Timmy (hot and breathless, wiping his face). You’ve good ears, God bless you, if you’re a liar itself; for I’m after walking up in great haste from hearing wonders in the fair.

Martin Doul (rather contemptuously). You’re always hearing queer wonderful things, and the lot of them nothing at all; but I’m thinking, this time, it’s a strange thing surely you’d be walking up before the turn of day, and not waiting below to look on them lepping, or dancing, or playing shows on the green of Clash.

Timmy (huffed). I was coming to tell you it’s in this place there’d be a bigger wonder done in a short while (Martin Doul stops working) than was ever done on the green of Clash, or the width of Leinster itself; but you’re thinking, maybe, you’re too cute a little fellow to be minding me at all.

Martin Doul (amused, but incredulous). There’ll be wonders in this place, is it?

Timmy. Here at the crossing of the roads.

Martin Doul. I never heard tell of anything to happen in this place since the night they killed the old fellow going home with his gold, the Lord have mercy on him, and threw down his corpse into the bog. Let them not be doing the like of that this night, for it’s ourselves have a right to the crossing roads, and we don’t want any of your bad tricks, or your wonders either, for it’s wonder enough we are ourselves.

Timmy. If I’d a mind I’d be telling you of a real wonder this day, and the way you’ll be having a great joy, maybe, you’re not thinking on at all.

Martin Doul (interested). Are they putting up a still behind in the rocks? It’d be a grand thing if I’d a sup handy the way I wouldn’t be destroying myself groping up across the bogs in the rain falling.

Timmy (still moodily). It’s not a still they’re bringing, or the like of it either.

Mary Doul (persuasively, to Timmy). Maybe they’re hanging a thief, above at the bit of a tree. I’m told it’s a great sight to see a man hanging by his neck; but what joy would that be to ourselves, and we not seeing it at all?

Timmy (more pleasantly). They’re hanging no one this day, Mary Doul, and yet, with the help of God, you’ll see a power hanged before you die.

Mary Doul. Well you’ve queer humbuging talk…. What way would I see a power hanged, and I a dark woman since the seventh year of my age?

Timmy. Did ever you hear tell of a place across a bit of the sea, where there is an island, and the grave of the four beautiful saints?

Mary Doul. I’ve heard people have walked round from the west and they speaking of that.

Timmy (impressively). There’s a green ferny well, I’m told, behind of that place, and if you put a drop of the water out of it on the eyes of a blind man, you’ll make him see as well as any person is walking the world.

Martin Doul (with excitement). Is that the truth, Timmy? I’m thinking you’re telling a lie.

Timmy (gruffly). That’s the truth, Martin Doul, and you may believe it now, for you’re after believing a power of things weren’t as likely at all.

Mary Doul. Maybe we could send a young lad to bring us the water. I could wash a naggin bottle in the morning, and I’m thinking Patch Ruadh would go for it, if we gave him a good drink, and the bit of money we have hid in the thatch.