How pretty you are! MAURTEEN BRUIN. Your hair is wet with dew! BRIDGET BRUIN. I will warm your chilly feet. [_She takes THE CHILD’S feet in her hands._ MAURTEEN BRUIN. You must have come A long, long way, for I have never seen Your pretty face, and must be tired and hungry; Here is some bread and wine. THE CHILD. The wine is bitter. Old mother, have you no sweet food for me? BRIDGET BRUIN. I have some honey! [_She goes into the next room._ MAURTEEN BRUIN. You are a dear child; The mother was quite cross before you came. [_BRIDGET returns with the honey, and goes to the dresser and fills a porringer with milk._ BRIDGET BRUIN. She is the child of gentle people; look At her white hands and at her pretty dress. I have brought you some new milk, but wait awhile, And I will put it by the fire to warm, For things well fitted for poor folk like us Would never please a high-born child like you. THE CHILD. Old mother, my old mother, the green dawn Brightens above while you blow up the fire; And evening finds you spreading the white cloth. The young may lie in bed and dream and hope, But you work on because your heart is old. BRIDGET BRUIN. The young are idle. THE CHILD. Old father, you are wise, And all the years have gathered in your heart To whisper of the wonders that are gone. The young must sigh through many a dream and hope, But you are wise because your heart is old. MAURTEEN BRUIN. O, who would think to find so young a child Loving old age and wisdom? [_BRIDGET gives her more bread and honey._ THE CHILD. No more, mother. MAURTEEN BRUIN. What a small bite! The milk is ready now; What a small sip! THE CHILD. Put on my shoes, old mother, For I would like to dance now I have eaten. The reeds are dancing by Coolaney lake, And I would like to dance until the reeds And the white waves have danced themselves to sleep. [_BRIDGET having put on her shoes, she gets off the old man’s knees and is about to dance, but suddenly sees the crucifix and shrieks and covers her eyes._] What is that ugly thing on the black cross? FATHER HART. You cannot know how naughty your words are! That is our Blessed Lord! THE CHILD. Hide it away! BRIDGET BRUIN. I have begun to be afraid, again! THE CHILD. Hide it away! MAURTEEN BRUIN. That would be wickedness! BRIDGET BRUIN. That would be sacrilege! THE CHILD. The tortured thing! Hide it away! MAURTEEN BRUIN. Her parents are to blame. FATHER HART. That is the image of the Son of God. [_THE CHILD puts her arm round his neck and kisses him._ THE CHILD. Hide it away! Hide it away! MAURTEEN BRUIN. No! no!