60 STRAY -AW AYS 



south-west in buckets, and went back to the north- 

 west and began all over again. Grey pools stood in 

 the fields, ditches turned to ponds, bohireens into 

 running brooks, and the language of the people who 

 could not shoot was quite out-classed by that of the 

 people at the other side of the country who could 

 not hunt. Such weather had not been seen for forty 

 years, they said, not since the time the hounds came 

 up this side, because the Master had made a bet 

 that he could find and hunt a fox in West Galway. 

 He won his bet, but he lost some of his best hounds, 

 drowned in flooded bog-holes. Wlien he returned, 

 that which he said did not tend to the renown of 

 West Galway. 



On the last night of the year, I lighted my bicycle- 

 lamp at 1 a.m. with the intention of going to bed. 

 Bridge had prevailed, and a solemn whisky and soda 

 had been drunk all round in honour of the New Year ; 

 I yawned excruciatingly as I traversed the Passages. 

 It was here that I heard a dull crash, somewhere 

 ahead and above, followed by the thump of running 

 feet, accompanied with vague sounds of battle. 

 These things were not outside my experience at 

 Sandhurst and elsewhere ; I ascended the staircase 

 without unnecessary parade, and, had I not stumbled 

 on a rat-eaten step, might have made a sensational 

 entrance to the Dormitory. When I recovered my- 

 self, dead silence prevailed; I opened the door and 

 found complete darkness and deathful stillness before 

 me. In the four beds lay four sleeping figures, with 

 the bedclothes up to their ears; on the floor was a 

 candlestick; a chair was piled on top of a dressing- 

 table, a curtain, a saucepan, and many other ohjets 

 d'art were on the floor. I stood in silence, and heard 

 convulsive breathings, as of those who have been 

 under water ; I turned back the clothes of the nearest 



