TIMMY.
pityingly. — The two of you will see a great wonder this day, and it’s no lie.
MARTIN DOUL.
I’ve heard tell her yellow hair, and her white skin, and her big eyes are a wonder, surely.
BRIDE.
who has looked out left. — Here’s the saint coming from the selvage of the wood.... Strip the cloak from him, Molly, or he’ll be seeing it now.
MOLLY BYRNE.
hastily to Bride. — Take the bell and put yourself by the stones. (To Martin Doul.) Will you hold your head up till I loosen the cloak? (She pulls off the cloak and throws it over her arm. Then she pushes Martin Doul over and stands him beside Mary Doul.) Stand there now, quiet, and let you not be saying a word.
[She and Bride stand a little on their left, demurely, with bell, etc., in their hands.]
MARTIN DOUL.
nervously arranging his clothes. — Will he mind the way we are, and not tidied or washed cleanly at all?
MOLLY BYRNE.
He’ll not see what way you are.... He’d walk by the finest woman in Ireland, I’m thinking, and not trouble to raise his two eyes to look upon her face.... Whisht!
[The Saint comes left, with crowd.]
SAINT.
Are these the two poor people?
TIMMY.
officiously. — They are, holy father; they do be always sitting here at the crossing of the roads, asking a bit of copper from them that do pass, or stripping rushes for lights, and they not mournful at all, but talking out straight with a full voice, and making game with them that likes it.