_Man:_ Is it a poor man like me, that has to be going the roads and singing in fairs, to have the name on him that he took a reward? But you don’t want me. I’ll be safer in the town. _Sergeant:_ Well, you can stop. _Man:_ (_Getting up on barrel._) All right, sergeant. I wonder, now, you’re not tired out, sergeant, walking up and down the way you are. _Sergeant:_ If I’m tired I’m used to it. _Man:_ You might have hard work before you to-night yet. Take it easy while you can. There’s plenty of room up here on the barrel, and you see farther when you’re higher up. _Sergeant:_ Maybe so. (_Gets up beside him on barrel, facing right. They sit back to back, looking different ways._) You made me feel a bit queer with the way you talked. _Man:_ Give me a match, sergeant (_he gives it and man lights pipe_); take a draw yourself? It’ll quiet you. Wait now till I give you a light, but you needn’t turn round. Don’t take your eye off the quay for the life of you. _Sergeant:_ Never fear, I won’t. (_Lights pipe. They both smoke._) Indeed it’s a hard thing to be in the force, out at night and no thanks for it, for all the danger we’re in. And it’s little we get but abuse from the people, and no choice but to obey our orders, and never asked when a man is sent into danger, if you are a married man with a family. _Man:_ (_Sings_)— As through the hills I walked to view the hills and shamrock plain, I stood awhile where nature smiles to view the rocks and streams, On a matron fair I fixed my eyes beneath a fertile vale, As she sang her song it was on the wrong of poor old Granuaile. _Sergeant:_ Stop that; that’s no song to be singing in these times. _Man:_ Ah, sergeant, I was only singing to keep my heart up. It sinks when I think of him. To think of us two sitting here, and he creeping up the quay, maybe, to get to us. _Sergeant:_ Are you keeping a good lookout? _Man:_ I am; and for no reward too. Amn’t I the foolish man? But when I saw a man in trouble, I never could help trying to get him out of it. What’s that? Did something hit me? (_Rubs his heart._) _Sergeant:_ (_Patting him on the shoulder._) You will get your reward in heaven. _Man:_ I know that, I know that, sergeant, but life is precious. _Sergeant:_ Well, you can sing if it gives you more courage. _Man:_ (_Sings_)— Her head was bare, her hands and feet with iron bands were bound, Her pensive strain and plaintive wail mingles with the evening gale, And the song she sang with mournful air, I am old Granuaile. Her lips so sweet that monarchs kissed.... _Sergeant:_ That’s not it.... “Her gown she wore was stained with gore.” ... That’s it—you missed that. _Man:_ You’re right, sergeant, so it is; I missed it. (_Repeats line._) But to think of a man like you knowing a song like that. _Sergeant:_ There’s many a thing a man might know and might not have any wish for.