PRIEST If it’s starving you are itself, I’m thinking it’s well for the like of you that do be drinking when there’s drouth on you, and lying down to sleep when your legs are stiff. _(He sighs gloomily.)_ What would you do if it was the like of myself you were, saying Mass with your mouth dry, and running east and west for a sick call maybe, and hearing the rural people again and they saying their sins? MARY _with compassion._—It’s destroyed you must be hearing the sins of the rural people on a fine spring. PRIEST _with despondency._—It’s a hard life, I’m telling you, a hard life, Mary Byrne; and there’s the bishop coming in the morning, and he an old man, would have you destroyed if he seen a thing at all. MARY _with great sympathy._—It’d break my heart to hear you talking and sighing the like of that, your reverence. _(She pats him on the knee.)_ Let you rouse up, now, if it’s a poor, single man you are itself, and I’ll be singing you songs unto the dawn of day. PRIEST _interrupting her._—What is it I want with your songs when it’d be better for the like of you, that’ll soon die, to be down on your two knees saying prayers to the Almighty God? MARY If it’s prayers I want, you’d have a right to say one yourself, holy father; for we don’t have them at all, and I’ve heard tell a power of times it’s that you’re for. Say one now, your reverence, for I’ve heard a power of queer things and I walking the world, but there’s one thing I never heard any time, and that’s a real priest saying a prayer. PRIEST The Lord protect us! MARY It’s no lie, holy father. I often heard the rural people making a queer noise and they going to rest; but who’d mind the like of them? And I’m thinking it should be great game to hear a scholar, the like of you, speaking Latin to the saints above. PRIEST _scandalized._—Stop your talking, Mary Byrne; you’re an old flagrant heathen, and I’ll stay no more with the lot of you. [_He rises._ MARY _catching hold of him._—Stop till you say a prayer, your reverence; stop till you say a little prayer, I’m telling you, and I’ll give you my blessing and the last sup from the jug. PRIEST _breaking away._—Leave me go, Mary Byrne; for I have never met your like for hard abominations the score and two years I’m living in the place. MARY _innocently._—Is that the truth? PRIEST —It is, then, and God have mercy on your soul. [_The priest goes towards the left, and Sarah follows him._ SARAH _in a low voice._—And what time will you do the thing I’m asking, holy father? for I’m thinking you’ll do it surely, and not have me growing into an old wicked heathen like herself. MARY _calling out shrilly._—Let you be walking back here, Sarah Casey, and not be talking whisper-talk with the like of him in the face of the Almighty God. SARAH _to the priest._—Do you hear her now, your reverence? Isn’t it true, surely, she’s an old, flagrant heathen, would destroy the world?