the saints of peace. (Bustles about, then takes off her apron and pins it up in the window as a blind. Christy watching her timidly. Then she comes to him and speaks with bland good-humour.) Let you stretch out now by the fire, young fellow. You should be destroyed travelling.
CHRISTY, shyly again, drawing off his boots.
I'm tired, surely, walking wild eleven days, and waking fearful in the night.
He holds up one of his feet, feeling his blisters, and looking at them with compassion.
PEGEEN, standing beside him, watching him with delight.
You should have had great people in your family, I'm thinking, with the little small feet you have, and you with a kind of a quality name, the like of what you'd find on the great powers and potentates of France and Spain.
CHRISTY, with pride.
We were great surely, with wide and windy acres of rich Munster land.
PEGEEN.
Wasn't I telling you, and you a fine, handsome young fellow with a noble brow?
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