(to Brian) Now, Brian, what would you do with a man that would say the like?
Anne goes outside.
CONN (to Brian) It's small blame to the girl here for thinking something of the place; but I saw the time, Brian MacConnell, when I could make more playing at one fair than working a whole season in this bit of a place.
BRIAN
Girls like the shelter, Conn.
CONN Ay, but the road for the fiddler. I'm five years settled here, and I come to be as well known as the begging ass, and there is as much thought about me. Fiddling, let me tell you, isn't like a boy's whistling. It can't be kept up on nothing.
BRIAN
I understand that, Conn.
CONN I'm getting that I can't stand the talk you hear in houses, wars and Parliaments, and the devil knows what ramais.
BRIAN
There's still a welcome for the man of art, somewhere.
CONN
That somewhere's getting further and further away, Brian.
BRIAN
You were not in the town last night?
CONN
I was not, Brian. God help me, I spent the night my lone.
BRIAN
There's Sligomen in the town.
CONN Is there, now? It would be like our times to play for them. (Anne comes in with some peat) Anne, would you bring me down my spectacles? They're in the room, daughter. (Anne goes to room. Conn turns to Brian eagerly) I suppose the Sligomen will be in Flynn's.
BRIAN
They were there last night.
CONN Listen, Brian, I've a reason for not going to Flynn's. Would you believe it, Brian, Flynn spoke to me about the few shillings I owe him?
BRIAN That was shabby of him. He got a lot out of you in the way of playing.
CONN It's just like them. Besides, Maire keeps us tight enough, and I often have to take treats from the men. They're drovers and rambling labourers and the like, though, as you say, they've the song and music, and the proper talk. Listen, Brian, could you leave a few shillings on the dresser for me?
BRIAN
To be sure I will, Conn.
Brian goes to the dresser, and puts money on a shelf.
CONN (with dignity) Thank you, Brian. There's few I'd let put me under a compliment; but I take it from you. Maire, as I said, is a careful girl, but some of us must have our freedom. Besides, Brian, the bird that sings lone sings slow. The man of art must have his listeners. (Conn takes the money off dresser) Anne, daughter, what's keeping you there? Sure the spectacles were in my pocket the whole time, child. (Anne comes dawn) When I spoke against the people about here, I was leaving you out of it, Brian.
BRIAN
I'm fond of tune, though it wasn't here I got fond of it.
Brian goes to the door.
ANNE (going to Brian) You won't be rambling again, Brian?
BRIAN
I'm settled here, Anne; I made it up with my brothers.
ANNE
They used to say that a MacConnell quarrel was a lasting quarrel.
BRIAN
Maybe we're working the bad blood out of us.
ANNE
Don't be staying out long, Brian.
BRIAN
Till Maire gives me the call.
Brian MacConnell goes out.
ANNE We oughtn't to take another clay from Brian MacConnell. There's only the patch at the back to be mown, and you could do that yourself.
CONN You can depend on me for the mowing. I'm going up now, to go over an oul' tune I have.
ANNE
James Moynihan would come over and stack for us.
CONN
James Moynihan is a decent boy, too.
ANNE
You won't be going out to-night, father?
CONN
Now, how's a man to know what he'll be doing?
ANNE
It leaves me very anxious.
CONN I'll give you this advice, and it's proper advice to give to a girl thinking of marrying. Never ask of your menkind where they're going.
ANNE
The like of that brings bad luck on a house.
CONN You have too much dead knowledge, and the shut fist never caught a bird.
ANNE
I only wish you were settled down.
CONN
Sure I am settled down.
ANNE
I can't speak to you, after all.
CONN You're a good girl, Anne, and he'll be lucky that gets you. And don't be grieving that you're not bringing James Moynihan a fortune. You're bringing him the decency of birth and rearing. You're like the lone pigeon I often think—the pet that doesn't fly, and keeps near the house.
ANNE
That's the way you always treat me, and I never can talk to you.
CONN (at window) Hush now, here's the other, your sister Maire. She's like the wild pigeon of the woods. (Maire Hourican comes in) We were discoursing on affairs, Maire. We won't be bringing Brian MacConnell here tomorrow; there's only the bit at the back to be mown, and I'll do that myself.
Conn Hourican goes into the room right; soon after the fiddle is heard. Anne goes to the settle, and takes up her knitting. Maire takes her shawl off, and hangs it on the rack. Maire Hourican is over twenty. She is tall, and has easy, graceful movements; her features are fine and clear-cut; the nose is rather blunted, the mouth firm. Her gaze is direct and clear. She has heavy auburn hair, loose now, and falling. Maire comes down to the table, opens basket, and takes some flowers from top. She turns to dresser and arranges some of
