Timmy. It’d be no good to be sending a sinful man the like of ourselves, for I’m told the holiness of the water does be getting soiled with the villainy of your heart, the time you’d be carrying it, and you looking round on the girls, maybe, or drinking a small sup at a still.

Martin Doul (with disappointment). It’d be a long terrible way to be walking ourselves, and I’m thinking that’s a wonder will bring small joy to us at all.

Timmy (turning on him impatiently). What is it you want with your walking? It’s as deaf as blind you’re growing if you’re not after hearing me say it’s in this place the wonder would be done.

Martin Doul (with a flash of anger). If it is can’t you open the big slobbering mouth you have and say what way it’ll be done, and not be making blather till the fall of night.

Timmy (jumping up). I’ll be going on now (Mary Doul rises), and not wasting time talking civil talk with the like of you.

Mary Doul (standing up, disguising her impatience). Let you come here to me, Timmy, and not be minding him at all. (Timmy stops, and she gropes up to him and takes him by the coat). You’re not huffy with myself, and let you tell me the whole story and don’t be fooling me more…. Is it yourself has brought us the water?

Timmy. It is not, surely.

Mary Doul. Then tell us your wonder, Timmy…. What person’ll bring it at all?

Timmy (relenting). It’s a fine holy man will bring it, a saint of the Almighty God.

Mary Doul (overawed). A saint is it?

Timmy. Ay, a fine saint, who’s going round through the churches of Ireland, with a long cloak on him, and naked feet, for he’s brought a sup of the water slung at his side, and, with the like of him, any little drop is enough to cure the dying, or to make the blind see as clear as the gray hawks do be high up, on a still day, sailing the sky.

Martin Doul (feeling for his stick). What place is he, Timmy? I’ll be walking to him now.

Timmy. Let you stay quiet, Martin. He’s straying around saying prayers at the churches and high crosses, between this place and the hills, and he with a great crowd going behind—for it’s fine prayers he does be saying, and fasting with it, till he’s as thin as one of the empty rushes you have there on your knee; then he’ll be coming after to this place to cure the two of you—we’re after telling him the way you are—and to say his prayers in the church.

Martin Doul (turning suddenly to Mary Doul). And we’ll be seeing ourselves this day. Oh, glory be to God, is it true surely?

Mary Doul (very pleased, to Timmy). Maybe I’d have time to walk down and get the big shawl I have below, for I do look my best, I’ve heard them say, when I’m dressed up with that thing on my head.

Timmy. You’d have time surely——

Martin Doul (listening). Whisht now… I hear people again coming by the stream.

Timmy (looking out left, puzzled). It’s the young girls I left walking after the Saint…. They’re coming now (goes up to entrance) carrying things in their hands, and they walking as easy as you’d see a child walk who’d have a dozen eggs hid in her bib.