TIMMY. _still astonished._ — And he’s after leaving the holy water with the two of you? It’s a wonder, surely. [_Comes down left a little._] MOLLY BYRNE. The lads told him no person could carry them things through the briars, and steep, slippy-feeling rocks he’ll be climbing above, so he looked round then, and gave the water, and his big cloak, and his bell to the two of us, for young girls, says he, are the cleanest holy people you’d see walking the world. [_Mary Doul goes near seat._] MARY DOUL. _sits down, laughing to herself._ — Well, the Saint’s a simple fellow, and it’s no lie. MARTIN DOUL. _leaning forward, holding out his hands._ — Let you give me the water in my hand, Molly Byrne, the way I’ll know you have it surely. MOLLY BYRNE. _giving it to him._ — Wonders is queer things, and maybe it’d cure you, and you holding it alone. MARTIN DOUL. _looking round._ — It does not, Molly. I’m not seeing at all. (_He shakes the can._) There’s a small sup only. Well, isn’t it a great wonder the little trifling thing would bring seeing to the blind, and be showing us the big women and the young girls, and all the fine things is walking the world. [_He feels for Mary Doul and gives her the can._] MARY DOUL. _shaking it._ — Well, glory be to God. MARTIN DOUL. _pointing to Bride._ — And what is it herself has, making sounds in her hand? BRIDE. _crossing to Martin Doul._ — It’s the Saint’s bell; you’ll hear him ringing out the time he’ll be going up some place, to be saying his prayers. [_Martin Doul holds out his hand; she gives it to him._] MARTIN DOUL. _ringing it._ — It’s a sweet, beautiful sound. MARY DOUL. You’d know, I’m thinking, by the little silvery voice of it, a fasting holy man was after carrying it a great way at his side. [_Bride crosses a little right behind Martin Doul._] MOLLY BYRNE. _unfolding Saint’s cloak._ — Let you stand up now, Martin Doul, till I put his big cloak on you. (_Martin Doul rises, comes forward, centre a little._) The way we’d see how you’d look, and you a saint of the Almighty God. MARTIN DOUL. _standing up, a little diffidently._ — I’ve heard the priests a power of times making great talk and praises of the beauty of the saints. [_Molly Byrne slips cloak round him._] TIMMY. _uneasily._ — You’d have a right to be leaving him alone, Molly. What would the Saint say if he seen you making game with his cloak? MOLLY BYRNE. _recklessly._ — How would he see us, and he saying prayers in the wood? (_She turns Martin Doul round._) Isn’t that a fine holy-looking saint, Timmy the smith? (_Laughing foolishly._) There’s a grand, handsome fellow, Mary Doul; and if you seen him now you’d be as proud, I’m thinking, as the archangels below, fell out with the Almighty God. MARY DOUL. _with quiet confidence going to Martin Doul and feeling his cloak._ — It’s proud we’ll be this day, surely. [_Martin Doul is still ringing._]