coughs outside. Then Christy Mahon, a slight young man, comes in very tired
and frightened and dirty.]

CHRISTY -- [in a small voice.] -- God save all here!

MEN. God save you kindly.

CHRISTY -- [going to the counter.] -- I'd trouble you for a glass of porter,
woman of the house. [He puts down coin.]

PEGEEN -- [serving him.] -- You're one of the tinkers, young fellow, is beyond
camped in the glen?

CHRISTY. I am not; but I'm destroyed walking.

MICHAEL -- [patronizingly.] Let you come up then to the fire. You're looking
famished with the cold.

CHRISTY. God reward you. (He takes up his glass and goes a little way across
to the left, then stops and looks about him.) Is it often the police do be
coming into this place, master of the house?

MICHAEL. If you'd come in better hours, you'd have seen "Licensed for the
sale of Beer and Spirits, to be consumed on the premises," written in white
letters above the door, and what would the polis want spying on me, and not a
decent house within four miles, the way every living Christian is a bona fide,
saving one widow alone?

CHRISTY -- [with relief.] -- It's a safe house, so. [He goes over to the fire,
sighing and moaning. Then he sits down, putting his glass beside him and