_1st Cat_:

Punishment enough he'll find In his cross and cranky mind.

Ha, ha, ha, and ho, ho, ho, He'd a sharper penance know,

We'd have better sport to-day If he got his will and way,

Found the spell that lies unknown Underneath his own hearthstone.

(_They disappear saying together_:)

Men and mortals what are ye Matched against the mighty Sidhe?

_Conan_: (_Looking out timidly_.) Are they gone?

Here, Puss, puss! Come hither now poor Puss!

They're not in it.... Here now! here's milk for ye. And a drop of cream.... (_Gets up, peeps under settle and around_.) They are gone!

And that they may never come back! I wouldn't wish to be brought riding a th.o.r.n.y bush in the night time into the cold that is behind the sun! What now did they say? Or is it dreaming I was? Oh, it was not! They spoke clear and plain. The hidden spell that I was seeking, they said it to be in the hiding hole under the hearth. (_Pokes, sneezes_.) Bad cess to Celia leaving that much ashes to be choking me. Well, the luck has come to me at last!

(_Sings as he searches_.)

"Proudly the note of the trumpet is sounding, Loudly the war cries rise on the gale; Fleetly the steed by Lough Sw.i.l.l.y is bounding To join the thick squadrons in Saimear's green vale.

On every mountaineer, strangers to flight and fear; Rush to the standard of dauntless Red Hugh Bonnaught and gallowgla.s.s, throng from each mountain pa.s.s.

On for old Erin, O'Donnall Abu."

(_Pokes at hearthstone_.) Sure enough, it's loose! It's moving! Wait till I'll get a wedge under it!

(_Takes fork from table_.) It's coming!

(_Door suddenly opens and he drops fork and springs back_.)

_Mother_: (_Coming in with Rock and Flannery_.) Here now, come in the two of ye. Here now, Conan, is two of the neighbours, James Rock of Lis Crohan and Fardy Flannery the rambling herd, that are come to get a light for the pipe and they walking the road from the Fair.

_Conan_: That's the way you make a fool of me promising me peace and quiet for to sleep!

_Mother_: Ah, so I believe I did. But it slipped away from me, and I listening to the blackbird on the bush.

_Conan_: (_To Rock_.) I wonder, James Rock, that you wouldn't have on you so much as a halfpenny box of matches!

_Rock_: (_Trying to get to hearth_.) So I have matches. But why would I spend one when I can get for nothing a light from a sod?

_Flannery_: Sure, I could give you a match I have this long time, waiting till I'll get as much tobacco as will fill a pipe.

_Mother_: It's the poor man does be generous.

It's gone from my mind, Fardy, what was it brought you to be a servant of poverty?

_Flannery_: Since the day I lost on the road my forty pound that I had to stock my little farm of land, all has wore away from me and left me bare owning nothing unless daylight and the run of water. It was that put me on the Shaughrann.

(_Sings "The Bard of Armagh."_)

"Oh, list to the lay of a poor Irish harper, And scorn not the strains of his old withered hand, But remember the fingers could once move sharper To raise the merry strains of his dear native land; It was long before the shamrock our dear isle's loved emblem.

Was crushed in its beauty 'neath the Saxon Lion's paw I was called by the colleens of the village and valley Bold Phelim Brady, the bard of Armagh."

_Rock_: Bad management! Look what I brought from the Fair through minding my own property--20 for a milch cow, and thirty for a score of lambs!

_Mother_: 20 for a cow! Isn't that terrible money!

_Conan_: Let you whist now! You are putting a headache on me with all your little newses and country chat!

(_Mother goes, the others are following_.)

_Rock_: (_Turning from door_.) It might be better for yourself, Conan Creevey, if you had minded business would bring profit to your hand in place of your foreign learning, that never put a penny piece in anyone's pocket that ever I heard. No earthly profit unless to addle the brain and leave the pocket empty.

_Conan_: You think yourself a great sort! Let me tell you that my learning has power to do more than that!

_Rock_: It's an empty mouth that has big talk.

_Conan_: What would you say hearing I had power put in my hand that could change the entire world? And that's what you never will have power to do.

_Rock_: What power is that?

_Conan_:

Aristotle in the hour He left Ireland left a power....

_Rock_: Foolishness! I never would believe in poetry or in dreams or images, but in ready money down. (_Jingles bag_.)

_Conan_: I tell you you'll see me getting the victory over all Ireland!

_Rock_: You have but a cracked headpiece thinking that will come to you.

_Conan_: I tell you it will! No end at all in the world to what I am about to bring in!

_Rock_: It's easy praise yourself!

_Conan_: And so I am praising myself, and so will you all be praising me when you will see all that I will do!

_Rock_: It is what I think you got demented in the head and in the mind.

_Conan_: It is soon the wheel will be turned and the whole of the nation will be changed for the best. (_Sings_.)

"Dear Harp of my country, in darkness I found thee, The cold chain of silence had hung o'er thee long, When proudly, my own Irish Harp, I unbound thee, And gave all thy chords to light, freedom and song, The warm lay of love and the light note of gladness Have waken'd thy fondest, thy liveliest thrill; But so oft hast thou echo'd the deep sigh of sadness, That ev'n in thy mirth it will steal from thee still."

_Flannery_: That's a great thought, if it is but a vanity or a dream.

_Rock_: (_Sneeringly_.) Well now and what would _you_ do?

_Flannery_: I would wish a great lake of milk, the same as blessed St. Bridget, to be sharing with the family of Heaven. I would wish vessels full of alms that would save every sorrowful man. Do that now, Conan, and you'll have the world of prayers down on you!