Thirsday,
There's a little bell on Sister Pawl's desk, and at five minutes to illeven someone takes it out into the coridore, right down to the steps, and rings it. It is the signil for illeven o'clock play time, To get ready. I never get a ring of it. Sometimes we say: "Let me, Sister?" "Please may I ring the bell. Sister?" But I don't get a tum. Oh, no! Nat me! Everyone else can ring her old bell but not Michael Daly. He might break the silly old bell. Even if I did drop it, it would not break. You can't break bells that way. You'd have to get a hammer and smash them. Such were my thorts, my dear diery. ErIas! Today I got a turn, by some mirrikle. I soon wished I hadn't.
I took the bell into the coridore and rang the old thing. You have to ring it jolly hard, for the school is big and the bell has to be heard in every classroom. So I rang it like mad. They would not be able to say : “We did not hear the bell: so we are out late. Mickie Daly's forlt. He rang it to-day."
I'm stiff.
Out flew the tung of the bell! I tried to fix it in again, but I could not. The first thing that flashed threw my mind was: Sister Pawl will close her eyes at this and say: "Michael Daly, you cannot be trusted to ring a bell without breaking the tung out of it." I prayed to St. Joseph and St. Antony, but they would not come to my assistance. I suppose they wished me to have some tribulashin for the good of my soul. I knew I should have been back in my classroom long before and here I was trying to fix the tung.
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