_Flannery_: So you might be, too. All I have that might protect you I offer free, and that's this good umbrella that was given to me in a rainstorm by a priest. _(Holds it out.)_

_Rock_: And what do you say to me giving you the loan of your charges for the road?

_Conan_: Come in here, Maryanne! and give a gla.s.s to these honest men till they'll wish me good luck upon my journey, as it's much I'll need it, with the weight of all I have to do.

_Mother: (Coming in.)_ So I will, so I will and welcome ...but that I disremember where did I put the key of the chest.

_Conan_: I'll engage you do! There it is before you in the lock since ere yesterday. _(Mother puts bottle and gla.s.ses on table.)_

_Flannery: (Lifting gla.s.s.)_ That you may bring great good to Ireland and to the world!

_Rock_: Here's your good health!

_Conan_: I'm obliged to you!

_Rock and Flannery: (Sing.) (Air, "The Cruiskeen lan.")_

"Gramachree ma cruiskeen Slainte geal mavourneen, Gramachree a cool-in bawn, bawn, bawn, ban-ban-ban, Oh, Gra-ma-chree a cool-in bawn."

_(They nod as they finish and take out their pipes and sit down. A banging is heard.)_

_Conan_: What disturbance is that?

_(Celia comes in, her hair screwed up tight, skirt tucked up, is carrying a pail, brush, cloth, etc., lets them drop and proceeds to fasten up skirt.)_

_Mother_: Ah, Celia, what is on you? I never saw you that way before.

_Conan_: Ha! Very good! I think that you will say there is a great change come upon her, and a right change.

_Celia_: Look now at the floor the way it is.

_Mother_: I see no other way but the way it is always.

_Celia_: There's a bit of soot after falling down the chimney. _(Picks up tongs.)_

_Mother:_ Ah, leave it now, dear, a while.

_Celia_: Anything has to be done, the quickest way to do it is the best. _(Having taken up soot, flings down tongs.)_

_Conan_: Listen to that! Now am I able to work wonders?

_Rock_: It is that you have spent on her a blast?

_Conan_: If I did it was well spent.

_Flannery_: I'm in dread you have been robbing the poor.

_Rock_: It is myself you have robbed doing that.

You have no call to be using those blasts for your own profit!

_Conan_: I have every right to bring order in my own dwelling before I can do any other thing!

_Celia_: All the dust of the world's roads is gathered in this kitchen. The whole place ate with filth and dirt.

_(Begins to sweep.)_

_Conan_: Ah, you needn't hardly go as far as that.

_Celia_: Anything that is worth doing is worth doing well. _(To Rock.)_ Look now at the marks of your boots upon the ground. Get up out of that till I'll bustle it with the broom!

_Rock: (Getting up.)_ There is a change indeed and a queer change. Where she used to be singing she is screeching the same as a slate where you'd be casting sums!

_Celia: (To Flannery.)_ What's that I see in under your chair? Rise up. _(He gets up.)_ It's a pin! _(Sticks it in her dress.)_ Everything in its right place! _(Goes on flicking at the furniture.)_

_Mother_: Leave now knocking the furniture to flitters.

_Celia_: I will not, till I'll free it from the dust and dander of the year.

_Mother_: That'll do now. I see no dust.

_Celia_: You'll see it presently. _(Sweeps up a cloud.)_

_Mother_: Let you speak to her, Conan.

_Conan_: Leave now buzzing and banging about the room the same as a fly without a head!

_Celia_: Never put off till to-morrow what you can do to-day.

_Conan_: I tell you I have things to settle and to say before the car will come that is to bring me on my road to Dublin.

_Celia: (Stopping short.)_ Is it that you are going to Dublin?

_Conan_: I am, and within the hour.

_Celia_: Pull off those boots from your feet!

_Conan_: I will not! Let you leave my boots alone!

_Celia_: You are not going out of the house with that slovenly appearance on you! To have it said out in Dublin that you are a cla.s.s of man never has clean boots but of a Sunday!

_Conan_: They'll do well enough without you meddling!

_Celia_: Clean them yourself so! _(Gives him a rag and blacking and goes on dusting.)_

_(Sings.) (Air, "City of Sligo.")_

"We may tramp the earth For all that we're worth, But what odds where you and I go, We never shall meet A spot so sweet As the beautiful city of Sligo."