CHRISTY. _laughing piteously._—The like of a king, is it? And I after toiling, moiling, digging, dodging from the dawn till dusk with never a sight of joy or sport saving only when I’d be abroad in the dark night poaching rabbits on hills, for I was a divil to poach, God forgive me, (_very naïvely_) and I near got six months for going with a dung fork and stabbing a fish. PEGEEN. And it’s that you’d call sport, is it, to be abroad in the darkness with yourself alone? CHRISTY. I did, God help me, and there I’d be as happy as the sunshine of St. Martin’s Day, watching the light passing the north or the patches of fog, till I’d hear a rabbit starting to screech and I’d go running in the furze. Then when I’d my full share I’d come walking down where you’d see the ducks and geese stretched sleeping on the highway of the road, and before I’d pass the dunghill, I’d hear himself snoring out, a loud lonesome snore he’d be making all times, the while he was sleeping, and he a man ’d be raging all times, the while he was waking, like a gaudy officer you’d hear cursing and damning and swearing oaths. PEGEEN. Providence and Mercy, spare us all! CHRISTY. It’s that you’d say surely if you seen him and he after drinking for weeks, rising up in the red dawn, or before it maybe, and going out into the yard as naked as an ash tree in the moon of May, and shying clods against the visage of the stars till he’d put the fear of death into the banbhs and the screeching sows. PEGEEN. I’d be well-nigh afeard of that lad myself, I’m thinking. And there was no one in it but the two of you alone? CHRISTY. The divil a one, though he’d sons and daughters walking all great states and territories of the world, and not a one of them, to this day, but would say their seven curses on him, and they rousing up to let a cough or sneeze, maybe, in the deadness of the night. PEGEEN. _nodding her head._—Well, you should have been a queer lot. I never cursed my father the like of that, though I’m twenty and more years of age. CHRISTY. Then you’d have cursed mine, I’m telling you, and he a man never gave peace to any, saving when he’d get two months or three, or be locked in the asylums for battering peelers or assaulting men (_with depression_) the way it was a bitter life he led me till I did up a Tuesday and halve his skull. PEGEEN. _putting her hand on his shoulder._—Well, you’ll have peace in this place, Christy Mahon, and none to trouble you, and it’s near time a fine lad like you should have your good share of the earth. CHRISTY. It’s time surely, and I a seemly fellow with great strength in me and bravery of.... [_Someone knocks._] CHRISTY. _clinging to Pegeen._—Oh, glory! it’s late for knocking, and this last while I’m in terror of the peelers, and the walking dead. [_Knocking again._] PEGEEN. Who’s there? VOICE. _outside._ Me. PEGEEN. Who’s me? VOICE. The Widow Quin.