A CHILD. Oh, that is old Cormacin that grinds the meal for us, and minds the oven.

OLD MAN. The blessing of G.o.d here! Master, will you give me leave to gather up the sc.r.a.ps, and to bring them out with me?

MASTER. You may do that. (_To the children._) Come here now, till I see if you have that poem right, and I will let you go out when you have it said.

FEARALL. We are coming; but wait a minute till I ask old Cormacin what is he going to do with the leavings he has there.

OLD MAN. I am gathering them to give to the birds, avourneen.

TEACHER. We will do it now; come over here. (_The children stand together in a row._)

TEACHER. Now I will tell you who made the poem you are going to say to me: There was a holy, saintly man in Ireland some years ago.

Aongus Ceile De was the name he had. There was no man in Ireland had greater humility than he. He did not like the people to be giving honour to him, or to be saying he was a great saint, or that he made fine poems. It was because of his humility he stole away one night, and put a disguise on himself; and he went like a poor man through the country, working for his own living without anyone knowing him. He is gone away out of knowledge now, without anyone at all knowing where he is. Maybe he is feeding pigs or grinding meal now like any other poor person.

A CHILD. Grinding meal like old Cormacin here.

TEACHER. Exactly. But before he went away, it is many fine sweet poems he made in the praise of G.o.d and the angels; and it was one of those I was teaching you to-day.

A CHILD. What is the name you said he had?

TEACHER. Aongus Ceile De, the servant of G.o.d. They gave him that name because he was so holy. Now, Felim, say the first two lines you; and Art will say the two next lines; and Aodh the two lines after that, and so on to the end.

FELIM.

Up in the kingdom of G.o.d, there are Archangels for every single day.

ART.

And it is they certainly That steer the entire week.

AODH.

The first day is holy; Sunday belongs to G.o.d.

FERGUS.

Gabriel watches constantly Every week over Monday.

CONALL.

Gabriel watches constantly--

TEACHER. That's not it, Conall; Fergus said that.

CONALL. It is to G.o.d Sunday belongs----

TEACHER. That's not it; that was said before. It is at Tuesday we are now. Who is it has Tuesday? (_The little boy does not answer._) Who is it has Tuesday? Don't be a fool, now.

CONALL (_putting the joint of his finger in his eye_). I don't know.

TEACHER. Oh, my shame you are! Look now; go in the place Fearall is, and he will go in your place. Now, Fearall.

FEARALL.

It is true that Tuesday is kept By Michael in his full strength.

TEACHER. That's it. Now, Conall, say who has Monday.

CONALL. I can't.

TEACHER. Say the two lines before that and I will be satisfied.

Who has Monday?

CONALL (_crying_). I don't know.

TEACHER. Oh, aren't you the little amadan! I will never put anything at all in your head. I will not let you go out till you know that poem. Now, boys, run out with you; and we will leave Conall Amadan here. (_The_ TEACHER _and all the other scholars go out._)

THE OLD MAN. Don't be crying, avourneen; I will teach the poem to you; I know it myself.

CONALL. Aurah, Cormacin, I cannot learn it. I am not clever or quick like the other boys. I can't put anything in my head (_bursts into crying again_). I have no memory for anything.

OLD MAN (_laying his hand on his head_). Take courage, astore.

You will be a wise man yet, with the help of G.o.d. Come with me now, and help me to divide these sc.r.a.ps. (_The child gets up._) That's it now; dry your eyes and don't be discouraged.

CONALL (_wiping his eyes_). What are you making three shares of the sc.r.a.ps for?

THE OLD MAN. I am going to give the first share to the geese; I am putting all the cabbage on this dish for them; and when I go out, I will put a grain of meal on it, and it will feed them finely. I have sc.r.a.ps of meat here, and old broken bread, and I will give that to the hens; they will lay their eggs better when they will get food like that.

These little crumbs are for the little birds that do be singing to me in the morning, and that awaken me with their share of music. I have oaten meal for them. (_Sweeps the floor, and gathers little crumbs of bread._) I have a great wish for the little birds. (_The old man looks up; he sees the little boy lying on a cushion, and he asleep. He stands a little while looking at him. Tears gather in his eyes; then he goes down on his knees._)

OLD MAN. O Lord, O G.o.d, take pity on this little soft child.

Put wisdom in his head, cleanse his heart, scatter the mist from his mind, and let him learn his lesson like the other boys. O Lord, Thou wert Thyself young one time: take pity on youth. O Lord, Thou Thyself shed tears: dry the tears of this little lad. Listen, O Lord, to the prayer of Thy servant, and do not keep from him this little thing he is asking of Thee. O Lord, bitter are the tears of a child, sweeten them; deep are the thoughts of a child, quiet them; sharp is the grief of a child, take it from him; soft is the heart of a child, do not harden it.

(_While the old man is praying, the_ TEACHER _comes in. He makes a sign to the children outside; they come in and gather about him.

The old man notices the children; he starts up, and shame burns on him._)

TEACHER. I heard your prayer, old man; but there is no good in it. I praise you greatly for it, but that child is half-witted. I prayed to G.o.d myself once or twice on his account, but there was no good in it.

THE OLD MAN. Perhaps G.o.d heard me. G.o.d is for the most part ready to hear. The time we ourselves are empty without anything, G.o.d listens to us; and He does not think on the thing we are without, but gives us our fill.

TEACHER. It is the truth you are speaking; but there is no good in praying this time. This boy is very ignorant. (_He and the old man go over to the child, who is still asleep, and signs of tears on his cheeks._) He must work hard, and very hard; and maybe with the dint of work, he will get a little learning some time. (_He puts his hand on the cheek of the little boy, and he starts up, and wonder on him when he sees them all about him._)

THE OLD MAN. Ask it to him now.

TEACHER. DO you remember the poem now, Conall?

CONALL.

Up in the heaven of G.o.d, there are Archangels for every day.