SARAH
musingly.—I’m thinking there isn’t anything ails me, Michael Byrne; but the spring-time is a queer time, and it’s queer thoughts maybe I do think at whiles.
MICHAEL
It’s hard set you’d be to think queerer than welcome, Sarah Casey; but what will you gain dragging me to the priest this night, I’m saying, when it’s new thoughts you’ll be thinking at the dawn of day?
SARAH
teasingly.—It’s at the dawn of day I do be thinking I’d have a right to be going off to the rich tinkers do be travelling from Tibradden to the Tara Hill; for it’d be a fine life to be driving with young Jaunting Jim, where there wouldn’t be any big hills to break the back of you, with walking up and walking down.
MICHAEL
with dismay.—It’s the like of that you do be thinking!
SARAH
The like of that, Michael Byrne, when there is a bit of sun in it, and a kind air, and a great smell coming from the thorn-trees is above your head.
MICHAEL
looks at her for a moment with horror, and then hands her the ring.—Will that fit you now?
SARAH
trying it on.—It’s making it tight you are, and the edges sharp on the tin.
MICHAEL
looking at it carefully.—It’s the fat of your own finger, Sarah Casey; and isn’t it a mad thing I’m saying again that you’d be asking marriage of me, or making a talk of going away from me, and you thriving and getting your good health by the grace of the Almighty God?
SARAH
giving it back to him.—Fix it now, and it’ll do, if you’re wary you don’t squeeze it again.
MICHAEL
moodily, working again.—It’s easy saying be wary; there’s many things easy said, Sarah Casey, you’d wonder a fool even would be saying at all. (He starts violently.) The divil mend you, I’m scalded again!