It’s a long time we’ll be, and the two of us crying.
NORA.
Goes to the inner door and listens.—She’s moving about on the bed. She’ll be coming in a minute.
CATHLEEN.
Give me the ladder, and I’ll put them up in the turf-loft, the way she won’t know of them at all, and maybe when the tide turns she’ll be going down to see would he be floating from the east.
[They put the ladder against the gable of the chimney; Cathleen goes up a few steps and hides the bundle in the turf-loft. Maurya comes from the inner room.]
MAURYA.
Looking up at Cathleen and speaking querulously.—Isn’t it turf enough you have for this day and evening?
CATHLEEN.
There’s a cake baking at the fire for a short space. [Throwing down the turf] and Bartley will want it when the tide turns if he goes to Connemara.
[Nora picks up the turf and puts it round the pot-oven.]
MAURYA.
Sitting down on a stool at the fire.—He won’t go this day with the wind rising from the south and west. He won’t go this day, for the young priest will stop him surely.
NORA.
He’ll not stop him, mother, and I heard Eamon Simon and Stephen Pheety and Colum Shawn saying he would go.
MAURYA.
Where is he itself?