Read it through once

MOTHER. (coming out). Whatever have you been doin' this long time? The house is ready for you an' the bed an' the fire an' the pot. An' sure it's the very look of you, the look in your eyes, makes me afeard to ask you for the story. MARY. (coming slowly). I was waitin' to see, mother. (To her mother.) Do you hear the winnowing? they are winnowing close by the barn. MOTHER. (with perplexity). You had better be helpin' to turn the sieve. There's no 'oman in the house to do it, an' there's work enough for us all. The prices are low—an' the men are at home since the other day's great fair. It's ten years since your father— MARY. (softly). Oh, do not be sayin' that to me. MOTHER. (growing angry). Ten years!—you have great news for me, I'm sure. Put on your shawl. There's a fine young man outside—Patrick. MARY. (more agitated). Patrick!—I'm not ready. He is not come yet. You will go out of the road with him and talk. MOTHER. (coaxing). Well, an' don't you be angry at your mother. It is not my fault if your hair's went white since last market-day. (She goes in.) MARY. (going to the hedge and looking off). The sun is bendin' to the west. The wheat is heavy; the cows are lowin' in the field. The sky is all one gold. (She hears a step. A young man, MICHAEL, of about twenty-six, comes in hurriedly. He is in a sailor's dress. He greets Mary and sits down.) MICHAEL. (taking off his cap). Hush! Are you alone? MARY. (motioning her mother not to come out). Yes—why do you look so serious? MICHAEL. Because I've been to 't. I have it in me as long as I live. MOTHER. (coming out quickly). Hush!—Don't you be bringin' words here. There's a neighbour comin' in the gate. (GILLANE, a neighbour, comes in.) GILLANE. (to Mother). It's a fine day for winnowing—are we goin' to have an open market? MOTHER. (distantly). We have no grain to sell. GILLANE. (laughing, to Michael). What brings you from the town so soft of foot?—you look like a man that's been bein' with the soldiers. MICHAEL. (quietly). I was in a ship, Mr. Gillane; we came home last night. GILLANE. (mocking). An' what brought you in so late, thin? Did you go to the fair? MICHAEL. I had not a penny, sir. GILLANE. (with suspicion). Not a penny!—sure you look as if you had been at the fair. (He looks at Mary.) An' you—(to Mary) you have the look o'—(He is interrupted.) MARY. (softly). Hush!—there's a woman at the gate. (All look and see THE OLD WOMAN still standing at the gate.) GILLANE. (going to the gate, mockingly). Who's there?—a beggar-woman, surely. OLD WOMAN. (in a high thin voice). Will ye give me shelter an' a bite? MICHAEL. (rising). Mother, do not cross to the gate. (He goes to the gate and takes off his cap.) God save ye, mother, are ye busy? OLD WOMAN. (smiling). I am always busy. I've been walking these twenty years an' I've nothing but my stick an' my two feet. MOTHER. (astonished). An' where are you from, mother? OLD WOMAN. (shaking her head). From every field an' from every house. From every bed that is left empty I come. MARY. (rising). Will you come in? (She takes off her apron and goes towards the door.) OLD WOMAN. No, child, I've the look o' a poor thing. I will sit here. I'm tired wid my walk. MICHAEL. (taking a stool). Sit here, mother. (He brings the stool.) OLD WOMAN. (sitting). I will take a little o' your bread. MOTHER. (bringing bread and milk). There—an' a good scrap. 'Tis little we have but it's as well. OLD WOMAN. (looking at Mary). An' who is that pretty little maid? MOTHER. (boasting). That is the child of Michael Gillane, an' she is to be married to a fine young fellow—Patrick. OLD WOMAN. (to Mary). Have you any men ever talk to you o' the country? MARY. (dreamily). What mean you?—the country is wide an' green an' there's no house but our own. OLD WOMAN. (low). There was a time when men went to the hill an' the green was full o' men. They went barefoot; they went with the shout. MOTHER. (breaking in). Oh, it's the talk the old ones have. Have ye not better go on with your winnowing? OLD WOMAN. (rising slowly). I will go now. (She moves away.) MARY. (eagerly). Will you not stay an' tell us a story?—an old story. OLD WOMAN. (stopping). There was a time I had more than one story. (She looks at them.) But I have a task to do now. (She points to a torn green cloak she wears.) This cloak was the colour o' the shamrock; it has but three patches an' one more patch will make it perfect. MOTHER. (laughing). Sure we could make you one up o' the hedge. OLD WOMAN. (earnestly). If any young man will take his mother's son from his wife an' follow me on the road, I will give him a year an' a day o' wanderin'—an' when he comes home he shall be a king. MICHAEL. (startled). What do you mean? OLD WOMAN. (with passion). I mean that I am Cathleen Ní Houlihan. (There is a silence. The family look at her with wonder.)