Sarah Casey (coming in on right, eagerly). Well see his reverence this place, Michael Byrne, and he passing backward to his house to-night.
Michael (grimly). Thatll be a sacred and a sainted joy!
Sarah (sharply). Itll be small joy for yourself if you arent ready with my wedding ring. (She goes over to him.) Is it near done this time, or what way is it at all?
Michael. A poor way only, Sarah Casey, for its the divils job making a ring, and youll be having my hands destroyed in a short while the way Ill not be able to make a tin can at all maybe at the dawn of day.
Sarah (sitting down beside him and throwing sticks on the fire). If its the divils job, let you mind it, and leave your speeches that would choke a fool.
Michael (slowly and glumly). And its youll go talking of fools, Sarah Casey, when no man did ever hear a lying story even of your like unto this mortal day. You to be going beside me a great while, and rearing a lot of them, and then to be setting off with your talk of getting married, and your driving me to it, and I not asking it at all.
Sarah turns her back to him and arranges something in the ditch.
Michael (angrily). Cant you speak a word when Im asking what is it ails you since the moon did change?
Sarah (musingly). Im thinking there isnt anything ails me, Michael Byrne; but the spring-time is a queer time, and its queer thoughts maybe I do think at whiles.
Michael. Its hard set youd be to think queerer than welcome, Sarah Casey; but what will you gain dragging me to the priest this night, Im saying, when its new thoughts youll be thinking at the dawn of day?
Sarah (teasingly). Its at the dawn of day I do be thinking Id have a right to be going off to the rich tinkers do be travelling from Tibradden to the Tara Hill; for itd be a fine life to be driving with young Jaunting Jim, where there wouldnt be any big hills to break the back of you, with walking up and walking down.
Michael (with dismay). Its the like of that you do be thinking!
Sarah. The like of that, Michael Byrne, when there is a bit of sun in it, and a kind air, and a great smell coming from the thorn trees is above your head.
Michael (looks at her for a moment with horror, and then hands her the ring). Will that fit you now?
Sarah (trying it on). Its making it tight you are, and the edges sharp on the tin.
Michael (looking at it carefully). Its the fat of your own finger, Sarah Casey; and isnt it a mad thing Im saying again that youd be asking marriage of me, or making a talk of going away from me, and you thriving and getting your good health by the grace of the Almighty God?
Sarah (giving it back to him). Fix it now, and itll do, if youre wary you dont squeeze it again.
Michael (moodily, working again). Its easy saying be wary; theres many things easy said, Sarah Casey, youd wonder a fool even would be saying at all. (He starts violently.) The divil mend you, Im scalded again!