MARY DOUL. _standing up, disguising her impatience._ — Let you come here to me, Timmy, and not be minding him at all. (_Timmy stops, and she gropes up to him and takes him by the coat)._ You’re not huffy with myself, and let you tell me the whole story and don’t be fooling me more.... Is it yourself has brought us the water? TIMMY. It is not, surely. MARY DOUL. Then tell us your wonder, Timmy.... What person’ll bring it at all? TIMMY. _relenting._ — It’s a fine holy man will bring it, a saint of the Almighty God. MARY DOUL. _overawed._ — A saint is it? TIMMY. Ay, a fine saint, who’s going round through the churches of Ireland, with a long cloak on him, and naked feet, for he’s brought a sup of the water slung at his side, and, with the like of him, any little drop is enough to cure the dying, or to make the blind see as clear as the gray hawks do be high up, on a still day, sailing the sky. MARTIN DOUL. _feeling for his stick._ — What place is he, Timmy? I’ll be walking to him now. TIMMY. Let you stay quiet, Martin. He’s straying around saying prayers at the churches and high crosses, between this place and the hills, and he with a great crowd going behind — for it’s fine prayers he does be saying, and fasting with it, till he’s as thin as one of the empty rushes you have there on your knee; then he’ll be coming after to this place to cure the two of you — we’re after telling him the way you are — and to say his prayers in the church. MARTIN DOUL. _turning suddenly to Mary Doul._ — And we’ll be seeing ourselves this day. Oh, glory be to God, is it true surely? MARY DOUL. _very pleased, to Timmy._ — Maybe I’d have time to walk down and get the big shawl I have below, for I do look my best, I’ve heard them say, when I’m dressed up with that thing on my head. TIMMY. You’d have time surely. MARTIN DOUL. _listening._ — Whisht now.... I hear people again coming by the stream. TIMMY. _looking out left, puzzled._ — It’s the young girls I left walking after the Saint.... They’re coming now (_goes up to entrance_) carrying things in their hands, and they walking as easy as you’d see a child walk who’d have a dozen eggs hid in her bib. MARTIN DOUL. _listening._ — That’s Molly Byrne, I’m thinking. [_Molly Byrne and Bride come on left and cross to Martin Doul, carrying water-can, Saint’s bell, and cloak._] MOLLY. _volubly._ — God bless you, Martin. I’ve holy water here, from the grave of the four saints of the west, will have you cured in a short while and seeing like ourselves. TIMMY. _crosses to Molly, interrupting her._ — He’s heard that. God help you. But where at all is the Saint, and what way is he after trusting the holy water with the likes of you? MOLLY BYRNE. He was afeard to go a far way with the clouds is coming beyond, so he’s gone up now through the thick woods to say a prayer at the crosses of Grianan, and he’s coming on this road to the church.