The door is pushed open, and Susan Brady looks in, and knocks on door.

 

SUSAN. There's nobody in it. Knocks again.

NELLY pushing her in and following her, with Honor Blake and Sara Tansey. It'd be early for them both to be out walking the hill.

SUSAN. I'm thinking Shawn Keogh was making game of us and there's no such man in it at all.

HONOR pointing to straw and quilt. Look at that. He's been sleeping there in the night. Well, it'll be a hard case if he's gone off now, the way we'll never set our eyes on a man killed his father, and we after rising early and destroying ourselves running fast on the hill.

NELLY. Are you thinking them's his boots?

SARA taking them up. If they are, there should be his father's track on them. Did you never read in the papers the way murdered men do bleed and drip?

SUSAN. Is that blood there, Sara Tansey?

SARA smelling it. That's bog water, I'm thinking, but it's his own they are surely, for I never seen the like of them for whity mud, and red mud, and turf on them, and the fine sands of the sea. That man's been walking, I'm telling you. She goes down right, putting on one of his boots.

SUSAN going to window. Maybe he's stolen off to Belmullet with the boots of Michael James, and you'd have a right so to follow after him, Sara Tansey, and you the one yoked the ass cart and drove ten miles to set your eyes on the man bit the yellow lady's nostril on the northern shore. She looks out.

SARA running to window, with one boot on. Don't be talking, and we fooled to-day. Putting on other boot. There's a pair do fit me well, and I'll be keeping them for walking to the priest, when you'd be ashamed this place, going up winter and summer with nothing worth while to confess at all.

HONOR who has been listening at inner door. Whisht! there's some one inside the room. She pushes door a chink open. It's a man.

 

Sara kicks off boots and puts them where they were. They all stand in a line looking through chink.

SARA. I'll call him. Mister! Mister! He puts in his head. Is Pegeen within?

CHRISTY coming in as meek as a mouse, with the looking-glass held behind his back. She's above on the cnuceen, seeking the nanny goats, the way she'd have a sup of goat's milk for to colour my tea.

SARA. And asking your pardon, is it you's the man killed his father?

CHRISTY sidling toward the nail where the glass was hanging. I am, God help me!

SARA taking eggs she has brought.