TRAMP. (_At the door._) Come along with me now, lady of the house, and it’s not my blather you’ll be hearing only, but you’ll be hearing the herons crying out over the black lakes, and you’ll be hearing the grouse and the owls with them, and the larks and the big thrushes when the days are warm, and it’s not from the like of them you’ll be hearing a talk of getting old like Peggy Cavanagh, and losing the hair off you, and the light of your eyes, but it’s fine songs you’ll be hearing when the sun goes up, and there’ll be no old fellow wheezing, the like of a sick sheep, close to your ear. NORA. I’m thinking it’s myself will be wheezing that time with lying down under the Heavens when the night is cold; but you’ve a fine bit of talk, stranger, and it’s with yourself I’ll go. (_She goes towards the door, then turns to Dan._) You think it’s a grand thing you’re after doing with your letting on to be dead, but what is it at all? What way would a woman live in a lonesome place the like of this place, and she not making a talk with the men passing? And what way will yourself live from this day, with none to care for you? What is it you’ll have now but a black life, Daniel Burke, and it’s not long I’m telling you, till you’ll be lying again under that sheet, and you dead surely. (_She goes out with the Tramp. Micheal is slinking after them, but Dan stops him._) DAN. Sit down now and take a little taste of the stuff, Micheal Dara. There’s a great drouth on me, and the night is young. MICHEAL. (_Coming back to the table._) And it’s very dry I am, surely, with the fear of death you put on me, and I after driving mountain ewes since the turn of the day. DAN. (_Throwing away his stick._) I was thinking to strike you, Micheal Dara, but you’re a quiet man, God help you, and I don’t mind you at all. (_He pours out two glasses of whisky, and gives one to Micheal._) DAN. Your good health, Micheal Dara. MICHEAL. God reward you, Daniel Burke, and may you have a long life, and a quiet life, and good health with it. (_They drink._) CURTAIN. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of In the Shadow of the Glen, by J. M. Synge