SHAWN. _with plaintive despair._—I’m afeard of Father Reilly, I’m saying. Let you not be tempting me, and we near married itself. PHILLY. _with cold contempt._—Lock him in the west room. He’ll stay then and have no sin to be telling to the priest. MICHAEL. _to Shawn, getting between him and the door._—Go up now. SHAWN. _at the top of his voice._—Don’t stop me, Michael James. Let me out of the door, I’m saying, for the love of the Almighty God. Let me out (_trying to dodge past him_). Let me out of it, and may God grant you His indulgence in the hour of need. MICHAEL. _loudly._—Stop your noising, and sit down by the hearth. [_Gives him a push and goes to counter laughing._] SHAWN. _turning back, wringing his hands._—Oh, Father Reilly and the saints of God, where will I hide myself to-day? Oh, St. Joseph and St. Patrick and St. Brigid, and St. James, have mercy on me now! [_Shawn turns round, sees door clear, and makes a rush for it._] MICHAEL. _catching him by the coattail._—You’d be going, is it? SHAWN. _screaming._—Leave me go, Michael James, leave me go, you old Pagan, leave me go, or I’ll get the curse of the priests on you, and of the scarlet-coated bishops of the courts of Rome. [_With a sudden movement he pulls himself out of his coat, and disappears out of the door, leaving his coat in Michael’s hands._] MICHAEL. _turning round, and holding up coat._—Well, there’s the coat of a Christian man. Oh, there’s sainted glory this day in the lonesome west; and by the will of God I’ve got you a decent man, Pegeen, you’ll have no call to be spying after if you’ve a score of young girls, maybe, weeding in your fields. PEGEEN. _taking up the defence of her property._—What right have you to be making game of a poor fellow for minding the priest, when it’s your own the fault is, not paying a penny pot-boy to stand along with me and give me courage in the doing of my work? [_She snaps the coat away from him, and goes behind counter with it._] MICHAEL. _taken aback._—Where would I get a pot-boy? Would you have me send the bell-man screaming in the streets of Castlebar? SHAWN. _opening the door a chink and putting in his head, in a small voice._—Michael James! MICHAEL. _imitating him._—What ails you? SHAWN. The queer dying fellow’s beyond looking over the ditch. He’s come up, I’m thinking, stealing your hens. (_Looks over his shoulder._) God help me, he’s following me now (_he runs into room_), and if he’s heard what I said, he’ll be having my life, and I going home lonesome in the darkness of the night. (_For a perceptible moment they watch the door with curiosity. Some one coughs outside. Then Christy Mahon, a slight young man, comes in very tired and frightened and dirty._) CHRISTY. _in a small voice._—God save all here! MEN. God save you kindly. CHRISTY. _going to the counter._—I’d trouble you for a glass of porter, woman of the house. [_He puts down coin._]