on her silver comb, and yourself
craving after the world you left.
(_Sings: Air, "Spailpin Fanach_.")

"You think to go from every woe to peace in the
wide ocean,
But you will find your foolish mind repent its
foolish notion.
When dog-fish dash and mermaids splash their
finny tails to find you,
I'll make a bet that you'll regret the world you
left behind you!"

_Celia:_ (_Clattering in with broom, etc_.) What
are ye doing, coming in this room again after I
having it settled so nice? I'll allow no one in the
place again, only carriage company that will have
no speck of dust upon the sole of their shoe!

_Mother_: Oh, Celia, there has strange things
happened!

_Celia_: What I see strange is that some person
has meddled with that hill of ashes on the hearth
and set it flying athrough the air. Is it hens ye
are wishful to be, that would be searching and
scratching in the dust for grains? And this thrown
down in the midst! (_Holds up bellows_.)

_Conan_: Give me my bellows!

_Mother_: No, but give it to me!

_Rock and Flannery_: Give it to myself!

_Timothy:_ (_Looking up, with hands on ears_.)
My curse upon it and its work. Little I care if it
goes up with the clouds.

_Celia_: What in the world wide makes the whole
of ye so eager to get hold of such a thing?

_Conan_: It has but the one blast left!
(_Sings_.)

"'Tis the last Rose of Summer
Left blooming alone,
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone.
No flower of her kindred,
No rosebud is nigh,
To reflect back her blushes
Or give sigh for sigh!"

_Celia_: What are you fretting about blasts and
about roses?

_Rock:_ It has a charm on it--

_Flannery:_ To change the world--

_Mother:_ That chedang myself--

_Conan:_ For the worse--

_Mother:_ And Timothy--

_Conan:_ For the worse--

_Rock:_ Myself and Flannery--

_Conan:_ For the worse, for the worse--

_Mother:_ Conan that changed yourself with it--

_Conan:_ For the very worst!

_Celia:_ (_To Conan_.) Is it riddles, or is it that
you put a spell and a change upon me?

_Conan:_ If I did, it was for your own good!

_Celia:_ Do you call it for my good to set me
running till I have my toes going through my shoes?
(_Holds them out_.)

_Conan:_ I didn't think to go that length.

_Celia:_ To roughen my hands with soap and
scalding water till they're near as knotted and as
ugly as your own!

_Conan:_ Ah, leave me alone! I t