Chapter IV: Part 4

_Cooney:_ (_Seizing hold of him._) Is it striving to catch a bird for yourself you are now?

_Nestor:_ Let me pass if you please. I have nothing to say to you at all.

_Cooney:_ Laying down to me they were worth nothing! I knew well you had made up some plan! The grand adviser is it! It is to yourself you gave good advice that time!

_Nestor:_ Let me out I tell you before that uproar you are making will drive it from its perch on the tree.

_Cooney:_ Is it to rob me of my own money you did and to be keeping me out of the money I earned along with it!

(_Threatens Nestor with "Moore's Almanac," which he has picked up._)

_Sibby:_ Take care would there be murder done in this place!

(_She seizes Nestor, Mrs. Broderick seizes Cooney. Tommy Nally
wrings his hands._)

_Nestor:_ Tommy Nally, will you kindly go and call for the police.

_Cooney:_ Is it into a den of wild beasts I am come that must go calling out for the police?

_Nestor:_ A very unmannerly person indeed!

_Cooney:_ Everyone thinking to take advantage of me and to make their own trap for my ruin.

_Nestor:_ I don't know what cause has he at all to have taken any umbrage against me.

_Cooney:_ You that had your eye on my notes from the first like a goat in a cabbage garden!

_Nestor:_ Coming with a gift in the one hand and holding a dagger in the other!

_Cooney:_ If you say that again I will break your collar bone!

_Nestor:_ O, but you are the terrible wicked man!

_Cooney:_ I'll squeeze satisfaction out of you if I had to hang for it! I will be well satisfied if I'll kill you!

(_Flings "Moore's Almanac" at him._)

_Nestor:_ (_Throwing his bundle of newspapers._) Oh, good jewel!

_Ward:_ (_Coming in hastily._) Whist the whole of you, I tell you! The Magistrates are coming to the door! (_Comes in and shuts it after him._)

_Mrs. Broderick:_ The Lord be between us and harm! What made them go quit the Court?

_Ward:_ The whole of the witnesses and of the prosecution made off bird-catching. The Magistrates sent to invite the great mine-owner to go lunch at Noonan's with themselves.

_Cooney:_ Horses of their own to stick him with they have. I wouldn't doubt them at all.

_Ward:_ He could not be found in any place. They are informed he was never seen leaving this house. They are coming to make an investigation.

_Nestor:_ Don't be anyway uneasy. I will explain the whole case.

_Ward:_ The police along with them....

_Cooney:_ Is the whole of this district turned into a trap?

_Ward:_ It is what they are thinking, that the stranger was made away with for his gold!

_Cooney:_ And if he was, as sure as you are living, it was done by that blackguard there!

(_Points at Nestor._)

_Ward:_ If he is not found they will arrest all they see upon the premises....

_Cooney:_ It is best for me to quit this.

(_Goes to door._)

_Ward:_ Here they are at the door. Sergeant Carden along with them. Hide yourself, Mr. Nestor, if you've anyway to do it at all.

(_Sounds of feet and talking and knock at the door. Cooney
hides under counter. Nestor lies down on top of bench, spreads
his newspaper over him. Mrs. Broderick goes behind counter._)

_Nestor:_ (_Raising paper from his face and looking out._) Tommy Nally, I will give you five shillings if you will draw "Tit-Bits" over my feet.

_Curtain_

THE WORKHOUSE WARD

PERSONS

_Mike McInerney_ } PAUPERS
_Michael Miskell_ }
_Mrs. Donohoe_, A COUNTRYWOMAN

THE WORKHOUSE WARD

_Scene: A ward in Cloon Workhouse. The two old men in their
beds._

_Michael Miskell:_ Isn't it a hard case, Mike McInerney, myself and yourself to be left here in the bed, and it the feast day of Saint Colman, and the rest of the ward attending on the Mass.

_Mike McInerney:_ Is it sitting up by the hearth you are wishful to be, Michael Miskell, with cold in the shoulders and with speckled shins? Let you rise up so, and you well able to do it, not like myself that has pains the same as tin-tacks within in my inside.

_Michael Miskell:_ If you have pains within in your inside there is no one can see it or know of it the way they can see my own knees that are swelled up with the rheumatism, and my hands that are twisted in ridges the same as an old cabbage stalk. It is easy to be talking about soreness and about pains, and they maybe not to be in it at all.

_Mike McInerney:_ To open me and to analyse me you would know what sort of a pain and a soreness I have in my heart and in my chest. But I'm not one like yourself to be cursing and praying and tormenting the time the nuns are at hand, thinking to get a bigger share than myself of the nourishment and of the milk.

_Michael Miskell:_ That's the way you do be picking at me and faulting me. I had a share and a good share in my early time, and it's well you know that, and the both of us reared in Skehanagh.

_Mike McInerney:_ You may say that, indeed, we are both of us reared in Skehanagh. Little wonder you to have good nourishment the time we were both rising, and you bringing away my rabbits out of the snare.

_Michael Miskell:_ And you didn't bring away my own eels, I suppose, I was after spearing in the Turlough? Selling them to the nuns in the convent you did, and letting on they to be your own. For you were always a cheater and a schemer, grabbing every earthly thing for your own profit.

_Mike McInerney:_ And you were no grabber yourself, I suppose, till your land and all you had grabbed wore away from you!

_Michael Miskell:_ If I lost it itself, it was through the crosses I met with and I going through the world. I never was a rambler and a card-player like yourself, Mike McInerney, that ran through all and lavished it unknown to your mother!

_Mike McInerney:_ Lavished it, is it? And if I did was it you yourself led me to lavish it or some other one? It is on my own floor I would be to-day and in the face of my family, but for the misfortune I had to be put with a bad next door neighbour that was yourself. What way did my means go from me is it? Spending on fencing, spending on walls, making up gates, putting up doors, that would keep your hens and your ducks from coming in through starvation on my floor, and every four footed beast you had from preying and trespassing on my oats and my mangolds and my little lock of hay!

_Michael Miskell:_ O to listen to you! And I striving to please you and to be kind to you and to close my ears to the abuse you would be calling and letting out of your mouth. To trespass on your crops is it? It's little temptation there was for my poor beasts to ask to cross the mering. My God Almighty! What had you but a little corner of a field!

_Mike McInerney:_ And what do you say to my garden that your two pigs had destroyed on me the year of the big tree being knocked, and they making gaps in the wall.

_Michael Miskell:_ Ah, there does be a great deal of gaps knocked in a twelvemonth. Why wouldn't they be knocked by the thunder, the same as the tree, or some storm that came up from the west?

_Mike McInerney:_ It was the west wind, I suppose, that devoured my green cabbage? And that rooted up my Champion potatoes? And that ate the gooseberries themselves from off the bush?

_Michael Miskell:_ What are you saying? The two quietest pigs ever I had, no way wicked and well ringed. They were not ten minutes in it. It would be hard for them eat strawberries in that time, let alone gooseberries that's full of thorns.

_Mike McInerney:_ They were not quiet, but very ravenous pigs you had that time, as active as a fox they were, killing my young ducks. Once they had blood tasted you couldn't stop them.

_Michael Miskell:_ And what happened myself the fair day of Esserkelly, the time I was passing your door? Two brazened dogs that rushed out and took a piece of me. I never was the better of it or of the start I got, but wasting from then till now!

_Mike McInerney:_ Thinking you were a wild beast they did, that had made his escape out of the travelling show, with the red eyes of you and the ugly face of you, and the two crooked legs of you that wouldn't hardly stop a pig in a gap. Sure any dog that had any life in it at all would be roused and stirred seeing the like of you going the road!

_Michael Miskell:_ I did well taking out a summons against you that time. It is a great wonder you not to have been bound over through your lifetime, but the laws of England is queer.

_Mike McInerney:_ What ailed me that I did not summons yourself after you stealing away the clutch of eggs I had in the barrel, and I away in Ardrahan searching out a clocking hen.

_Michael Miskell:_ To steal your eggs is it? Is that what you are saying now? (_Holds up his hands._) The Lord is in heaven, and Peter and the saints, and yourself that was in Ardrahan that day put a hand on them as soon as myself! Isn't it a bad story for me to be wearing out my days beside you the same as a spancelled goat. Chained I am and tethered I am to a man that is ramsacking his mind for lies!

_Mike McInerney:_ If it is a bad story for you, Michael Miskell, it is a worse story again for myself. A Miskell to be next and near me through the whole of the four quarters of the year. I never heard there to be any great name on the Miskells as there was on my own race and name.

_Michael Miskell:_ You didn't, is it? Well, you could hear it if you had but ears to hear it. Go across to Lisheen Crannagh and down to the sea and to Newtown Lynch and the mills of Duras and you'll find a Miskell, and as far as Dublin!

_Mike McInerney:_ What signifies Crannagh and the mills of Duras? Look at all my own generations that are buried at the Seven Churches. And how many generations of the Miskells are buried in it? Answer me that!

_Michael Miskell:_ I tell you but for the wheat that was to be sowed there would be more side cars and more common cars at my father's funeral (_God rest his soul!_) than at any funeral ever left your own door. And as to my mother, she was a Cuffe from Claregalway, and it's she had the purer blood!

_Mike McInerney:_ And what do you say to the banshee? Isn't she apt to have knowledge of the ancient race? Was ever she heard to screech or to cry for the Miskells? Or for the Cuffes from Claregalway? She was not, but for the six families, the Hyneses, the Foxes, the Faheys, the Dooleys, the McInerneys. It is of the nature of the McInerneys she is I am thinking, crying them the same as a king's children.

_Michael Miskell:_ It is a pity the banshee not to be crying for yourself at this minute, and giving you a warning to quit your lies and your chat and your arguing and your contrary ways; for there is no one under the rising sun could stand you. I tell you you are not behaving as in the presence of the Lord!

_Mike McInerney:_ Is it wishful for my death you are? Let it come and meet me now and welcome so long as it will part me from yourself! And I say, and I would kiss the book on it, I to have one request only to be granted, and I leaving it in my will, it is what I would request, nine furrows of the field, nine ridges of the hills, nine waves of the ocean to be put between your grave and my own grave the time we will be laid in the ground!

_Michael Miskell:_ Amen to that! Nine ridges, is it? No, but let the whole ridge of the world separate us till the Day of Judgment! I would not be laid anear you at the Seven Churches, I to get Ireland without a divide!

_Mike McInerney:_ And after that again! I'd sooner than ten pound in my hand, I to know that my shadow and my ghost will not be knocking about with your shadow and your ghost, and the both of us waiting our time. I'd sooner be delayed in Purgatory! Now, have you anything to say?

_Michael Miskell:_ I have everything to say, if I had but the time to say it!

_Mike McInerney:_ (_Sitting up._) Let me up out of this till I'll choke you!

_Michael Miskell:_ You scolding pauper you!

_Mike McInerney:_ (_Shaking his fist at him._) Wait a while!

_Michael Miskell:_ (_Shaking his fist._) Wait a while yourself!

(_Mrs. Donohoe comes in with a parcel. She is a countrywoman
with a frilled cap and a shawl. She stands still a minute. The
two old men lie down and compose themselves._)

_Mrs. Donohoe:_ They bade me come up here by the stair. I never was in this place at all. I don't know am I right. Which now of the two of ye is Mike McInerney?

_Mike McInerney:_ Who is it is calling me by my name?

_Mrs. Donohoe:_ Sure amn't I your sister, Honor McInerney that was, that is now Honor Donohoe.

_Mike McInerney:_ So you are, I believe. I didn't know you till you pushed anear me. It is time indeed for you to come see me, and I in this place five year or more. Thinking me to be no credit to you, I suppose, among that tribe of the Donohoes. I wonder they to give you leave to come ask am I living yet or dead?

_Mrs. Donohoe:_ Ah, sure, I buried the whole string of them. Himself was the last to go. (_Wipes her eyes._) The Lord be praised he got a fine natural death. Sure we must go through our crosses. And he got a lovely funeral; it would delight you to hear the priest reading the Mass. My poor John Donohoe! A nice clean man, you couldn't but be fond of him. Very severe on the tobacco he was, but he wouldn't touch the drink.

_Mike McInerney:_ And is it in Curranroe you are living yet?

_Mrs. Donohoe:_ It is so. He left all to myself. But it is a lonesome thing the head of a house to have died!

_Mike McInerney:_ I hope that he has left you a nice way of living?

_Mrs. Donohoe:_ Fair enough, fair enough. A wide lovely house I have; a few acres of grass land ... the grass does be very sweet that grows among the stones. And as to the sea, there is something from it every day of the year, a handful of periwinkles to make kitchen, or cockles maybe. There is many a thing in the sea is not decent, but cockles is fit to put before the Lord!

_Mike McInerney:_ You have all that! And you without ere a man in the house?

_Mrs. Donohoe:_ It is what I am thinking, yourself might come and keep me company. It is no credit to me a brother of my own to be in this place at all.

_Mike McInerney:_ I'll go with you! Let me out of this! It is the name of the McInerneys will be rising on every side!

_Mrs. Donohoe:_ I don't know. I was ignorant of you being kept to the bed.

_Mike McInerney:_ I am not kept to it, but maybe an odd time when there is a colic rises up within me. My stomach always gets better the time there is a change in the moon. I'd like well to draw anear you. My heavy blessing on you, Honor Donohoe, for the hand you have held out to me this day.

_Mrs. Donohoe:_ Sure you could be keeping the fire in, and stirring the pot with the bit of Indian meal for the hens, and milking the goat and taking the tacklings off the donkey at the door; and maybe putting out the cabbage plants in their time. For when the old man died the garden died.

_Mike McInerney:_ I could to be sure, and be cutting the potatoes for seed. What luck could there be in a place and a man not to be in it? Is that now a suit of clothes you have brought with you?

_Mrs. Donohoe:_ It is so, the way you will be tasty coming in among the neighbours at Curranroe.

_Mike McInerney:_ My joy you are! It is well you earned me! Let me up out of this! (He sits up and spreads out the clothes and tries on coat.) That now is a good frieze coat ... and a hat in the fashion ... (_He puts on hat._)

_Michael Miskell:_ (_Alarmed._) And is it going out of this you are, Mike McInerney?

_Mike McInerney:_ Don't you hear I am going? To Curranroe I am going. Going I am to a place where I will get every good thing!

_Michael Miskell:_ And is it to leave me here after you you will?

_Mike McInerney:_ (_In a rising chant._) Every good thing! The goat and the kid are there, the sheep and the lamb are there, the cow does be running and she coming to be milked! Ploughing and seed sowing, blossom at Christmas time, the cuckoo speaking through the dark days of the year! Ah, what are you talking about? Wheat high in hedges, no talk about the rent! Salmon in the rivers as plenty as turf! Spending and getting and nothing scarce! Sport and pleasure, and music on the strings! Age will go from me and I will be young again. Geese and turkeys for the hundreds and drink for the whole world!

_Michael Miskell:_ Ah, Mike, is it truth you are saying, you to go from me and to leave me with rude people and with townspeople, and with people of every parish in the union, and they having no respect for me or no wish for me at all!

_Mike McInerney:_ Whist now and I'll leave you ... my pipe (_hands it over_); and I'll engage it is Honor Donohoe won't refuse to be sending you a few ounces of tobacco an odd time, and neighbours coming to the fair in November or in the month of May.

_Michael Miskell:_ Ah, what signifies tobacco? All that I am craving is the talk. There to be no one at all to say out to whatever thought might be rising in my innate mind! To be lying here and no conversible person in it would be the abomination of misery!

_Mike McInerney:_ Look now, Honor.... It is what I often heard said, two to be better than one.... Sure if you had an old trouser was full of holes ... or a skirt ... wouldn't you put another in under it that might be as tattered as itself, and the two of them together would make some sort of a decent show?

_Mrs. Donohoe:_ Ah, what are you saying? There is no holes in that suit I brought you now, but as sound it is as the day I spun it for himself.

_Mike McInerney:_ It is what I am thinking, Honor ... I do be weak an odd time ... any load I would carry, it preys upon my side ... and this man does be weak an odd time with the swelling in his knees ... but the two of us together it's not likely it is at the one time we would fail. Bring the both of us with you, Honor, and the height of the castle of luck on you, and the both of us together will make one good hardy man!

_Mrs. Donohoe:_ I'd like my job! Is it queer in the head you are grown asking me to bring in a stranger off the road?

_Michael Miskell:_ I am not, ma'am, but an old neighbour I am. If I had forecasted this asking I would have asked it myself. Michael Miskell I am, that was in the next house to you in Skehanagh!

_Mrs. Donohoe:_ For pity's sake! Michael Miskell is it? That's worse again. Yourself and Mike that never left fighting and scolding and attacking one another! Sparring at one another like two young pups you were, and threatening one another after like two grown dogs!

_Mike McInerney:_ All the quarrelling was ever in the place it was myself did it. Sure his anger rises fast and goes away like the wind. Bring him out with myself now, Honor Donohoe, and God bless you.

_Mrs. Donohoe:_ Well, then, I will not bring him out, and I will not bring yourself out, and you not to learn better sense. Are you making yourself ready to come?

_Mike McInerney:_ I am thinking, maybe ... it is a mean thing for a man that is shivering into seventy years to go changing from place to place.

_Mrs. Donohoe:_ Well, take your luck or leave it. All I asked was to save you from the hurt and the harm of the year.

_Mike McInerney:_ Bring the both of us with you or I will not stir out of this.

_Mrs. Donohoe:_ Give me back my fine suit so (_begins gathering up the clothes_), till I'll go look for a man of my own!

_Mike McInerney:_ Let you go so, as you are so unnatural and so disobliging, and look for some man of your own, God help him! For I will not go with you at all!

_Mrs. Donohoe:_ It is too much time I lost with you, and dark night waiting to overtake me on the road. Let the two of you stop together, and the back of my hand to you. It is I will leave you there the same as God left the Jews!

(_She goes out. The old men lie down and are silent for a moment._)

_Michael Miskell:_ Maybe the house is not so wide as what she says.

_Mike McInerney:_ Why wouldn't it be wide?

_Michael Miskell:_ Ah, there does be a good deal of middling poor houses down by the sea.

_Mike McInerney:_ What would you know about wide houses? Whatever sort of a house you had yourself it was too wide for the provision you had into it.

_Michael Miskell:_ Whatever provision I had in my house it was wholesome provision and natural provision. Herself and her periwinkles! Periwinkles is a hungry sort of food.

_Mike McInerney:_ Stop your impudence and your chat or it will be the worse for you. I'd bear with my own father and mother as long as any man would, but if they'd vex me I would give them the length of a rope as soon as another!

_Michael Miskell:_ I would never ask at all to go eating periwinkles.

_Mike McInerney:_ (_Sitting up._) Have you anyone to fight me?

_Michael Miskell:_ (_Whimpering._) I have not, only the Lord!

_Mike McInerney:_ Let you leave putting insults on me so, and death picking at you!

_Michael Miskell:_ Sure I am saying nothing at all to displease you. It is why I wouldn't go eating periwinkles, I'm in dread I might swallow the pin.

_Mike McInerney:_ Who in the world wide is asking you to eat them? You're as tricky as a fish in the full tide!

_Michael Miskell:_ Tricky is it! Oh, my curse and the curse of the four and twenty men upon you!

_Mike McInerney:_ That the worm may chew you from skin to marrow bone! (_Seizes his pillow._)

_Michael Miskell:_ (_Seizing his own pillow._) I'll leave my death on you, you scheming vagabone!

_Mike McInerney:_ By cripes! I'll pull out your pin feathers! (_Throwing pillow._)

_Michael Miskell:_ (_Throwing pillow._) You tyrant! You big bully you!

_Mike McInerney:_ (_Throwing pillow and seizing mug._) Take this so, you stobbing ruffian you!

(_They throw all within their reach at one another, mugs,
prayer books, pipes, etc._)

_Curtain_

THE TRAVELLING MAN

PERSONS

_A Mother._
_A Child._
_A Travelling Man._

THE TRAVELLING MAN

A MIRACLE PLAY

_Scene: A cottage kitchen. A woman setting out a bowl and jug
and board on the table for bread-making._

_Child:_ What is it you are going to make, mother?

_Mother:_ I am going to make a grand cake with white flour. Seeds I will put in it. Maybe I'll make a little cake for yourself too. You can be baking it in the little pot while the big one will be baking in the big pot.

_Child:_ It is a pity daddy to be away at the fair on a Samhain night.

_Mother:_ I must make my feast all the same, for Samhain night is more to me than to any other one. It was on this night seven years I first came into this house.

_Child:_ You will be taking down those plates from the dresser so, those plates with flowers on them, and be putting them on the table.

_Mother:_ I will. I will set out the house to-day, and bring down the best delf, and put whatever thing is best on the table, because of the great thing that happened me seven years ago.

_Child:_ What great thing was that?

_Mother:_ I was after being driven out of the house where I was a serving girl....

_Child:_ Where was that house? Tell me about it.

_Mother:_ (_Sitting down and pointing southward._) It is over there I was living, in a farmer's house up on Slieve Echtge, near to Slieve na n-Or, the Golden Mountain.

_Child:_ The Golden Mountain! That must be a grand place.

_Mother:_ Not very grand indeed, but bare and cold enough at that time of the year. Anyway, I was driven out a Samhain day like this, because of some things that were said against me.

_Child:_ What did you do then?

_Mother:_ What had I to do but to go walking the bare bog road through the rough hills where there was no shelter to find, and the sharp wind going through me, and the red mud heavy on my shoes. I came to Kilbecanty....

_Child:_ I know Kilbecanty. That is where the woman in the shop gave me sweets out of a bottle.

_Mother:_ So she might now, but that night her door was shut and all the doors were shut; and I saw through the windows the boys and the girls sitting round the hearth and playing their games, and I had no courage to ask for shelter. In dread I was they might think some shameful thing of me, and I going the road alone in the night-time.

_Child:_ Did you come here after that?

_Mother:_ I went on down the hill in the darkness, and with the dint of my trouble and the length of the road my strength failed me, and I had like to fall. So I did fall at the last, meeting with a heap of broken stones by the roadside.

_Child:_ I hurt my knee one time I fell on the stones.

_Mother:_ It was then the great thing happened. I saw a stranger coming towards me, a very tall man, the best I ever saw, bright and shining that you could see him through the darkness; and I knew him to be no common man.

_Child:_ Who was he?

_Mother:_ It is what I thought, that he was the King of the World.

_Child:_ Had he a crown like a King?

_Mother:_ If he had, it was made of the twigs of a bare blackthorn; but in his hand he had a green branch, that never grew on a tree of this world. He took me by the hand, and he led me over the stepping-stones outside to this door, and he bade me to go in and I would find good shelter. I was kneeling down to thank him, but he raised me up and he said, "I will come to see you some other time. And do not shut up your heart in the things I give you," he said, "but have a welcome before me."

_Child:_ Did he go away then?

_Mother:_ I saw him no more after that, but I did as he bade me. (_She stands up and goes to the door._) I came in like this, and your father was sitting there by the hearth, a lonely man that was after losing his wife. He was alone and I was alone, and we married one another; and I never wanted since for shelter or safety. And a good wife I made him, and a good housekeeper.

_Child:_ Will the King come again to the house?

_Mother:_ I have his word for it he will come, but he did not come yet; it is often your father and myself looked out the door of a Samhain night, thinking to see him.

_Child:_ I hope he won't come in the night time, and I asleep.

_Mother:_ It is of him I do be thinking every year, and I setting out the house, and making a cake for the supper.

_Child:_ What will he do when he comes in?

_Mother:_ He will sit over there in the chair, and maybe he will taste a bit of the cake. I will call in all the neighbours; I will tell them he is here. They will not be keeping it in their mind against me then that I brought nothing, coming to the house. They will know I am before any of them, the time they know who it is has come to visit me. They will all kneel down and ask for his blessing. But the best blessing will be on the house he came to of himself.

_Child:_ And are you going to make the cake now?

_Mother:_ I must make it now indeed, or I will be late with it. I am late as it is; I was expecting one of the neighbours to bring me white flour from the town. I'll wait no longer, I'll go borrow it in some place. There will be a wedding in the stonecutter's house Thursday, it's likely there will be flour in the house.

_Child:_ Let me go along with you.

_Mother:_ It is best for you to stop here. Be a good child now, and don't be meddling with the things on the table. Sit down there by the hearth and break up those little sticks I am after bringing in. Make a little heap of them now before me, and we will make a good fire to bake the cake. See now how many will you break. Don't go out the door while I'm away, I would be in dread of you going near the river and it in flood. Behave yourself well now. Be counting the sticks as you break them.

(_She goes out._)

_Child:_ (_Sitting down and breaking sticks across his knee._) One--and two--O I can break this one into a great many, one, two, three, four.--This one is wet--I don't like a wet one--five, six--that is a great heap.--Let me try that great big one.--That is too hard.--I don't think mother could break that one.--Daddy could break it.

(_Half-door is opened and a travelling man comes in. He wears a
ragged white flannel shirt, and mud-stained trousers. He is
bareheaded and barefooted, and carries a little branch in his
hand._)

_Travelling Man:_ (_Stooping over the child and taking the stick._) Give it here to me and hold this.

(_He puts the branch in the child's hand while he takes the
stick and breaks it._)

_Child:_ That is a good branch, apples on it and flowers. The tree at the mill has apples yet, but all the flowers are gone. Where did you get this branch?

_Travelling Man:_ I got it in a garden a long way off.

_Child:_ Where is the garden? Where do you come from?

_Travelling Man:_ (_Pointing southward._) I have come from beyond those hills.

_Child:_ Is it from the Golden Mountain you are come? From Slieve na n-Or?

_Travelling Man:_ That is where I come from surely, from the Golden Mountain. I would like to sit down and rest for a while.

_Child:_ Sit down here beside me. We must not go near the table or touch anything, or mother will be angry. Mother is going to make a beautiful cake, a cake that will be fit for a King that might be coming in to our supper.

_Travelling Man:_ I will sit here with you on the floor.

(_Sits down._)

_Child:_ Tell me now about the Golden Mountain.

_Travelling Man:_ There is a garden in it, and there is a tree in the garden that has fruit and flowers at the one time.

_Child:_ Like this branch?

_Travelling Man:_ Just like that little branch.

_Child:_ What other things are in the garden?

_Travelling Man:_ There are birds of all colours that sing at every hour, the way the people will come to their prayers. And there is a high wall about the garden.

_Child:_ What way can the people get through the wall?

_Travelling Man:_ There are four gates in the wall: a gate of gold, and a gate of silver, and a gate of crystal, and a gate of white brass.

_Child:_ (_Taking up the sticks._) I will make a garden. I will make a wall with these sticks.

_Travelling Man:_ This big stick will make the first wall.

(_They build a square wall with sticks._)

_Child:_ (_Taking up branch._) I will put this in the middle. This is the tree. I will get something to make it stand up. (_Gets up and looks at dresser._) I can't reach it, get up and give me that shining jug.

(_Travelling Man gets up and gives him the jug._)

_Travelling Man:_ Here it is for you.

_Child:_ (_Puts it within the walls and sets the branch in it._) Tell me something else that is in the garden?

_Travelling Man:_ There are four wells of water in it, that are as clear as glass.

_Child:_ Get me down those cups, those flowery cups, we will put them for wells. (_He hands them down._) Now I will make the gates, give me those plates for gates, not those ugly ones, those nice ones at the top.

(_He takes them down and they put them on the four sides for
gates. The Child gets up and looks at it._)

_Travelling Man:_ There now, it is finished.

_Child:_ Is it as good as the other garden? How can we go to the Golden Mountain to see the other garden?

_Travelling Man:_ We can ride to it.

_Child:_ But we have no horse.

_Travelling Man:_ This form will be our horse. (_He draws a form out of the corner, and sits down astride on it, putting the child before him._) Now, off we go! (_Sings, the child repeating the refrain_)--

Come ride and ride to the garden,
Come ride and ride with a will:
For the flower comes with the fruit there
Beyond a hill and a hill.

_Refrain_

Come ride and ride to the garden,
Come ride like the March wind;
There's barley there, and water there,
And stabling to your mind.

_Travelling Man:_ How did you like that ride, little horseman?

_Child:_ Go on again! I want another ride!

_Travelling Man_ (_sings_)--

The Archangels stand in a row there
And all the garden bless,
The Archangel Axel, Victor the angel
Work at the cider press.

_Refrain_

Come ride and ride to the garden, &c.

_Child:_ We will soon be at the Golden Mountain now. Ride again. Sing another song.

_Travelling Man_ (_sings_)--

O scent of the broken apples!
O shuffling of holy shoes!
Beyond a hill and a hill there
In the land that no one knows.

_Refrain_

Come ride and ride to the garden, &c.

_Child:_ Now another ride.

_Travelling Man:_ This will be the last. It will be a good ride.

(_The mother comes in. She stares for a second, then throws
down her basket and snatches up the child._)

_Mother:_ Did ever anyone see the like of that! A common beggar, a travelling man off the roads, to be holding the child! To be leaving his ragged arms about him as if he was of his own sort! Get out of that, whoever you are, and quit this house or I'll call to some that will make you quit it.

_Child:_ Do not send him out! He is not a bad man; he is a good man; he was playing horses with me. He has grand songs.

_Mother:_ Let him get away out of this now, himself and his share of songs. Look at the way he has your bib destroyed that I was after washing in the morning!

_Child:_ He was holding me on the horse. We were riding, I might have fallen. He held me.

_Mother:_ I give you my word you are done now with riding horses. Let him go on his road. I have no time to be cleaning the place after the like of him.

_Child:_ He is tired. Let him stop here till evening.

_Travelling Man:_ Let me rest here for a while, I have been travelling a long way.

_Mother:_ Where did you come from to-day?

_Travelling Man:_ I came over Slieve Echtge from Slieve na n-Or. I had no house to stop in. I walked the long bog road, the wind was going through me, there was no shelter to be got, the red mud of the road was heavy on my feet. I got no welcome in the villages, and so I came on to this place, to the rising of the river at Ballylee.

_Mother:_ It is best for you to go on to the town. It is not far for you to go. We will maybe have company coming in here.

(_She pours out flour into a bowl and begins mixing._)

_Travelling Man:_ Will you give me a bit of that dough to bring with me? I have gone a long time fasting.

_Mother:_ It is not often in the year I make bread like this. There are a few cold potatoes on the dresser, are they not good enough for you? There is many a one would be glad to get them.

_Travelling Man:_ Whatever you will give me, I will take it.

_Mother:_ (_Going to the dresser for the potatoes and looking at the shelves._) What in the earthly world has happened all the delf? Where are the jugs gone and the plates? They were all in it when I went out a while ago.

_Child:_ (_Hanging his head._) We were making a garden with them. We were making that garden there in the corner.

_Mother:_ Is that what you were doing after I bidding you to sit still and to keep yourself quiet? It is to tie you in the chair I will another time! My grand jugs! (_She picks them up and wipes them._) My plates that I bought the first time I ever went marketing into Gort. The best in the shop they were. (_One slips from her hand and breaks._) Look at that now, look what you are after doing.

(_She gives a slap at the child._)

_Travelling Man:_ Do not blame the child. It was I myself took them down from the dresser.

_Mother:_ (_Turning on him._) It was you took them! What business had you doing that? It's the last time a tramp or a tinker or a rogue of the roads will have a chance of laying his hand on anything in this house. It is jailed you should be! What did you want touching the dresser at all? Is it looking you were for what you could bring away?

_Travelling Man:_ (_Taking the child's hands._) I would not refuse these hands that were held out for them. If it was for the four winds of the world he had asked, I would have put their bridles into these innocent hands.

_Mother:_ (_Taking up the jug and throwing the branch on the floor._) Get out of this! Get out of this I tell you! There is no shelter here for the like of you! Look at that mud on the floor! You are not fit to come into the house of any decent respectable person!

(_The room begins to darken._)

_Travelling Man:_ Indeed, I am more used to the roads than to the shelter of houses. It is often I have spent the night on the bare hills.

_Mother:_ No wonder in that! (_She begins to sweep floor._) Go out of this now to whatever company you are best used to, whatever they are. The worst of people it is likely they are, thieves and drunkards and shameless women.

_Travelling Man:_ Maybe so. Drunkards and thieves and shameless women, stones that have fallen, that are trodden under foot, bodies that are spoiled with sores, bodies that are worn with fasting, minds that are broken with much sinning, the poor, the mad, the bad....

_Mother:_ Get out with you! Go back to your friends, I say!

_Travelling Man:_ I will go. I will go back to the high road that is walked by the bare feet of the poor, by the innocent bare feet of children. I will go back to the rocks and the wind, to the cries of the trees in the storm! (_He goes out._)

_Child:_ He has forgotten his branch!

(_Takes it and follows him._)

_Mother:_ (_Still sweeping._) My good plates from the dresser, and dirty red mud on the floor, and the sticks all scattered in every place. (_Stoops to pick them up._) Where is the child gone? (_Goes to door._) I don't see him--he couldn't have gone to the river--it is getting dark--the bank is slippy. Come back! Come back! Where are you? (_Child runs in._)

_Mother:_ O where were you? I was in dread it was to the river you were gone, or into the river.

_Child:_ I went after him. He is gone over the river.

_Mother:_ He couldn't do that. He couldn't go through the flood.

_Child:_ He did go over it. He was as if walking on the water. There was a light before his feet.

_Mother:_ That could not be so. What put that thought in your mind?

_Child:_ I called to him to come back for the branch, and he turned where he was in the river, and he bade me to bring it back, and to show it to yourself.

_Mother:_ (_Taking the branch._) There are fruit and flowers on it. It is a branch that is not of any earthly tree. (_Falls on her knees._) He is gone, he is gone, and I never knew him! He was that stranger that gave me all! He is the King of the World!

THE GAOL GATE

PERSONS

_Mary Cahel_ AN OLD WOMAN
_Mary Cushin_ HER DAUGHTER-IN-LAW
_The Gatekeeper_

THE GAOL GATE

_Scene: Outside the gate of Galway Gaol. Two countrywomen, one
in a long dark cloak, the other with a shawl over her head,
have just come in. It is just before dawn._

_Mary Cahel:_ I am thinking we are come to our journey's end, and that this should be the gate of the gaol.

_Mary Cushin:_ It is certain it could be no other place. There was surely never in the world such a terrible great height of a wall.

_Mary Cahel:_ He that was used to the mountain to be closed up inside of that! What call had he to go moonlighting or to bring himself into danger at all?

_Mary Cushin:_ It is no wonder a man to grow faint-hearted and he shut away from the light. I never would wonder at all at anything he might be driven to say.

_Mary Cahel:_ There were good men were gaoled before him never gave in to anyone at all. It is what I am thinking, Mary, he might not have done what they say.

_Mary Cushin:_ Sure you heard what the neighbours were calling the time their own boys were brought away. "It is Denis Cahel," they were saying, "that informed against them in the gaol."

_Mary Cahel:_ There is nothing that is bad or is wicked but a woman will put it out of her mouth, and she seeing them that belong to her brought away from her sight and her home.

_Mary Cushin:_ Terry Fury's mother was saying it, and Pat Ruane's mother and his wife. They came out calling it after me, "It was Denis swore against them in the gaol!" The sergeant was boasting, they were telling me, the day he came searching Daire-caol, it was he himself got his confession with drink he had brought him in the gaol.

_Mary Cahel:_ They might have done that, the ruffians, and the boy have no blame on him at all. Why should it be cast up against him, and his wits being out of him with drink?

_Mary Cushin:_ If he did give their names up itself, there was maybe no wrong in it at all. Sure it's known to all the village it was Terry that fired the shot.

_Mary Cahel:_ Stop your mouth now and don't be talking. You haven't any sense worth while. Let the sergeant do his own business with no help from the neighbours at all.

_Mary Cushin:_ It was Pat Ruane that tempted them on account of some vengeance of his own. Every creature knows my poor Denis never handled a gun in his life.

_Mary Cahel:_ (_Taking from under her cloak a long blue envelope._) I wish we could know what is in the letter they are after sending us through the post. Isn't it a great pity for the two of us to be without learning at all?

_Mary Cushin:_ There are some of the neighbours have learning, and you bade me not bring it anear them. It would maybe have told us what way he is or what time he will be quitting the gaol.

_Mary Cahel:_ There is wonder on me, Mary Cushin, that you would not be content with what I say. It might be they put down in the letter that Denis informed on the rest.

_Mary Cushin:_ I suppose it is all we have to do so, to stop here for the opening of the door. It's a terrible long road from Slieve Echtge we were travelling the whole of the night.

_Mary Cahel:_ There was no other thing for us to do but to come and to give him a warning. What way would he be facing the neighbours, and he to come back to Daire-caol?

_Mary Cushin:_ It is likely they will let him go free, Mary, before many days will be out. What call have they to be keeping him? It is certain they promised him his life.

_Mary Cahel:_ If they promised him his life, Mary Cushin, he must live it in some other place. Let him never see Daire-caol again, or Daroda or Druimdarod.

_Mary Cushin:_ O, Mary, what place will we bring him to, and we driven from the place that we know? What person that is sent among strangers can have one day's comfort on earth?

_Mary Cahel:_ It is only among strangers, I am thinking, he could be hiding his story at all. It is best for him to go to America, where the people are as thick as grass.

_Mary Cushin:_ What way could he go to America and he having no means in his hand? There's himself and myself to make the voyage and the little one-een at home.

_Mary Cahel:_ I would sooner to sell the holding than to ask for the price paid for blood. There'll be money enough for the two of you to settle your debts and to go.

_Mary Cushin:_ And what would yourself be doing and we to go over the sea? It is not among the neighbours you would wish to be ending your days.

_Mary Cahel:_ I am thinking there is no one would know me in the workhouse at Oughterard. I wonder could I go in there, and I not to give them my name?

_Mary Cushin:_ Ah, don't be talking foolishness. What way could I bring the child? Sure he's hardly out of the cradle; he'd be lost out there in the States.

_Mary Cahel:_ I could bring him into the workhouse, I to give him some other name. You could send for him when you'd be settled or have some place of your own.

_Mary Cushin:_ It is very cold at the dawn. It is time for them open the door. I wish I had brought a potato or a bit of a cake or of bread.

_Mary Cahel:_ I'm in dread of it being opened and not knowing what will we hear. The night that Denis was taken he had a great cold and a cough.

_Mary Cushin:_ I think I hear some person coming. There's a sound like the rattling of keys. God and His Mother protect us! I'm in dread of being found here at all!

(_The gate is opened, and the Gatekeeper is seen with a lantern
in his hand._)

_Gatekeeper:_ What are you doing here, women? It's no place to be spending the night time.

_Mary Cahel:_ It is to speak with my son I am asking, that is gaoled these eight weeks and a day.

_Gatekeeper:_ If you have no order to visit him it's as good for you go away home.

_Mary Cahel:_ I got this letter ere yesterday. It might be it is giving me leave.

_Gatekeeper:_ If that's so he should be under the doctor, or in the hospital ward.

_Mary Cahel:_ It's no wonder if he's down with the hardship, for he had a great cough and a cold.

_Gatekeeper:_ Give me here the letter to read it. Sure it never was opened at all.

_Mary Cahel:_ Myself and this woman have no learning. We were loth to trust any other one.

_Gatekeeper:_ It was posted in Galway the twentieth, and this is the last of the month.

_Mary Cahel:_ We never thought to call at the post office. It was chance brought it to us in the end.

_Gatekeeper:_ (_Having read letter._) You poor unfortunate women, don't you know Denis Cahel is dead? You'd a right to come this time yesterday if you wished any last word at all.

_Mary Cahel:_ (_Kneeling down._) God and His Mother protect us and have mercy on Denis's soul!

_Mary Cushin:_ What is the man after saying? Sure it cannot be Denis is dead?

_Gatekeeper:_ Dead since the dawn of yesterday, and another man now in his cell. I'll go see who has charge of his clothing if you're wanting to bring it away.

(_He goes in. The dawn has begun to break._)

_Mary Cahel:_ There is lasting kindness in Heaven when no kindness is found upon earth. There will surely be mercy found for him, and not the hard judgment of men! But my boy that was best in the world, that never rose a hair of my head, to have died with his name under blemish, and left a great shame on his child! Better for him have killed the whole world than to give any witness at all! Have you no word to say, Mary Cushin? Am I left here to keen him alone?

_Mary Cushin:_ (_Who has sunk on to the step before the door, rocking herself and keening._) Oh, Denis, my heart is broken you to have died with the hard word upon you! My grief you to be alone now that spent so many nights in company!

What way will I be going back through Gort and through Kilbecanty? The people will not be coming out keening you, they will say no prayer for the rest of your soul!

What way will I be the Sunday and I going up the hill to the Mass? Every woman with her own comrade, and Mary Cushin to be walking her lone!

What way will I be the Monday and the neighbours turning their heads from the house? The turf Denis cut lying on the bog, and no well-wisher to bring it to the hearth!

What way will I be in the night time, and none but the dog calling after you? Two women to be mixing a cake, and not a man in the house to break it!

What way will I sow the field, and no man to drive the furrow? The sheaf to be scattered before springtime that was brought together at the harvest!

I would not begrudge you, Denis, and you leaving praises after you. The neighbours keening along with me would be better to me than an estate.