MARY DOUL. I’m not the like of the girls do be running round on the roads, swinging their legs, and they with their necks out looking on the men.... Ah, there’s a power of villainy walking the world, Martin Doul, among them that do be gadding around with their gaping eyes, and their sweet words, and they with no sense in them at all. MARTIN DOUL. _sadly._ — It’s the truth, maybe, and yet I’m told it’s a grand thing to see a young girl walking the road. MARY DOUL. You’d be as bad as the rest of them if you had your sight, and I did well, surely, not to marry a seeing man — it’s scores would have had me and welcome — for the seeing is a queer lot, and you’d never know the thing they’d do. [_A moment’s pause._] MARTIN DOUL. _listening._ — There’s some one coming on the road. MARY DOUL. Let you put the pith away out of their sight, or they’ll be picking it out with the spying eyes they have, and saying it’s rich we are, and not sparing us a thing at all. [_They bundle away the rushes. Timmy the smith comes in on left._] MARTIN DOUL. _with a begging voice._ — Leave a bit of silver for blind Martin, your honour. Leave a bit of silver, or a penny copper itself, and we’ll be praying the Lord to bless you and you going the way. TIMMY. _stopping before them._ — And you letting on a while back you knew my step! [_He sits down._] MARTIN DOUL. _with his natural voice._ — I know it when Molly Byrne’s walking in front, or when she’s two perches, maybe, lagging behind; but it’s few times I’ve heard you walking up the like of that, as if you’d met a thing wasn’t right and you coming on the road. TIMMY. _hot and breathless, wiping his face._ — You’ve good ears, God bless you, if you’re a liar itself; for I’m after walking up in great haste from hearing wonders in the fair. MARTIN DOUL. _rather contemptuously._ — You’re always hearing queer wonderful things, and the lot of them nothing at all; but I’m thinking, this time, it’s a strange thing surely you’d be walking up before the turn of day, and not waiting below to look on them lepping, or dancing, or playing shows on the green of Clash. TIMMY. _huffed._ — I was coming to tell you it’s in this place there’d be a bigger wonder done in a short while (_Martin Doul stops working_) than was ever done on the green of Clash, or the width of Leinster itself; but you’re thinking, maybe, you’re too cute a little fellow to be minding me at all. MARTIN DOUL. _amused, but incredulous._ — There’ll be wonders in this place, is it? TIMMY. Here at the crossing of the roads. MARTIN DOUL. I never heard tell of anything to happen in this place since the night they killed the old fellow going home with his gold, the Lord have mercy on him, and threw down his corpse into the bog. Let them not be doing the like of that this night, for it’s ourselves have a right to the crossing roads, and we don’t want any of your bad tricks, or your wonders either, for it’s wonder enough we are ourselves.