ON the Monday of the week following Norah Ryan went to school again. She had been there for two years already but left off going when she became an adept at the needles. Master Diver had control of the school; he was a fat little man, always panting and perspiring, who frightened the children and feared the priest. On the way to school he cut hazel rods by the roadside, and when in a bad mood he used them on the youngsters. After he had caned three or four children he became good tempered, when he caned half a dozen he got tired of his task and allowed the remainder (if any remained) to go scot free. Some of the boys who worked in their spare time at peat saving and fishing had hands hard as horses’ hooves. When these did something wrong their trousers were taken down and awkward chastisement was inflicted with severe simplicity in full view of a breathless school.

The school consisted of a single apartment, at one end of which, on a slightly elevated platform near the fire, the master’s desk and chair were placed. Several maps, two blackboards, a modulator, which no one, not even the master himself, understood, and a thermometer, long deprived of its quicksilver, hung on the walls. In one corner were the pegs on which the boys’ caps were hung; on a large roof-beam which spanned the width of the room the girls’ shawls were piled in a large heap. The room boasted of two wide open fireplaces, but only one of these was ever lighted; the other was used for storing the turf carried to school daily by the scholars. The room was swept twice weekly; then a grey dust rose off the floor and the master and children were seized with prolonged fits of sneezing. Outside and above the door was a large plate with the inscription,

Glenmornan National School. 1872.

Over the plate and under the eaves of the building a sparrow built its nest yearly, and it was even reported that a bat took up its daily residence in the same quarter.

From his seat beside the fire in the schoolroom the master watched his pupils through half-closed eyes, save when now and again he dropped into a sound sleep and snored loudly. Asleep he perspired more freely than when awake. He was very bald, and sometimes a tame robin that had been in the schoolhouse for many years fluttered down and rested on the skinny head which shone brilliantly in the firelight. There the robin preened its feathers. Now and then a mouse nibbled under the boards of the floor, and the children stopped their noisy chatter for a moment to listen to the movements of the little animal.

Prayers were said morning and evening. The children went down on their knees, the master prayed standing like a priest at the altar. The prayers of the morning were repeated in English, those of the evening in Gaelic.

Norah Ryan took her place in the third standard. In the class the boys stood at top, the girls at bottom, and those of each sex were ranged in order of merit. Norah, an apt pupil, easily took her place at the head of the girls, and the most ignorant of the boys, a youth named Dermod Flynn, was placed beside her. Although this lad got caned on an average three times a day, he never cried when he was beaten; still, Norah Ryan felt mutely compassionate for him when she heard the sharp hazel rod strike like a whiplash against his hand. His usual punishment consisted of four slaps of the rod, but always he held out his hand for a fifth; this, no doubt, was done to show the master that he did not fear him. Dermod could not fix his mind on any one subject; there was usually a far-away look in his eyes, which were continually turning towards the window and the country outside. On the calf of his left leg a large red scar showed where he had been bitten by a dog, and it was known that he would become mad one day. When a man is bitten by an angry dog he is sure to become mad at some time or another. So they say in Frosses.

The third class was usually ranged for lessons in a semi-circle facing the map of the world, which, with the exception of the map of Ireland, was the largest in the school. On the corners of the map were pictures of various men and animals with titles underneath; which, going the round of the two hemispheres, could be read as follows: Dromedary; A Russian Moujik; Wild Boar; A Chinaman; Leopard; An Indian; Lion; A Fiji Islander; etc., etc.

II

ONE day the master asked Dermod Flynn if he knew what race of people lived in Liverpool. As usual Dermod did not know.

“Dockers and Irishmen,” Norah Ryan, whose mind reverted to the letter which had been received from Fergus, whispered under her breath.

“Rockets and Irishmen,” Dermod blurted out.

No one laughed: a rocket had never been seen in Glenmornan, and it would have surprised none of the children if Dermod were correct; it would have surprised none of them if he were wrong. The master reached for the hazel rod.

“Hold out your hand, Dermod Flynn,” he commanded and delivered four blows on the boy’s palm. Flynn held out his hand for a fifth slap: the master took no notice.

“Now, Norah Ryan, hold out your hand,” said the master. “Promptin’ is worse than tellin’ lies.”

Norah received two slaps, much lighter than those delivered to the boy. The master knew that she was going to be a nun one day, and he respected her accordingly, but not to such an extent that he could refrain from using the rod of correction.

Dermod Flynn turned and stared at Norah. A red blush mantled her cheeks, and she looked at him shyly for a moment; then her lashes dropped quickly, for she felt that he was looking into her very soul. He appeared self-possessed, impervious to the pain of the master’s chastisement. After a while Norah looked at him again, but he was gazing vacantly out of the window at a brook tumbling from the rocky hills that fringed the further side of the playground.

When school was dismissed and the scholars were on their way home, Dermod spoke to Norah.

“Why did you help me in the class to-day?” he asked.

She did not answer but turned away and stared at the stream falling from the dark rocks.

“It’s like white smoke against a black cloud,” he said following her gaze.

“What is?”

“The stream falling from the rocks.”

On the day following Dermod got into trouble again. His class was asked to write an essay on fire, and Dermod sat biting his pen until the allotted time was nearly finished. Then he scribbled down a few lines.

“A house without fire is like a man without a stomach; a chimney without smoke is like a man without breath, for——”

That was all. Dermod pondered over the word “stomach” for a while and felt that it made the whole sentence an unseemly one. He was stroking out the word when the master, awakening from his sleep, grabbed the essay and read it. He read it a second time, then took down a hazel rod from the nail on which it hung. The ignorance of the boy who wrote such a sentence was most profound. The master caned Dermod.

Norah Ryan made rapid progress at her work, and when she went home in the evening she sat down on the hassock and learned her lessons by the light of the peat fire. She considered old Master Diver to be a very learned man, but somehow she could not get herself to like him. “Why does he beat Dermod Flynn so often?” she asked herself time and again, and whenever she thought of school she thought of Dermod Flynn.

Her mother, who had improved in health, now that there was food to eat, brought a looking-glass from Greenanore one day. She paid fourpence halfpenny for it in “McKeown’s Great Emporium,” the new business which had just been started by the yarn merchant. Norah dressed her hair in front of this glass, and one day when engaged in the task, she said: “I wish I could see Dermod Flynn now!” Perhaps she really meant to say: “I wish Dermod Flynn could see me now!” In any case she got so red in the face that her mother asked her what was wrong.

Shortly afterwards Dermod Flynn’s school troubles came to an end. His class was standing as usual, facing the map of the world, and Master Diver asked Dermod to point out Corsica. The boy did not know where Corsica was; he stared at the map, holding the idle pointer in his hand.

“Point out Corsica!” the master repeated, and seized the youth by the ear, which he pulled vigorously. The blood mounted to the boy’s cheeks, and raising the pointer suddenly he hit the master sharply across the face.

“You’ve killed him, Dermod Flynn!” Norah Ryan gasped involuntarily. The old fellow put his hands over his face and sank down limply on the form. Blood trickled through his fingers ... a fly settled on his bald head ... the scholars stared aghast at their fallen master. Dermod gazed at the old man for a moment, then seizing his cap he rushed out of the schoolroom. Most of the boys followed the example, and when the master, who only suffered from a slight flesh wound, regained his feet and looked round, the school was almost deserted.

Dermod Flynn did not return again, and after his departure Norah found that she did not like the school so much as formerly.