e forest. It is night, but the moon or a late
sunset glimmers through the trees, and carries the eye far off
into a vague, mysterious world. MAURTEEN BRUIN, SHAWN BRUIN, and
BRIDGET BRUIN sit in the alcove at the table, or about the fire.
They are dressed in the costume of some remote time, and near
them sits an old priest, FATHER HART, in the garb of a friar.
There is food and drink upon the table. MAIRE BRUIN stands by the
door, reading a yellow manuscript. If she looks up, she can see
through the door into the wood._

BRIDGET BRUIN
Because I bade her go and feed the calves,
She took that old book down out of the thatch
And has been doubled over it all day.
We should be deafened by her groans and moans
Had she to work as some do, Father Hart,
Get up at dawn like me, and mend and scour;
Or ride abroad in the boisterous night like you,
The pyx and blessed bread under your arm.

SHAWN BRUIN
You are too cross.

BRIDGET BRUIN
The young side with the young.

MAURTEEN BRUIN
She quarrels with my wife a bit at times,
And is too deep just now in the old book!
But do not blame her greatly; she will grow
As quiet as a puff-ball in a tree
When but the moons of marriage dawn and die
For half a score of times.

FATHER HART
Their hearts are wild
As be the hearts of birds, till children come.

BRIDGET BRUIN
She would not mind the griddle, milk the cow,
Or even lay the knives and spread the cloth.

FATHER HART
I never saw her read a book before;
What may it be?

MAURTEEN BRUIN
I do not rightly know;
It has been in the thatch for fifty years.
My father told me my grandfather wrote it,
Killed a red heifer and bound it with the hide.
But draw your chair this way--supper is spread;
And little good he got out of the book,
Because it filled his house with roaming bards,
And roaming ballad-makers and the like,
And wasted all his goods.--Here is the wine:
The griddle bread's beside you, Father Hart.
Colleen, what have you got there in the book
That you must leave the bread to cool? Had I,
Or had my father, read or written books
There were no stocking stuffed with golden guineas
To come,