Mrs. O'Toole. Sure and it is Christmas Eve, isn't it?
Mrs. Mulligan. Indade it is, and for the sake of the holy eve, I think ye'd best be after forgiving the poor goat and not harbor any ill feeling agin him on Christmas Day.
Mrs. O'Toole. Harbor ill feeling, is it? Faith, then I'll not, Mollie Mulligan, and it's meself that'll be bringing over a big cabbage head on the morning for Shamus O'Brien's Christmas dinner.
Mrs. Mulligan (rises). I'll be after tidying up the house a bit. It's little enough I've got for the children's Christmas tomorrow morning; but at least I can have me house in order and a burning candle shining in the windy. (Lights candle and sets it on table in front of the window.)
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This light shall burn on Christmas Day, For Him who in the manger lay, And all are welcome at my door, The high, the low, the rich, the poor, And every heart shall sing again Of peace on earth, good will to men. |
Mrs. O'Toole (rises). Your burning candle takes me back again to the days of me childhood in County Clare. Well do I mind me last Christmas Eve in ould Ireland, the little thatched cabin with its one window, the stinging smoke of the peat fire, the lads and the colleens and the ould piper—and the merry dances and songs, do ye remember, Mollie, darling? (Puts arms on hips, wags head from side to side and sings briskly:)
