get in this place working hard, and destroying myself, the length
of the day.

TIMMY -- [stopping with amazement.] -- Working hard? (He goes
over to him.) I'll teach you to work hard, Martin Doul. Strip
off your coat now, and put a tuck in your sleeves, and cut the
lot of them, while I'd rake the ashes from the forge, or I'll not
put up with you another hour itself.

MARTIN DOUL -- [horrified.] -- Would you have me getting my death
sitting out in the black wintry air with no coat on me at all?

TIMMY -- [with authority.] -- Strip it off now, or walk down upon
the road.

MARTIN DOUL -- [bitterly.] -- Oh, God help me! (He begins taking
off his coat.) I've heard tell you stripped the sheet from your
wife and you putting her down into the grave, and that there
isn't the like of you for plucking your living ducks, the short
days, and leaving them running round in their skins, in the great
rains and the cold. (He tucks up his sleeves.) Ah, I've heard a
power of queer things of yourself, and there isn't one of them
I'll not believe from this day, and be telling to the boys.

TIMMY -- [pulling over a big stick.] -- Let you cut that now, and
give me rest from your talk, for I'm not heeding you at all.

MARTIN DOUL -- [taking stick.] -- That's a hard, terrible stick,
Timmy; and isn't it a poor thing to be cutting strong timber the
like of that, when it's cold the bark is, and slippy with the