He went out of the room and up the stairs. Behind him, his Da was calling and them all laughing and whistling. Fergal sat on the bed and put his feet into his boots still soft from the polishing he had given them the night before. No way was he staying in now whoever was giving the orders. All day dobbing around the docks he wished he had gone to school instead of having to listen to Harkin going on about the big slaughter and the spoils. He was glad when he got home and lay down on the bed and he must have fallen asleep with his coat on. He woke sweating. It would be a better laugh to stay in, he decided, with the house all to himself, and he could wait for them to come back to hear the stories.