ey closing their eyes --.

SAINT. And did you never hear tell of the summer, and the fine spring,
and the places where the holy men of Ireland have built up churches to
the Lord? No man isn't a madman, I'm thinking, would be talking the like
of that, and wishing to be closed up and seeing no sight of the grand
glittering seas, and the furze that is opening above, and will soon have
the hills shining as if it was fine creels of gold they were, rising to
the sky.

MARTIN DOUL. Is it talking now you are of Knock and Ballavore? Ah, it's
ourselves had finer sights than the like of them, I'm telling you, when
we were sitting a while back hearing the birds and bees humming in every
weed of the ditch, or when we'd be smelling the sweet, beautiful smell
does be rising in the warm nights, when you do hear the swift flying
things racing in the air, till we'd be looking up in our own minds into
a grand sky, and seeing lakes, and big rivers, and fine hills for taking
the plough.

SAINT -- [to People.] -- There's little use talking with the like of
him.

MOLLY BYRNE. It's lazy he is, holy father, and not wanting to work; for
a while before you had him cured he was always talking, and wishing, and
longing for his sight.

MARTIN DOUL -- [turning on her.] -- I was longing, surely for sight; but
I seen my fill in a short while with the look of my wife, and the look
of yourself, Molly Byrne, when you'd the queer wicked grin in your eyes
you do have the time you're making game with a man.

MOLLY BYRNE. Let you not mind him, holy father; for it's bad things
he was saying to me a while back -- bad things for a married man, your
reverence -- and you'd do right surely to leave him in darkness, if it's
that is best fitting the villainy of his heart.

TIMMY -- [to Saint.] -- Would you cure Mary Doul, your reverence, who is
a quiet poor woman, never did hurt to any, or said a hard word, saving
only when she'd be vexed with himself, or with young girls would be
making game of her below?

SAINT -- [to Mary Doul.] -- If you have any sense, Mary, kneel down at
my feet, and I'll bring the sight again into your eyes.

MARTIN DOUL -- [more defiantly.] -- You will not, holy father. Would you
have her looking on me, and saying hard words to me, till the hour of
death?

SAINT -- [severely.] -- If she's wanting her sight I wouldn't have the
like of you stop her at all. (To Mary Doul.) Kneel down, I'm saying.

MARY DOUL -- [doubtfully.] -- Let