MARY DOUL -- [raising her stick.] -- Maybe if I hit you a strong
blow you'd be blind again, and having what you want.

[The Saint is seen in the church door with his head bent in
prayer.]

MARTIN DOUL -- [raising his stick and driving Mary Doul back
towards left.] -- Let you keep off from me now if you wouldn't
have me strike out the little handful of brains you have about on
the road.

[He is going to strike her, but Timmy catches him by the arm.]

TIMMY. Have you no shame to be making a great row, and the Saint
above saying his prayers?

MARTIN DOUL. What is it I care for the like of him? (Struggling
to free himself). Let me hit her one good one, for the love of
the Almighty God, and I'll be quiet after till I die.

TIMMY -- [shaking him.] -- Will you whisht, I'm saying.

SAINT -- [coming forward, centre.] -- Are their minds troubled
with joy, or is their sight uncertain, the way it does often be
the day a person is restored?

TIMMY. It's too certain their sight is, holy father; and they're
after making a great fight, because they're a pair of pitiful
shows.