Wensday.
I nearly sufIerkated under the lawndree. and to-day I nearly died. I lost my breath when I saw that letter to me in the March "Far East" -the letter from the Right Rev. Patrick Cleary, D.D., Perfect Apostolic. Kienchang, China. I was breathless and speechless. Sister Pawl would not beleive that I could be speechless; but it is true. I was. I tried to call out "Mum," but my voice just cracked. Mum ran in-I think she thought I was taking a fit. I was in a fit of joy. I hope and trust that old Miss Mack Stinger Will see the letter. Dr. Cleary said he would stop her if he had been here. I wish he had been. I hope Sister Pawl sees it. I kept my copy very clean, and I will leave it on her table, opened at the letter. I know it will do no good. It will not change her opinyin of me in the least. If the Pope wrote to me and comensed the letter like Dr. Cleary's-My dear Mickie--Sister Pawl would only half close her eyes at it and say: "The Holy Father doesn't know Mickie Daly as I do. He has not to teach him!' I bet she'd say that, and I'll bet she'll say It if she reeds Dr. Cleary's letter. I suppose if Sister were in the hart of China she would not think me such a pest. Wish she were in the hart of China, and Dr. Cleary over here. No. I don't want Dr. Cleary over here, because China is his mishin. Suppose this school is St. Pawl's mishin. I'll have to try to be rezined to it. Sister Pawl might be a saint. I don't know. She might know all my sins. I think when she looks at me she sees them all over me like a horrible leprasee, and that is what makes her look as if I am lothsum in her sight. Some saints could see people's sins. Perhaps she is a saint. She must think that if she is very hard on me it will make me a better boy. It's pretty stiff on me while it's doing me good. I hope she will take some notice of the Right Rev. Dr. Pat rick Cleary. D.D .• Perfect Apostolic, Kienchang, China and be kind to me.
I don't think Sister Pawl will have any faith or trust in me until the Day of Judgement. Then when she sees me on the right side she'll change her opinyin of me. It is not me, now. It is my sins which Sister Pawl dislikes so much.
Sister Allerwishes is always kind to me. I wunder will I ask Sister Pawl to let me put some of my trezures in my pockets, now, if I promise not to put chewie, or throw-downs, or crackers, or explosives of any kind. She might just stair at me and say: “Sir-tin-ly not, Michael Daly." I suppose Tom Dacey will say I said Dr. Cleary is my cuzin. He'll reckon I'm putting on swank because of the letter. He would if he got it. So would all the Daceys. Even the dog. It's a terribly showy off dog. Thinks it can fight every dog in the street. It can't, neither. The dog next to us can give it a good go.
I'm glad they don't have to learn to spell in China. I'm good at drawing, so I'll be all right. I hope when I'm a priest that I'll be sent to Kienchang, Nanching. Kiangsi, to help Dr. Patrick Cleary. I'm not eleven yet, and I suppose I won't be ordaned unti1l I'm about 25. Dr. Patrick Cleary will be a Cardinal by then, I suppose, and he'll be gone from Kienchang. Just my luck. He must be a very nice man to write to me, my mother said. I say so, too. I wunder should I send him a letter. I'll ask my father. He asked me to pray for him. I will, too; and so will Dickie. I 'll ask all the boys to pray for him and his priests. I bet Dacey will be too lazy.
My father knows Captain Cuttle and Susan Nipper. They are in a book. I bet Dacey's father doesn't know them.
Thirsday.
I saw Father Dale this morning, and he said to me: "So you have Apostolic Perfects writing to you now, Mick Daly. We poor parish priests are not in it at all." Then he said: "And how is our mewchewil friend, Arrah Stottle?" Ever since the Fancy Dress Ball, Father Dale and Father Ryan ask me about Arrah Stottle. I was dressed up like a silly old professir that night. I suppose Arrah Stottle was some clever Irish man. I think Arrah is an Irish word.
The March "Far East" was gone from Sister Pawl's table, but she did not menshin the letter. At eleven o'clock I was going to ask her about my pockets. I got as far as the door, but I 'could not go over the top. I retreated because I heard her coming out. I know if I had waited and she had said: "Well, Michael Daly, why are you not on the play-ground?" I would have stuttered: “S-s-s-ister, I'm s-s-sick,” or some silly excuse like that.
I'm a coward all right. I'm a real dingo. Dingos are cowards: they are worse than wolves. They are sneeks, too. I wish I were a brave boy. However am I going to change and be made all over again in 14 years? It's a big job all right; like taking down a big stone castle and building it all over a different shape. I don't pray enough. That's what it is. I wasn't at Mass this morning. I slept in. And yesterday, just when school got out, the ice-man's cart drove by. I was tempted to run after it with the others, and so I missed my visit. I'm sorry now. But the days won't come back no matter how sorry I am. I didn't get any ice, either. Dacey got a big junk. but wouldn't break a bit off for me. The greedy brute. It was a hot day, too. My tongue was like the tongue of an old boot that had been on a rubbish heap in the sun for a month or two. If I hadn't grumbled about it and asked for the ice, my thirst would have made a great act of morterftkayshin. I lost that, too. Lost it for ever.
So I lost:
- Mass.
- My Visit.
- A good, hard act.
Friday.
I asked my father about Arrah Stottle. Was he an Irishman? My father laughed at me. He said he was a Greek fllossifer. He said Arrah Stottle used think a lot and then write books. He lived in ainshint days. My father said the filossifers now write a lot of books first and then sit down and think about them for the rest of their lives. I said if Arrah Stottle was like the Greek down in the fish-shop I did not think much of him. He cares for nothing but fish and money. You couldn't write much of a book about fish and money. My father said I must not condem the ainshint Greeks becos of this dijenerit son. I don't know What he meant. He often says silly things to me and seems to enjoy them. I don't like the man in the fish-shop, He play tricks on him sometimes.
Dacey and Brennan call me Arrah Stottle sometimes since the Ball. They did not know what it meant. They might have thought it was my grand-uncle in Ireland. I ust not care when I thort it was an Irish man. But now, if they call it to me crack them. I'm no Greek. My father said that the people in ainshint IreIand had come there from Greece. I suppose it is a joke. I bet there's no Greek in Father Dale or in the Right Rev. Dr. Patrick Cleary, DD, Kienchang. To-morrow is good old Saturday. No school. No Sister Pawl. Three cheers. I think I’ll write a letter to the Right Rev. Dr. Patrick .Cleary to-morrow.
Wensday.
Well. my dear diery yestirday was almost my last day on this earth. I was nearly dead. The verdict would have been, death by sufferkashin. I'm sure that old Miss Mack Stinger would have been glad . Just. becos I can't dpell and becos I am honest and tell my bad deeds and allow them to be published in the "Far East." What for? So that other children may be warned of danger.
Sister Zeeter has some nice fouls and she is very proud of them. One of them has been hiding her eggs somewhere; Sister had an ideea that the nest was under the lawndree.
Yestirday I took some things up to Sister from Mum--some coco and cirip and jam for Sister Zeeter's case for the orfinidge. Sister said: "Oh, Michael, I was just wishing for a boy to come. Are you in a hurry, child? Is your mother wanting you home at once?"
"No, Sister. I can stay as long as you like. What do you want me to do?"
"Thank you, Michael. I know you are always ready to oblige the nuns. I want you to go under the lawndree to see if Speckil’s nest is there."
"Yes, Sister." I was rushing off to do it, when Sister suddenly got nervis.
"It .might not be safe, Michael. There might be a snake under there."
“A snake!" I had to laugh although it sounded rood. A snake has not been seen round the place for years.
"Well, what about spiders, Michael?"
"Aw, spiders are nothing," I said. "Only trap-doors-and they go in gardens." I had thrown off my coat and was under the lawndree by this time. It's high near the steps but graduilly gets lower and lower as you crawl in under it. I found the nest away in far - I had to riggle in to it. I put the eggs in my hat – there were 13. I turned round dragging the hat - it was a tweed hat - in my teeth very carefully not to break any of them, I turned round slowly, like one of the big boats getting away into the streem. I don't know what happined, but I got stuck fast! Could not budge an insh. You'd think the old devil had me by the hind legs.
I riggled and skwirmed all ways, but I was held fast. It was dark where I was, and hot and stuffy. I could see the light near the lawndree steps. It seemed miles away.
"Where are you, Michael? Come out, child. Never mind about the eggs."
I had to tell poor Sister Zeeter the truth, altho I knew it would corse her greef. I knew she would have to get someone to drag my dead body out for Christian berrial. I could not be left under the lawndree until the Day of Judgement. (And, of course, after a few days my dead body would become decumposed and pewtrid, and give the poor nuns the fever,) So I sang out: "I'm here, Sister. I've found the nest but I can't come out. I'm stuck, Sister!"
I heerd poor Sister grown, and I heerd her say: "The Lord save us."
I was perspireing like a steem pudding, and I was getting hotter and hotter. I wundered how long I could live under there.
"Pray, Michael," I heerd Sister say, and I heerd the voices of other nuns talking to her. I was conshous enough to hope Sister Pawl was not one. I'm sure if my dead body was dragged out from under the lawndree and Sister Pawl was there, she'd say I did it on perpose, just to waste the Sisters' time, and just to waste the children's time, becos they would have to close school and miss their lessons going to my funeril.
I think one Sister was Sister Dimpner, and another, Sister Polly Carf. I think they were praying for my recovery or happy death.
"How are you now, Michael?" Sister called.
"Worse, Sister."
I heerd Sister Zeeter tell one of the others to run for Mr. Ryan; he could take the bords up. ''I'll be dead," I thought. "befor he finds which bords to take up. Miss Mack Stinger will be glad. I suppose the L.M.'s will put a stone over me: - ‘Here lies Michael Joseph Daly, who lost his life looking for eggs under the Convent Lawndree. Gone, but never forgotten. R.I.P.’
I was thinking of my poor mother with no son to comfit her old age, and of my poor father with no one, to make jokes on, no one to remind him of his boyhood days.
I felt tears in my eyes at this junkture. Then I suddenly remembered I should be thinking of' the next world, and not of this one.
"Are you getting free, Michael?"
"No, Sister."
"How do you feel, Michael?"
"Worse, Sister; nearly dead. I think I have a temprerture and am going un-conshus."
I heerd poor Sister grown.
"Never mind, Sister. Send for Father Dale, and then all you nuns clear away, please, becos I want to make my last confession. Don't let that old Toby Ryan be about, either. I'll have to shout my confession."
"Oh, Michael, do not despair - Mr.Ryan will get you out."
"He'll be too late, Sister. My pulse is very slow and my feet are very cold and my head is hot."
(To be continued)