Портрет художника в юности

           Thehollowrattleofthewoodendumbbellswasheardasanotherteammadereadytogouponthestage:andinanothermomenttheexcitedprefectwashustlingtheboysthroughthevestrylikeaflockofgeese,flappingthewingsofhissoutanenervouslyandcryingtothelaggardstomakehaste.AlittletroopofNeapolitanpeasantswerepractisingtheirstepsattheendofthechapel,somecirclingtheirarmsabovetheirheads,someswayingtheirbasketsofpapervioletsandcurtsying.Inadarkcornerofthechapelatthegospelsideofthealtarastoutoldladykneltamidhercopiousblackskirts.Whenshestoodupapink-dressedfigure,wearingacurlygoldenwigandanold-fashionedstrawsunbonnet,withblackpencilledeyebrowsandcheeksdelicatelyrougedandpowdered,wasdiscovered.Alowmurmurofcuriosityranroundthechapelatthediscoveryofthisgirlishfigure.Oneoftheprefects,smilingandnoddinghishead,approachedthedarkcornerand,havingbowedtothestoutoldlady,saidpleasantly:

           —Isthisabeautifulyoungladyoradollthatyouhavehere,MrsTallon?

           Then,bendingdowntopeeratthesmilingpaintedfaceundertheleafofthebonnet,heexclaimed:

           —No!UponmywordIbelieveit’slittleBertieTallonafterall!

           Stephenathispostbythewindowheardtheoldladyandthepriestlaughtogetherandheardtheboys’murmursofadmirationbehindhimastheypassedforwardtoseethelittleboywhohadtodancethesunbonnetdancebyhimself.