like but that wouldn’t do because the small ones wouldn’t be able to climb and they’d fall down an’ get killed so you go up there an’ they can move in here. All right, all right, all right, all right. He hoists himself from the bed and there’s a whiskey smell. He goes to the kitchen and pulls the table to the wall for his climb to the loft. Grandma says, That’s fine now. Ye can move up here tonight an’ ye won’t have the eviction men coming after ye. Grandma tells Mam she’s going home. She’s tired and drenched and she’s not twenty-five anymore. She says there’s no need to be taking beds or furniture with all the stuff that’s up in Laman Griffin’s.We put Alphie in the pram and pile around him the pot, the pan, the kettle, the jam jars and mugs, the Pope, two bolsters and the coats from the beds. We  drape  the  coats  over  our  heads  and  push  the  pram  through  the streets. Mam tells us be quiet going up the lane or the neighbors will know we got the eviction and there will be shame. The pram has a bockety wheel which tilts it and makes it go in different directions.We try to keep it straight and we’re having a great time because it must be after midnight and surely Mam won’t make us go to school tomorrow. We’re moving so far from Leamy’s School now maybe we’ll never have to go again. Once we get away from the lane Alphie bangs on the pot with the spoon and Michael sings a song he heard in a film with Al Jol- son,Swanee,how I love ya,how I love ya,my dear ol’Swanee.He makes us laugh the way he tries to sing in a deep voice like Al Jolson. Mam says she’s glad it’s late and there’s no one on the streets to see our shame. Once we get to the house we take Alphie and everything else from the pram so that Malachy and I can run back down to Roden Lane for the trunk. Mam says she’d die if she lost that trunk and everything in it. Malachy and I sleep at opposite ends of the small bed.Mam takes the big bed with Alphie beside her and Michael at the bottom. Everything is damp and musty and Laman Griffin snores over our heads.There are no stairs in this house and that means no angel ever on the seventh step. But I’m twelve going on thirteen and I might be too old for angels. It’s still dark when the alarm goes off in the morning and Laman Grif- fin  snorts  and  blows  his  nose  and  hawks  the  stuff  from  his  chest. 278