MARTIN DOUL -- [looking up right.] -- Why wouldn't she, indeed,
Timmy? . . . . The Almighty God's made a fine match in the two of
you, for if you went marrying a woman was the like of yourself
you'd be having the fearfullest little children, I'm thinking,
was ever seen in the world.

TIMMY -- [seriously offended.] -- God forgive you! if you're an
ugly man to be looking at, I'm thinking your tongue's worse than
your view.

MARTIN DOUL -- [hurt also.] -- Isn't it destroyed with the cold I
am, and if I'm ugly itself I never seen anyone the like of you
for dreepiness this day, Timmy the smith, and I'm thinking now
herself's coming above you'd have a right to step up into your
old shanty, and give a rub to your face, and not be sitting there
with your bleary eyes, and your big nose, the like of an old
scarecrow stuck down upon the road.

TIMMY -- [looking up the road uneasily.] She's no call to mind
what way I look, and I after building a house with four rooms in
it above on the hill. (He stands up.) But it's a queer thing
the way yourself and Mary Doul are after setting every person in
this place, and up beyond to Rathvanna, talking of nothing, and
thinking of nothing, but the way they do be looking in the face.
(Going towards forge.) It's the devil's work you're after doing
with your talk of fine looks, and I'd do right, maybe, to step in
and wash the blackness from my eyes.

[He goes into forge. Martin Doul rubs his face furtively with
the tail of his coat. Molly Byrne comes on right with a