MARTIN DOUL. Let you not be tormenting yourself trying to make me afeard. You told me a power of bad lies the time I was blind, and it’s right now for you to stop, and be taking your rest (_Mary Doul comes in unnoticed on right with a sack filled with green stuff on her arm_), for it’s little ease or quiet any person would get if the big fools of Ireland weren’t weary at times. (_He looks up and sees Mary Doul._) Oh, glory be to God, she’s coming again. [_He begins to work busily with his back to her._] TIMMY. _amused, to Mary Doul, as she is going by without looking at them._ — Look on him now, Mary Doul. You’d be a great one for keeping him steady at his work, for he’s after idling and blathering to this hour from the dawn of day. MARY DOUL. _stiffly._ — Of what is it you’re speaking, Timmy the smith? TIMMY. _laughing._ — Of himself, surely. Look on him there, and he with the shirt on him ripping from his back. You’d have a right to come round this night, I’m thinking, and put a stitch into his clothes, for it’s long enough you are not speaking one to the other. MARY DOUL. Let the two of you not torment me at all. [_She goes out left, with her head in the air._] MARTIN DOUL. _stops work and looks after her._ — Well, isn’t it a queer thing she can’t keep herself two days without looking on my face? TIMMY. _jeeringly._ — Looking on your face is it? And she after going by with her head turned the way you’d see a priest going where there’d be a drunken man in the side ditch talking with a girl. (_Martin Doul gets up and goes to corner of forge, and looks out left._) Come back here and don’t mind her at all. Come back here, I’m saying, you’ve no call to be spying behind her since she went off, and left you, in place of breaking her heart, trying to keep you in the decency of clothes and food. MARTIN DOUL. _crying out indignantly._ — You know rightly, Timmy, it was myself drove her away. TIMMY. That’s a lie you’re telling, yet it’s little I care which one of you was driving the other, and let you walk back here, I’m saying, to your work. MARTIN DOUL. _turning round._ — I’m coming, surely. [_He stops and looks out right, going a step or two towards centre._] TIMMY. On what is it you’re gaping, Martin Doul? MARTIN DOUL. There’s a person walking above.... It’s Molly Byrne, I’m thinking, coming down with her can. TIMMY. If she is itself let you not be idling this day, or minding her at all, and let you hurry with them sticks, for I’ll want you in a short while to be blowing in the forge. [_He throws down pot-hooks._] MARTIN DOUL. _crying out._ — Is it roasting me now you’d be? (_Turns back and sees pot-hooks; he takes them up._) Pot-hooks? Is it over them you’ve been inside sneezing and sweating since the dawn of day?