_Celia_: It is better to be tied to any th.o.r.n.y bush than to be with a cross man. He to know the seventy-two languages he couldn't be more crabbed than what he is.

_Mother_: It is natural to people do be so clever to be fiery a little, and not have a long patience.

_Celia_: It's a pity he wouldn't stop in that school he had down in the North, and not to come back here in the latter end of life.

_Mother_: Ah, he was maybe tired with enlightening his scholars and he took a notion to acquaint ourselves with knowledge and learning. I was trying to reckon a while ago the number of the years he was away, according to the b.u.t.tons of my gown (_fingers bodice_), but they went astray on me at the gathers of the neck.

_Celia_: If the hour would come he'd go out of this, I'd sing, I'd play on all the melodeons that ever was known! (_Sings_.) (_Air, "Shule Aroon_.")

"I would not wish him any ill, But were he swept to some far hill It's then I'd laugh and laugh my fill, Coo, Coo, my birdeen ban astore.

"I wish I was a linnet free To rock and rustle on the tree With none to haste or hustle me, Coo, Coo, my birdeen ban astore!"

_Mother_: Did you make ready now what will please him for his breakfast?

_Celia_: (_Laughing_.) I'm doing every whole thing, but you know well to please him is not possible.

_Mother_: It is going astray on me what sort of egg best suits him, a pullet's egg or the egg of a duck.

_Celia_: I'd go search out if it would satisfy him the egg of an eagle having eyes as big as the moon, and feathers of pure gold.

_Mother_: Look out again would you see him.

_Celia_: (_Sitting up reluctantly_.) I wonder will the rosy ribbon or the pale put the best appearance on my party dress to-night? (_Looks out_.) He is coming down the path from the rath, and he having his little old book in his hand, that he gives out fell down before him from the skies.

_Mother_: So there is a little book, whatever language he does be wording out of it.

_Celia_: If you listen you'll hear it now, or hear his own talk, for he's mouthing and muttering as he travels the path.

_Conan_: (_Comes in: the book in his hand open, he is not looking at it_.) "Life is the flame of the heart ...that heat is of the nature of the stars." ...It is Aristotle had knowledge to turn that flame here and there.... What way now did he do that?

_Mother_: Ah, I'm well pleased to see you coming in, Conan. I was getting uneasy thinking you were gone astray on us.

_Conan_: (_Dropping his book and picking it up again_.) I never knew the like of you, Maryanne, under the canopy of heaven. To be questioning me with your talk, and I striving to keep my mind upon all the wisdom of the ancient world. (_Sits down beside fire_.)

_Mother_: So you would be too. It is well able you are to do that.

_Conan_: (_To Celia_.) Have you e'er a meal to leave down to me?

_Celia_: It will be ready within three minutes of time.

_Conan_: Wasting the morning on me! What good are you if you cannot so much as boil the breakfast? Hurry on now.

_Celia_: Ah, hurry didn't save the hare. (_Sings ironically as she prepares breakfast_.) (_Air, "Mo Bhuachailin Buidhe_.")

"Come in the evening or come in the morning, Come when you're looked for or come without warning; Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you And the oftner you come here the more I'll adore you."

_Conan_: Give me up the tea-pot.

_Celia_: Best leave it on the coals awhile.

_Conan_: Give me up those eggs so. (_Seizes them_.)

_Celia_: You can take the tea-pot too if you are calling for it. (_Goes on singing mischievously as she turns a cake_.)

"I'll pull you sweet flowers to wear if you'll choose them, Or after you've kissed them they'll lie on my bosom."

_Conan_: (_Breaking eggs_.) They're raw and running!

_Celia_: There's no one can say which is best, hurry or delay.

_Conan_: You had them boiled in cold water!

_Celia_: That's where you're wrong.

_Conan_: The young people that's in the world now, if you had book truth they wouldn't believe it. (_Flings eggs into the fire and pours out tea_.)

_Mother_: I hope now that is pleasing to you?

_Conan_: (_Threatening Celia with spoon_.) My seven curses on yourself and your fair-haired tea.

(_Puts back tea-pot_.)

_Celia_: (_Laughing_.) It was hurry left it so weak on you!

_Mother_: Ah, don't be putting reproaches on him. Crossness is a thing born with us. It do run in the blood. Strive now to let him have a quiet life.

_Conan_: I am not asking a quiet life! But to come live with your own family you might as well take your coffin on your back!

_Celia_: (_Sings_.)

"We'll look on the stars and we'll list to the river 'Till you ask of your darling what gift you can give her."

_Conan_: That girl is a disgrace sitting on the floor the way she is! If I had her for a while I'd put betterment on her. No one that was under me ever grew slack!

_Celia_: _You_ would never be satisfied and you to see me working from dark to dark as hard as a pismire in the tufts.

_Mother_: Leave her now, she's a quiet little girl and comely.

_Conan_: Comely! I'd sooner her to be like the ugliest sod of turf that is pockmarked in the bog, and a handy housekeeper, and her pigeon doing something for the world if it was but scaring its comrades on a stick in a barley garden!

_Celia_: Ah, do you hear him! (_Stroking pigeon_.) (_Sings_.)

"But when your friend is forced to flee You'll spread your white wings on the sea And fly and follow after me-- Go-de tu Mavourneen slan!"

_Mother_: I wonder you to be going into the rath the way you do, Conan. It is a very haunted place.

_Conan_: Don't be bothering me. I have my reason for that.