_Biddy._ Here, miss, in the room, readying it, I am.

_CHRISTY GALLAGHER'S voice heard calling,_

Biddy!--Biddy Doyle!--Biddy, girl! What's come o' that girl, that always
out o' the way idling, when wanted?--Plague take her!

_Biddy._ Saints above! hear him now!--But I scorn to answer.

_Screaming louder in mingled voices, CHRISTY'S and Miss GALLAGHER'S,_

Biddy! Biddy Doyle!--Biddy, girl!

_Christy._ (_putting in his head_) Biddy! sorrow take ye! are ye in
it?--And you are, and we cracking our vitals calling you. What is it you're
dallying here for? Stir! stir! dinner!

[_He draws back his head, and exit._

_BIDDY, alone._

Coming then!--Sure it's making up the room I am with all speed, and the bed
not made after all!--(_Throws up the press-bed._)--But to live in this here
house, girl or boy, one had need have the lives of nine cats and the legs
of forty.

[_Exit._