'll find here before you
And the oftner you come here the more I'll adore you."

_Conan_: Give me up the tea-pot.

_Celia_: Best leave it on the coals awhile.

_Conan_: Give me up those eggs so. (_Seizes them_.)

_Celia_: You can take the tea-pot too if you are
calling for it. (_Goes on singing mischievously as
she turns a cake_.)

"I'll pull you sweet flowers to wear if you'll choose them,
Or after you've kissed them they'll lie on my bosom."

_Conan_: (_Breaking eggs_.) They're raw and
running!

_Celia_: There's no one can say which is best,
hurry or delay.

_Conan_: You had them boiled in cold water!

_Celia_: That's where you're wrong.

_Conan_: The young people that's in the world
now, if you had book truth they wouldn't believe
it. (_Flings eggs into the fire and pours out tea_.)

_Mother_: I hope now that is pleasing to you?

_Conan_: (_Threatening Celia with spoon_.) My
seven curses on yourself and your fair-haired tea.
(_Puts back tea-pot_.)

_Celia_: (_Laughing_.) It was hurry left it so weak
on you!

_Mother_: Ah, don't be putting reproaches on
him. Crossness is a thing born with us. It do run
in the blood. Strive now to let him have a quiet life.

_Conan_: I am not asking a quiet life! But to
come live with your own family you might as well
take your coffin on your back!

_Celia_: (_Sings_.)

"We'll look on the stars and we'll list to the river
'Till you ask of your darling what gift you can give her."

_Conan_: That girl is a disgrace sitting on the
floor the way she is! If I had her for a while I'd
put betterment on her. No one that was under
me ever grew slack!

_Celia_: _You_ would never be satisfied and you
to see me working from dark to dark as hard as a
pismire in the tufts.

_Mother_: Leave her now, she's a quiet little girl
and comely.

_Conan_: Comely! I'd sooner her to be like the
ugliest sod of turf that is pockmarked in the bog,
and a handy housekeeper, and her pigeon doing
something for the world if it was but scaring its
comrades on a stick in a barley garden!

_Celia_: Ah, do you hear him! (_Stroking pigeon_.)
(_Sings_.)

"But when your friend is forced to flee
You'll spread your white wings on the sea
And fly and follow after me--
Go-de tu Mavourneen slan!"

_Mother_: I wonder you to be going into the rath
the way you do, Conan. It is a very haunted place.

_Conan_: Don't be bothering me. I have my
reason for that.

_Mother_: I