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 come 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 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?

PEGEEN. It's queer joys they have, and who knows the thing they'd do, if it'd make the green stones cry itself to think of you swaying and swiggling at the butt of a rope, and you with a fine, stout neck, God bless you! the way you'd be a half an hour, in great anguish, getting your death.

CHRISTY getting his boots and putting them on.