He talked over his ambition,
of getting a scholarship, becoming a fellow, and living for ever
among the books, for which the scanty supply in his wandering
boyhood had but whetted his fervour. He even confided to her what
no one else knew but his sister Aileen, his epic in twenty-four
books on Brian Boromhe and the Battle of Clontarf; and she was
mother enough not to predict its inevitable fate, nor audibly to
detect the unconscious plagiarisms, but to be a better listener than
even Aileen, who never could be withheld from unfeeling laughter at
the touching fate of the wounded warriors who were tied to stakes
that they might die fighting.
Tom was a more ordinary youth, even more lazy and quiet in the
house, though out of it he amazed Frank and Charlie by his dash,
fire, and daring, and witched all the stable-world with noble
horsemanship. Hunting was prevented, however, by a frost, which
filled every one with excitement as to the practicability of
skating.
The most available water was a lake between Sirenwood and Compton;
and here, like eagles to the slaughter, gathered, by a sort of
instinct, the entire skating population of the neighbourhood on the
first day that the ice was hard enough.
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