The Boy. Not them. They'd as soon think o' feedin' a telephone or an automobile as me.
The Woman. But don't they ask ye in to get warm whin ye've maybe come so far?
The Boy. No, they don't seem to look at me 'zacly like a caller. They generally steps out long enough to sign the receipt-book an' shut the front door behin' 'em so as not to let the house get col' the length o' time I'm standin' there. Well, I'm awful much obleeged to ye. Now, I got to be movin' on.
The Old Woman. Sthop an' cilibrate the Christmas wid us. We ain't started to do nothin' yet because the girls haven't come—they know how [nodding her head]—an' they're goin' to bring things—all kinds o' good things to ate an' a branch of rowan berries—ah, boy, a great branch o' rowan wid scarlet berries shinin' [gesticulating and with gleaming eyes], an' we'll all be merry an' kape it up late into the night.
The Boy [in a little fear of her]. I guess it's pretty late now. I got to make that trip an' I guess when I get home I'll be so sleepy I'll jus' tumble in. Ye've been awful good to me, an' it's the first time I been warm to-day. Good-by. [He starts toward the door, but the Old Woman follows him and speaks to him coaxingly.]
The Old Woman. Ah, don't ye go, Michael, lad! Now, bide wid us a bit. [The Boy, surprised at the name, looks queerly at the Old Woman, who then stretches out her arms to him, and says beseechingly:] Ah, boy, ah, Mike, bide wid us, now ye've come! We've been that lonesome widout ye!
The Boy [frightened and shaking his head]. I've got to be movin'.
The Old Woman. No, Michael, little lamb, no!
The Boy [almost terrified, watching her with staring eyes, and backing out]. I got to go! [The Boy goes out, and the Old Woman breaks into weeping, totters over to her old rocking-chair and drops into it, rocks to and fro, wailing to herself.]
The Old Woman. Oh, to have him come an' go again, my little Michael, my own little lad!