SARAH. A'm not a light weight, tha knows. SAM. A'd carry thee easy--"Strong in th' arm and weak in th' yead." It's an ould sayin', but it's a good un, an' it fits. SARAH. Wilt tha try, Sam Horrocks? God bless thee, wilt tha try, lad? SAM. Dost mean it, Mrs. Ormerod? Dost mean tha'll coom? Tha's not coddin' a feller, art tha? SARAH. No, A'm not coddin'. Kiss me, Sam, my son. (_He kisses her and lifts her in his arms._) SAM. By gum, but that were good. A'll coom back fur thy box. SABAH. Carry me careful, tha great luny. A'm not a sack o' flour. SAM. Eh, but A likes to year thee talk. Yon was real mootherly, it were. (_Exit through door, carrying her._) [CURTAIN _at clink of latch_] RIDERS TO THE SEA[1] J.M. Synge [Footnote 1: Included by permission of Messrs. John W. Luce and Company.] CHARACTERS MAURYA, an old woman BARTLEY, her son CATHLEEN, her daughter NORA, a younger daughter MEN AND WOMEN SCENE: _An island off the West of Ireland. Cottage kitchen, with nets, oilskins, spinning-wheel, some new boards standing by the wall, etc._ CATHLEEN, _a girl of about twenty, finishes kneading cake, and puts it down in the pot-oven by the fire; then wipes her hands, and begins to spin at the wheel._ NORA, _a young girl, puts her head in at the door._ NORA (_in a low voice_). Where is she? CATHLEEN. She's lying down, God help her, and maybe sleeping, if she's able. (NORA _comes in softly, and takes a bundle from under her shawl._) CATHLEEN (_spinning the wheel rapidly_). What is it you have? NOBA. The young priest is after bringing them. It's a shirt and a plain stocking were got off a drowned man in Donegal. (CATHLEEN _stops her wheel with a sudden movement, and leans out to listen._) NORA. We're to find out if it's Michael's they are; some time herself will be down looking by the sea. CATHLEEN. How would they be Michael's, Nora? How would he go the length of that way to the far north? NORA. The young priest says he's known the like of it. "If it's Michael's they are," says he, "you can tell herself he's got a clean burial by the grace of God, and if they're not his, let no one say a word about them, for she'll be getting her death," says he, "with crying and lamenting." (_The door which_ NORA _half closed is blown open by a gust of wind._) CATHLEEN (_looking out anxiously_). Did you ask him would he stop Bartley going this day with the horses to the Galway fair? NORA. "I won't stop him," says he, "but let you not be afraid. Herself does be saying prayers half through the night, and the Almighty God won't leave her destitute," says he, "with no son living." CATHLEEN. Is the sea bad by the white rocks, Nora? NORA. Middling bad, God help us. There's a great roaring in the west, and it's worse it'll be getting when the tide's turned to the wind. (_She goes over to the table with the bundle._) Shall I open it now?