For the love of God, Pegeen Mike, don't let on I was speaking of him. Don't tell your father and the men is coming above, for if they heard that story they'd have great blabbing this night at the wake.

PEGEEN. I'll maybe tell them, and I'll maybe not.

SHAWN. They are coming at the door. Will you whisht, I'm saying.

PEGEEN. Whisht yourself.

 

She goes behind counter. Michael James, fat jovial publican, comes in down right centre followed by Philly O'Cullen, who is thin and mistrusting, and Jimmy Farrell, who is fat and amorous, about forty-five.

 

MEN together. God bless you. The blessing of God on this place.

PEGEEN. God bless you kindly.

MICHAEL to men, who go to the counter right. Sit down now, and take your rest. Crosses to Shawn at the fire left. And how is it you are, Shawn Keogh? Are you coming over the sands to Kate Cassidy's wake?

SHAWN. I am not, Michael James. I'm going home the short-cut to my bed.

PEGEEN speaking across from counter. He's right too, and have you no shame, Michael James, to be quitting off for the whole night and leaving myself lonesome in the shop?

MICHAEL good-humouredly. Isn't it the same whether I go for the whole night or a part only? and I'm thinking it's a queer daughter you are if you'd have me crossing backward through the Stooks of the Dead Women, with a drop taken.

PEGEEN angrily. If I am a queer daughter, it's a queer father'd be leaving me lonesome these twelve hours of dark, and I piling the turf with the dogs barking, and the calves mooing, and my own teeth rattling with the fear.

JIMMY flatteringly. What is there to hurt you and you a fine, hardy girl would knock the head of any two men in the place.

PEGEEN working herself up. Isn't there the harvest boys with their tongues red for drink, and the ten tinkers is camped in the east glen, and the thousand militia – bad cess to them! – walking idle through the land? There's lots surely to hurt me, and I won't stop alone in it, let himself do what he will.

MICHAEL. If you're that afeard, let Shawn Keogh stop along with you. It's the will of God, I'm thinking, himself should be seeing to you now. They all turn on Shawn.

SHAWN in horrified confusion. I would and welcome, Michael James; but I'm afeard of Father Reilly, and what at all would the Holy Father and the Cardinals of Rome be saying if they heard I did the like of that?

MICHAEL with contempt. God help you! Can't you sit in by the hearth with the light lit and herself beyond in the room? You'll do that surely, for I've heard tell there's a queer fellow above going mad or getting his death, maybe, in the gripe of the ditch, so she'd be safer this night with a person here.

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.