leave me go, or I'll get the curse of the priests on you, and of the
scarlet-coated bishops of the courts of Rome. [With a sudden movement he pulls
himself out of his coat, and disappears out of the door, leaving his coat in
Michael's hands.]

MICHAEL -- [turning round, and holding up coat.] -- Well, there's the coat of
a Christian man. Oh, there's sainted glory this day in the lonesome west; and
by the will of God I've got you a decent man, Pegeen, you'll have no call to
be spying after if you've a score of young girls, maybe, weeding in your
fields.

PEGEEN [taking up the defence of her property.] -- What right have you to be
making game of a poor fellow for minding the priest, when it's your own the
fault is, not paying a penny pot-boy to stand along with me and give me
courage in the doing of my work? [She snaps the coat away from him, and goes
behind counter with it.]

MICHAEL -- [taken aback.] -- Where would I get a pot-boy? Would you have me
send the bell-man screaming in the streets of Castlebar?

SHAWN -- [opening the door a chink and putting in his head, in a small voice.]
-- Michael James!

MICHAEL -- [imitating him.] -- What ails you?

SHAWN. The queer dying fellow's beyond looking over the ditch. He's come up,
I'm thinking, stealing your hens. (Looks over his shoulder.) God help me,
he's following me now (he runs into room), and if he's heard what I said,
he'll be having my life, and I going home lonesome in the darkness of the
night. [For a perceptible moment they watch the door with curiosity. Some one