nything that is worth doing is worth
doing well. _(To Rock.)_ Look now at the marks
of your boots upon the ground. Get up out of
that till I'll bustle it with the broom!

_Rock: (Getting up.)_ There is a change indeed
and a queer change. Where she used to be singing
she is screeching the same as a slate where you'd
be casting sums!

_Celia: (To Flannery.)_ What's that I see in
under your chair? Rise up. _(He gets up.)_ It's
a pin! _(Sticks it in her dress.)_ Everything in its
right place! _(Goes on flicking at the furniture.)_

_Mother_: Leave now knocking the furniture to
flitters.

_Celia_: I will not, till I'll free it from the dust
and dander of the year.

_Mother_: That'll do now. I see no dust.

_Celia_: You'll see it presently. _(Sweeps up a cloud.)_

_Mother_: Let you speak to her, Conan.

_Conan_: Leave now buzzing and banging about
the room the same as a fly without a head!

_Celia_: Never put off till to-morrow what you
can do to-day.

_Conan_: I tell you I have things to settle and
to say before the car will come that is to bring me
on my road to Dublin.

_Celia: (Stopping short.)_ Is it that you are going
to Dublin?

_Conan_: I am, and within the hour.

_Celia_: Pull off those boots from your feet!

_Conan_: I will not! Let you leave my boots
alone!

_Celia_: You are not going out of the house with
that slovenly appearance on you! To have it said
out in Dublin that you are a class of man never has
clean boots but of a Sunday!

_Conan_: They'll do well enough without you
meddling!

_Celia_: Clean them yourself so! _(Gives him a
rag and blacking and goes on dusting.)_

_(Sings.) (Air, "City of Sligo.")_

"We may tramp the earth
For all that we're worth,
But what odds where you and I go,
We never shall meet
A spot so sweet
As the beautiful city of Sligo."

_Conan_: What ailed me that I didn't leave her
as she was before.

_Celia: (Stopping work.)_ What way are they now?

_Conan: (Having cleaned his boots, putting them
on hurriedly.)_ They're very good. _(Wipes his brow,
drawing hand across leaving mark of blacking.)_

_Celia_: The time I told you to put black on
your shoes I didn't bid you rub it upon your brow!

_Conan_: I didn't put it in any wrong place.

_Celia_: I ask the whole of you, is it black his face
is or white?

_All_: It is black indeed.

_Celia_: Would you put a reproach on the whole
of the barony, going up among big citizens with a