TRAMP. (_Looking at the body in the sheet._) It’s myself will go for him, lady of the house, and let you not be destroying yourself with the great rain. NORA. You wouldn’t find your way, stranger, for there’s a small path only, and it running up between two sluigs where an ass and cart would be drowned. (_She puts a shawl over her head._) Let you be making yourself easy, and saying a prayer for his soul, and it’s not long I’ll be coming again. TRAMP. (_Moving uneasily._) Maybe if you’d a piece of a grey thread and a sharp needle—there’s great safety in a needle, lady of the house—I’ld be putting a little stitch here and there in my old coat, the time I’ll be praying for his soul, and it going up naked to the saints of God. NORA. (_Takes a needle and thread from the front of her dress and gives it to him._) There’s the needle, stranger, and I’m thinking you won’t be lonesome, and you used to the back hills, for isn’t a dead man itself more company than to be sitting alone, and hearing the winds crying, and you not knowing on what thing your mind would stay? TRAMP. (_Slowly._) It’s true, surely, and the Lord have mercy on us all! (_Nora goes out. The Tramp begins stitching one of the tags in his coat, saying the “De Profundis” under his breath. In an instant the sheet is drawn slowly down, and Dan Burke looks out. The Tramp moves uneasily, then looks up, and springs to his feet with a movement of terror._) DAN. (_With a hoarse voice._) Don’t be afeard, stranger; a man that’s dead can do no hurt. TRAMP. (_Trembling._) I meant no harm, your honour; and won’t you leave me easy to be saying a little prayer for your soul? (_A long whistle is heard outside._) DAN. (_Sitting up in his bed and speaking fiercely._) Ah, the devil mend her.... Do you hear that, stranger? Did ever you hear another woman could whistle the like of that with two fingers in her mouth? (_He looks at the table hurriedly._) I’m destroyed with the drouth, and let you bring me a drop quickly before herself will come back. TRAMP. (_Doubtfully._) Is it not dead you are? DAN. How would I be dead, and I as dry as a baked bone, stranger? TRAMP. (_Pouring out the whisky._) What will herself say if she smells the stuff on you, for I’m thinking it’s not for nothing you’re letting on to be dead? DAN. It is not, stranger, but she won’t be coming near me at all, and it’s not long now I’ll be letting on, for I’ve a cramp in my back, and my hip’s asleep on me, and there’s been the devil’s own fly itching my nose. It’s near dead I was wanting to sneeze, and you blathering about the rain, and Darcy (_bitterly_)—the devil choke him—and the towering church. (_Crying out impatiently._) Give me that whisky. Would you have herself come back before I taste a drop at all? (_Tramp gives him the glass._) DAN. (_After drinking._) Go over now to that cupboard, and bring me a black stick you’ll see in the west corner by the wall. TRAMP. (_Taking a stick from the cupboard_) Is it that?