OLD FARMER.  Well, you have enough to set you up altogether, Martin.  You’ll be buying us all up within the next six months.

MARTIN.  Indeed I don’t think I’ll be going digging potatoes for other men this year, but to be working for myself at home.

(The sound of horse’s steps are heard.  A young man comes into the house.)

YOUNG MAN.  What is going on here at all?  All the cars in the country gathered at the door, and Seagan na Stucaire going swearing down the road.

OLD FARMER.  Oh, this is the great wedding was made by
Raftery.—­Where is Raftery?  Where is he gone?

MARTIN (going to the door).  He’s not here.  I don’t see him on the road. (Turns to young farmer.) Did you meet a blind fiddler going out the door—­the poet Raftery?

YOUNG MAN.  The poet Raftery?  I did not; but I stood by his grave at Killeenan three days ago.

MARY.  His grave?  Oh, Martin, it was a dead man was in it!

MARTIN.  Whoever it was, it was a man sent by God was in it.

THE LOST SAINT

AN OLD MAN.

A TEACHER.

CONALL AND OTHER CHILDREN.

SCENE.—­A large room as it was in the old time.  A long table in it.  A troop of children, a share of them eating their dinner, another share of them sitting after eating.  There is a teacher stooping over a book in the other part of the room.

A CHILD (standing up).  Come out, Felim, till we see the new hound.

ANOTHER CHILD.  We can’t.  The master told us not to go out till we would learn this poem, the poem he was teaching us to-day.

ANOTHER CHILD.  He won’t let anyone at all go out till he can say it.

ANOTHER CHILD. Maisead, disgust for ever on the same old poem; but there is no fear for myself—­I’ll get out, never fear; I’ll remember it well enough.  But I don’t think you will get out, Conall.  Oh, there is the master ready to begin.

TEACHER (lifting up his head).  Now, children, have you finished your dinner?

CHILDREN.  Not yet. (A poor-looking, grey old man comes to the door.)

A CHILD.  Oh, that is old Cormacin that grinds the meal for us, and minds the oven.

OLD MAN.  The blessing of God here!  Master, will you give me leave to gather up the scraps, and to bring them out with me?

MASTER.  You may do that. (To the children.) Come here now, till I see if you have that poem right, and I will let you go out when you have it said.

FEARALL.  We are coming; but wait a minute till I ask old
Cormacin what is he going to do with the leavings he has there.

OLD MAN.  I am gathering them to give to the birds, avourneen.

TEACHER.  We will do it now; come over here. (The children stand together in a row.)