Quickly, also, his rapid glance considered the room and its
contents. It was furnished with more than comfort, and its adornments
plainly indicated a woman's discerning taste. An open door beyond
revealed the blackness of an adjoining room's interior.
The boy clutched both of Father Rogan's hands. "I'm so glad you
came," he said; "but why did you come in the night? Did sister send
you?"
"Off wid ye! Am I to be sint about, at me age, as was Terence
McShane, of Ballymahone? I come on me own r-r-responsibility."
Lorison had also advanced to the boy's bedside. He was fond of
children; and the wee fellow, laying himself down to sleep alone in
that dark room, stirred-his heart.
"Aren't you afraid, little man?" he asked, stooping down beside him.
"Sometimes," answered the boy, with a shy smile, "when the rats make
too much noise. But nearly every night, when sister goes out, Mother
Geehan stays a while with me, and tells me funny stories. I'm not
often afraid, sir."
"This brave little gentleman," said Father Rogan, "is a scholar of
mine. Every day from half-past six to half-past eight--when sister
comes for him--he stops in my study, and we find out what's in the
inside of books. He knows multiplication, division and fractions; and
he's troubling me to begin wid the chronicles of Ciaran of
Clonmacnoise, Corurac McCullenan and Cuan O'Lochain, the gr-r-reat
Irish histhorians.
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