Conan: Never mind him now.  You are putting my mind astray with your Coo, coo—­

Celia: He might be in under the settle. (Stoops.) Where are you, my little bird. (Sings.) (Air, “Shule Aroon.”)

  “But now my love has gone to France
  His own fair fortune to advance;
  If he comes back again ’tis but a chance;
  Os go de tu Mavourneen slan!”

Conan:  (Putting her away.) What way would he be in it?  Let you put a stop to that humming. (Seizes her.) Come here to the light ...is it you sewed this button on my coat?

Celia: It was not.  It is likely it was some tailor down in the North.

Conan: It is getting loose on the sleeve.

Celia:  Ah, it will last a good while yet.  Coo, coo!

Conan:  (Getting before her.) It would be no great load on you to get a needle and put a stitch would tighten it.

Celia: I’ll do it in the by and bye.  There, I twisted the thread around it.  That’ll hold good enough for a while.

Conan: “Anything worth doing at all is worth doing well.”

Celia: Aren’t you getting very dainty in your dress?

Conan: Any man would like to have a decent appearance on his suit.

Celia: Isn’t it the same to-day as it was yesterday?

Conan: Have you ne’er a needle?

Celia: I don’t know where is it gone.

Conan: You haven’t a stim of sense.  Can’t you keep in mind “Everything in its right place.”

Celia: Sure, there’s no hurry—­the day is long.

Conan: Anything has to be done, the quickest to do it is the best.

Celia: I’m not working by the hour or the day.

Conan: Look now at Penelope of the Greeks, and all her riches, and her man not at hand to urge her, how well she sat at the loom from morn till night till she’d have the makings of a suit of frieze.

Celia: Ah, that was in the ancient days, when you wouldn’t buy it made and ready in the shops.

Conan: Will you so much as go to find a towel would take the dust off of the panes of glass?

Celia: I wonder at you craving to disturb the spider and it after making its web.

Conan: Well, go sit idle outside.  I wouldn’t wish to be looking at you!  Aristotle that said a lazy body is all one with a lazy mind.  You’ll be begging your bread through the world’s streets before your poll will be grey.

(Sings.)

  “You’ll dye your petticoat, you’ll dye it red,
  And through the world you’ll beg your bread;
  And you not hearkening to e’er a word I said,
  It’s then you’ll know it to be true!”

Celia:  (Sings.)

  “Come here my little birdeen!  Coo!”

Conan:  (Putting his hand on her mouth.) Be going out now in place of calling that bird that is as lazy and as useless as yourself.