barn was utilised: at any rate there was only one room. Not unfrequently the family that owned the house lived in that same room—the kitchen—and went on with their simple household work while the school was buzzing about their ears, neither in any way interfering with the other. There was hardly ever any school furniture—no desks of any kind. There were seats enough, of a motley kind—one or two ordinary forms placed at the walls: some chairs with sugaun seats; several little stools, and perhaps a few big stones. In fine weather the scholars spent much of their time in the front yard in the open air, where they worked their sums or wrote their copies with the copybooks resting on their knees.
When the priest visited one of these schools, which he did whenever in the neighbourhood, it was a great event for both master and scholars. Conor Leahy was one of those masters—a very rough diamond indeed, though a good teacher and not over severe—whose school was in Fanningstown near my home. One day Billy Moroney ran in breathless, with eyes starting out of his head, to say—as well as he could get it out—that Father Bourke was coming up the road. Now we were all—master and scholars—mortally afraid of Father Bourke and his heavy brows—though never was fear more misplaced (p. 71). The master instantly bounced up and warned us to be of good behaviour—not to stir hand or foot—while the priest was present. He happened to be standing at the fireplace; and he finished up the brief and vigorous exhortation by thumping his fist down on the hob:—'By this stone, if one of ye opens your mouth while the priest is here, I'll knock your
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