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diff --git a/1618-0.txt b/1618-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..551a767 --- /dev/null +++ b/1618-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1130 @@ + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of In the Shadow of the Glen, by J. M. Synge + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: In the Shadow of the Glen + +Author: J. M. Synge + +Release Date: November 7, 2008 [Etext #1618] +Last Updated: June 21, 2019 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN THE SHADOW OF THE GLEN *** + + + + +Produced by Judy Boss, and David Widger + + + +cover + + + +IN THE SHADOW OF THE GLEN + +A PLAY IN ONE ACT + +By J. M. Synge + + First performed at the Molesworth Hall, Dublin, October 8th, 1903. + + +PERSONS + +DAN BURKE (_farmer and herd_) George Roberts NORA BURKE (_his +wife_) Maire Nic Shiubhlaigh MICHEAL DARA (_a young herd_) P. J. +Kelly A TRAMP W. G. Fay + + +SCENE.—_The last cottage at the head of a long glen in County Wicklow._ + +(_Cottage kitchen; turf fire on the right; a bed near it against the +wall with a body lying on it covered with a sheet. A door is at the +other end of the room, with a low table near it, and stools, or wooden +chairs. There are a couple of glasses on the table, and a bottle of +whisky, as if for a wake, with two cups, a teapot, and a home-made +cake. There is another small door near the bed. Nora Burke is moving +about the room, settling a few things, and lighting candles on the +table, looking now and then at the bed with an uneasy look. Some one +knocks softly at the door. She takes up a stocking with money from the +table and puts it in her pocket. Then she opens the door._) + +TRAMP. +(_Outside._) Good evening to you, lady of the house. + +NORA. +Good evening, kindly stranger, it’s a wild night, God help you, to be +out in the rain falling. + +TRAMP. +It is, surely, and I walking to Brittas from the Aughrim fair. + +NORA. +Is it walking on your feet, stranger? + +TRAMP. +On my two feet, lady of the house, and when I saw the light below I +thought maybe if you’d a sup of new milk and a quiet decent corner +where a man could sleep (_he looks in past her and sees the dead man._) +The Lord have mercy on us all! + +NORA. +It doesn’t matter anyway, stranger, come in out of the rain. + +TRAMP. +(_Coming in slowly and going towards the bed._) Is it departed he is? + +NORA. +It is, stranger. He’s after dying on me, God forgive him, and there I +am now with a hundred sheep beyond on the hills, and no turf drawn for +the winter. + +TRAMP. +(_Looking closely at the dead man._) It’s a queer look is on him for a +man that’s dead. + +NORA. +(_Half-humorously._) He was always queer, stranger, and I suppose them +that’s queer and they living men will be queer bodies after. + +TRAMP. +Isn’t it a great wonder you’re letting him lie there, and he is not +tidied, or laid out itself? + +NORA. +(_Coming to the bed._) I was afeard, stranger, for he put a black curse +on me this morning if I’ld touch his body the time he’ld die sudden, or +let any one touch it except his sister only, and it’s ten miles away +she lives in the big glen over the hill. + +TRAMP. +(_Looking at her and nodding slowly._) It’s a queer story he wouldn’t +let his own wife touch him, and he dying quiet in his bed. + +NORA. +He was an old man, and an odd man, stranger, and it’s always up on the +hills he was thinking thoughts in the dark mist. (_She pulls back a bit +of the sheet._) Lay your hand on him now, and tell me if it’s cold he +is surely. + +TRAMP. +Is it getting the curse on me you’ld be, woman of the house? I wouldn’t +lay my hand on him for the Lough Nahanagan and it filled with gold. + +NORA. +(_Looking uneasily at the body._) Maybe cold would be no sign of death +with the like of him, for he was always cold, every day since I knew +him,—and every night, stranger,—(_she covers up his face and comes away +from the bed_); but I’m thinking it’s dead he is surely, for he’s +complaining a while back of a pain in his heart, and this morning, the +time he was going off to Brittas for three days or four, he was taken +with a sharp turn. Then he went into his bed and he was saying it was +destroyed he was, the time the shadow was going up through the glen, +and when the sun set on the bog beyond he made a great lep, and let a +great cry out of him, and stiffened himself out the like of a dead +sheep. + +TRAMP. +(_Crosses himself._) God rest his soul. + +NORA. +(_Pouring him out a glass of whisky._) Maybe that would do you better +than the milk of the sweetest cow in County Wicklow. + +TRAMP. +The Almighty God reward you, and may it be to your good health. (_He +drinks._) + +NORA. +(_Giving him a pipe and tobacco._) I’ve no pipes saving his own, +stranger, but they’re sweet pipes to smoke. + +TRAMP. +Thank you kindly, lady of the house. + +NORA. +Sit down now, stranger, and be taking your rest. + +TRAMP. +(_Filling a pipe and looking about the room._) I’ve walked a great way +through the world, lady of the house, and seen great wonders, but I +never seen a wake till this day with fine spirits, and good tobacco, +and the best of pipes, and no one to taste them but a woman only. + +NORA. +Didn’t you hear me say it was only after dying on me he was when the +sun went down, and how would I go out into the glen and tell the +neighbours, and I a lone woman with no house near me? + +TRAMP. +(_Drinking._) There’s no offence, lady of the house? + +NORA. +No offence in life, stranger. How would the like of you, passing in the +dark night, know the lonesome way I was with no house near me at all? + +TRAMP. +(_Sitting down._) I knew rightly. (_He lights his pipe so that there is +a sharp light beneath his haggard face._) And I was thinking, and I +coming in through the door, that it’s many a lone woman would be afeard +of the like of me in the dark night, in a place wouldn’t be so lonesome +as this place, where there aren’t two living souls would see the little +light you have shining from the glass. + +NORA. +(_Slowly._) I’m thinking many would be afeard, but I never knew what +way I’d be afeard of beggar or bishop or any man of you at all. (_She +looks towards the window and lowers her voice._) It’s other things than +the like of you, stranger, would make a person afeard. + +TRAMP. +(_Looking round with a half-shudder._) It is surely, God help us all! + +NORA. +(_Looking at him for a moment with curiosity._) You’re saying that, +stranger, as if you were easy afeard. + +TRAMP. +(_Speaking mournfully._) Is it myself, lady of the house, that does be +walking round in the long nights, and crossing the hills when the fog +is on them, the time a little stick would seem as big as your arm, and +a rabbit as big as a bay horse, and a stack of turf as big as a +towering church in the city of Dublin? If myself was easily afeard, I’m +telling you, it’s long ago I’ld have been locked into the Richmond +Asylum, or maybe have run up into the back hills with nothing on me but +an old shirt, and been eaten with crows the like of Patch Darcy—the +Lord have mercy on him—in the year that’s gone. + +NORA. +(_With interest._) You knew Darcy? + +TRAMP. +Wasn’t I the last one heard his living voice in the whole world? + +NORA. +There were great stories of what was heard at that time, but would any +one believe the things they do be saying in the glen? + +TRAMP. +It was no lie, lady of the house.... I was passing below on a dark +night the like of this night, and the sheep were lying under the ditch +and every one of them coughing, and choking, like an old man, with the +great rain and the fog. Then I heard a thing talking—queer talk, you +wouldn’t believe at all, and you out of your dreams,—and “Merciful +God,” says I, “if I begin hearing the like of that voice out of the +thick mist, I’m destroyed surely.” Then I run, and I run, and I run, +till I was below in Rathvanna. I got drunk that night, I got drunk in +the morning, and drunk the day after,—I was coming from the races +beyond—and the third day they found Darcy.... Then I knew it was +himself I was after hearing, and I wasn’t afeard any more. + +NORA. +(_Speaking sorrowfully and slowly._) God spare Darcy, he’ld always look +in here and he passing up or passing down, and it’s very lonesome I was +after him a long while (_she looks over at the bed and lowers her +voice, speaking very clearly,_) and then I got happy again—if it’s ever +happy we are, stranger,—for I got used to being lonesome. (_A short +pause; then she stands up._) + +NORA. +Was there any one on the last bit of the road, stranger, and you coming +from Aughrim? + +TRAMP. +There was a young man with a drift of mountain ewes, and he running +after them this way and that. + +NORA. +(_With a half-smile._) Far down, stranger? + +TRAMP. +A piece only. + +(_She fills the kettle and puts it on the fire._) + +NORA. +Maybe, if you’re not easy afeard, you’ld stay here a short while alone +with himself. + +TRAMP. +I would surely. A man that’s dead can do no hurt. + +NORA. +(_Speaking with a sort of constraint._) I’m going a little back to the +west, stranger, for himself would go there one night and another and +whistle at that place, and then the young man you’re after seeing—a +kind of a farmer has come up from the sea to live in a cottage +beyond—would walk round to see if there was a thing we’ld have to be +done, and I’m wanting him this night, the way he can go down into the +glen when the sun goes up and tell the people that himself is dead. + +TRAMP. +(_Looking at the body in the sheet._) It’s myself will go for him, lady +of the house, and let you not be destroying yourself with the great +rain. + +NORA. +You wouldn’t find your way, stranger, for there’s a small path only, +and it running up between two sluigs where an ass and cart would be +drowned. (_She puts a shawl over her head._) Let you be making yourself +easy, and saying a prayer for his soul, and it’s not long I’ll be +coming again. + +TRAMP. +(_Moving uneasily._) Maybe if you’d a piece of a grey thread and a +sharp needle—there’s great safety in a needle, lady of the house—I’ld +be putting a little stitch here and there in my old coat, the time I’ll +be praying for his soul, and it going up naked to the saints of God. + +NORA. +(_Takes a needle and thread from the front of her dress and gives it to +him._) There’s the needle, stranger, and I’m thinking you won’t be +lonesome, and you used to the back hills, for isn’t a dead man itself +more company than to be sitting alone, and hearing the winds crying, +and you not knowing on what thing your mind would stay? + +TRAMP. +(_Slowly._) It’s true, surely, and the Lord have mercy on us all! + +(_Nora goes out. The Tramp begins stitching one of the tags in his +coat, saying the “De Profundis” under his breath. In an instant the +sheet is drawn slowly down, and Dan Burke looks out. The Tramp moves +uneasily, then looks up, and springs to his feet with a movement of +terror._) + +DAN. +(_With a hoarse voice._) Don’t be afeard, stranger; a man that’s dead +can do no hurt. + +TRAMP. +(_Trembling._) I meant no harm, your honour; and won’t you leave me +easy to be saying a little prayer for your soul? + +(_A long whistle is heard outside._) + +DAN. +(_Sitting up in his bed and speaking fiercely._) Ah, the devil mend +her.... Do you hear that, stranger? Did ever you hear another woman +could whistle the like of that with two fingers in her mouth? (_He +looks at the table hurriedly._) I’m destroyed with the drouth, and let +you bring me a drop quickly before herself will come back. + +TRAMP. +(_Doubtfully._) Is it not dead you are? + +DAN. +How would I be dead, and I as dry as a baked bone, stranger? + +TRAMP. +(_Pouring out the whisky._) What will herself say if she smells the +stuff on you, for I’m thinking it’s not for nothing you’re letting on +to be dead? + +DAN. +It is not, stranger, but she won’t be coming near me at all, and it’s +not long now I’ll be letting on, for I’ve a cramp in my back, and my +hip’s asleep on me, and there’s been the devil’s own fly itching my +nose. It’s near dead I was wanting to sneeze, and you blathering about +the rain, and Darcy (_bitterly_)—the devil choke him—and the towering +church. (_Crying out impatiently._) Give me that whisky. Would you have +herself come back before I taste a drop at all? + +(_Tramp gives him the glass._) + +DAN. +(_After drinking._) Go over now to that cupboard, and bring me a black +stick you’ll see in the west corner by the wall. + +TRAMP. +(_Taking a stick from the cupboard_) Is it that? + +DAN. +It is, stranger; it’s a long time I’m keeping that stick for I’ve a bad +wife in the house. + +TRAMP. +(_With a queer look._) Is it herself, master of the house, and she a +grand woman to talk? + +DAN. +It’s herself, surely, it’s a bad wife she is—a bad wife for an old man, +and I’m getting old, God help me, though I’ve an arm to me still. (_He +takes the stick in his hand._) Let you wait now a short while, and it’s +a great sight you’ll see in this room in two hours or three. (_He stops +to listen._) Is that somebody above? + +TRAMP. +(_Listening._) There’s a voice speaking on the path. + +DAN. +Put that stick here in the bed and smooth the sheet the way it was +lying. (_He covers himself up hastily._) Be falling to sleep now and +don’t let on you know anything, or I’ll be having your life. I wouldn’t +have told you at all but it’s destroyed with the drouth I was. + +TRAMP. +(_Covering his head._) Have no fear, master of the house. What is it I +know of the like of you that I’ld be saying a word or putting out my +hand to stay you at all? + +(_He goes back to the fire, sits down on a stool with his back to the +bed and goes on stitching his coat._) + +DAN. +(_Under the sheet, querulously._) Stranger. + +TRAMP. +(_Quickly._) Whisht, whisht. Be quiet I’m telling you, they’re coming +now at the door. + +(_Nora comes in with Micheal Dara, a tall, innocent young man behind +her._) + +NORA. +I wasn’t long at all, stranger, for I met himself on the path. + +TRAMP. +You were middling long, lady of the house. + +NORA. +There was no sign from himself? + +TRAMP. +No sign at all, lady of the house. + +NORA. +(_To Micheal._) Go over now and pull down the sheet, and look on +himself, Micheal Dara, and you’ll see it’s the truth I’m telling you. + +MICHEAL. +I will not, Nora, I do be afeard of the dead. + +(_He sits down on a stool next the table facing the tramp. Nora puts +the kettle on a lower hook of the pot hooks, and piles turf under it._) + +NORA. +(_Turning to Tramp._) Will you drink a sup of tea with myself and the +young man, stranger, or (_speaking more persuasively_) will you go into +the little room and stretch yourself a short while on the bed, I’m +thinking it’s destroyed you are walking the length of that way in the +great rain. + +TRAMP. +Is it to go away and leave you, and you having a wake, lady of the +house? I will not surely. (_He takes a drink from his glass which he +has beside him._) And it’s none of your tea I’m asking either. + +(_He goes on stitching. Nora makes the tea._) + +MICHEAL. +(_After looking at the tramp rather scornfully for a moment._) That’s a +poor coat you have, God help you, and I’m thinking it’s a poor tailor +you are with it. + +TRAMP. +If it’s a poor tailor I am, I’m thinking it’s a poor herd does be +running back and forward after a little handful of ewes the way I seen +yourself running this day, young fellow, and you coming from the fair. + +(_Nora comes back to the table._) + +NORA. +(_To Micheal in a low voice._) Let you not mind him at all, Micheal +Dara, he has a drop taken and it’s soon he’ll be falling asleep. + +MICHEAL. +It’s no lie he’s telling, I was destroyed surely. They were that wilful +they were running off into one man’s bit of oats, and another man’s bit +of hay, and tumbling into the red bogs till it’s more like a pack of +old goats than sheep they were. Mountain ewes is a queer breed, Nora +Burke, and I’m not used to them at all. + +NORA. +(_Settling the tea things._) There’s no one can drive a mountain ewe +but the men do be reared in the Glen Malure, I’ve heard them say, and +above by Rathvanna, and the Glen Imaal, men the like of Patch Darcy, +God spare his soul, who would walk through five hundred sheep and miss +one of them, and he not reckoning them at all. + +MICHEAL. +(_Uneasily._) Is it the man went queer in his head the year that’s +gone? + +NORA. +It is surely. + +TRAMP. +(_Plaintively._) That was a great man, young fellow, a great man I’m +telling you. There was never a lamb from his own ewes he wouldn’t know +before it was marked, and he’ld run from this to the city of Dublin and +never catch for his breath. + +NORA. +(_Turning round quickly._) He was a great man surely, stranger, and +isn’t it a grand thing when you hear a living man saying a good word of +a dead man, and he mad dying? + +TRAMP. +It’s the truth I’m saying, God spare his soul. + +(_He puts the needle under the collar of his coat, and settles himself +to sleep in the chimney-corner. Nora sits down at the table; their +backs are turned to the bed._) + +MICHEAL. +(_Looking at her with a queer look._) I heard tell this day, Nora +Burke, that it was on the path below Patch Darcy would be passing up +and passing down, and I heard them say he’ld never past it night or +morning without speaking with yourself. + +NORA. +(_In a low voice._) It was no lie you heard, Micheal Dara. + +MICHEAL. +I’m thinking it’s a power of men you’re after knowing if it’s in a +lonesome place you live itself. + +NORA. +(_Giving him his tea._) It’s in a lonesome place you do have to be +talking with some one, and looking for some one, in the evening of the +day, and if it’s a power of men I’m after knowing they were fine men, +for I was a hard child to please, and a hard girl to please (_she looks +at him a little sternly_), and it’s a hard woman I am to please this +day, Micheal Dara, and it’s no lie I’m telling you. + +MICHEAL. +(_Looking over to see that the tramp is asleep, and then pointing to +the dead man._) Was it a hard woman to please you were when you took +himself for your man? + +NORA. +What way would I live and I an old woman if I didn’t marry a man with a +bit of a farm, and cows on it, and sheep on the back hills? + +MICHEAL. +(_Considering._) That’s true, Nora, and maybe it’s no fool you were, +for there’s good grazing on it, if it is a lonesome place, and I’m +thinking it’s a good sum he’s left behind. + +NORA. +(_Taking the stocking with money from her pocket, and putting it on the +table._) I do be thinking in the long nights it was a big fool I was +that time, Micheal Dara, for what good is a bit of a farm with cows on +it, and sheep on the back hills, when you do be sitting looking out +from a door the like of that door, and seeing nothing but the mists +rolling down the bog, and the mists again, and they rolling up the bog, +and hearing nothing but the wind crying out in the bits of broken trees +were left from the great storm, and the streams roaring with the rain. + +MICHEAL. +(_Looking at her uneasily._) What is it ails you, this night, Nora +Burke? I’ve heard tell it’s the like of that talk you do hear from men, +and they after being a great while on the back hills. + +NORA. +(_Putting out the money on the table._) It’s a bad night, and a wild +night, Micheal Dara, and isn’t it a great while I am at the foot of the +back hills, sitting up here boiling food for himself, and food for the +brood sow, and baking a cake when the night falls? (_She puts up the +money, listlessly, in little piles on the table._) Isn’t it a long +while I am sitting here in the winter and the summer, and the fine +spring, with the young growing behind me and the old passing, saying to +myself one time, to look on Mary Brien who wasn’t that height (_holding +out her hand_), and I a fine girl growing up, and there she is now with +two children, and another coming on her in three months or four. (_She +pauses._) + +MICHEAL. +(_Moving over three of the piles._) That’s three pounds we have now, +Nora Burke. + +NORA. +(_Continuing in the same voice._) And saying to myself another time, to +look on Peggy Cavanagh, who had the lightest hand at milking a cow that +wouldn’t be easy, or turning a cake, and there she is now walking round +on the roads, or sitting in a dirty old house, with no teeth in her +mouth, and no sense and no more hair than you’ld see on a bit of a hill +and they after burning the furze from it. + +MICHEAL. +That’s five pounds and ten notes, a good sum, surely!... It’s not that +way you’ll be talking when you marry a young man, Nora Burke, and they +were saying in the fair my lambs were the best lambs, and I got a grand +price, for I’m no fool now at making a bargain when my lambs are good. + +NORA. +What was it you got? + +MICHEAL. +Twenty pound for the lot, Nora Burke.... We’ld do right to wait now +till himself will be quiet awhile in the Seven Churches, and then +you’ll marry me in the chapel of Rathvanna, and I’ll bring the sheep up +on the bit of a hill you have on the back mountain, and we won’t have +anything we’ld be afeard to let our minds on when the mist is down. + +NORA. +(_Pouring him out some whisky._) Why would I marry you, Mike Dara? +You’ll be getting old and I’ll be getting old, and in a little while +I’m telling you, you’ll be sitting up in your bed—the way himself was +sitting—with a shake in your face, and your teeth falling, and the +white hair sticking out round you like an old bush where sheep do be +leaping a gap. + +(_Dan Burke sits up noiselessly from under the sheet, with his hand to +his face. His white hair is sticking out round his head._) + +NORA. +(_Goes on slowly without hearing him._) It’s a pitiful thing to be +getting old, but it’s a queer thing surely. It’s a queer thing to see +an old man sitting up there in his bed with no teeth in him, and a +rough word in his mouth, and his chin the way it would take the bark +from the edge of an oak board you’ld have building a door.... God +forgive me, Micheal Dara, we’ll all be getting old, but it’s a queer +thing surely. + +MICHEAL. +It’s too lonesome you are from living a long time with an old man, +Nora, and you’re talking again like a herd that would be coming down +from the thick mist (_he puts his arm round her_), but it’s a fine life +you’ll have now with a young man, a fine life surely.... + +(_Dan sneezes violently. Micheal tries to get to the door, but before +he can do so, Dan jumps out of the bed in queer white clothes, with his +stick in his hand, and goes over and puts his back against it._) + +MICHEAL. +Son of God deliver us. + +(_Crosses himself, and goes backward across the room._) + +DAN. +(_Holding up his hand at him._) Now you’ll not marry her the time I’m +rotting below in the Seven Churches, and you’ll see the thing I’ll give +you will follow you on the back mountains when the wind is high. + +MICHEAL. +(_To Nora._) Get me out of it, Nora, for the love of God. He always did +what you bid him, and I’m thinking he would do it now. + +NORA. +(_Looking at the Tramp._) Is it dead he is or living? + +DAN. +(_Turning towards her._) It’s little you care if it’s dead or living I +am, but there’ll be an end now of your fine times, and all the talk you +have of young men and old men, and of the mist coming up or going down. +(_He opens the door._) You’ll walk out now from that door, Nora Burke, +and it’s not to-morrow, or the next day, or any day of your life, that +you’ll put in your foot through it again. + +TRAMP. +(_Standing up._) It’s a hard thing you’re saying for an old man, master +of the house, and what would the like of her do if you put her out on +the roads? + +DAN. +Let her walk round the like of Peggy Cavanagh below, and be begging +money at the cross-road, or selling songs to the men. (_To Nora._) Walk +out now, Nora Burke, and it’s soon you’ll be getting old with that +life, I’m telling you; it’s soon your teeth’ll be falling and your +head’ll be the like of a bush where sheep do be leaping a gap. + +(_He pauses: she looks round at Micheal._) + +MICHEAL. +(_Timidly._) There’s a fine Union below in Rathdrum. + +DAN. +The like of her would never go there.... It’s lonesome roads she’ll be +going and hiding herself away till the end will come, and they find her +stretched like a dead sheep with the frost on her, or the big spiders, +maybe, and they putting their webs on her, in the butt of a ditch. + +NORA. +(_Angrily._) What way will yourself be that day, Daniel Burke? What way +will you be that day and you lying down a long while in your grave? For +it’s bad you are living, and it’s bad you’ll be when you’re dead. (_She +looks at him a moment fiercely, then half turns away and speaks +plaintively again._) Yet, if it is itself, Daniel Burke, who can help +it at all, and let you be getting up into your bed, and not be taking +your death with the wind blowing on you, and the rain with it, and you +half in your skin. + +DAN. +It’s proud and happy you’ld be if I was getting my death the day I was +shut of yourself. (_Pointing to the door._) Let you walk out through +that door, I’m telling you, and let you not be passing this way if it’s +hungry you are, or wanting a bed. + +TRAMP. +(_Pointing to Micheal._) Maybe himself would take her. + +NORA. +What would he do with me now? + +TRAMP. +Give you the half of a dry bed, and good food in your mouth. + +DAN. +Is it a fool you think him, stranger, or is it a fool you were born +yourself? Let her walk out of that door, and let you go along with her, +stranger—if it’s raining itself—for it’s too much talk you have surely. + +TRAMP. +(_Going over to Nora._) We’ll be going now, lady of the house—the rain +is falling, but the air is kind and maybe it’ll be a grand morning by +the grace of God. + +NORA. +What good is a grand morning when I’m destroyed surely, and I going out +to get my death walking the roads? + +TRAMP. +You’ll not be getting your death with myself, lady of the house, and I +knowing all the ways a man can put food in his mouth.... We’ll be going +now, I’m telling you, and the time you’ll be feeling the cold, and the +frost, and the great rain, and the sun again, and the south wind +blowing in the glens, you’ll not be sitting up on a wet ditch, the way +you’re after sitting in the place, making yourself old with looking on +each day, and it passing you by. You’ll be saying one time, “It’s a +grand evening, by the grace of God,” and another time, “It’s a wild +night, God help us, but it’ll pass surely.” You’ll be saying— + +DAN. +(_Goes over to them crying out impatiently._) Go out of that door, I’m +telling you, and do your blathering below in the glen. + +(_Nora gathers a few things into her shawl._) + +TRAMP. +(_At the door._) Come along with me now, lady of the house, and it’s +not my blather you’ll be hearing only, but you’ll be hearing the herons +crying out over the black lakes, and you’ll be hearing the grouse and +the owls with them, and the larks and the big thrushes when the days +are warm, and it’s not from the like of them you’ll be hearing a talk +of getting old like Peggy Cavanagh, and losing the hair off you, and +the light of your eyes, but it’s fine songs you’ll be hearing when the +sun goes up, and there’ll be no old fellow wheezing, the like of a sick +sheep, close to your ear. + +NORA. +I’m thinking it’s myself will be wheezing that time with lying down +under the Heavens when the night is cold; but you’ve a fine bit of +talk, stranger, and it’s with yourself I’ll go. (_She goes towards the +door, then turns to Dan._) You think it’s a grand thing you’re after +doing with your letting on to be dead, but what is it at all? What way +would a woman live in a lonesome place the like of this place, and she +not making a talk with the men passing? And what way will yourself live +from this day, with none to care for you? What is it you’ll have now +but a black life, Daniel Burke, and it’s not long I’m telling you, till +you’ll be lying again under that sheet, and you dead surely. + +(_She goes out with the Tramp. Micheal is slinking after them, but Dan +stops him._) + +DAN. +Sit down now and take a little taste of the stuff, Micheal Dara. +There’s a great drouth on me, and the night is young. + +MICHEAL. +(_Coming back to the table._) And it’s very dry I am, surely, with the +fear of death you put on me, and I after driving mountain ewes since +the turn of the day. + +DAN. +(_Throwing away his stick._) I was thinking to strike you, Micheal +Dara, but you’re a quiet man, God help you, and I don’t mind you at +all. + +(_He pours out two glasses of whisky, and gives one to Micheal._) + +DAN. +Your good health, Micheal Dara. + +MICHEAL. +God reward you, Daniel Burke, and may you have a long life, and a quiet +life, and good health with it. (_They drink._) + +CURTAIN. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of In the Shadow of the Glen, by J. M. 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