TIMMY.
Did ever you hear tell of a place across a bit of the sea, where there is an island, and the grave of the four beautiful saints?
MARY DOUL.
I’ve heard people have walked round from the west and they speaking of that.
TIMMY.
impressively. — There’s a green ferny well, I’m told, behind of that place, and if you put a drop of the water out of it on the eyes of a blind man, you’ll make him see as well as any person is walking the world.
MARTIN DOUL.
with excitement. — Is that the truth, Timmy? I’m thinking you’re telling a lie.
TIMMY.
gruffly. — That’s the truth, Martin Doul, and you may believe it now, for you’re after believing a power of things weren’t as likely at all.
MARY DOUL.
Maybe we could send us a young lad to bring us the water. I could wash a naggin bottle in the morning, and I’m thinking Patch Ruadh would go for it, if we gave him a good drink, and the bit of money we have hid in the thatch.
TIMMY.
It’d be no good to be sending a sinful man the like of ourselves, for I’m told the holiness of the water does be getting soiled with the villainy of your heart, the time you’d be carrying it, and you looking round on the girls, maybe, or drinking a small sup at a still.
MARTIN DOUL.
with disappointment. — It’d be a long terrible way to be walking ourselves, and I’m thinking that’s a wonder will bring small joy to us at all.
TIMMY.
turning on him impatiently. — What is it you want with your walking? It’s as deaf as blind you’re growing if you’re not after hearing me say it’s in this place the wonder would be done.
MARTIN DOUL.
with a flash of anger. — If it is can’t you open the big slobbering mouth you have and say what way it’ll be done, and not be making blather till the fall of night.