noon
I seemed again to hear the hum of youthful voices as they conned or recited their daily tasks , and , as memory recalled the years that had passed since we used there to assemble , I could not avoid saying mentally : `` My schoolmates , where are they ? '' Even that thought called to mind an amusing story related by a much loved companion who for a time formed one of our number . He was older than most of the other boys , and was a general favourite with all . He was famous for relating funny stories , of which he had a never-failing supply ; and when the day was too stormy to allow of out-of-door sports , during the noon hour , we used to gather around the large stove which stood in the centre of the room and coax H. M. to tell us stories . The story which recurred to my mind was of a poor Irishman , who , in describing a visit which he paid to the home of his childhood after a long absence , said : `` At the sober hour of twilight , I entered the lonely and desarted home uv me forefathers , an ' as I gazed about the silent walls , I said , ` me fathers , where are they ? ' an ' did not echo answer , ` Is that you Pathrick O'Flannigan , sure ? ' '' I was in no mood for laughter , and yet I could not repress a smile , as memory recalled the comical voice and inimitable gestures with which young H. M. related the story .