THE CHILD.

O, what a nice, smooth floor to dance upon!
The wind is blowing on the waving reeds,
The wind is blowing on the heart of man.

[_She dances, swaying about like the reeds._

MAIRE (_to_ SHAWN BRUIN).

Just now when she came near I thought I heard
Other small steps beating upon the floor,
And a faint music blowing in the wind--
Invisible pipes giving her feet the time.

SHAWN BRUIN.

I heard no step but hers.

MAIRE BRUIN.

Look to the bolt!
Because the unholy powers are abroad.

MAURTEEN BRUIN (_to the_ CHILD).

Come over here, and if you promise me
Not to talk wickedly of holy things
I'll give you something.