[Village roadside, on left the door of a forge, with broken wheels, etc., lying about. A well near centre, with board above it, and room to pass behind it. Martin Doul is sitting near forge, cutting sticks.]
TIMMY.
heard hammering inside forge, then calls. — Let you make haste out there.... I’ll be putting up new fires at the turn of day, and you haven’t the half of them cut yet.
MARTIN DOUL.
gloomily. — It’s destroyed I’ll be whacking your old thorns till the turn of day, and I with no food in my stomach would keep the life in a pig. (He turns towards the door.) Let you come out here and cut them yourself if you want them cut, for there’s an hour every day when a man has a right to his rest.
TIMMY.
coming out, with a hammer, impatiently. — Do you want me to be driving you off again to be walking the roads? There you are now, and I giving you your food, and a corner to sleep, and money with it; and, to hear the talk of you, you’d think I was after beating you, or stealing your gold.
MARTIN DOUL.
You’d do it handy, maybe, if I’d gold to steal.
TIMMY.
throws down hammer; picks up some of the sticks already cut, and throws them into door. There’s no fear of your having gold — a lazy, basking fool the like of you.
MARTIN DOUL.
No fear, maybe, and I here with yourself, for it’s more I got a while since and I sitting blinded in Grianan, than I get in this place working hard, and destroying myself, the length of the day.
TIMMY.
stopping with amazement. — Working hard? (He goes over to him.) I’ll teach you to work hard, Martin Doul. Strip off your coat now, and put a tuck in your sleeves, and cut the lot of them, while I’d rake the ashes from the forge, or I’ll not put up with you another hour itself.
MARTIN DOUL.
horrified. — Would you have me getting my death sitting out in the black wintry air with no coat on me at all?
TIMMY.
with authority. — Strip it off now, or walk down upon the road.