(MAGISTRATE and POLICEMAN go out left.)
MRS. TARPEY. Bad luck to Jo Muldoon, knocking my apples this way and that way. (Begins arranging them.) Showing off he was to the new magistrate.
(Enter BARTLEY FALLON and MRS. FALLON.)
BARTLEY. Indeed it's a poor country and a scarce country to be living in. But I'm thinking if I went to America it's long ago the day I'd be dead!
MRS. FALLON. So you might, indeed.
(She puts her basket on a barrel and begins putting parcels in it, taking them from under her cloak.)
BARTLEY. And it's a great expense for a poor man to be buried in
America.
MRS. FALLON. Never fear, Bartley Fallon, but I'll give you a good burying the day you'll die.
BARTLEY. Maybe it's yourself will be buried in the graveyard of Cloonmara before me, Mary Fallon, and I myself that will be dying unbeknownst some night, and no one a-near me. And the cat itself may be gone straying through the country, and the mice squealing over the quilt.
MRS. FALLON. Leave off talking of dying. It might be twenty years you'll be living yet.