PEGEEN. _breaking out._—And you without a white shift or a shirt in your whole family since the drying of the flood. I’ve no starch for the like of you, and let you walk on now to Killamuck. WIDOW QUIN. _turning to Christy, as she goes out with the girls._—Well, you’re mighty huffy this day, Pegeen Mike, and, you young fellow, let you not forget the sports and racing when the noon is by. (_They go out._) PEGEEN. _imperiously._—Fling out that rubbish and put them cups away. (_Christy tidies away in great haste_). Shove in the bench by the wall. (_He does so._) And hang that glass on the nail. What disturbed it at all? CHRISTY. _very meekly._—I was making myself decent only, and this a fine country for young lovely girls. PEGEEN. _sharply._—Whisht your talking of girls. [_Goes to counter right._] CHRISTY. Wouldn’t any wish to be decent in a place.... PEGEEN. Whisht I’m saying. CHRISTY. _looks at her face for a moment with great misgivings, then as a last effort, takes up a loy, and goes towards her, with feigned assurance._—It was with a loy the like of that I killed my father. PEGEEN. _still sharply._—You’ve told me that story six times since the dawn of day. CHRISTY. _reproachfully._—It’s a queer thing you wouldn’t care to be hearing it and them girls after walking four miles to be listening to me now. PEGEEN. _turning round astonished._—Four miles. CHRISTY. _apologetically._—Didn’t himself say there were only bona fides living in the place? PEGEEN. It’s bona fides by the road they are, but that lot came over the river lepping the stones. It’s not three perches when you go like that, and I was down this morning looking on the papers the post-boy does have in his bag. (_With meaning and emphasis._) For there was great news this day, Christopher Mahon. (_She goes into room left._) CHRISTY. _suspiciously._—Is it news of my murder? PEGEEN. _inside._—Murder, indeed. CHRISTY. _loudly._—A murdered da? PEGEEN. _coming in again and crossing right._—There was not, but a story filled half a page of the hanging of a man. Ah, that should be a fearful end, young fellow, and it worst of all for a man who destroyed his da, for the like of him would get small mercies, and when it’s dead he is, they’d put him in a narrow grave, with cheap sacking wrapping him round, and pour down quicklime on his head, the way you’d see a woman pouring any frish-frash from a cup. CHRISTY. _very miserably._—Oh, God help me. Are you thinking I’m safe? You were saying at the fall of night, I was shut of jeopardy and I here with yourselves. PEGEEN. _severely._—You’ll be shut of jeopardy no place if you go talking with a pack of wild girls the like of them do be walking abroad with the peelers, talking whispers at the fall of night. CHRISTY. _with terror._—And you’re thinking they’d tell? PEGEEN. _with mock sympathy._—Who knows, God help you. CHRISTY. _loudly._—What joy would they have to bring hanging to the likes of me?