Conan:  Give me my bellows!

Mother:  No, but give it to me!

Rock and Flannery:  Give it to myself!

Timothy: (Looking up, with hands on ears.) My curse upon it and its work.  Little I care if it goes up with the clouds.

Celia:  What in the world wide makes the whole of ye so eager to get hold of such a thing?

Conan:  It has but the one blast left!
    (Sings.)

  “’Tis the last Rose of Summer
  Left blooming alone,
  All her lovely companions
  Are faded and gone. 
  No flower of her kindred,
  No rosebud is nigh,
  To reflect back her blushes
  Or give sigh for sigh!”

Celia:  What are you fretting about blasts and about roses?

Rock: It has a charm on it—­

Flannery: To change the world—­

Mother: That chedang myself—­

Conan: For the worse—­

Mother: And Timothy—­

Conan: For the worse—­

Rock: Myself and Flannery—­

Conan: For the worse, for the worse—­

Mother: Conan that changed yourself with it—­

Conan: For the very worst!

Celia: (To Conan.) Is it riddles, or is it that you put a spell and a change upon me?

Conan: If I did, it was for your own good!

Celia: Do you call it for my good to set me running till I have my toes going through my shoes? (Holds them out.)

Conan: I didn’t think to go that length.

Celia: To roughen my hands with soap and scalding water till they’re near as knotted and as ugly as your own!

Conan: Ah, leave me alone!  I tell you it is not by my own fault.  My plan and my purpose that went astray and that broke down.

Celia: I will not leave you till you’ll change me back to what I was.  What way can these hands go to the dance house to-night?  Change me back, I say!

Rock: And me—­

Timothy: And myself, that I’ll have quiet in my head again.

Conan: I cannot undo what has been done.  There is no back way.

Timothy: Is there no way at all to come out of it safe and sane?

Conan: (Shakes head.) Let ye make the best of it.

Flannery:  (Sings.) (Air, “I saw from the Beach.")

  “Ne’er tell me of glories serenely adorning
  The close of our day, the calm eve of our night. 
  Give me back, give me back the wild freshness of morning,
  Her clouds and her tears are worth evening’s best light.”

Mother:  (Who has bellows in her hand.) Stop!  Stop—­my mind is travelling backward ...so far I can hardly reach to it ...but I’ll come to it ...the way I’ll be changed to what I was before, and the town and the country wishing me well, I having got my enough of unfriendly looks and hard words!