CATHLEEN. It's the same stuff, Nora; but if it is itself, aren't there great rolls of it in the shops of Galway, and isn't it many another man may have a shirt of it as well as Michael himself? NORA (_who has taken up the stocking and counted the stitches, crying out_) It's Michael, Cathleen, it's Michael; God spare his soul and what will herself say when she hears this story, and Bartley on the sea? CATHLEEN (_taking the stocking_). It's a plain stocking. NORA. It's the second one of the third pair I knitted, and I put up three score stitches, and I dropped four of them. CATHLEEN (_counts the stitches_). It's that number is in it. (_Crying out_) Ah, Nora, isn't it a bitter thing to think of him floating that way to the far north, and no one to keen him but the black hags that do be flying on the sea? NORA (_swinging herself round, and throwing out her arms on the clothes_). And isn't it a pitiful thing when there is nothing left of a man who was a great rower and fisher, but a bit of an old shirt and a plain stocking? CATHLEEN (_after an instant_). Tell me is herself coming, Nora? I hear a little sound on the path. NORA (_looking out_). She is, Cathleen. She's coming up to the door. CATHLEEN. Put these things away before she'll come in. Maybe it's easier she'll be after giving her blessing to Bartley, and we won't let on we've heard anything the time he's on the sea. NORA (_helping CATHLEEN to close the bundle_). We'll put them here in the corner. (_They put them into a hole in the chimney corner. CATHLEEN goes back to the spinning wheel._) NORA. Will she see it was crying I was? CATHLEEN. Keep your back to the door the way the light'll not be on you. (NORA _sits down at the chimney corner, with her back to the door._ MAURYA _comes in very slowly, without looking at the girls, and goes over to her stool at the other side of the fire. The cloth with the bread is still in her hand. The girls look at each other, and_ NORA _points to the bundle of bread._) CATHLEEN (_offer spinning for a moment_), You didn't give him his bit of bread? (MAURYA _begins to keen softly, without turning round._) CATHLEEN. Did you see him riding down? (MAURYA _goes on keening._) CATHLEEN (_a little impatiently_). God forgive you; isn't it a better thing to raise your voice and tell what you seen, than to be making lamentation for a thing that's done? Did you see Bartley, I'm saying to you. MAURYA (_with a weak voice_). My heart's broken from this day. CATHLEEN (_as before_). Did you see Bartley? MAURYA. I seen the fearfulest thing. CATHLEEN (_leaves her wheel and looks out_). God forgive you; he's riding the mare now over the green head, and the gray pony behind him. MAURYA (_starts, so that her shawl falls back from her head and shows her white tossed hair; with a frightened voice_). The gray pony behind him. CATHLEEN (_coming to the fire_). What is it ails you, at all?