ahe boat again oable. Then he asked uncle Charles was it tender. Uncle Charles could not speak because his mouth was full; but he hat it was.

    -- That was a good answer our friend made to the . What? said Mr Dedalus.

    -- I didnt think he had that mu him, said Mr Casey.

    -- Ill pay your dues, father, when you cease turning the house of God into a polling-booth.

    -- A niswer, said Dante, for any man calling himself a catholic to give to his priest.

    -- They have only themselves to blame, said Mr Dedalus suavely. If they took a fools advice they would fiheir attention tion.

    -- It is religion, Dante said. They are doing their duty in warning the people.

    -- We go to the house of God, Mr Casey said, in all humility to pray to our Maker and not to hear ele addresses.

    -- It is religion, Dante said again. They are right. They must direct their flocks.

    -- And preach politics from the altar, is it? asked Mr Dedalus.

    -- Certainly, said Da is a question of public morality. A priest would not be a priest if he did not tell his flock what is right and what is wrong.

    Mrs Dedalus laid down her knife and fork, saying:

    -- For pity sake and for pity sake let us have no political discussion on this day of all days in the year.

    -- Quite right, maam, said uncle Charles. Now, Simon, thats quite enough now. Not another word now.

    -- Yes, yes, said Mr Dedalus quickly.

    He uncovered the dish boldly and said:

    -- Now then, whos for more turkey?

    Nobody answered. Dante said:

    -- Nice language for any catholic to use!

    -- Mrs Riordan, I appeal to you, said Mrs Dedalus, to let the matter drop now.

    Daurned on her and said:

    -- And am I to sit here and listen to the pastors of my church being flouted?

    -- Nobody is saying a wainst them, said Mr Dedalus, so long as they dont meddle in politics.

    -- The bishops and priests of Ireland have spoken, said Dante, and they must be obeyed.

    -- Let them leave politics alone, said Mr Casey, or the people may leave their church alone.

    -- You hear? said Daurning to Mrs Dedalus.

    -- Mr Casey! Simon! said Mrs Dedalus, let it end now.

    -- Too bad! Too bad! said uncle Charles.

    -- What? cried Mr Dedalus. Were we to desert him at the bidding of the English people?

    -- He was no longer worthy to lead, said Dante. He ubliner.

    -- We are all sinners and black sinners, said Mr Casey coldly.

    -- Woe be to the man by whom the sdal eth! said Mrs Riordan. It would be better for him that a millstoied about his ned that he were cast into the depths of the sea rather than that he should sdalize one of these, my least little ohat is the language of the Holy Ghost.

    -- And very bad language if you ask me, said Mr Dedalus coolly.

    -- Simon! Simon! said uncle Charles. The boy.

    -- Yes, yes, said Mr Dedalus. I meant about theI was thinking about the bad language of the railorter. Well now, thats all right. Here, Stephen, show me your plate, old chap. Eat away now. Here.

    He heaped up the food on Stephens plate and served uncle Charles and Mr Casey te pieces of turkey and splashes of sauce. Mrs Dedalus was eating little and Da with her hands in her lap. She was red in the face. Mr Dedalus rooted with the carvers at the end of the dish and said:

    -- Theres a tasty bit here we call the popes nose. If any lady entleman.

    He held a piece of fowl up on the prong of the carving fork. Nobody spoke. He put it on his own plate, saying:

    -- Well, you t say but you were asked. I think I had better eat it myself because Im not well in my health lately.

    He wi Stephen and, replag the dish-cover, began to eat again.

    There was a silence while he ate. Then he said:

    -- Well now, the day kept up fier all. There were plenty of strangers down too.

    Nobody spoke. He said again:

    -- I think there were more strangers down than last Christmas.

    He looked round at the others whose faces were bent towards their plates and, receiving no reply, waited for a moment and said bitterly:

    -- Well, my Christmas dinner has been spoiled anyhow.

    -- There could be her lurace, Dante said, in a house where there is no respect for the pastors of the church.

    Mr Dedalus threw his knife and fork noisily on his plate.

    -- Respect! he said. Is it for Billy with the lip or for the tub of guts up in Armagh? Respect!

    -- Princes of the church, said Mr Casey with slow s.

    -- Lord Leitrims an, yes, said Mr Dedalus.

    -- They are the Lords anointed, Dante said. They are an honour to their try.

    -- Tub of guts, said Mr Dedalus coarsely. He has a handsome face, mind you, in repose. You should see that felloing up his ba and cabbage of a cold winters day. O Johnny!

    He twisted his features into a grimace of heavy bestiality and made a lapping h his lips.

    -- Really, Simon, you should not speak that way before Stephen. Its nht.

    -- O, hell remember all this when he grows up, said Daly - the language he heard against God and religion and priests in his own home.

    -- Let him remember too, cried Mr Casey to her from across the table, the language with which the priests and the priests pawns broke Parnells heart and hounded him into his grave. Let him remember that too when he grows up.

    -- Sons of bitches! cried Mr Dedalus. When he was dowurned on him to betray him and rend him like rats in a sewer. Low-lived dogs! And they look it! By Christ, they look it!

    -- They behaved rightly, cried Dahey obeyed their bishops and their priests. Honour to them!

    -- Well, it is perfectly dreadful to say that not even for one day in the year, said Mrs Dedalus,  we be free from these dreadful disputes!

    Uncle Charles raised his hands mildly and said:

    -- e now, e now, e now!  we not have our opinions whatever they are without this bad temper and this bad language? It is too bad surely.

    Mrs Dedalus spoke to Dante in a low voice but Dante said loudly:

    -- I will not say nothing. I will defend my churd my religio is insulted and spit on by renegade catholics.

    Mr Casey pushed his plate rudely into the middle of the table and, resting his elbows before him, said in a hoarse voice to his host:

    -- Tell me, did I tell you that story about a very famous spit?

    -- You did not, John, said Mr Dedalus.

    -- Why then, said Mr Casey, it is a most instructive story. It happened not long ago in the ty Wicklow where we are now.

    He broke off and, turning towards Dante, said with quiet indignation:

    -- And I may tell you, maam, that I, if you mean me, am nade catholic. I am a catholic as my father was and his father before him and his father before him again, when we gave up our lives rather than sell our faith.

    -- The more shame to you now, Dante said, to speak as you do.

    -- The story, John, said Mr Dedalus smiling. Let us have the story anyhow.

    -- Catholideed! repeated Dante ironically. The blackest protestant in the land would not speak the language I have heard this evening.

    Mr Dedalus began to sway his head to and fro, ing like a try singer.

    -- I am no protestant, I tell you again, said Mr Casey, flushing.

    Mr Dedalus, still ing and swaying his head, began to sing in a grunting nasal tone:

    O, e all you Roman catholics

    That never went to mass.

    He took up his knife and fain in good humour ao eating, saying to Mr Casey:

    -- Let us have the story, John. It will help us to digest.

    Stephen looked with affe at Mr Caseys face which stared across the table over his joined hands. He liked to sit near him at the fire, looking up at his dark fierce face. But his dark eyes were never fierd his slow voice was good to listen to. But why was he then against the priests? Because Dante must be right then. But he had heard his father say that she oiled nun and that she had e out of the vent in the Alleghanies when her brother had got the money from the savages for the tris and the ies. Perhaps that made her severe against Parnell. And she did not like him to play with Eileen because Eileen rotestant and when she was young she knew children that used to play with protestants and the protestants used to make fun of the litany of the Blessed Virgin. Tower of Ivory they used to say, House of Gold! How could a womaower of ivory or a house of gold? Who was right then? And he remembered the evening in the infirmary in gowes, the dark waters, the light at the pierhead and the moan of sorrow from the people when they had heard.

    Eileen had long white hands. One evening when playing tig.. she had put her hands over his eyes: long and white and thin and cold and soft. That was ivory: a cold white thing. That was the meaning of Tower of Ivory.

    -- The story is very short and sweet, Mr Casey said. It was one day down in Arklow, a cold bitter day, not long before the chief died. May God have mer him!

    He closed his eyes wearily and paused. Mr Dedalus took a bone from his plate and tore some meat from it with his teeth, saying:

    -- Before he was killed, you mean.

    Mr Casey opened his eyes, sighed a on:

    -- It was down in Arklow one day. We were down there at a meeting and after the meeting was over we had to make our way to the railway station through the crowd. Such booing and baaing, man, you never heard. They called us all the names in the world. Well there was one old lady, and a drunken old harridan she was surely, that paid all her attention to me. She kept dang along beside me in the mud bawling and screaming into my face: Priest-huhe Paris Funds! Mr Fox! Kitty OShea!

    -- And what did you do, John? asked Mr Dedalus.

    -- I let her bawl away, said Mr Casey. It was a cold day and to keep up my heart I had (saving your presence, maam) a quid of Tullamore in my mouth and sure I couldnt say a word in any case because my mouth was full of tobacco juice.

    -- Well, John?

    -- Well. I let her bawl away, to her hearts tent, Kitty OShea and the rest of it till at last she called that lady a hat I wont sully this Christmas board nor your ears, maam, nor my own lips by repeating.

    He paused. Mr Dedalus, lifting his head from the bone, asked:

    -- And what did you do, John?

    -- Do! said Mr Casey. She stuck her ugly old face up at me when she said it and I had my mouth full of tobacco juice. I bent down to her and Phth! says I to her like that.

    He turned aside and made the act of spitting.

    -- Phth! says I to her like that, right into her eye.

    He clapped his hand to his eye and gave a hoarse scream of pain.

    -- O Jesus, Mary and Joseph! says she. Im blinded! Im blinded and drownded!

    He stopped in a fit of coughing and laughter, repeating:

    -- Im blinded entirely.

    Mr Dedalus laughed loudly and lay ba his chair while uncle Charles swayed his head to and fro.

    Dante looked terribly angry aed while they laughed:

    -- Very nice! Ha! Very nice!

    It was not nice about the spit in the womans eye.

    But what was the he woman had called Kitty OShea that Mr Casey would not repeat? He thought of Mr Casey walking through the crowds of people and making speeches from a wagohat was what he had been in prison for and he remembered that one night Sergeant ONeill had e to the house and had stood in the hall, talking in a low voice with his father and chewing nervously at the strap of his cap. And that night Mr Casey had not goo Dublin by train but a car had e to the door and he had heard his father say something about the teely road.

    He was for Ireland and Parnell and so was his father: and so was Daoo for one night at the band on the esplanade she had hit a gentleman on the head with her umbrella because he had taken off his hat when the band played God save the Queen at the end.

    Mr Dedalus gave a snort of pt.

    -- Ah, John, he said. It is true for them. We are an unfortunate priest-ridden rad always were and always will be till the end of the chapter.

    Uncle Charles shook his head, saying:

    -- A bad business! A bad business!

    Mr Dedalus repeated:

    -- A priest-ridden Godforsaken race!

    He poio the portrait of his grandfather on the wall to his right.

    -- Do you see that old chap up there, John? he said. He was a good Irishmahere was no money In the job. He was o death as a whiteboy. But he had a saying about our clerical friends, that he would never let one of them put his two feet under his mahogany.

    Dante broke in angrily:

    -- If we are a priest-ridden race we ought to be proud of it! They are the apple of Gods eye. Touch them not, says Christ, for they are the apple of My eye.

    -- And  we not love our try then? asked Mr Casey. Are we not to follow the man that was born to lead us?

    -- A traitor to his try! replied Dante. A traitor, an adulterer! The priests were right to abandon him. The priests were always the true friends of Ireland.

    -- Were they, faith? said Mr Casey.

    He threw his fist oable and, frowning angrily, protruded one finger after another.

    -- Didnt the bishops of Irelaray us iime of the union when Bishop Lanigaed an address of loyalty to the Marquess wallis? Didnt the bishops and priests sell the aspirations of their try in 1829 iurn for catholic emancipation? Didnt they denouhe fenian movement from the pulpit and in the fession box? And didnt they dishonour the ashes of Terence Bellew Maus?

    His face was glowing with anger and Stephehe glow rise to his own cheek as the spoken words thrilled him. Mr Dedalus uttered a guffaw of coarse s.

    -- O, by God, he cried, I fot little old Paul Cullen! Another apple of Gods eye!

    Dante bent across the table and cried to Mr Casey:

    -- Right! Right! They were always right! God and morality and religion e first.

    Mrs Dedalus, seeing her excitement, said to her:

    -- Mrs Riordan, doe yourself answering them.

    -- God and religion before everything! Dante cried. God and religion before the world.

    Mr Casey raised his ched fist and brought it down oable with a crash.

    -- Very well then, he shouted hoarsely, if it es to that, no God for Ireland!

    -- John! John! cried Mr Dedalus, seizing his guest by the coat sleeve.

    Daared across the table, her cheeks shaking. Mr Casey struggled up from his chair a across the table towards her, scraping the air from before his eyes with one hand as though he were tearing aside a cobweb.

    -- No God for Ireland! he cried. We have had too much God In Ireland. Away with God!

    -- Blasphemer! Devil! screamed Daarting to her feet and almost spitting in his face.

    Uncle Charles and Mr Dedalus pulled Mr Casey bato his chair again, talking to him from both sides reasonably. He stared before him out of his dark flaming eyes, repeating:

    -- Away with God, I say!

    Dante shoved her chair violently aside ahe table, upsetting her napkin-ring which rolled slowly along the carpet and came to rest against the foot of an easy-chair. Mrs Dedalus rose quickly and followed her towards the door. At the door Daurned round violently and shouted down the room, her cheeks flushed and quivering with rage:

    -- Devil out of hell! We won! We crushed him to death! Fiend!

    The door slammed behind her.

    Mr Casey, freeing his arms from his holders, suddenly bowed his head on his hands with a sob of pain.

    -- Poor Parnell! he cried loudly. My dead king!

    He sobbed loudly and bitterly.

    Stephen, raising his terror-stri face, saw that his fathers eyes were full of tears.

    ________________________________________

    The fellows talked together in little groups.

    One fellow said:

    -- They were caught he Hill of Lyons.

    -- Who caught them?

    -- Mr Gleeson and the mihey were on a car. The same fellow added:

    -- A fellow in the higher liold me.

    Fleming asked:

    -- But why did they run away, tell us?

    -- I know why, Cecil Thunder said. Because they had fecked cash out of the rectors room.

    -- Who fecked it?

    -- Kickhams brother. And they all went shares in it.

    -- But that was stealing. How could they have dohat?

    -- A fat lot you know about it, Thunder! Wells said. I know why they scut.

    -- Tell us why.

    -- I was told not to, Wells said.

    -- O, go on, Wells, all said. You might tell us. We wo out.

    Stephe forward his head to hear. Wells looked round to see if anyone was ing. Then he said secretly:

    -- You know the altar wihey keep in the press in the sacristy?

    -- Yes.

    -- Well, they drank that and it was found out who did it by the smell. And thats why they ran away, if you want to know.

    And the fellow who had spoken first said:

    -- Yes, thats what I heard too from the fellow in the higher line.

    The fellows all were silent. Stephen stood among them, afraid to speak, listening. A faint siess of awe made him feel weak. How could they have dohat? He thought of the dark silent sacristy. There were dark wooden presses there where the crimped surplices lay quietly folded. It was not the chapel but still you had to speak under your breath. It was a holy place. He remembered the summer evening he had beeo be dressed as boatbearer, the evening of the Procession to the little altar in the wood. A strange and holy place. The boy that held the ser had swung it lifted by the middle  to keep the coals lighting. That was called charcoal: and it had burned quietly as the fellow had swung it gently and had given off a weak sour smell. And then when all were vested he had stood holding out the boat to the rector and the rector had put a spoonful of inse in it and it had hissed on the red coals.

    The fellows were talking together in little groups here and there on the playground. The fellows seemed to him to have grown smaller: that was because a sprinter had knocked him down the day before, a fellow out of sed of grammar. He had been thrown by the fellows mae lightly on the der path and his spectacles had been broken in three pieces and some of the grit of the ders had goo his mouth.

    That was why the fellows seemed to him smaller and farther away and the goalposts so thin and far and the soft grey sky so high up. But there was no play on the football grounds for cricket was ing: and some said that Barnes would be prof and some said it would be Flowers. And all over the playgrounds they were playing rounders and bowling twisters and lobs. And from here and from there came the sounds of the cricket bats through the soft grey air. They said: pick, pack, pock, puck: little drops of water in a fountain slowly falling in the brimming bowl.

    Athy, who had been silent, said quietly:

    -- You are all wrong.

    All turowards him eagerly.

    -- Why?

    -- Do you know?

    -- Who told you?

    -- Tell us, Athy.

    Athy pointed across the playground to where Simon Moonan was walking by himself kig a stone before him.

    -- Ask him, he said.

    The fellows looked there and then said:

    -- Why him?

    -- Is he in it?

    Athy lowered his void said:

    -- Do you know why those fellows scut? I will tell you but you must not let on you know.

    -- Tell us, Athy. Go on. You might if you know.

    He paused for a moment and then said mysteriously:

    -- They were caught with Simon Moonan and Tusker Boyle in the square one night.

    The fellows looked at him and asked:

    -- Caught?

    -- What doing?

    Athy said:

    -- Smugging.

    All the fellows were silent: and Athy said:

    -- And thats why.

    Stephen looked at the faces of the fellows but they were all l<bdi></bdi>ooking across the playground. He wao ask somebody about it. What did that mean about the smugging in the square? Why did the five fellows out of the higher line run away for that? It was a joke, he thought. Simon Moonan had nice clothes and one night he had shown him a ball of creamy sweets that the fellows of the football fifteen had rolled down to him along the carpet in the middle of the refectory when he was at the door. It was the night of the match against the Bective Rangers; and the ball was made just like a red and green apple only it opened and it was full of the creamy sweets. And one day Boyle had said that art elephant had two tuskers instead of two tusks and that was why he was called Tusker Boyle but some fellows called him Lady Boyle because he was always at his nails, paring them.

    Eileen had long thin cool white hands too because she was a girl. They were like ivory; only soft. That was the meaning of Tower of Ivory but protestants could not uand it and made fun of it. One day he had stood beside her looking into the hotel grounds. A waiter was running up a trail of bunting on the flagstaff and a fox terrier was scampering to and fro on the sunny lawn. She had put her hand into his pocket where his hand was and he had felt how cool and thin and soft her hand was. She had said that pockets were funny things to have: and then all of a sudden she had broken away and had run laughing down the sloping curve of the path. Her fair hair had streamed out behind her like gold in the sun. Tower of Ivory. House of Gold. By thinking of things you could uand them.

    But why in the square? You went there when you wao do something. It was all thick slabs of slate and water trickled all day out of tiny pinholes and there was a queer smell of stale water there. And behind the door of one of the closets there was a drawing in red pencil of a bearded man in a Roman dress with a bri each hand and underh was the name of the drawing:

    Balbus was building a wall.

    Some fellow had drawn it there for a cod. It had a funny face but it was very like a man with a beard. And on the wall of another closet there was written in bad iiful writing:

    Julius Caesar wrote The Calico Belly.

    Perhaps that was why they were there because it lace where some fellows wrote things for cod. But all the same it was queer what Athy said and the way he said it. It was not a cod because they had run away. He looked with the others across the playground and began to feel afraid.

    At last Fleming said:

    -- And we are all to be punished for what other fellows did?

    -- I wont e back, see if I do, Cecil Thunder said. Three days silen the refectory and sending us up for six a every minute.

    -- Yes, said Wells. And old Barrett has a new way of twisting the note so that you t open it and fold it again to see how many ferulae you are to get. I wont e back too.

    Yes, said Cecil Thunder, and the prefect of studies was in sed of grammar this m.

    -- Let us get up a rebellion, Fleming said. Will we?

    All the fellows were silent. The air was very silent and you could hear the cricket bats but more slowly than before: pick, pock.

    Wells asked:

    -- What is going to be doo them?

    -- Simon Moonan and Tusker are going to be flogged, Athy said, and the fellows in the higher li their choice of flogging or being expelled.

    -- And which are they taking? asked the fellow who had spoken first.

    -- All are taking expulsion except Can, Athy answered. Hes going to be flogged by Mr Gleeson.

    -- I know why, Cecil Thunder said. He is right and the other fellows are wrong because a flogging wears off after a bit but a fellow that has been expelled from college is known all his life on at of it. Besides Gleeson wont flog him hard.

    -- Its best of his play not to, Fleming said.

    -- I wouldnt like to be Simon Moonan and Tusker Cecil Thunder said. But I dont believe they will be flogged. Perhaps they will be sent up for twiine.

    -- No, no, said Athy. Theyll both get it oal spot. Wells rubbed himself and said in a g voice:

    -- Please, sir, let me off!

    Athy grinned and turned up the sleeves of his jacket, saying:

    It t be helped;

    It must be done.

    So down with your breeches

    And out with your bum.

    The fellows laughed; but he felt that they were a little afraid. In the silence of the soft grey air he heard the cricket bats from here and from there: pock. That was a sound to hear but if you were hit then you would feel a pain. The pandybat made a sound too but not like that. The fellows said it was made of whalebone aher with lead inside: and he wondered what was the pain like. There were different kinds of sounds. A long thin e would have a high whistling sound and he wondered what was that pain like. It made him shivery to think of it and cold: and what Athy said too. But what was there to laugh at in it? It made him shivery: but that was because you always felt like a shiver when you let down your trousers. It was the same ih when you undressed yourself. He wondered who had to let them down, the master or the boy himself. O how could they laugh about it that way?

    He looked at Athys rolled-up sleeves and knuckly inky hands. He had rolled up his sleeves to show hleeson would roll up his sleeves. But Mr Gleeson had round shiny cuffs and  white wrists and fattish white hands and the nails of them were long and pointed. Perhaps he pared them too like Lady Boyle. But they were terribly long and pointed nails. So long and cruel they were, though the white fattish hands were not cruel but gentle. And though he trembled with cold and fright to think of the cruel long nails and of the high whistling sound of the e and of the chill you felt at the end of your shirt when you undressed yourself yet he felt a feeling of queer quiet pleasure inside him to think of the white fattish hands,  and strong ale. Ahought of what Cecil Thunder had said: that Mr Gleeson would not flog Can hard. And Fleming had said he would not because it was best of his play not to. But that was not why

    A voice from far out on the playground cried:

    -- All in!

    And other voices cried:

    -- All in! All in!

    During the writing lesso with his arms folded, listening to the slow scraping of the pens. Mr Harford went to and fro making little signs in red pencil and sometimes sitting beside the boy to show him how to hold his pen. He had tried to spell out the headline for himself though he knew already what it was for it was the last of the book. Zeal without prudence is like a ship adrift. But the lines of the letters were like fine invisible threads and it was only by closing his right eye tight and staring out of the left eye that he could make out the full curves of the capital.

    But Mr Harford was very det and never got into a wax. All the other masters got into dreadful waxes. But why were they to suffer for what fellows in the higher line did? Wells had said that they had drunk some of the altar wi of the press in the sacristy and that it had been found out who had do by the smell. Perhaps they had stolen a monstrao run away with and sell it somewhere. That must have been a terrible sin, to go in there quietly at night, to open the dark press and steal the flashing gold thing into which God ut oar in the middle of flowers and dles at beion while the inse went up in clouds at both sides as the fellow swung the ser and Dominic Kelly sang the first part by himself in the choir. But God was not in it of course wheole it. But still it was a strange and a great sio touch it. He thought of it with deep awe; a terrible and strange sin: it thrilled him to think of it in the silence when the pens scraped lightly. But to drink the altar wi of the press and be found out by the smell was a sin too: but it was not terrible and stra only made you feel a little sickish on at of the smell of the wine. Because on the day when he had made his first holy union in the chapel he had shut his eyes and opened his mouth and put out his tongue a little: and when the rector had stooped down to give him the holy union he had smelt a faint winy smell off the rectors breath after the wine of the mass. The word was beautiful: wi made you think of dark purple because the grapes were dark purple that grew in Greece outside houses like white temples. But the faint smell of the rectors breath had made him feel a sick feeling on the m of his first union. The day of your first union was the happiest day of your life. And once a lot of generals had asked Napoleon what was the happiest day of his life. They thought he would say the day he won some great battle or the day he was made an emperor. But he said:

    -- Gentlemen, the happiest day of my life was the day on which I made my first holy union.

    Father Arnall came in and the Latin lesson began and he remaiill, leaning on the desk with his arms folded. Father Arnall gave out the theme-books and he said that they were sdalous and that they were all to be written out again with the corres at once. But the worst of all was Flemings theme because the pages were stuck together by a blot: and Father Arnall held it up by a er and said it was an insult to any master to send him up such a theme. Then he asked Jack Lawton to dee the noun mare and Jack Lawton stopped at the ablative singular and could not go on with the plural.

    -- You should be ashamed of yourself, said Father Arnall sternly. You, the leader of the class!

    Then he asked the  boy and the  and the . Nobody knew. Father Arnall became very quiet, more and more quiet as each boy tried to a and could not. But his face was black-looking and his eyes were staring though his voice was so quiet. Then he asked Fleming and Fleming said that the word had no plural. Father Arnall suddenly shut the book and shouted at him:

    -- Kneel out there in the middle of the class. You are one of the idlest boys I ever met. Copy out your themes again the rest of you.

    Fleming moved heavily out of his plad k betweewo last behe other boys bent over their theme-books and began to write. A silence filled the classroom and Stephen, glang timidly at Father Arnalls dark face, saw that it was a little red from the wax he was In.

    Was that a sin for Father Arnall to be in a wax or was he allowed to get into a wax when the boys were idle because that made them study better or was he only letting on to be in a wax? It was because he was allowed, because a priest would know what a sin was and would not do it. But if he did it oime by mistake what would he do to go to fession? Perhaps he would go to fession to the minister. And if the minister did it he would go to the rector: and the rector to the provincial: and the provincial to the general of the jesuits. That was called the order: and he had heard his father say that they were all clever men. They could all have bee high-up people in the world if they had not bee jesuits. And he wondered what Father Arnall and Paddy Barrett would have bee and what Mr McGlade and Mr Gleeson would have bee if they had not bee jesuits. It was hard to think what because you would have to think of them in a different way with different coloured coats and trousers and with beards and moustaches and different kinds of hats.

    The door opened quietly and closed. A quick whisper ran through the class: the prefect of studies. There was an instant of dead silend then the loud crack of a pandybat on the last desk. Stephe leapt up in fear.

    -- Any boys want flogging here, Father Arnall? cried the prefect of studies. Any lazy idle loafers that want flogging in this class?

    He came to the middle of the class and saw Fleming on his knees.

    -- Hoho! he cried. Who is this boy? Why is he on his knees? What is your name, boy?

    -- Fleming, sir.

    -- Hoho, Fleming! An idler of course. I  see it in your eye. Why is he on his knees, Father Arnall?

    -- He wrote a bad Latin theme, Father Arnall said, and he missed all the questions in grammar.

    -- Of course he did! cried the prefect of studies, of course he did! A born idler! I  see it in the er of his eye.

    He banged his pandybat down on the desk and cried:

    -- Up, Fleming! Up, my boy!

    Fleming stood up slowly.

    -- Hold out! cried the prefect of studies.

    Fleming held out his hand. The pandybat came down on it with a loud smag sound: owo, three, four, five, six.

    -- Other hand!

    The pandybat came down again in six loud quick smacks.

    -- Kneel down! cried the prefect of studies.

    Fleming k down, squeezing his hands under his armpits, his face torted with pain; but Stephen knew how hard his hands were because Fleming was always rubbing rosin into them. But perhaps he was i pain for the noise of the pandybat was terrible. Stephe was beating and fluttering.

    -- At your work, all of you! shouted the prefect of studies. We want no lazy idle loafers here, lazy idle little schemers. At your work, I tell you. Father Dolan will be in to see you every day. Father Dolan will be in tomorrow.

    He poked one of the boys in the side with his pandybat, saying:

    -- You, boy! When will Father Dolan be in again?

    -- Tomorrow, sir, said Tom Furlongs voice.

    -- Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, said the prefect of studies. Make up your minds for that. Every day Father Dolan. Write away. You, boy, who are you?

    Stephe jumped suddenly.

    -- Dedalus, sir.

    -- Why are you not writing like the others?

    -- Imy

    He could not speak with fright.

    -- Why is he not writing, Father Arnall?

    -- He broke his glasses, said Father Arnall, and I exempted him from work.

    -- Broke? What is this I hear? What is this your name is! said the prefect of studies.

    -- Dedalus, sir.

    -- Out here, Dedalus. Lazy little schemer. I see schemer in your face. Where did you break ylasses?

    Stephen stumbled into the middle of the class, blinded by fear and haste.

    -- Where did you break ylasses? repeated the prefect of studies.

    -- The der-path, sir.

    -- Hoho! The der-path! cried the prefect of studies. I know that trick.

    Stephen lifted his eyes in wonder and saw for a moment Father Dolans white-grey not young face, his baldy white-grey head with fluff at the sides of it, the steel rims of his spectacles and his no-coloured eyes looking through the glasses. Why did he say he khat trick?

    -- Lazy idle little loafer! cried the prefect of studies. Broke my glasses! An old schoolboy trick! Out with your hand this moment!

    Stephen closed his eyes and held out in the air his trembling hand with the palm upwards. He felt the prefect of studies touch it for a moment at the fihten it and then the swish of the sleeve of the soutane as the pandybat was lifted to strike. A hot burning stinging tingling blow like the loud crack of a broken stick made his trembling hand crumple together like a leaf in the fire: and at the sound and the pain scalding tears were driven into his eyes. His whole body was shaking with fright, his arm was shaking and his crumpled burning livid hand shook like a loose leaf in the air. A cry sprang to his lips, a prayer to be let off. But though the tears scalded his eyes and his limbs quivered with pain and fright he held back the hot tears and the cry that scalded his throat.

    -- Other hand! shouted the prefect of studies.

    Stephen drew back his maimed and quivering right arm and held out his left hand. The soutane sleeve swished again as the pandybat was lifted and a loud crashing sound and a fierce maddening tingling burning pain made his hand shrink together with the palms and fingers in a livid quivering mass. The scalding water burst forth from his eyes and, burning with shame and agony and fear, he drew back his shaking arm in terror and burst out into a whine of pain. His body shook with a palsy ht and in shame and rage he felt the scalding cry e from his throat and the scalding tears falling out of his eyes and down his flaming cheeks.

    -- Kneel down, cried the prefect of studies.

    Stephe down quickly pressing his beaten hands to his sides. To think of them beaten and swollen with pain all in a moment made him feel so sorry for them as if they were not his own but someone elses that he felt sorry for. And as he k, calming the last sobs in his throat and feeling the burning tingling pain pressed into his sides, he thought of the hands which he had held out in the air with the palms up and of the firm touch of the prefect of studies when he had steadied the shaking fingers and of the beaten swollen reddened mass of palm and fihat shook helplessly in the air.

    -- Get at your work, all of you, cried the prefect of studies from the door. Father Dolan will be in every day to see if any boy, any lazy idle little loafer wants flogging. Every day. Every day.

    The door closed behind him.

    The hushed class tio copy out the themes. Father Arnall rose from his seat a among them, helping the boys with gentle words and telling them the mistakes they had made. His voice was very gentle and soft. Theuro his seat and said to Fleming and Stephen:

    -- You may return to your places, you two.

    Fleming and Stephen rose and, walking to their seats, sat down. Stephen, scarlet with shame, opened a book quickly with one weak hand a down upon it, his face close to the page.

    It was unfair and cruel because the doctor had told him not to read without glasses and he had written home to his father that m to send him a new pair. And Father Arnall had said that he need not study till the new glasses came. Then to be called a schemer before the class and to be pandied when he always got the card for first or sed and was the leader of the Yorkists! How could the prefect of studies know that it was a trick? He felt the touch of the prefects fingers as they had steadied his hand and at first he had thought he was going to shake hands with him because the fingers were soft and firm: but then in an instant he had heard the swish of the soutane sleeve and the crash. It was cruel and unfair to make him kneel in the middle of the class then: and Father Arnall had told them both that they might return to their places without making any differeween them. He listeo Father Arnalls low ale voice as he corrected the themes. Perhaps he was sorry now and wao be det. But it was unfair and cruel. The prefect of studies riest but that was cruel and unfair. And his white-grey fad the no-coloured eyes behind the steel-rimmed spectacles were cruel looking because he had steadied the hand first with his firm soft fingers and that was to hit it better and louder.

    -- Its a stinkihing, thats what it is, said Fleming in the corridor as the classes were passing out in file to the refectory, to pandy a fellow for what is not his fault.

    -- You really broke ylasses by act, didnt you? Nasty Roche asked.

    Stephe his heart filled by Flemings words and did not answer.

    -- Of course he did! said Fleming. I wouldnt stand it. Id go up ahe rector on him.

    -- Yes, said Cecil Thunder eagerly, and I saw him lift the pandy-bat over his shoulder and hes not allowed to do that.

    -- Did they hurt you muasty Roche asked.

    -- Very much, Stephen said.

    -- I wouldnt stand it, Flemied, from Baldyhead or any other Baldyhead. Its a stinking mean low trick, thats what it is. Id ght up to the rector and tell him about it after dinner.

    -- Yes, do. Yes, do, said Cecil Thunder.

    -- Yes, do. Yes, go up ahe rector on him, Dedalus, said Nasty Roche, because he said that hed e in tomorrow again and pandy you.

    -- Yes, yes. Tell the rector, all said.

    And there were some fellows out of sed of grammar listening and one of them said:

    -- The senate and the Roman people declared that Dedalus had been wrongly punished.

    It was wrong; it was unfair and cruel; and, as he sat in the refectory, he suffered time after time in memory the same humiliation until he began to wonder whether it might not really be that there was something in his face which made him look like a schemer and he wished he had a little mirror to see. But there could not be; and it was unjust and cruel and unfair.

    He could he blackish fish fritters they got on Wednesdays i and one of his potatoes had the mark of the spade in it. Yes, he would do what the fellows had told him. He would go up ahe rector that he had been wrongly punished. A thing like that had been done before by somebody in history, by some great person whose head was in the books of history. And the rector would declare that he had been wrongly punished because the senate and the Roman people always declared that the men who did that had been wrongly puhose were the great men whose names were in Richmal Magnalls Questions. History was all about those men and what they did and that was eter Parleys Tales about Greed Rome were all about. Peter Parley himself was on the first page in a picture. There was a road over a heath with grass at the side and little bushes: aer Parley had a broad hat like a protestant minister and a big stid he was walking fast along the road to Greed Rome.

    It was easy what he had to do. All he had to do was when the dinner was over and he came out in his turn to go on walking but not out to the corridor but up the staircase on the right that led to the castle. He had nothing to do but that: to turn to the right and walk fast up the staircase and in half a minute he would be in the low dark narrow corridor that led through the castle to the rectors room. And every fellow had said that it was unfair, even the fellow out of sed of grammar who had said that about the senate and the Roman people.

    What would happen?

    He heard the fellows of the higher liand up at the top of the refectory and heard their steps as they came dowting: Paddy Rath and Jimmy Magee and the Spaniard and the Puese and the fifth was big Can who was going to be flogged by Mr Gleeson. That was why the prefect of studies had called him a schemer and pandied him for nothing: and, straining his weak eyes, tired with the tears, he watched big Cans broad shoulders and big hanging black head passing in the file. But he had done something and besides Mr Gleeson would not flog him hard: and he remembered how big Can looked ih. He had skin the same colour as the turf-coloured bogwater in the shallow end of the bath and when he walked along the side his feet slapped loudly o tiles and at every step his thighs shook a little because he was fat.

    The refectory was half empty and the fellows were still passing out in file. He could go up the staircase because there was never a priest or a prefect outside the refectory door. But he could not go. The rector would side with the prefect of studies and think it was a schoolboy trid then the prefect of studies would e in every day the same, only it would be worse because he would be dreadfully waxy at any fellow going up to the rector about him. The fellows had told him to go but they would not go themselves. They had fotten all about it. No, it was best tet all about it and perhaps the prefect of studies had Only said he would e in. No, it was best to hide out of the way because when you were small and young you could often escape that way.

    The fellows at his table stood up. He stood up and passed out among them in the file. He had to decide. He was ihe door. If he went on with the fellows he could never go up to the rector because he could not leave the playground for that. And if he went and andied all the same all the fellows would make fun and talk about young Dedalus going up to the rector to tell on the prefect of studies.

    He was walking down along the matting and he saw the door before him. It was impossible: he could not. He thought of the baldy head of the prefect of studies with the cruel no-coloured eyes looking at him and he heard the voice of the prefect of studies asking him twice what his name was. Why could he not remember the name when he was told the first time? Was he not listening the first time or was it to make fun out of the he great men in the history had names like that and nobody made fun of them. It was his own hat he should have made fun of if he wao make fun. Dolan: it was like the name of a woman who washed clothes.

    He had reached the door and, turning quickly up to the right, walked up the stairs and, before he could make up his mind to e back, he had ehe low dark narrow corridor that led to the castle. And as he crossed the threshold of the door of the corridor he saw, without turning his head to look, that all the fellows were looking after him as they went filing by.

    He passed along the narrow dark corridor, passing little doors that were the doors of the rooms of the unity. He peered in front of him and right ahrough the gloom and thought that those must be portraits. It was dark and silent and his eyes were weak and tired with tears so that he could not see. But he thought they were the portraits of the saints and great men of the order who were looking down on him silently as he passed: saint Ignatius Loyola holding an open book and pointing to the words Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam in it; saint Francis Xavier pointing to his chest; Lorenzo Ricci with his berretta on his head like one of the prefects of the lihe three patrons of holy youth - saint Stanislaus Kostka, saint Aloysius Gonzago, and Blessed John Bers, all with young faces because they died when they were young, and Father Peter Kenny sitting in a chair ed in a big cloak.

    He came out on the landing above the entrance hall and looked about him. That was where Hamilton Rowan had passed and the marks of the soldiers slugs were there. And it was there that the old servants had seen the ghost in the white cloak of a marshal.

    An old servant was sweeping at the end of the landing. He asked him where was the rectors room and the old servant poio the door at the far end and looked after him as he went on to it and knocked.

    There was no answer. He knocked again more loudly and his heart jumped when he heard a muffled voice say:

    -- e in!

    He turhe handle and opehe door and fumbled for the handle of the green baize door inside. He found it and pushed it open a in.

    He saw the rector sitting at a desk writing. There was a skull on the desk and a strange solemn smell in the room like the old leather of chairs.

    His heart was beating fast on at of the solemn place he was in and the silence of the room: and he looked at the skull and at the rectors kind-looking face.

    -- Well, my little man, said the rector, what is it?

    Stephen swallowed dowhing in his throat and said:

    -- I broke my glasses, sir.

    The rector opened his mouth and said:

    -- O!

    Then he smiled and said:

    -- Well, if we broke lasses we must write home for a new pair.

    -- I wrote home, sir, said Stephen, and Father Arnall said I am not to study till they e.

    -- Quite right! said the rector.

    Stephen swallowed dowhing again and tried to keep his legs and his voice from shaking.

    -- But, sir--

    -- Yes?

    -- Father Dolan came in today and pandied me because I was not writing my theme.

    The rector looked at him in silend he could feel the blood rising to his fad the tears about to rise to his eyes.

    The rector said:

    -- Your name is Dedalus, isnt it?

    -- Yes, sir

    -- And where did you break ylasses?

    -- On the der-path, sir. A fellow was ing out of the bicycle house and I fell and they got broken. I dont know the fellows name.

    The rector looked at him again in silehen he smiled and said:

    -- O, well, it was a mistake; I am sure Father Dolan did not know.

    -- But I told him I broke them, sir, and he pandied me.

    -- Did you tell him that you had written home for a new pair? the rector asked.

    -- No, sir.

    -- O well then, said the rector, Father Dolan did not uand. You  say that I excuse you from your lessons for a few days.

    Stephen said quickly for fear his trembling would prevent him:

    -- Yes, sir, but Father Dolan said he will e in tomorrow to pandy me again for it.

    -- Very well, the rector said, it is a mistake and I shall speak to Father Dolan myself. Will that do now?

    Stephehe tears wetting his eyes and murmured:

    -- O yes sir, thanks.

    The rector held his hand across the side of the desk where the skull was and Stephen, plag his hand in it for a moment, felt a oist palm.

    -- Good day now, said the rector, withdrawing his hand and bowing.

    -- Good day, sir, said Stephen.

    He bowed and walked quietly out of the room, closing the doors carefully and slowly.

    But when he had passed the old servant on the landing and was again in the low narrow dark corridor he began to walk faster and faster. Faster and faster he hurried on through the gloom excitedly. He bumped his elbow against the door at the end and, hurrying dowaircase, walked quickly through the two corridors and out into the air.

    He could hear the cries of the fellows on the playgrounds. He broke into a run and, running quicker and quicker, ran across the derpath and reached the third line playground, panting.

    The fellows had seen him running. They closed round him in a ring, pushing one against ao hear.

    -- Tell us! Tell us!

    -- What did he say?

    -- Did you go in?

    What did he say?

    -- Tell us! Tell us!

    He told them what he had said and what the rector had said and, when he had told them, all the fellows flung their caps spinning up into the air and cried:

    -- Hurroo!

    They caught their caps ahem up again spinning sky-high and cried again:

    -- Hurroo! Hurroo!

    They made a cradle of their locked hands and hoisted him up among them and carried him along till he struggled to get free. And when he had escaped from them they broke away in all dires, flinging their caps again into the air and whistling as they went spinning up and g:

    -- Hurroo!

    And they gave three groans for Baldyhead Dolan and three cheers for ee and they said he was the detest rector that was ever in gowes.

    The cheers died away in the soft grey air. He was alone. He was happy and free; but he would not be anyroud with Father Dolan. He would be very quiet and obedient: and he wished that he could do something kind for him to show him that he was not proud.

    The air was soft and grey and mild and evening was ing. There was the smell of evening in the air, the smell of the fields in the try where they digged up turnips to peel them ahem when they went out for a walk to Major Bartons, the smell there was itle wood beyond the paviliohe gallnuts were.

    The fellows were practising long shies and bowling lobs and slow twisters. In the soft grey silence he could hear the bump of the balls: and from here and from there through the quiet air the sound of the cricket bats: pick, pack, pock, puck: like drops of water in a fountain falling softly in the brimmin<dfn></dfn>g bowl.

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