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 MY NEW CURATE 
 
 A RELIGIOUS DRAMA 
 
 BY JOHN J. DOUGLASS, A, M 
 
 Author of 
 "THE EXILE OF ERIN." 
 
 Copyrighted, Owned and Controlled by 
 
 BROTHER BENJAMIN, C. F. X, 
 
 President, St. Xavier's College, 
 
 Louisville, Ky. 
 
 ^^ 
 
 
MY KEW^ CURATE 
 
 A RELIGIOUS DRAMA 
 
 -*- 
 
 BY JOHN J. DOUGLASS, A. M. 
 
 Author of 
 "THE EXILE OF, ERIN." 
 
 /■ 
 Copyrighted, Oivned and Controlled by 
 
 \ BROTHER BENJAMIN, C. F. X. 
 
 President^ St. Xavier's College, 
 
 Louisville, Ky. 
 
 ST. MARY'S INDUSTRIAL SCHOOL. ELECTRIC PRESS. 
 

 DEC -6 1919 
 
 'GID 5344^ 
 
 /v»-< 
 
 TMDQO r\ r\r>. ; *» 
 
MY NE\S^ CURATE 
 
 By CANON SHEEHAN 
 
 Story Published by 
 MARLIER PUBLISHING CO., BOSTON 
 
 Dramatized By 
 JOHN J. DOUGLASS, A. M., LL. B. 
 
 Time : 1876. Place. Kilronan, Ireland. 
 
 Act I.— FAITH. Scene— Father Dan's Study. 
 
 Act II. — HOPE. Scene — Outside Chapel and Rectory. 
 
 Act III.— CHARITY. Scene— Along the Beach at Kilronan. 
 
 Act IV.— GRACE. Scene— Father Dan's Study. 
 
 This play is a copyright edition. No one is allowed to pro- 
 duce it without receiving permission from the owner of the 
 copyright and paying a royalty. ; Income from this source is 
 used for the education of young men as teachers in the Xaver- 
 ian Brotherhood. 
 
 This is a refined, religious drama, interspersed with true 
 Irish wit. 
 
 Address all letters to Brother Benjamin, St. Xavier's College, 
 Louisville, Ky. 
 
CAST 
 
 Father Dan, Parish Priest at Kilronan 
 
 Father Letheby, the New Curate. 
 
 Jem Deady, Tiler and Koofer, President of the ''Holy Terrors" 
 
 Mrs. D'Arcy, Father Dan's Housekeeper and Sacristan 
 
 Captain Campion, of Her Majesty's Service 
 
 Beatta Campion, Captain Campion's Daughter 
 
 Captain Ormsby, Inspector of the Coast Guards, an Infidel 
 
 Fagan, an Informer 
 
 Hale, alias Hogan, Pagan's English Friend 
 
 Alice Moylan, a Blind Girl , 
 
 Mary, Alice Moylan's Sister 
 
 Nance, the Outcast... 
 
 Mike Murphy 
 
 Mr. Murphy and Mrs. Murphy, Evicted Tenants 
 
 Jamesey and Mary, Children of Mrs. D'Arcy 
 
 Diggins, a Bailiff 
 
 Bobbs, his assistant 
 
 Chairman of the Merchants 
 
 Mr. Blake a Merchant 
 
 Factory Forewoman 
 
 Peasants, Soldiers, Sailors, Fishermen, Factory Girls, Altar 
 Boys, Choir Singers, Merchants, etc. 
 
MY NEW CURATE 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE: Father Dan's Study. Very Plain, with religious 
 furnishings. Window, Doors R. & C, Table, Chairs, Arm- 
 chair, Fireplace, Bookcase, Lamp lighted. Large picture of 
 Madonna on wall. 
 
 Father Dan discovered in armchair, musing. Mary and 
 Jamesey — two small children — discovered seated on floor; 
 Mary reading large picture book, and Jamesey building house 
 Avith toy blocks — Time, Night. 
 
 Fr. Dan (to himself) Well, after all it's all my own fault, 
 this sudden change of curates, a deserved rebuke from his Lord- 
 ship, the Archbishop. I was too free with my tongue. In a 
 thoughtless moment, half in earnest, half in jest, I said, "What 
 do I care for the Archbishop? I am a parish priest, and in- 
 dependent of anyone. So what can he do?" The imperti- 
 nence was carried to his Lordship, and he answered, ''What can 
 I do ? I can send him a new curate that will break his heart in 
 six weeks." Hence the removal of my life-long friend and 
 companion, Fr. Tom, and the arrival here one week ago of this 
 learned Fr. Letheby, D.D. Humph! A Doctor of Divinity 
 no less! Well, his Lordship has certainly trained a big gun 
 against the heart of plain Fr. Hanrahan. But will he hit the 
 mark? Well, time will tell, time will tell, (resumes reading.) 
 
 Jamesey (surveying his block-house) Look, Mary, I've done 
 it. 
 
 Mary — Isn't it grand? (touches blocks and they fall down.) 
 
 Jamesey (Crying) Now you've gone and spoiled it. - 
 
 Mary — I didn't mean to, Jamesey. Honest ! I didn't. 
 
 Jamesey — Yes you did too. I'm going to tell ma. 
 
 Fr. Dan — Here! Here! stop your quarreling, you little pa- 
 gans. 
 
 Mrs. D. (off stage in loud angry tones) ''Dirt," says he, 
 "Dirt." ^ 
 
Fr. Dan — Ho ! Ho ! here comes ycJur mother now and in a 
 fine rage. Now you'll catch it. 
 
 (Enter Mrs. D. M., in a splutter and throws bunch of keys 
 at the feet of Fr. Dan.) 
 
 Mrs. D. — There ! and -may no child of mine pray over my 
 grave if I iver tuch thim agin. 
 
 Fr. Dan (quietly) Well, Mrs. D'Afcy, what's gone wrong? 
 
 Mrs. D. — Everything begorry. Wisha, where in the world 
 did you get him? or where did he come from a tall, atall? 
 
 Fr. Dan — You mean my new curate, I suppose, 
 
 Mrs. D. — Yerra! who else could I mane, the son of a jook? 
 Humph! he's more the son of a blacksmith, I say. Didn't 
 Mrs. Moriarity tell me she sold socks to his owld father over 
 in Kilkeen? An' the loikes of him comes her complainin' of 
 dacent people? 
 
 Fr. Dan — But, my good woman, what has the priest done to 
 cause this explosion? 
 
 Mrs. D. — Done, is it? Yerra, I'm jist chokin' to tell ye of 
 it. Well, he walks in the sachristy this evenin' wid all the airs 
 of the Lord Liftinint, if ye please, an' begins a fussin' an' 
 fumin' about the holy place. ''Dirt," says he. 
 
 Fr. Dan— Dirt? ' 
 
 Mrs. D. — Yiss, yer rivirince, dirt, D-double E-R-T, dirt. 
 Where? says I. "Look at that," says he. An' father, what 
 do you think? 
 
 Fr. Dan — I'm sure I can't imagine. 
 
 Mrs. D. — He actually points an' calls the swapin's of the 
 altar an' clane ashes, "dirt." "Yerra," glory be to St. Patrick," 
 says I to meself, "What nixt?" "Look at that altar cloth," says 
 he. "It's a disgrace to the church." Now Father Dan, I lave 
 it to yourself, whin was that altar-cloth washed last? 
 
 Fr. Dan — Oh, about a week ago, I should judge. 
 
 Mrs. D. — Six weeks to the minute, an' it's as clane to-day as 
 whin it came from the tub. But, says your grand cojutor, with 
 his gran' accent, "Do you call that clane wid thim. drippins of 
 the candles on it?" "Yerra, what harm is that?" says I. "Wax 
 that fell from the blessed candles?" Wid that he thritins to 
 report me to yerself, but begorrah, I ups an' towld him I'd 
 have me own story first, an' now I tells ye Father Dan, I won't 
 
 — 6 — 
 
stand it, if I have to beg me bread from door to door. 
 
 Fr. Dan — Well, Mrs. D'Arcy, — 
 
 Mrs. D. — I say I won't stand being towld I'm dirty, (sob- 
 bing and busy with handkerchief). Shure, a poor woman's 
 character it all she has. 
 
 Fr. Dan — But, my good woman — 
 
 Mrs. D. — Shure, didn't the Bishop tell me he could see his 
 face in thim candle sticks an' that it was the natest vestry in 
 the diocese. But this new cojutor, wid his English ways an' 
 his pianney an' his gran' firniture. Begor! no one can stand 
 him. We must clear out. (busy with handkerchief) An' 
 me after me eighteen years of scrubbin' an' washin' an' ironin', 
 wid thim two blissed orphans on me hands, must go to forin 
 countries to earn me bread. 
 
 Fr. Dan (rising and starting to pick up the keys) Well, 
 perhaps Mrs. D'Arcy — 
 
 Mrs. D. (quickly) No, Father Dan, if you wint down on yer 
 two binded knees an' said, Mrs. D'Arcy, I deplore ye to take up 
 thim keys an' go back to your dooties as me housekeeper an' 
 sachristan, I M^ouldn't. No, get some whipster that will suit 
 his rivirince. Mary D'Arcy ain't clane enough. — going to 
 door — 
 
 Fr. Dan (picking up the keys and crossing) My! my! but 
 this is a pretty kettle of fish. 
 
 Mrs. D. (to children) Come, me poor darlin's we'll find 
 a night's lodgin' over at Mrs. Moriarity's, (children cross to 
 her). The trifle of money ye owe me, yer rivirence, ye 
 can sind over in the mornin' before I start for Ameriky. Good- 
 night; (starts to exit, returns) An' if ye don't mind givin' me 
 a character — 
 
 Fr. Dan — Wait a bit: Mary, who gave yoii that beautiful 
 picture book today? 
 
 Mary (crossing to his L.) Father Letheby, isn't he good 
 Daddy Dan? 
 
 Fr. Dan — Yes. And, Jamesey (Jamesey crosses to his R.) 
 Who gave you that box of toys? 
 
 Jamesey — Father Letheby, and he showed me how to make 
 a house out of them too. 
 
 Fr. Dan — Yes. And didn't he say to me tonight that you 
 
and Mary were the two sweetest darling little angels in all Kil- 
 ronan, and that your mother ought to be proud of two such 
 precious jewels as yourselves? 
 
 Mrs. D. (from door) Did the new cojutor say thim words, 
 Father Dan? 
 
 Fr. Dan — :He did indeed, and paid you other compliments 
 that would make you blush, especially about your cooking. 
 Now, what have you to say ? 
 
 Mrs. D. (slowly) Well, under thim. conditions, I'll consint 
 to give him another trial (comes down stage) But, rcmimber, 
 tell his rivirince, whin he comes back from the sick call over 
 to Bantry, te|l him, Mary D'Arcy ain't ''DIRTY." I'll 
 trouble you'for thim ke3^s, if ye plase (takes keys from Fr. 
 Dan) Come, me darlins, 'tis time ye said your prayers and 
 were in bed (goes to door) 
 
 Jamesey and Mary — Goodnight, Daddy Dan. 
 
 Fr. Dan — Good-night, my dears, and may aligels watch 
 over your dreams (children exit) 
 
 (Jem Deady heard off stage singing ''The wearing of the 
 Green.") (He is seen passing by the window in the midst of 
 song.) (Jem knocks on door.) 
 
 Mrs. D. — There's Jem Dead}^, your rivirince. That's his 
 knock. 
 
 Fr. Dan — And his infernal singing. It's the pledge for life 
 he's after again, I know. But tell the vagabond I won't see 
 him tonight, (sits at table reading.) (Mr^. D. exits). This 
 fellow is thB plague of my life, a perennial source of mischief. 
 It's at a rope's end he'll finish his career I'm thinking, (re- 
 enter Mrs. D'Arcy, quickly.) 
 
 Mrs. D. — He says he must see you father, it's a matter of life 
 or death, he says. 
 
 Fr. Dan (rising) Ijife or death? then admit him at once. 
 
 Mrs. D. (calling off stage) Come in Jem. 
 
 (Enter Jem Deady, twirling his hat awkwardly and with 
 apparent bashfulness.) '. 
 
 Jem — Good evenin'. Father Dan. 
 
 Fr. Dan — Good evening, Jem. What's this matter of life or 
 death? No more trouble with the police I hope. 
 
 Jem — None, since lasht night, yer rivirince, whin we dropped 
 
 — 8 
 
one of the divilsin the duckpond by way of no harm. 
 
 Fr, Dan (sitting in disgust) Oh, you incorrigible rascal? 
 
 Jem (hesitatingly) But what brought me here is 
 
 well that is to say I came to tell ye, father, that the roof 
 
 of the chapel is lakin' again. 
 
 Fr, Dan — What, again? Whj-, it was only last week you 
 repaired it and guaranteed the job for a year. 
 
 Jem — Thrue for yer rivirince ! but you see the big storm of 
 Tuesday lasht upsit all me calculations, an' so now for the 
 small price — 
 
 Fr. Dan — Not another farthing. I've given you the last 
 penny you'll ever see for repairing that roof. You vagabond, 
 I'm beginning to think that every time you repair one leak you 
 always leave two in its place on purpose. 
 
 Jem (with injured innocence) Shure, father, ye don't think 
 I'd be robbin' the Holy Church that way, do ye? 
 
 Fr. Dan — I wouldn't put is past you, you rogue. (Mrs. 
 D'Arcy laughs and exits.) 
 
 Jem — Well, father, I'm hearty sorry for the bad opinion ye 
 have of a poor honest boy like meself ; but I gives ye fair warnin' 
 that accordin' to the almanac there's another big storm due for 
 nixt Sunday mornin' and' if the roof of the chapel lakes down 
 on the people at Holy Mass an' some of thim git^ "New Ma- 
 honey" out of it, 'twill be yourself that'll be to blame an' not 
 honest Jem Deady, tiler an' roofer — 
 
 Fr. Dan — And schemer. Now home with you to your fam- 
 ily ! and mind steer clear of the ale-house. 
 
 Jem — Can't I have one wee drop, father? 
 
 Fr, Dan — Not a single drop. Straight home with you. 
 
 Jem (withdrawing up the stage) Well, all right father, as 
 soon as the meetin's over. 
 
 Fr, Dan — Meeting? What meeting? 
 
 Jem (mysteriously) Shure, our secret pathriotic society, the 
 "Holy Terrors," meet on the green tonight for drill, (noise of 
 shouting in the distance off stage.) Begorrah, they're at it 
 already. I must hurry or I'll miss the fun. Good night, 
 father Dan, good night, (runs off. More shouting off stage,) 
 
 Fr. Dan (rising and looking out window) Meeting and drill 
 indeed. These poor fellows will amuse themselves playing at 
 
 — 9 
 
soldiers, and probably catch pneumonia out of it, and there 
 'twill end. Yes, for the day of Ireland's deliverance is yet 
 afar off. (more shouts off stage) (enter Mrs. D'Arcy.) 
 
 Mrs. D. (announcing) Miss Beatta Campion to see your 
 rivirince. 
 
 Fr. Dan — Admit her, Mrs. D'Arcy (exit Mrs. D.) I know 
 well enough what Beatta wants. Poor little angel! Her 
 young heart is almost broken over her father's falling away 
 from the faith, (enter Beatta; has sad appearance.) 
 
 Beatta — Your, Reverence, I have come to ask — 
 
 Fr. Dan — Yes, I know my child, (they shake hands; he 
 points her to chair) ''Be seated." (sits himself.) Well I 
 saw your father .as I promised, and tried to persuade him to 
 come to his Easter duty. But I had my labor for my pains. 
 
 Beatta — Oh, his indifference in matters of religion is so hard 
 to undeMand. But oh! how ardently I have prayed for his 
 return to the practice of his faith. How many masses, how 
 many communions have I offered up to obtain that grace ! 
 
 Fr. Dan — Do not despair, my good child ; keep up your 
 prayers and good works, and God, in His own tiipe and way, 
 will surely answer you. (pause) 01^, by the way Beatta, who 
 is that young man I see you with so much of late? 
 
 Beatta — A friend of my father — Captain Ormsby, 
 
 Fr. Dan — I hope his morals are as excellent as his looks. 
 
 Beatta (Vitll enthusiasm) Oh, he's a perfect gentleman, 
 a graduate of Trinity, an Inspector of the Coast Guards, and 
 father says, he has a pension of two thousand a year, a good 
 salary and great .expectations. 
 
 Fr. Dan— YouV father told you all that, did he? Ho! Ho! 
 I think I hear wedding bells. 
 
 Beatta (Bashfully) Well, father has indeed spoken to me 
 already of Mr. Ormsby — hesitates — 
 
 Fr. Dan — Humph ! I thought so. -And how does my little 
 girl regard the proposition? (she hesitates) Come, don't be 
 afraid to tell Father Dan. 
 
 Beatta — Well, I suppose I really do like Captain Ormsby, 
 but.... but.... 
 
 Fr. Dan — Come, my girl, out with it. 
 
 Beatta — There— there is a very serious objection.... at least 
 
 -10- \ 
 
on my part.... to our marriage. 
 
 Fr. Dan — Objectioli to a rich, educated gentleman and an 
 inspector of the Coast Guards? Bless me, what can it be? 
 
 Beatta (slowly and sadly) He is a professed infidel. 
 
 Fr. Dan (rising) An infidel? an infidel? My! My! but 
 that is an objection, an insurmountable objection. No, 
 Beatta, 'tis bad enough to have a father who is indifferent to 
 God, but a husband who denies him, oh, never, never ! Besides, 
 child, the rules of the Church. No, no, this match shall not 
 be. I forbid the banns, I forbid the banns, (walks about) 
 But, my child, has this young man no faith at all? 
 
 Beatta — Well, you see father, he has travelled all over the 
 world and seems to have taken his faith from his climate. Why 
 he told me once that when in Cairo he had actually kissed the 
 tooth of Buddha. 
 
 Fr. Dan — Indeed! and what good did that operation do 
 him? (walks about in thought) Humph! this is a hard case. 
 My dearest parishioner has set her heart on this globe-trotter. 
 
 Beatta — Oh, no father — 
 ' Fr. Dan — Yes you have, my child. I can read you like a 
 book. But there's a great big wall in the way, and it won't 
 do to repeat the tragedy of Pyramus and Thisbe. Now the 
 question is how to make this young fellow a Christian, (takes 
 a book from the case.) Have you tried. him with good books, 
 Beatta? 
 
 Beatta — Yes, father, with the best in print, but they seem 
 to make no impression on him. 
 
 Ft. Dan (replacing book) My! My! what's to be done, 
 (pauses) Well, I see only one hope, our Lord and his Blessed 
 Mother. So Beatta, get the mites of children to pray for this 
 man's conversion and your father's. I can't understand how 
 God can refuse the little ones anything. 
 
 . Beatta (rising to go) I will, father. Thank you, good 
 night. 
 
 Fr. Dan — Just a minute. Another idea strikes me. My 
 new curate, Father Letheby, is a great scholar, a Doctor of 
 Divinity, just the person to put the fear of God into these un- 
 believers. " - . 
 
 Beatta — Oh, father, if you would only send him over to our 
 
 —11— , 
 
house tomorrow, I'm sure it would do a world of good. 
 
 Fr. Dan — I will, my child. Good night and God bless you, 
 and don't forget the children's prayers. 
 
 Beatta — No, father. Good night. — exit; (shouts off stage 
 are heard.) 
 
 Fr. Dan (musing) An infidel? My! My!^ "Only the 
 fool hath said in his heart there is no God." 
 
 Fagan (outside in rough, loud voice) I say I will come in. 
 Out of my way ye brazen baggage, (enter Fagan driving Mrs. 
 D, ahead of him) (his coat in his hand, is torn, his vest split up 
 the back, and he presents the appearance of one knocked down 
 in the dirt; he is excited and angry throughout the scene.) 
 
 Fr. Dan (interfering) ,-Here, here, Mr. Fagan, remember 
 where you are. What's the matter? (sits at table.) 
 
 Fagan (brushing himself as Mrs. D. goes up stage) Matter 
 is it? Assult and battery's the matter. Your new curate's 
 the matter. Look at the state of me (turns himself around.) 
 
 Fr. Dan — Well, I must say I have seen you looking more 
 presentable at this rectory. 
 
 Fagan — Rectory? Presentible? Faith an' it's to an hos- 
 pital I ought to be presinted. But I'll make him pay dear for 
 this, so I will. There's a law in the land that'll reach even 
 priests for assultin' decent parishioners. 
 
 Fr. Dan — Parishioners indeed? And how long have you 
 been a practical Catholic, Mr. Fagan? • When were you to 
 your confession last? 
 
 Fagan (gruffly) That's me own business (puts on coat.) 
 
 Fr. Dan — And the devil's too. But go on with your story. 
 
 Fagan — That I will, and no thanks to ye. Well, I was just 
 addresin' a meetin' of the pathriots outside. You might have 
 heard the thunderin' applause that greeted me constitootional 
 remarks ? 
 
 Fr. Dan — I heard the crowd of you shouting "rebellion." 
 
 Fagan — Rebellion is it? an' why not? (in bombastic, orator- 
 ical style) Too long have the brutal hirelin's of England—^ 
 
 Fr. Dan (interrupting and striking table with hand) Cease 
 this babble, hypocrite, and come to the point. 
 
 Fagan- — That I will, and no thanks to ye. Well, jist as I 
 was in the midst of me pathriotic discourse, along comes your 
 
 —12— 
 
new curate, grabs me by the nape of the neck, strikes me be- 
 twixt the two eyes wid his iron fist, slams me on the turf, an^ 
 ginerally abuses me, as if I were the scum' of tlie earth. An' 
 so I've come to you, so I have, to have him removed from this 
 parish, an' at once (-strikes tlie table with his fist) (comic, bus. 
 by Mrs. D. in corner with broom.) 
 
 Fr. Dan — Easy there, man. Fr. Letheby is an earnest, holy 
 priest of God; and, I doubt not, had the best reasons for his 
 action, 
 
 Fagan — Rasons, is it? Thin ye mane to defind this outrage, 
 do ye? Well thin, I'll see what the Bishop will do. I have 
 influence in Dublin, mind ye, an' I'll have this interloper 
 silenced, so I will, an' if that don't keep his dirty fists off of 
 dacent people — with threatening gesture — why thin (to- 
 wards end of this speech enter Fr. Letheby, with Jem Deady, 
 and a group of male peasants behind him.) 
 
 Fr. Letheby (quietly) Well, sir, what then? 
 
 Fagan (retreating as if greatly afraid of Fr. Letheby) I'll 
 see what the law'U do. 
 
 Letheby — See that it doesn't take vengenance on yourself 
 first, scoundrel, (to Fr. Dan) Excuse me father, while I ex- 
 plain to these men. (to peasants) Boys, I broke up your meet- 
 ing just now because, well God knows, I pity you. You are 
 bent on a desperate and foolish course the outcome of which no 
 man can forsee. 
 
 Fagan (sneeringly) That's what ye priests always say. The 
 priests are always again the people. 
 
 Letheby — That's a lie and you know it. Remember the 
 Soggarth Aroon. For seven hundred years the priests and 
 the people have fought side by side in the battle for Irish free- 
 dom. 
 
 Jem — Thrue for ye, father, 'tis what our fathers and our' 
 fathers' fathers have always towld us. 
 
 Peasants — Hurroo ! 
 
 Letheby — But men, think of the consequences of your pres- 
 ent folly, possible imprisonment in the dark dungeons of Port- 
 land and Dartmoor; exile to America or Australia, separation 
 from your Holy Church, whose laws you are infringing, sep- 
 aration from your families to whom you are a constant source 
 
 —13— 
 
of terror and tribulation. And all this men too, all this at the 
 dictation of a traitor in the pay of the government, to betray 
 you. 
 
 Jem — Excuse me father, but you are wrong there. There's 
 not one in our crowd but what's true blue. 
 
 Letheby — So you think, sir; so you all think perhaps. But 
 I tell you there hides in your midst a traitor of the blackest 
 hue ! (peasants look at one another in dismay) (Fagan squirms, 
 and looks anxious, down, right. Letheby produces paper from 
 his cloak) Look! This paper, obtained, no matter how, is a 
 copy of the original on file in the archives of the police, some 
 of which mind you, were secret witnesses to your meeting to- 
 night (bus. by peasants). It contains the names of every young 
 man that has been sworn into your secret society, (peasants re- 
 garding paper over shoulder) and the name that heads all 
 the rest is that of one James Deady, tiler and roofer. 
 
 Jem' (amazed) Glory be to St. Patrick! who has betrayed us? 
 
 Letheby — Who? The vile informer who addressed you to- 
 night, Mr. Fagan (points to him crouching and crosses with 
 paper to Fr. Dan.) 
 
 Jem (to Fagan) You black imp of hell; (Jem and peas- 
 ants rush and seize him, dragging him screaming towards the 
 door.) 
 
 Fagan — Help! Murder! Police! 
 
 Fr. Dan (crossing to C.) No violence boys, I command you. 
 
 Jem — No more than a ducking in the pond, yer rivirince. 
 Shure 'twill be a charity to give him a wash anyhow. 
 
 Peasants — Hurroo! (rush him again.) 
 
 Fr. Dan — Stop ! Leave the monster to the pangs of his own 
 conscience. 
 
 Jem — No, father, lave him to the "Holy Terrors." 'Twill 
 do him more good. Away with him boys, (peasants shout, and 
 with Jem Deady rush Fagan, (yelling) "help, murder, police," 
 (out of door pass off stage.) (Peasants' shouting gradually dies 
 away. Letheby removes cloak and gives it to Mrs. D. to hang 
 upon rack.) 
 
 Fr. Dan (looking after crowd at window) Father, I'm afraid 
 you have stirred up a hornet's nest. 
 
 Letheby — Oh! if I have done wrong may God forgive me! 
 
 —14— 
 
but the thought that here in this quiet little village was a secret 
 society hatching rebellion quite upset me. It's a bad business, 
 sir. 
 
 Fr. Dan (coming down from window to sit at table.) Yes, 
 father, bad for soul and body. But to cure the evil we priests 
 must act judiciously. A good surgeon, you know, never hur- 
 ries over an operation. So, my dear young man, take an old 
 priest's advice and go slow, very slow. But you must be tired 
 and hungry after your long ride on the sick call. Mrs. D'Arcy, 
 bring in some lunch for his Reverence. ' 
 
 Letheby — Pray, father, don't bother about me.' I'm all 
 right. 
 
 Fr. Dan — Oh, but I will. A cup of hot tea, Mrs. D'Arcy. 
 
 Mrs. D. (going and aside.) ''Dirt," says he, "Dirt", (Mrs. 
 1>. exits and returns presently to arrange lunch oni the table and 
 exits ad lib.) 
 
 Fr. Dan — Tell me, father, who was sick? 
 
 Lethfeby (sitting at left of table.) An old mountain ranger 
 by the name of Conroy. He is very low and I annointed him. 
 And my, how he did pray ! Really, sir, the faith and fervor of 
 these people is quite extraordinary. I always felt in Man- 
 chester, on my mission there, that I was living at the bottom 
 of a huge black chimney in smoke and stench and noise, mater- 
 ial and spiritual. Ah, but here you have the holy pedple and 
 the peace and quiet of God. How happy your ministry among 
 them must have been, (sipping his tea.) 
 
 Fr. Dan — Very happy, thank God! 
 
 Letheby — Do you know father, since I've come here, I've 
 been thinking that ye are not making all that we might out 
 of the magnificent possibilities that lie before us. Things are 
 pretty backward here in Ireland ; and yet we have an intelligent 
 people, splendid natural advantages — 
 
 Fr. Dan — Yes; and absentee landlords and an infernally 
 bad government. 
 
 Letheby — Well, for example, I'm told that shoals of fish 
 whiten the sea here in the summer time, and yet the men have 
 no appliances with which to catch them, and sell them at a 
 vast profit. Now, why not build a pier out there, or perhaps, 
 even persuade our merchants to subscribe to build a modem 
 
 . < i 
 
 —15— 
 
fishing boat? (rises and goes to window.) Then, again father, 
 look at that old mill lying idle down there by the creek. Why 
 not furnish it up and have our young girls working there? — 
 (comes down again.) Pardon me if I seem to be finding fault 
 with the ministry of. the priests here, but I am sure you will 
 understand me. 
 
 Fr. Dan — Oh, perfectly. Do you know, your words carry 
 me back thirty years to when I first came to Kilronan as a new 
 curate. Ideas like yours burned in my brain. I too would 
 build a factory and a fishing schoone¥ ; yes, I would make Kil- 
 ronan a new favorite seaside resort of the western coast. I did 
 try it all. God knows ! with all the faith and fervor of my soul. 
 But I might as well have tried to move a mountain with a 
 pitchfork. Nothing on earth ©an cure the inertia of Ireland. 
 However, don't let my experience discourage you or dispel 
 your bright dreams (musingly.) Still I ought not to conceal 
 from you the the worst. 
 
 Letheby (a bit surprised.) The worst? Father, let me know 
 all I pray you. 
 
 Fr. Dan (sententiously.) In the improbable events of the 
 success of your ambitious schemes for their good, the people 
 won't even thank you. 
 
 . Letheby- — What! they w^on't be glad to be lifted out of all 
 this misery and degradation to a newer and sweeter life? 
 
 Fr. Dan — Precisely. They are happy enough as they are. 
 Take an old priest's advice and leave them so. ''They sow 
 not, neither do they spin, nor yet do they envy Solomon in all 
 his glory." How can you expect -to add to such happiness? 
 By building a fishing schooner and sending them out on the 
 high seas exposed to all the dangers of the deep? and for what? 
 A little more money, a litle more drink. And, when all's said 
 and done, the verdict will be, ''Why didn't he leave us alone?" 
 i'We were better off as we were." 
 
 Letheby (thoughtfully.) What you say, father, sounds sen- 
 sible enough. But there's some vile fallacy at the bottom of 
 it. (with determination.) Yes, and I'm going to prov« it. 
 Despite the lethargy of the peasants ; in spite of absentee land- 
 lords ; in the Jace of governmental bureaucracj'^, I am resolved 
 to build that fishing schooner for the meii and restore that fac- 
 
 -16- 
 
tory for the women. Tell me father, tell me I have your per- 
 mission to begin. 
 
 Fr. Dan (rising.) Oh, certainly, if you insist. But I warn 
 you, sir, that in twelve months time all you'll have to show for 
 your pains will be a head for gray hairs, that's all. 
 
 Letheby — Nevertheless, Fr. Dan, come what may, I'll try. 
 And now your blessing on the work, (kneels at Fr. Dan's feet, 
 as the latter blesses him.) 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene: — Outside the Chapel and Rectory. Drop — full 
 stage — representing country side with road crossing stage. 
 Chapel, with steps and door R. Cottage, with door L. Large 
 stone cross up stage D., near road, Rustic bench near cottage 
 door, 
 
 Beatta (discovered standing on chapel steps and decorat- 
 ing chapel with flowers, ferns, etc., Mrs. D. near by, watching 
 her.) 
 
 Beatta (finishing decorations.) Now, Mrs. D'Arcy-, how does 
 that look? 
 
 Mrs. D. (admiringly.) Beautiful, mum, beautiful. 
 
 Beatta — Now I think I'll decorate the Blessed Virgin's altar 
 inside. 
 
 Mrs. D. — Dp, Miss Batty, if you plaze. You know, Father 
 Letheby is mighty fussy about that altar, mum. He gave 
 me strict orders this mornin' to have it lookin' uncommon nate 
 for the closin' of the "Forty Hours" this evenin'. 
 
 Beatta — Very well, Mrs. D'Arcy, I'll attend to it (about to 
 enter chapel.) 
 
 (Jamesey and Mary run in from L.) 
 
 Jamesey and Mary — Oh, Ma, look here come the soldiers. 
 
 Mrs. D. (looking off R.) 'Tis your father, Miss Batty, wid 
 his men. 
 
 (Campion and squad of soldiers enter R., cross stage, and exit 
 L., followed by the children mimicking their step.) 
 
 Mrs. D. — You'll excuse me for sayin' so, Miss Batty, but I 
 notice that your father nivver raises his hat whin he passes 
 the Chapel now. 
 
 —17— 
 
■ ■ ) ^ .. 
 
 Beatta (sadly.) No, Mrs. D'Arcy; I'm afraid my father is 
 becoming rather (s^es Ormsby, who has entered R,, and is 
 standing L. C, looking ^own road, she crosses to him.) Oh, 
 Captain Omjsby, tell me what brings the soldiers from the 
 barracks this afternoon ? 
 
 Ormsby — There's to be an eviction down the road at five 
 o'clock., 
 
 Beatta — Another ? and who are the unfortunates to be driven 
 from home this time? 
 
 Ormsby — An old couple — the name is Murphy, I believe. 
 
 Mrs. D. (picking up stray flowers and ferns from the chapel 
 steps.) The Murphys, is it? Musha thin, they've lived in that 
 old cottage yonder these sixty years, an' now they're to be 
 turned out of house an' home. Yerra, bad cess to the law an' 
 the landlords, I say. 
 
 Beatta — Oh, why should it be my father who always has to do 
 this miserable work? 
 
 Ormsby — It's only his duty as an officer of the crown, my 
 dear. 
 
 Beatta — Yes, I know ; but the peasants don't take kindly to 
 these evictions. They say my father is too hard-hearted, and 
 they have often actually threatened to take his life. And, oh, 
 if anything serious were to happen to him now, when his soul 
 is at enmity with God, oh, I cannot bear to think of it! turns 
 aside — 
 
 Ormsby (approaching to console her.) Then don't, my dear, 
 surrounded as he is by the power of the British government, 
 and majesty, your father is perfectly safe. However,, much 
 the peasants may threaten, they will not dare to resort to 
 violence. 
 
 ' Fagan (who has entered unseen.) R. — If they do we'll have 
 the law on thim. (exit L. as angry shouts are heard off stage.) 
 
 Beatta (disturbed by shouts) What is that? 
 
 Ormsby (up stage I..) Only the peasants hooting the sol- 
 diers (louder shouting) perhaps after all, I'd better go and 
 help preserve the peace. 
 
 Beatta^ — If you only would, captain (exit Ormsby L., amid 
 njore shouting, etc.) ^ 
 
 Beatta (Going towards chapel.) Oh, God watch over and pro- 
 
 • —18— 
 
tect my poor father (exit into chapel.) 
 
 Mrs. D. — TJiat's a fine gintlemin, that captain Ormsby. Too 
 l^ad he's an infidel ; 
 
 (Jamesey and Mary run in L. — Deady heard singing R.) 
 
 James and Mary — Oh, ma, here comes Jem Deady. (calling 
 to Jem) Halloa, Jem, (runs off R.) 
 
 Jem (stopping his song in the distance) Hello, me darling. 
 
 Mrs. D. — Strange the vagabond's not at the eviction. But 
 I'll not tell him of it or there'll be murder shure. (sits on 
 chapel steps and busies herself with basket and flowers.) 
 
 (enter Jem, carrying little Mary on h^s shoulder and lead- 
 ing Jamesey by the hand, R.) 
 
 Jem— -Arrah, Jamesey me darlint, and its the strapper ye're 
 growin' to be. An' you me darlint (placing her on the 
 ground) you'll soon be as beautiful as your charmin' mother 
 over there. The crame of the afternoon to ye,~Mrs. D'Arcy, 
 an' it's swate as"a honey-suckle ye're looking this day. 
 
 Mrs. D. — Arrah, go along about your bisiness, ye blather- 
 skite. 
 
 Jem — Bisiness is it? Musha an' thin it's about me bisiness 
 I've come doWn here. Is Fr. Letheby at home, I don't know? 
 
 Mrs. D. — -No, he is not. And if he was,, its small bisiness 
 he'd be having wid the loikes of Mr. James Deady, tiler and 
 roofer ( sarcastically . ) 
 
 Jem (imitating her tone) Is that so now, Mrs. Mary>p'Arcy, 
 housekeeper and sacristan? (approaches her) but whist! till 
 I tell ye a secret (lowering voice) I've come around the Co- 
 jutor and got a job. 
 
 Mrs, D. — For Hivin's sake. Not the old job. 
 
 Jem — The owld job to be shure, repairing the roof of the 
 chapel again (pointing up.) Fr. Dan wouldn't stand for it at all, 
 at all, at first, but me friend the Cojutor, used his inflooence, an' 
 so I'm here to see his Rivirince to borrow me first week's pay, 
 a tveek in advance, to buy me £K,laddqr to go to work. 
 
 Mrs. D. — To buy drink, ye mane, ye. schamin' tippler. 
 Musha thin, I wonder the priest-hasn't more since thin to be 
 dalin wid the loikes of ye. 
 
 Jem — Since, is it? Begorrah, he had since enough to pick 
 out your Jamesey for an altar by, hadn't he? (to Jamesey) 
 
 —19— 
 
Come here me bucko, an' you too, Mary you roguish queen of 
 the fairies, come thither an' sit by your dadda (taking cliildren 
 to him affectionately on t|ie rustic bench L. — Pause) Do ye 
 know Mrs. D'Arcy, I've been thinkin' a grate deal of late about 
 these two blissed orphans of yours. 
 
 Mrs. D. — An phwat do ye be thinking? I ax ye? 
 
 Jem (solemnly) I do be thinkin' 'tis a shame entoirely to 
 have thim livin' on this way all their live^ without a father. 
 
 Mrs. D. (Moved) Thrue for ye, Jem, but shure they'll never 
 find another father like poor Mike D'Arcy, may the hivins be 
 his bed this day. Hoo — hoo (cpmic bus. of crying and moan- 
 ing with a large bandanna to wipe her eyes.) 
 
 Jem — Boo — -hoo ! (imitating her crying bus., with a different 
 colored handkerchief — of the tail of his coat.) 
 
 Mrs. D. (sobbing) He had his ways, so he had, but he was 
 good to the children, so he was. Boo hoo — Bus. — 
 
 Jem (Boo-hoo! — bus.,) and with children again — Right ye 
 are, Mrs. D'Arcy. He wor a good nian, wor Mike, an' a good 
 purvider. He'll be cannonized (play on, this word some day,) 
 I'm thinkin'. 
 
 Mrs. D. (loudly) (Boo-hoo — bus.) Oh, why did he die, why 
 did he die ? 
 
 Jem — Cheer up, poor sowl, he'll nivver die again. 
 
 Jem and Mrs. D. (together) Boo-hoo! (Jem now wipes eyes^ 
 of the childpn, who are also boo-hooing) (Pause.) 
 
 Jem — But me good women, let's dry our eyes. The poor 
 man's dead an' gone to his reward, the more's the pity, an' all 
 the tears in Christendom wont bring him bacl^ again; now, 
 do be after listenin' to a bit of common since advice from an 
 owld friend of the family. Ye know ye're a widdy now. 
 
 Mrs. D. (loudly bursting out again) Boo-hoo (bus.) 
 
 Jem — Boo-hoo! (bus., and with children again) Now, 'tis 
 hard for ye poor sowl, so it is, wid these two blissid orphans on 
 your hands, to be toilin' day an' night, washin' an' scrubbin' 
 an' ironin' for the bite that goes into their little mouths. Now, 
 if ye'd be after doin' "your duty be yourself an' the orphans 
 here, ye'd be keepin' your Byes out for a substitute for their 
 father. 
 
 Mrs. D. — A substitute for me departed spouse, is it? Musha, 
 
 , —20— 
 
in the name of charity, where would I be after lookin' for such, 
 I ax ye ? 
 
 Jem (Coddling the children) (assuming a very fatherly 
 air.) Well, Mrs D'Arcy, if ye wor so disposed, ye wouldn't have 
 to look farther thin this same bench here. 
 
 Mrs. D. (rising and contemptuously.) What! a lazy good- 
 for-nithing tipler an' common disturber like yourself to. fill the 
 shoes of poor Mike D'Arcy, I'd marry a fiddler first. 
 
 Jem (rising and approaching her.) Aisy there, me honey- 
 suckle. Didn't poor Mike, on his dyin' bed, say to ye wid his 
 last breath — that if ivver ye made up your mind to take a 
 second husband, that I'd be his first choice for his successor? 
 
 Mrs. D.— Well? 
 
 Jem — Well, under thim coiiditions, what's to prevint you 
 namin' the happy day? ' 
 
 ^rs. D. — Begor, thin I will. 
 
 Jena (rushing' to embrace her.) Darlint of me heart! 
 
 Mrs. D. (Warding him off.) Wait a bit. I'll marry you 
 Jem Deady, (slowly) on the first day — 
 
 Jem (jubilantly) of nixt month, yiss. 
 
 Mrs. D. — No, on the first day I see ''swallows wearin' over- 
 coats" (laughs heartily, crosses stage, and goes with children 
 "->, into cottage. ) 
 
 Jem (after standing for awhile musing and slowly lighting 
 his pipe.) "Whin swallows wears overcoats," is it? Begorrah 
 thin they'll have to do it, for I'm resolved to be the father of 
 thim orphans, (noise of rioting off stage:) (Jem runs up stage 
 C.) Hallo, what's that? (shouts again.) Blast me eyes, if it 
 aint a row^ at Murphy's, (more shouts.) Wow! wow! there 
 goes a red-coat down wid a stone on top of him. Glory be to 
 ructions, I mustn't miss that picnic (runs off excited L. shout- 
 ing) "Hurroo." 
 
 Letheby (entering L., amid the shouting.) Another eviction? 
 Merciful heaven, will the miseries of this distracted people 
 never end? (goes to chapel steps, and stands reading his brevi- 
 ary.) 
 
 (Ormsby enters L., stands looking dow^n the road.; 
 
 Ormsby — I left matters quiet, but the trouble seems to have 
 broken out afresh. Campion is very indiscreet — ^but blood- 
 
 —21— 
 
shed ? No, the peasants will not dare. 
 
 Letheby (reading aloud to himself.) We can see now 
 through a glass in a dark manner ; but then face to face. Now 
 I know in part, but then I shall know even as I am known. 
 And there remain faith, hope, and charity, these three. But 
 the greatest of these is Charity, (closes book and is about to 
 enter chapel.) 
 
 Ormsby — Excuse me Mr. Letheby, but I have come to return 
 the book you lent me. (handing him the book.) ^ 
 
 Letheby — Ah, yes, St. Thomas on ''Faith." The work has 
 enlightened you some, I hope, Mr. Ormsby. 
 
 Ormsby — No ; I cannot truthfully say it has resolved any of 
 my doubts. 
 
 Letheby — No? well, if St. Thomas fails to convince, you are 
 a sceptic indeed, Captain. 
 
 Ormsbj^ — Frbm your point of view, yes. Still I am greatly 
 attracted by your Church. In its extraordinary history since 
 the time of the apostles, it presents such a shining example of 
 unity and all-embracing Catholicity. Then again, it seems to 
 be founded on love, love of a supernatural kind, and almost be- 
 yond understanding. Really, sir, my heart is with you. If 
 my head would only follow. 
 
 Letheby — My_ dear young friend, even that won't do. The 
 head might follow and you might still be as far from us as a 
 Hindoo. 
 
 Ormsby — I don't understand. Surely all that is wanting 
 now is a conviction of the truth of your teaching. 
 
 Letheby — Captain, there's your grave mistake. Conviction 
 is not faith. Faith is not a matter to be acquired by mere 
 learning. It is a gift like the talent of a great painter or musi- 
 cian — a sixth sense — the pure gratuity of the All Wise and All- 
 Good. 
 
 Ormsby — Pardon me, but I do not quite follow as to that 
 sixth sense. It seems to me this is a question not of sense but 
 of the soul. 
 
 Letheby — Let me explain. Have you ever visited a blind 
 asylum ? 
 
 Ormsby — Oh, yes, though principally abroad. By the way 
 you don't mind my smoking? 
 
 —22— 
 
Letheby — Not at all (Ormsby sits on bench and smokes.) 
 Well, you may have noticed then that there are various degrees 
 of the dread disease of blindness. But the most pathetic case 
 to by mind is that of the young boy or girl who comes towards 
 you, looking steadily at you, with large luminous eyes the iris 
 perfectly clear, the pupil normally distended and every outward 
 indication of perfect health in the organ. But, in an instant, 
 the truth flashes upon you, that the poor child is blind. Now 
 where's the disease? 
 
 Ormsby — Why, the optic nerve is destroyed. 
 
 Letheby — Precisely. And now, if you were to pour in 
 through the dark canal of the pupil the strongest sunlight, do 
 you suppose it would make any difference? 
 
 Ormsby — None, so far as the sight is concerned. Rather it 
 might paralyse the brain. 
 
 Letheby — Exactly. And so, my dear young friend, if you 
 were to pour till the crack of doom every kind of human light 
 upon the dark retina of the soul without the optic nerve of 
 faith, you would still be blind to your grave. 
 
 Ormsby (rising thoughtfully.) Well, it is something to know 
 that the fault is not altogether my own. But really, sir, my 
 conversion demands a miracle. 
 
 Letheby — Quite so, and that is why I am storming the cita- 
 dels of heaven for you with that resistless artillery, the prayers 
 of the little children, and if you sincerely wish to capture this 
 grace of God by one tremendous coup, search out the most 
 striken and afflicted of my flock, and get that one to pray for 
 you. And mark my words! very soon the light of faith will 
 burst upon yoiii and you will wonder that you were ever blind. 
 
 Ormsby — A thousand thanks four your kind advice, and to 
 prove my sincerity, I'll follow it at once. 
 
 Letheby (taking his hand.) Do, my friend, and as God liveth 
 and reigneth, the Holy Ghost will surely enter your soul. 
 
 (loud uproar heard off stage L.) (Letheby and ormsby go up 
 stage to see the trouble. Presently, peasants, male and female, 
 and soldiers, enter in a confused group — the peasants headed 
 by Jem Deady, struggling with the soldiers.) 
 
 Lethebyv-In the name of God, men, cease this fighting, 
 (as fighting and uproar gradually subside, an old man and an 
 
 —23— 
 
old woman emerge from the crowd to the side of Fr. Letheby 
 atR. C.> 
 
 (Old man and old woman.) Save us, your riverence, save us. 
 (clinging. to him for protection.) 
 (enter Beatta from chapel and Fr. D, an Mrs. D.) 
 (Campion breaks through the crowd and comes down L. C.) 
 
 Letheby — Captain Campion, what is the meaning of this? 
 
 Campion (Defiantly.) It means that I am enforcing the laws 
 of England and will punish an^y man that dares to interfere. 
 
 Letheby — What law gives you the right to drag the faces of 
 these poor people through the dust ? 
 
 Campion — The law of eviction, sir? 
 
 Letheby — You have already evicted them from their cottage, 
 have you not? 
 
 Campion — Well, what of it? 
 
 Letheby — This. They now stand upon the ground of the 
 Roman Catholic Church under my protection — and you touch 
 them at your peril. 
 
 Peasants — Hurroo ! Bully for you. Father Letheby. 
 
 Letheby — Silence men. Mrs. D'Arcy, take these unfortun- 
 ates inside and care for them. 
 
 (Old man and woman — crossing to L. to Mrs. D'Arcy.) Long 
 life to your Riverence. Long life to your Riverence. (exeunt 
 into cottage with Mrs. D.) ^ 
 
 (Beatta is now sitting on Chapel steps with Ormsby trying to 
 console her.) ^ 
 
 Fagan (coming out of the crowd.) This is treason and I call 
 for the law. 
 
 Jem (seizing him.) Then take it, ye scut (kicks him off L.) 
 
 Cami)ion (to soldiers.) Men, attention! Back to your bar- 
 racks. March ! 
 
 (soldiers form and exeunt R., while peasants exeunt on both 
 sides, hissing the soldiers. Jem exits L. Making funny faces 
 at Campion, who is plainly nervous and nettled.) 
 
 Campion (coming down C, and to Letheby.) Sir, your con- 
 duct just now is equivalent to an insult and I demand an 
 apology. 
 
 Letheby — An apology? For what? Because you perse- 
 cute the poor? \ 
 
Campion (rushing, enraged.) Be careful, sir. I am not 
 used to such language. 
 
 .Letheby (with quiet dignity.) Perhaps not. But you'll 
 have to listen to it just the same. 
 
 Campion (rushing at him with upraised hand.) By God, sir, 
 I've a mind to pitch you over the cliff. 
 
 Beatta (rising in alarm.) Father! Father! 
 
 Ormsby (seizing Campion and aside to him.) Captain, are 
 you mad? 
 
 Letheby (to Beatta.) Fear not, my child (she sits again) (he 
 returns to Campion.) Now, Sir, as to that pitching, let me tell 
 you there are two sides to the question. So hard-heart, listen, 
 for I am not afraid of you and I will speak. F-said you 
 were a persecutor of the poor. I repeat it. How many homes 
 have you made desolate by your cruel and inhuman enforce- 
 ment of the law? How many innocent sons have you forced 
 into exile or imprisonment? Yet, steeped in iniquity, as you 
 are, you don't care. 
 
 Campion (now moved a bit.) Sir, I — 
 
 Letheby (quickly.) No; and conscienceless as you are, you 
 don't care for the God that made you, nor for that pecious 
 jewel he has entrusted to your keeping — ^pointing to Beatta, 
 weeping on Chapel steps. 
 
 Campion (touched by the reference to Beatta.) Sir, you 
 wrong me, I love my child. I am not an irreligious man. 
 
 Letheby — You are, because you never kneel to God, or obey 
 the commandments of his Holy Church. But let me tell you 
 sir, by your irreligion, by your wicked enforcement of the law, 
 you are slowly breaking that child's heart, and for yourself 
 paving a quick and certain road to hell and eternal damnation. 
 ( crosses to Fr. Dan at L. ) 
 
 Campion (overcome by scene.) By jove, I never thought a 
 priest could talk to an officer and a gentleman so boldly. But 
 to be very frank with, you, sir, I rather like it. We soldiers 
 hate nothing so much as a coward. We like priests to show us 
 they believe in hell by trying to keep us back-sliders out of it^ 
 Mr. Letheby, I think that you and I will make better friends 
 than enemies. I apologize. Your hand (extends his hand.) 
 
 Letheby — On one condition. 
 
 Campion — Name it. 
 
 —25— 
 
Letheby — That you promise to make your peace with God 
 and be at the altar rail next Sunday. 
 
 Campion (hesitating.) Well, I'll think it over — withdraws 
 his proffered hand and crosses to Beatta-^My child, you are 
 going to be happy now, aren't you? 
 
 Beatta (embracing him.) Yes, father, very happy (they 
 turn and go up stage, and meet Ormsby, R. C.) 
 
 Campion \with enthusiasm pointing to Letheby.) By jove 
 Ormsby, what a soldier that fellow would make! 
 
 (exeunt Campion, Beatta and Ormsby R.) 
 
 (Stage Note?) (At the opening of the eviction scene, "stage 
 lights are turned to represent sunset, and gradually change dur- 
 ing above scene, till it is now supposed to be quite dark.) 
 
 Fr, Dan — Well, father, you've taught your old pastor a 
 wholesome lesson. We priests have no scruples in calling to 
 account Jem Deady and his kind, but we hate to tackle the 
 ''big-wigs," and they despise us for our cowardice. Isn't that it? 
 
 Letheby — It would seem so, father. 
 
 Fr. Dan — However, let's talk about your fishing boat. Orms- 
 by warns me it may become a \Gry perilous enterprise. 
 
 Letheby — Oh, I've advanced too far now to retreat. Be- 
 sides the Board of Public Works has at last given its consent, 
 thanks to Ormsby himself. 
 
 Fr. Dan — Indeed! And they'll advance all the money? 
 
 Letheby — No ; only two thirds — four hundred pounds — prin- 
 cipal and interest to be paid back in two years. 
 
 Fr. Dan — Good ! Good ! And the other two hundred? 
 
 Letheby — Subscribed by twenty merchants who have taken 
 shares in the boat. Siie is already on the stocks at Belfast and 
 will be ready by the first of May when she will be christened 
 "The Star of the Sea" and make her first run with the fishing 
 fleet. 
 
 Fr. Dan — Splendid ! My, father, but you have th§ Lamp of 
 Alladdin. And the shirt factory? 
 
 Letheby — That's coming along all right, too. Within a 
 week, I shall have fifteen machines in operation, and my mana-; 
 ger assures rhe that when the initial expenses are paid, the 
 girls will be able to earn easily from eight to twelve shillings 
 a week. 
 
 —26— 
 
Fr. Dan — My, my, but that's good, 'twill be a great help to 
 the poor people (taking his hand) God bless you. Father 
 you are a wonderful fellow (lights appear in chapel and cottage.' 
 Bell tolls in chapel tower. ) 
 
 Letheby (hearing bell.) The call for Benediction. Excuse 
 me, father, while I prepare inside, (exit into cottage.) 
 
 Fr. Dan^ (looking after him.) What a treasure he is. And 
 the Bishop sent him here to break my heart. Well, it's an 
 old way his Lordship has of returning good for evil (exit into 
 chapel.) 
 
 (dark stage — moonlight.) 
 
 (N. B. — stop bell in chapel and start organ — N. B. — peasants 
 from R. and L. come slowly on stage, in varied groups and 
 from both sides, and enter chapel, preceded by altar boys in 
 costume with cross and censer. Enter Mrs. D. from cottage with 
 Jamesey and Mary, Jamesey dressed as an altar boy. As she 
 is about enter chapel, Jem Deady, wjio has entered quietly, 
 pulls at her dress. — Caution : Don't let action of peasants, male 
 and female, here be too formal. ) 
 
 Mrs. D. — Arrah, stop your teasin' ye omadhaun (exit with 
 children into chapel.) 
 
 Jem (looking after boy.) "Whin swallows wear overcoats," 
 says she. (produces sheet of music) I'm to sing this hymn in 
 the choir tonight by a special request of Fr. Letheby himself, 
 but begorrah, I can't seem to get the tune through me pipes — 
 (singing in low voice.) "Holy, holy, holy," — 
 
 Fagan (who has entered and is watching from stage L.) 
 May the tune choke ye, ye hypocrite. 
 
 Jem — Yerra, if I wasn't goin' to me holy church this blissed 
 minute, I'd murder ye for them words, you skunk. 
 
 Fagan (snapping fingers.) That for ye an' your church! 
 Jem (picking up stone, throws it at Fagan, who grunts as 
 if struck and exits L.) It's mighty strange, but every time I 
 lays eyes on that divil, I always forget the tin Command- 
 ments, especially, the fifth (exit into chapel, humming the 
 tune.) "Holy, holy, holy."— 
 
 (Old man and woman enter from cottage and exeunt into 
 chapel — enter Beatta and Ormsby R., Ormsby escorting her as 
 far as the chapel steps — cease organ in chapel.) 
 
 —27— 
 
Beatta (hand on chapel door.) You are still opposed to 
 entering? 
 
 Ormsby — No, Beatta, in my present state of mind to attend 
 your Benediction now would be only a mockery on my part, 
 and I will not deceive you or myself. But I'll see you after 
 Benediction, may I? 
 
 IBeatta (as you wish.) (Ormsby bows and retires. up stage.) 
 
 Beatta (to herself) He's right. After all it's better to be 
 thoroughly honest with God — and with ourselves (exit into 
 chapel.) 
 
 Solo in chapel — ''Lead, Kindly Light." Baritone preferred 
 — first only Pantomine by Ormsby to represent the thought of 
 the hymn, Note:^This pantomine is important as a lead to 
 the clinlax of this act. 
 
 Ormsby (at conclusion of hymn, reflectively.) Lead Thou 
 me on (as he retires up the stage, R. Enter L., Alice. Moylan; 
 the blind girl led by her sister Mary, age 12 or 13.) 
 
 Alice (weakly) Mary, Fm so tired. Let me rest awhile 
 before entering. (Mary places her on chapel steps.) 
 
 Ormsby (approaching) My poor girl, you are not well. 
 May I ask what ails you? 
 
 Mary — My poor sister, sir, is blind. 
 
 Ormsby — Blind and so young? Terrible ! 
 
 Alice — Terrible enough, sir, — but welcome be the will of 
 God. 
 
 Ormsby — Tell me, girl, were you born blind ? 
 
 Alice — No, sir, this is a scourge from heaven in punishment 
 of my sins. ' • 
 
 Ormsby — But how came it about? 
 
 Alice — Sir, once, not so very long ago — I^was the village 
 beauty, so they said. The thought made me proud and vain. 
 One day, while admiring niyself before my looking glasg, I 
 heard a noise at our kitchen door, as of some one trying to enter. 
 Angry at being disturbed, I burst from my room and saw in 
 the kitchen doorway the repulsive countenance of Nance, the 
 outcast, her face disfigured by some loathsome desease. She 
 begged for alms, but I, flushed with the thought of my own 
 charms shouted in derision, "Well, you are a beauty." And 
 then she said (breaks down) Oh, you tell him, Mary, I cannot 
 
 —28— . 
 
bear to repeat her words. 
 
 Mary — She said, "I'm not as handsome as you, alanna,^ 
 there was once when perhaps I was — but your time may come," 
 she said ''Mockin' is catchin'; mockin' is catchin'." And then, 
 sir, she cursed my poor sister, oh ! so wickedly and went away. 
 
 AHce — Yes, and all that day I could not get the thought of 
 my sins out of my head. But that night at a party my vanity 
 all came back again, and I was glorying in the flattery of the 
 young men around me, when suddenly I grew dazed and ill. 
 
 Mary — So .that I had to take her from the room and lead 
 her home, sir. 
 
 Alice — Yes; and all that night I never slept. That out- 
 cast's stricken face was always coming before me to haunt me — 
 staring at me out of the darkness, staring, till in sheer madness 
 and terror^ I leaned from my bed and fell exhausted upon the 
 floor. And then the. frightful anger of God coming down upon 
 me suddenly flashed across my mind, and I screamed, and tore 
 my hair, and bit at the window pane, and shrieked, "Don't, 
 oh Lord, oh, don't." Till I fell again, then I dragged my- 
 self across the floor to a picture of the Blessed Vir^gin upon the 
 wall, and with tears a-streaming, I begged of her, "You won't 
 let Him, mother, you won't let Him !" But the Virgin's face 
 only glared down on me coldly, pitilessly — and then — in an 
 instant -r-even as I gazed upon it — it faded completely away; 
 and then I realized, oh, my God! — breaks completely down — I 
 was blind — stone blind. 
 
 Mary (with arms around her) Oh, Lord, have mercy on my 
 poor sister! 
 
 Ormsby (moved) Horrible! Horrible, (aside) This is in- 
 deed the most stricken and afflicted of the flock, (aloud) My 
 girl, have you seen a doctor about this? 
 
 Alice (Gradually recovering) Oh, yes, but he says there is 
 no cure for me. 
 
 Ormsby — But you are a Catholic. Have you consulted your 
 confessor? 
 
 Alice — Oh, yes, and kind Father Letheby visits me every 
 day_with words of consolation. 
 
 Ormsby — Yes; and what does he say about your trouble? 
 
 Alice — He says it is some mysterious dispensation of the. 
 
 -29— 
 
Almighty, which I cannot now understand, but that some day 
 I shall understand and see that it is all God's mercy and not 
 His anger. 
 
 Ormsby — And do you believe what the priest says? 
 
 Alice — I believe it most firmly. Who knows but that some- 
 thing more dreadful was in store for me, and God, in His won- 
 derful mercy, has just saved me from it? So, sir, I am quite 
 resigned to His will and thankful for all His goodness to me. 
 
 Ormsby (aside) Such faith I have not seen in all my days! 
 (aloud) My child, tell me — and tell me honestly — I have a 
 strange reason for asking — do you really believe in your heart 
 and soul — without reserve — that it is the love of God which 
 thus afflicted you? ' 
 
 Alice — I believe it by my hopes of eternal life. 
 
 Ormsby — And are you really glad because He has thus afflict- 
 ed you? 
 
 Alice — Glad and truly happy, only for mother, who frets so, 
 I would not care to be well again. 
 
 Ormsby — But do you not sometimes grieve for the loss of 
 your beauty? 
 
 Alice — Why should I? when I know that God will give me 
 back my beauty in heaven and a thousand times greater there 
 for all He permits me to suffer here. 
 
 Ormsby (aside) It is the sublime and the impossible (aloud) 
 — But can you — do you — forgive the woman, Nance, the out- 
 cast, whose curse has thus been visited upon you? 
 
 Alice — I have long since forgiven her from the bottom of my 
 heart. And now I am going into Benediction to pray — and 
 oh! so hard for her return to grace and the salvation of her 
 immortal soul (rising to enter chapel.) 
 
 Ormsby (after a long pause) will you also pray in there — 
 and strongly too, for my salvation? 
 
 Alice — Do you sincerely wish salvation? 
 
 Ormsby — I wish to see the light of God, your God. 
 
 Alice — Then I will pray for you — and for poor Nance too. — 
 (exit with Mary into chapel.) 
 
 Ormsby (looking into chapel after her) If there be indeed 
 a God, He must — He will hear the prayer of this. His saint 
 and martyr, (retires thoughtfully up stage and exit R.) 
 
 —30— . 
 
Note — (Chorus in chapel, "Nearer, my God to Thee.") 
 
 (Enter Nance the Outcast, L. in fear and trembUng, looking 
 about to see if she is observed. As hymn progresses, she goes 
 through pantomime — at the words "e'en though it be a cross 
 that raiseth me," kneels at foot of large cross, making the pic- 
 ture "Eock of Ages." At the conclusion of, hymn, she throws 
 herself in abject despair on the steps of the chapel.) 
 
 (Enter Letheby, from cottage. Later followed by Ormsby, 
 who remains in the background watching this scene until 
 occur his lines.) 
 
 Note: — (During the succeeding dialogue, choir in chapel 
 chants softly "Tantum Ergo.") 
 
 Letheby (about to enter chapel finds Nance on the steps) 
 Halloa! What have we here? pulls back Nance's shawl from 
 her face (recognizes her.) You, Nance? What do you want 
 here? 
 
 Nance — That's a queer question for a priest to be askin'. 
 What did the poor Magdalen want when she went to Christ 
 himself, a bigger man than you and wasn't turned away either? 
 
 Letheby — Yes; but she repented and loved Christ, and was 
 prepared to die rather than sin again. 
 
 Nance — And how do you know but that I'm the same? Do 
 you know more than that God above you? And He is my wit- 
 ness here tonight before His Blessed and only Son that all hell 
 fire won't make me fall again. Hell fire? Oh! it isn't hell 
 fire I'm afraid of, but the face of Christ and yours. Hiding 
 her face again — 
 
 Letheby (moved) Poor Nance, may God help and pardon 
 you! 
 
 Nance — Oh, if you had only had those same kindly words 
 for me three months ago, how much misery you would have 
 saved me ! But you had the hard word, Father Letheby, and it 
 almost drove me wild to think as how you said from the altar as 
 how I wasn't fit to come and mix with the people at Holy Mass. 
 
 Letheby — What else was I to say. 
 
 Nance — Nothing then perhaps. But oh, you didn't know 
 how many and many a night — in cold and hunger — when 
 you were asleep in your warm bed — how I stole from my hovel 
 of a home — here to the chapel door, and peeped in through the 
 
 —31— 
 
key-liole to where His Sacred Heart was burning with love for 
 sinners; for, oh, I thought perhaps He would come out, when 
 no one was looking, and speak to me — but no^ no. He and you 
 and all the world was against me — Oh, but it was hard, hard — 
 (breaks down.) 
 
 Letheby — SjDeak low, Nance, the men inside will hear you. 
 
 Nance — They've heard w^orse from my lips than what I'm 
 saying tonight, God help me. It isn't the men nor their doings 
 that I care about ; but when the young girls cross the street 
 lest they should come near me ; and the decent mothers throw 
 their aprons over their children's heads lest they should see me, 
 oh that's what breaks my heart entirely. 
 
 Letheby (deeply moved) Well, what is it to be now, Nance? 
 are you resolved to change your life? 
 
 Nance — Verral, what else would bring be here tonight. 
 
 Letheby — Are you prepared to make a full sincere confes- 
 sion ? 
 
 Nance — This very moment, with God's blessing. 
 - Letheby — Then I will hear you. * 
 
 (As they start toward the rectory, the Benediction bell rings 
 inside the chapel.) 
 
 Letheby— Wait ! The Benediction. (Kneel — Letheby and 
 Nance kneel together C. in adoration — Second bell.) 
 
 Ormsby (Who has everheard the above dialogue with ap- 
 \ parent interest and. emotion) Oh, what a church! that begets 
 saints — and redeems sinners! (Third Benediction bell) Yea, 
 and unto them that walk in darkness bringeth — 
 
 (Note: — On the word ''bringeth" a light coming through the 
 window of the chapel strikes Ormsby in the face. He s^rts 
 .back with great emotion and gives his concluding lines.) 
 
 Ormsby — The light ! The light ! The scales have fallen. 
 I See and I adore. (Kneels in adoration beside Letheby and 
 Nance C. L.) 
 
 — Picture till curtain — 
 
 As curtain descends choir in chapel sing "Holy God." 
 
 —32— 
 
ACT III. 
 
 (Scene. — Along the beach at KHronan. Woodland wings 
 with exits R. & L. Cliff effects and rocks on beach^-small 
 row boat in water — Sea-drop with Nance discovered seated on 
 a rock up stage C. ) 
 
 Nance. — Oh, how that sea tempts me! beckons me to quit the 
 hard world that hates and despises me, and find a refuge there 
 in the bosom of the deep. But, no, no ! I promised God and 
 the good priest in the confessional that I would despair no more, 
 and I will keep mj word. (Music and revelry off stage.) Oh, 
 how the people are enjoying themselves at Beatta's wedding. — 
 Laughter off stage. (They laugh and make merry.) Everyone 
 is welcome at the feast bu^t me, .and I must keep away as if I 
 w^ere contagion. Oh, but the way of the outcast is hard. I 
 have no friend in the wide, wide world, (pause.) Yes, there 
 is one friend, Father Letheby, and he is- doing his best to help 
 me. He has given me this note (producing it) to go to work 
 at his factory. But oh, I'm afraid to go there, for I know that 
 the girls will spurn me and drive me away, perhaps with vio- 
 lence. And then what shall I do? Where shall I turn to 
 make an honest living. For I) must live, and I will be honest. 
 Oh, God in heaven help me. (enter Fagan down cliff.) 
 
 Fagan. — Halloa, Nance. Thinking agin of suicide, eh? 
 
 Nance (trying to avoid him.) No; thinking of how to live 
 and avoid the sight of creatures like you. 
 
 Fagan.— Ho! Ho! On the reform again, eh? I was 
 wandering what kept you from the ale-house of late. We missed 
 your illigent- company, (drawing close to her and blocking her 
 way.) 
 
 Nance. — Enough, villain, let me pass. 
 
 Fagan. — Not 'til I see what you have in yor hand there. 
 Shure it wouldn't be one of me owld love letters, would it? 
 Well at all events, it ain't becoming to a lady that's on the re- 
 form to be concealing a note from a gintleman (grabs note 
 from her hand and reads) Ho! Ho! a note from me fine 
 friend Fr. Letheby, is it? An' so yo're goin' to work at his 
 factory, eh? Well, if the girls '11 condisind to work beside the 
 
 —33— 
 
likes of ye, I hope the priest will pay you better wages than he's 
 payin' thim, the slave drivin' robber, (throws note on ground.) 
 
 Nance, (picks up note.) Begone, tempter. Your past and 
 mine are dead. You are to me nothing now but a corpse, (exits 
 proudly.) 
 
 Fagan. (looking after her.) Ha! me proud damsel; yer re- 
 form won't last long. You'll be back at your old ways, I'm 
 thinkin', (goes up stage and looks off at ship.) There she rides 
 at anchor, the priest's new fishin' boat. "The Star of the 
 Say", he calls her. Faith, an' its at the bottom of the say 
 she'll be, whin me friend Hogan gets through with her this 
 day. Ha ! me fine new curate, little do ye know there's enlis- 
 ted in your crew an imp of hell, hired by mesilf, to sink your 
 illigant schooner on thim sunken rocks beyant. (musing) 
 She's a fine craft though. Begorrah, 'tis almost a crime to sink 
 her. But, sink she must and sink she will, (viciously) Ha, 
 me fine Father L/etheby, ye thought to chastise me, did ye? 
 an' make a show out of me? But I'll drag ye down, down, down 
 to where the informer can crow over ye to his heart's content — 
 (looking again off stage) (gloating — then turns and looks off 
 opposite side.) But where's me man Hogan? 'tjs time he were 
 here, (a rough singing voice is heard off stage) Yiss; here's 
 
 (Enter Hogan, singing a snatch of a sailor's song.... as he 
 reaches L. C, Fagan covers his mouth with his hand to stop 
 his singing, then looks around carefully to see that they are 
 not observed.) 
 
 Fagan. — Well, me man, what's the news? 
 
 Hogan. — The best. 
 
 Fagan. — Have ye got the auger? 
 
 Hogan. — Yiss, an' a mighty fine tool it is too. (giving it to 
 Fagan for inspection.) 
 
 Fagan. — Is it sharp? 
 
 Hogan. — 'Twould bore through a plate of steel. 
 
 Fagan. — Good, (gives back auger) An' did you loosen her 
 rudder? 
 
 Hogan. — This mornin' whin no one was on deck but mesilf. 
 
 Fagan. — Good agin ! Now remimber yer instructions. Whin 
 the boat's sailing over thim sunken rocks beyant, steal yer way 
 
 —34— 
 
down into her hold an' drill a hole in her keel. An' remimber, 
 do your work well or ye gets no pay whin ye comes back. 
 
 Hogan. — I may niwer come back from this job, Mr. Fagan, 
 so I'll have me money in advance, if ye plase. 
 
 Fagan. — No ; whin ye comes back. 
 
 Hogan (fiercely) Now, I says, or I throwkup the hold job. 
 
 Fagan. — Well, if ye promise not to git drunk an' forgit what 
 I'm payin' ye for. 
 , Hogan. — Divil a drunk ! so hand me over me money, if ye 
 plaze. 
 
 Fagan.— after counting out money slowly and grudgingly, 
 hands him notes, and at the same time disgruntled voices! of 
 factory girls are heard off stage — There! now be off wid ye — 
 urging him off — Here come the factory girls, an' it won't do 
 for us to be seen collogin' together. 
 
 Hogan (counting money) Wait a bit! Wait a bit. There's 
 five pounds short, ye robber. 
 
 Fagan. (recounting money.) Oh, so there is. My, but me 
 eyesight's gifting bad. — fishing for more money — 
 
 Hogan. — Blasht yer eyesight! Give me my five pounds. 
 
 Fagan (givmg him another note.) There! Now away wid 
 ye (exit Hogan singing) (enter forelady and group of factory 
 girls, excitedly talking toge|;her.) 
 
 Forelady. — I say I won't go to w^ork today. This ought to 
 be a holiday, the day of Beatta's w^edding and the trip of the 
 "Star of the Sea." The priest is too hard on us, I say, and his 
 wages is worse than starvation. (gii;ls brumble assent.) 
 
 Fagan. — Right ye are, lass, why should ye poor things be 
 killin' yourselves wid work an' for what? For the priest to be 
 turnin' a good penny out of the sweat of your brows, 
 
 Forelady. — Mr. Fagan is right, girls. 
 
 Fagan. — Of course I'm right, lass. An' ye'U all believe me 
 ^^jcaore whin I tell ye the news. 
 
 Girls. — News? What news? (drawing near.) 
 
 Fagan. — Listen, ye're to have a lady, yiss a mighty fine lady 
 to work wid yez from now on. 
 
 Girls.— A lady? Who is she? 
 
 Fagan. — Nance, the outcast. 
 
 Girls, (withdrawing wdth a groan) No? 
 
 —35- 
 
Fagan. — Yiss; by orders of Father Letheby, himself. She's 
 on her way now to the factory. 
 
 Forelady. — -*Priest or no priest, I'll not work with her. I'll 
 strike first. 
 
 Girls. — Yes'm we'll all strike. Away with her ! Outcast ! 
 Outcast! (exits shouting.) 
 
 Fagan. (gloating) Ha, me fine Father Letheby, I raised a 
 pretty storm over your head. You'll have a strike on your 
 hands before long, and thin we'll see what profit ye' 11 make out 
 of your illigant factory (exit) (enter Jem, male peasants, and 
 Murphy, a character old man-.) 
 
 Murphy. — No, Jem ; I say she has a lisht to port. • ' 
 
 Jem.^Where's your eyes, ye lubber? can't ye see she lanes 
 to starboard. My, but ain't she a beauty ! 
 
 Murphy, (with matches trying to light his pipe. Jem's 
 bus. is unseen- by Murphy, to blow out*, his matches so that he 
 never lights his pipe. Bus. ad lib., but not to be overdone.) 
 'Twill take six men to navigate her, but shure 'tis aisy to git 
 thim for the wages the priest is offerin'. 
 
 Jem. — How much? 
 
 Murphy.- — Fifteen shilling a week an' a share in the profits. 
 
 Jem. — Begor, I'd work for thim wages myself. 'Tis more 
 profitable than repairing roofs. 
 
 Murphy. — Arrah, go long, ye omadliaun ; what do ye know 
 about sea-farin' anyhow? 
 
 Jem. — Shure, ain't it part of a roofer's business to go aloft? — 
 all laugh — An' did I never tell yez how I was a pilot once? 
 
 Murphy. — No, Jem ; tell us about it. 
 
 Jem. — Thin gather forninst me. (peasants gather about him) 
 — Well, one day about a year ago, I was fishin' in me dory 
 off thim sunken rocks bey ant (pointing R.) whin an English 
 schooner came sailin' by. It seems her captain was asleep in 
 his cabin below as drunk as a lord — an' the mate bein' a stran- 
 ger in these parts, was a wee bit-a-scaird of his surroundings. 
 " Murphy. — An' well he might be, Jem ! 'Tis a mighty bad 
 spot out there, especially in a storm. 
 
 Jem. — Thrue for ye, Mike (pipe bus.) Well, the mate sings 
 out to me from on deck, "Halloa," says he, ''Halloa" says I, 
 just as civil as hiinself, mind ye. "Are ye a pilot?" says he. 
 
 —36— 
 
''That I am," says I. Of course I wasn't. 
 
 Murphy — Of, course you wasn't. Shure any fool knows that. 
 
 Jem. — You know it, don't you? 
 
 Murphy. — Shure I know it. 
 
 Jem. — Well! (laughter and pipe bus.) Well, I saw a chance 
 to earn an honest penny by takin' the job. "Do you know 
 this 'arbor?" says he, "That I do,'? says I, "an' every rock in 
 it." " - ' " - 
 
 Murphy, (laughing) Every rock in it! Ha! Ha! (pipe, 
 bus.) 
 
 Jem. — "Thin come aboard," says he. So up I climbs on 
 deck an' grabs the wheel, as if I'd been a steersman all me life. 
 Well, sirs, it wasn't five minutes before we was hard an' fast 
 on one of thim sunken rocks beyant. 
 
 Murphy. — Wow, wow says the fox. 
 
 Jem. (nettled at being interrupted) May the devil fly away 
 '^wicl you an' the fox, (pipe bus.) Well, the say came streamin' 
 into the howld of the boat in bucketfuls. Up rushes the mate 
 to me wid blood in his eye, an' says he, flourishin' a marlin' 
 spike over my head, "Ye bloomin' hidiot," says he, "I thought 
 you told me you knew every rock in this bloody, bloomin' har- 
 bor." "I do," says I; "An' I'm tellin' ye we're on top of one 
 of thim now." 
 
 Murphy, (laughing heartily) On top of one of thim now? 
 "^'Wow, wow, says the fox" (falls laughing into a peasant's 
 ' arms. ) 
 
 (Enter Fr. Letheby and Campion L.) 
 
 Letheby — Good morning, men. (goes up 0.) 
 
 Campion, (very pleasantly) Good morning, boys, (joins 
 Fr. L.) 
 
 Jem. (surprised at Campion's tone and aside to peasants) 
 Boys! 'an' from him? 
 
 Murphy — Begorrah, it- was blackguards an' serfs before. 
 
 Jem. — But we'll be as civil as himself. Good mornin' Cap- 
 tain, an' many happy returns of the day to yourself an' the 
 beautiful bride and groom. 
 
 Campion, (coming down) Thank you kindly sir. And 
 now permit me to invite you all to go up to the castle as my 
 and my daughter's guests and participate in the wedding feast. 
 
 -37- 
 
Go and enjoy yourselves to your hearts' content. 
 
 Jem. (scratching his head and aside to peasants) Begorrah, 
 thim's the, first kind words I ivver heard from that man's lips. 
 What's come over him at all, at all? (aloud) Thank ye kindly, 
 Captain. Now, boys, a cheer for Captain Campion. Hip-hip- 
 horroo! (Jem and peasants exeunt L. — cheering heartily.) 
 
 Campion, (looking after them) Father, would you believe 
 it? that cheer is the sweetest sound I have heard in years. It 
 has touched me deeply. 
 
 Letheby. — It ought to teach you. Captain, that these poor peo- 
 ple are best governed by kindness. 
 
 Campion. — It does; ; but I'm afraid I have learned the lesson 
 too late. Brought up in the rough school of the soldier, I have 
 never up to now been able to shake off a feeling of contempt 
 for these poor, uneducated peasants — and, as you pointed out 
 to me recently, I'm afraid I have been treating them too harsh- 
 ly. Besides, I've been a bad Catholic (crosses to R. C.) This 
 fact my son-in-law, Ormsby, lately an unbeliever, has particu- 
 larly impressed me, not by words, but by his silent example. 
 You know, at first I did not care a pin whether he was a Turk,^ 
 a fire-worshipper or an atheist, so long as he married Beatta. 
 
 Letheby. — Now, Captain, you see that the Church is rights 
 do you not? 
 
 Campion, (with conviction) Absolutely right. My daugh- 
 ter's espousal would have been incomplete, yea, a spiritual 
 mockery had she not married a Catholic, and a. true one. \ 
 
 Letheby. — Am I to infer Captain, that you intend to turn 
 over a new leaf yourself? 
 
 Campion. — Yes. I am running into years and must brush 
 up, as if the end were near. Believe me I am sorry I was not 
 at Communion with Beatta and Ormsby this morning, but I 
 promise you we shall all receive the sacrament together, the 
 Sunday after their return from their honeymoon on the con- 
 tinent. 
 
 Letheby. (taking his hand) God bless you, sir, and help you 
 to keep that good resolution. (Town clock strikes twelve.) 
 
 Campion. — Twelve o'clock — the hour set for the departure 
 of your fishing-schooner, I believe. 
 
 Letheby. — Yes; and here comes the crew now. (Hogan 
 Note: — In the twenty-sixth line some prefer the word Christian. 
 
 —38— 
 
:^and five other fisherman L, Hogan drunk but trying to conceal 
 it.) 
 
 Letheby. — Good day, men. (All but Hogan salute.) But 
 where is your captain ? 
 
 Hogan, (who hiccoughs throughout scene) He — hie — re- 
 fuses to sarve, sir — hie. 
 
 Letheby. — Refuses to serve? Why? 
 
 Hogan. — He says your demned old hulk is — hie — unlucky. 
 
 Letheby. (indignantly.) The "Star of the Sea" unlucky? 
 How? 
 
 Hogan. — Whin the boat — hie — was christened, at Belfast, 
 didn't the bottle of champagne — hie — flop into the water with- 
 out even — hie — breaking? 
 
 Letheby.— Well, what of that? 
 
 Hogan. — It's a hie — bad omen, sir, — hie — damn bad omen. 
 
 Letheby. — Superstitious coward! to disappoint and hamper 
 me so ! But begone all of you ; I'll get a new captain and crew 
 from Hoydore. ( This boat must not sail today. — going R. ) 
 
 Campion. — Wait, father ; perhaps I can be of some assistance 
 to you (crosses to C. — note — Jem and peasants have entered 
 quietly) Men, you know me as a sailor as well as a soldier, do 
 you not? 
 
 Fishermen. — Aye, aye, Cap'n, 
 
 Campion. — Will you sail under me as captain of the "Star 
 •of the Sea?" 
 
 Fishermen. — Aye, aye, Cap'n. 
 
 Campion. — Now, Father, I volunteer to captain your schoon- -- 
 er on her trial trip. 
 
 Jem (to peasants) Boys, a cheer for Captain Campion — 
 cheer — 
 ' Letheby. — But, Captain, your duty as an officer of the crown. 
 
 Campion. — That's all right, father. I am on a furlough 
 for a week — enough time to take our schooner out and return. 
 
 Letheby. (taking his hand) Sir, I am infinitely obliged to 
 you. 
 
 Campion. — Pray, don't mention it, sir. Now, men, get aboard 
 aiid prepare to weigh anchor. I will join you presently. 
 
 Fishermen. — Aye, aye, Capt'n (move towards small boat up 
 stage. 
 
 -39— 
 
Campion, (restraining Hogan) Stop! you, I don't want 
 you aboard. 
 
 Hogan. — Arrah, why not, Captain dear? Shure the priefet 
 has hired me. 
 
 Campion. — No matter/ you're drunk. Besides, I know you. 
 of old for a cut-throat dog. 
 
 Hogan. — Is it me, Captain, dear? " 
 
 Campion, (sternly) Enough ! Take off that oil skin. 
 
 Hogan. (trembling and aside) If he finds this auger, I'll 
 be kilt. (Aloud) Oh, Captain dear — 
 
 Campion, (shaking him) Enough, I say. Off with that coat 
 — shakes him again and auger falls to ground (Campion picks 
 it up) Halloa, what's this? an auger? 
 
 Jem. — Treachery ! 
 
 Compion. (seizing Hogan and forcing him to his knee) 
 Scoundrel, what were you going to do with this? Speak. 
 
 Hogan. (trembling violently) Sink her, Captain. 
 
 Campion.^Sink her? 
 
 Hogan. — Yiss; but oh, don't be hard on me. It's me mas- 
 ter's at the bottom of it all. ^ 
 
 Campion. — Your master? Who? 
 
 Hogan. — Mr. Fagan, sir. 
 
 Omnes. — Fagan ! 
 
 Hogan. — Yiss ;here's some of the notes he gave me to do the 
 dirty work (hands note to Campiori, who turns them over to 
 Letheby.) ' 
 
 Campion. — Dog, you ought to be shot for this (yanks him 
 to his feet) ,but begone, and remember that if I ever catch yon 
 or your hellish master again in Kilronan, I'll have you both 
 strung up to the nearest tree. 
 
 Jem. — An' if you don't, Captain, I will — kicks Hogan off L. 
 
 Campion, (with Hogan's oilskin and hat in his hand) Now^ 
 
 (Sailors row off R. in small boat.) 
 boys we're a man short. Which of you knowsi anything about 
 sea-faring? 
 
 Murphy, (laughing) Jem Deady does, sir — he's a piolet. 
 
 Jem. — Well, Captain, me regular trade is climbin' roofs in- 
 stead of masts. 
 
 Campion. — Oh, I guess we can use you aboard all right. 
 
 —40— 
 
Jem (taking coat and hat.) Well, here goes (retires up stage 
 with peasants to don oilskin and hat.) 
 
 Campion. — Now, father, I think I'll go up to the castle, 
 change my dress and take leave of Beatta. 
 
 Letheby. — I'm afraid the dear girl will be much disturbed 
 about your going on this trip. 
 
 'Campion. — I'll explain all to her satisfaction (exit with Lethe- 
 byL.) 
 
 Murphy. — sui'veying Jem now dressed as fisherman. — Be- 
 gor, Jem, but you're the picture of old neptune himself. 
 
 Jem. — If I only had his three-cornered pitch-fork. 
 
 Mike (taking his hand.) Well, good-bye, Jem. A pleasant 
 trip and a big catch. But remember Jem, whatever you do, 
 don't forget you're a pilot (exit with peasants L. laughing.) 
 
 Jem. — Arrah, go long, ye landlubbers, that don't know the 
 difference betune a whale an' a rhinosorsoros (goes up C.) 
 Halloa, the ship's boat is gone off without me. Niwer mind, 
 I'll wait for the Captain's gig. Begor I feel like a fish out of 
 wather in these clothes. I wonder what Mrs. D'Arcy an' the 
 orphans would say, if they could only see me now (dances 
 about the stage in sailor fashion.) 
 
 (Enter Mrs. D'Arcy, with Jamesey and Mary — starts at seeing 
 Jem.) 
 
 Mrs. D. — well in the name of goodness, Jem Deady, phwai 
 are ye doin' in thim clothes? Surely to hiven ye haven't turned 
 fisherman. 
 
 Jem. — You've said the word, Mrs. D'Arcy. I'm off in his 
 Riverence's boat in a jift'y. So, good-bye, me darlint! 
 
 Mrs. D. (affected) Yerra, Jem, ye wouldn't be after lavin' 
 mesilf an' the orphans that way, would ye ? 
 
 James. — Don't go away, Jem, I don't want you to. 
 
 Mary. — Stay home, Jem, I'd be so lonesome without you. 
 
 Jem. (puzzled and aside.) Begorrah, I'd habe to be a stone 
 to refuse them childer. (aloud.) Well, me good woman, I didn't 
 think ye'd take my goin' away so hard ; I'm mighty sorry ; but, 
 ye see, it's me duty. 
 
 Mrs. D. — Duty, is it? Musha thin, how many times have ye 
 towld me that your only duty now in the world was by mesilf 
 and the orphans here? Oh, but now I see what a goose I was 
 
 -41— 
 
to be listenin' to ye. 'Twas all blarney, all blarney (crosses to 
 L. ) Men are all desavers, bas desavers. 
 
 Jem. — All but one, Mrs. D'Arcy — an' that's mesilf. (aside 
 and looking off to sea R.) Begorrah, what a change has come 
 over that fishin' schooner all of a sudden. It don't seem as 
 invitin' now as it was. I wonder if it's really unlucky, as they 
 say (aloud) Well, Mrs. D'Arcy, if I hadn't given me word to 
 the Captain and the priest — - , 
 
 Mrs. D. — Yerra, the priest'd nivver ax ve to keep your word, 
 if he knew ye wor engaged to be married. 
 
 Jem ("greatly surprised.) Engaged to be married, is it? Be- 
 gorrah thin that's news to be. 
 
 Mrs. D. — Ye know well enough what I mane. Ye've been 
 courtin' me for the last six months, ain't ye? 
 
 Jem, — Yiss, an' for the last six years too. 
 
 Mrs. D. — Well, thin, phwat kind of a father do ye expect to 
 make for thim orphans, if ye take up the fishin' trade an' keep 
 a runnin' in an' out to sea an' riskin' your life every minute? 
 Shure ye might as well not be a father at all,j at all. 
 
 Jem (reflectively) Musha thin I nivver thought of that 
 (aside) What's this quare feelin' comin' over me at all, at all? 
 Begorrah, I think I'm gettin' seasick already — aloud — well, 
 Mrs. D'Arcy, considerin' your tinder remarks an' the kind feel- 
 in 's of the orphans here, though I hates to break my word to 
 the Captain an' the priest, still I'll promise to stay at home an' 
 work at me owld trade — repairin' the roof of the chapel again — 
 but only on one consideration. 
 
 Mrs. D. — What do ye mane, Jem? 
 
 Jem. — That ye consint to have the banns of marriage betune 
 us published at high Mass nixt Sunday. 
 
 Mrs. D. (cooly) Yerra, Now, that's rather soon, ain't it, 
 Jem ? 
 
 Jem. — It's sooner than waitin' for swallows to wear overcoats, 
 yiss. But ye consint, don't ye? 
 
 Mrs. D (falling in his arms.) I'm speechless. 
 
 Jem (embracing.) Darlint of me heart ^ swing back and 
 forth, with children embracing and imitating their action.) 
 Begorrah, I'm as happy as a clam at high water. Yerra, Mrs. 
 D'Arcy that is an' Mrs. James Deady, that is to be — doe ye 
 
 —42— 
 
know, fishin' was nivver like this (embracing.) (noise of people 
 talking off L.) Halloa here they come to see the captain an' 
 the boat off. They musn't see me or I'll be put down for a 
 desarter (disturbed.) Oh, me duty, me duty, what'U I do at all, 
 at all? 
 
 Mrs. D. (taking his arm.) Do, is it, why, come along wid 
 your future spouse of course. You'll find duty enough in the 
 world; but love, thrue Irish love, a widdy's heart, an' two 
 blissed orphans, ain't found hangin' on every bush. 
 
 Jem (pulling children to him.) Come along me blissed an- 
 gels, I'm your Daddy now for shure. (exit with Mrs. D. and 
 children R.) 
 
 (Enter L., Letheby, Fr. Dan, Campion, Beatta and Onnsby.) 
 
 Campion. — There, there, child. Don't take on so. After 
 all, it's only for a few days at sea. Besides, I should be lone- 
 some up at that old castle with you and Ormsby away on your 
 wedding tour. 
 
 Beatta. — Oh, but the sea is so treacherous, father. Look at 
 those dark clouds gathering on the horizon. 
 
 Campion. — Only a squall, my dear. Tell her it's all right, 
 Ormsby. You know all about the sea. Tell her there's no 
 danger, (passes her gently to Ormsby, L.) 
 
 Ormsby. — Be of good cheer, dear wife. AH will be well. 
 
 Campion (taking his hand.) Good-bye, Father Dan. 
 
 Fr. Dan. — God's blessing on you, sir. 
 
 Campion. — Good-bye, Fr. Letheby. 
 
 Letheby. — Good-bye, Captain ; and may God guide and pros- 
 per you. 
 
 Campion. — He certainly will, for your sake, (about to enter 
 row boat which has returned with orasman, when Beatta runs 
 to embrace him.) Once more, my child, good-bye. In all the 
 happiness of your honeymoon, remember and pray for me.' 
 
 Beatta. — With all my heart, father. And now won't you 
 take this and use it sometimes? (holding up rosary to him in 
 boat. )x 
 
 Campion. — What is it, my dear? 
 
 Beatta. — My rosary (He takes rosary beads, kisses them, 
 puts them slowly in his pocket, and kisses her— then to Ormsby 
 who is standing near. ) 
 
 (Note: A strain of the ''Rosary'^ to be played here. Last 
 sentence.) ^3 
 
Campion. — Ormsby, my boy, take good care of, my angel. 
 Good-bye, good-bye all (Is rowed off in the boat R.) (amid the 
 waving of hands by all on stage. Rather long pause. ) 
 
 Beatta. — How beautifully she rides the waves! But, oh, 
 how I dread those clouds. 
 
 Ormsby. — Don't worry dearest, but come, we have but little 
 time to catch our train, you know. 
 
 Beatta. — Oh, I was forgetting (crosses to Letheby.) Your 
 Reverence, did I do wrong to try and dissuade my father? 
 
 Letheby. — Not at all, my child. Your anxiety was only 
 natural. But be of good cheer. Your father is a brave man 
 and knows not danger on land or sea, 
 
 Beatta. — It was the danger of his soul that I was speaking of. 
 
 Letheby. — Yes, I know. But pray on, my child, and despair 
 not of his salvation. Your father, I think, is on the road back 
 to God. 
 
 Beatta. — Repentant? Oh, Father, are^^you sure? 
 
 Letheby. — As sure as his own words, uttered to me in all 
 sincerity this morning, can make me. 
 
 Beatta. — Thanks be to God! Now I am indeed happy and 
 I will not be afraid, (runs over to Fr. Dan.) After all. Daddy 
 Dan, clouds can do no harm, can they? 
 
 Fr. Dan. — Only when they bring lightning, my child. 
 
 (Train whistle off L.) - 
 
 Beatta (excitedly.) Gracious! there's our train, (repeat 
 whistle and noises of approaching train.) Good-bye Fr. Letheby 
 (waving to him quickly.) Come, Daddy Dan, you must see us 
 as far as the station, (to Ormsby, who is standing w^aiting L.) 
 Hurry, Captain, how slow you are ! (runs off jubilantly on his 
 arm, followed by Fr. Dan.) 
 
 Letheby (alone, enrapt, looking out to sea R.) At last I 
 have topped the pinnacle of success. Sail on, O "Star of the Sea," 
 and prosperous be the voyage for my people's sake! (Exit 
 dreamily R.) 
 
 (Note. — Begin to darken stage for storm.) 
 
 (Enter Fagan off cliff L., where he remains during soliloquy.) 
 
 Fagan. — Blasht that Hogan and his drinkin'. His rotten 
 whiskey has cheated we out of me revinge, I'm afeerd. It 
 looks now, as if the "Star of the Sea" would pass thim sunken 
 rocks in safety, after all me painst to sink her. I'll bet me hat 
 
 —44— 
 
the drunken fool niwer losi&ed her rudder at all. Damn! 
 (pause) But wait. His factory is left (looking off L.) Yiss ; an' 
 the girls are out on strike over Nance. (thinking.). I have it! 
 While they're out of the place, I'll steal in unbeknownst — an' 
 set it on fire. "^Ha, Ha! (gloating.) Why didn't I think of 
 that beofre? Yiss! the fire's the thing; the fire's the thing, 
 (exit L. over cliff, rubbing hishands in fiendish glee.) 
 
 (Enter Alice and Mary. Also Fr. Dan from opp. directions.) 
 . Fr. Dan. — And how are you feeling these days, Alice? 
 
 Alice. — Happy, Daddy Dan, Oh, so happy; but I fear it 
 won't last for long. 
 
 Fr. Dan. — What! you're not going to heaven so soon, are 
 you? 
 
 Alice. — Oh, dear no. But Mr. Ormsby says he is going to 
 bring back with him a great, great doctor from Dublin to cure 
 me ; and I don't want to be cured at all. 
 
 Fr. Dan. — Still, My child, we're bound to try every natural 
 remedy, but, if all else fails we must leave you in the hands 
 of the Great Physician. 
 
 Alice. — That's what I should like best. Daddy Dan. 
 
 (Fii^t peal of thunder.) 
 
 Mary. — Oh, father, hear the thunder ! 
 
 Fr. Dan (going up C, and looking off R.) Yes, and it bodes 
 no good, I'm afraid for the ''Star of the Sea." 
 
 Alice. — No, No, God will not permit harm to come to dear i 
 Fr. Letheby's schooner. 
 
 Fr. Dan. — God sometimes works in very mysterious ways, 
 my child, so now I want you to pray for my new Curate. 
 
 Alice.— Pray, Daddy Dan? Why? 
 
 Fr. Dan (slowly.) Because something tells me he will soon 
 have crosses like yourself. 
 
 Alice. — Oh, not blindness, I hope.- 
 
 Ff. Dan. — Not as bad as that perhaps, but crosses of his own. 
 
 Alices — Oh, I should be so sorry. 
 
 Fr. Dan. — Because you want sorrow and heaven all to your- 
 self. What a selfish little saint you are. 
 
 . Alice. — I'm not &■ saint at all. Daddy Dan ; but Fr. Letheby 
 iSy and why should he be punished with crosses? 
 
 Fr. Dan. — Why indeed, my child, except for the reason, 
 "Whom the Lord loveth, He chasteneth." 
 
 —45— 
 
(Lightning and (thunder, followed by uproar off stage L.) 
 
 Girls (off stage L.) Outcast! outcast! away with her. 
 
 Fr. Dan. — My soul, if it isn't the factory girls driving poor- 
 Nance before them. 
 
 Enter Nance, running before the factory girls L. Enter 
 Lethebyby R. — she runs to him for protection and kneels.) 
 
 Girls. — Outcast! outcast! away with her (with uplifted, 
 threatening hands.) 
 
 Letheby. — Girls, girls, for shame ! 
 
 Nance. — Save me father, lest they kill me. 
 
 Letheby. — Unfeeling wretches, what would you do? 
 
 Girls. — Stone her — she's a sinner. ' 
 
 Letheby. — Yes, in your uncharitable eyes, that is the brand 
 of scorn she wears. But I tell you that in heaven before the 
 angels of God there is supreme happiness for this woman's do- 
 ing penance. Let the one that is without sin among you cast 
 the first stone. 
 
 Forelady. — Well, she's an outcast. We won't work with her. 
 
 Letheby. — ^who arei you that you should discriminate? Are^ 
 you better than the Redeemer? Mark you, there was in old 
 Jerusalem a woman such as this (pointing to Nance kneeling 
 beside him.) her sins as red as scarlet — her name a hissing and 
 a by-word on every tongue. But she heard of Christ, of His 
 power and of His miracles, and polluted though she was, she 
 would go to Him. And she found Him as He sat at the feast 
 of the Pharisees, and she knelt at His sacred feet repentant and 
 in tears. And not a Pharisee of them all but thought that He 
 would spurn her, even as she knelt. But He, reading their 
 hearts and hers, opened His sacred lips to pronounce her sen- 
 tence. And what was that sentence? ''Because she hath loved 
 much, much is forgiven her. Woman, go in peace, thy sins are 
 forgiven thee." 
 
 (Lightning and loud crash of thunder at sea R.) 
 
 Fr. Dan (who during above speech, has been standing on 
 rock.) Something is wrong with the"Star of the Sea." (Up 
 stage C. looking off to sea.) Father come here. 
 
 Letheby (running up cliff.) Yes, yes, she seems adrift and 
 dragging on the rocks. Heavens, here rudder must be broken. 
 
 Fr. Dan. — God forbid in such a place and such a storm ! 
 
 —46— 
 
(Note. — Factory girls group up stage L., gradually male peas- 
 ants and a group of merchants join in the scene and show in 
 pantomime fear at what is supposed to be passing off stage R. C. 
 — rain.) 
 
 Mary. — It's beginning to rain, sister. 
 
 Alice. — Yes, let us make our way home. Come, Nance. 
 
 Nance. — Home? Alas! what home have I? 
 
 Alice. — My house is open to you. You shall live with mother 
 and me. 
 
 Nance (sadly) No, Alice. I have done you a terrible wrong. 
 My curse has made you blind. You cannot forgive ; you cannot 
 take me under your roof. 
 
 Alice. — Nance, I have long since forgiven you. All the 
 world else may despise and forsake you, but I love you. 
 
 Nance (looking at her won deringly.) No? 
 
 Alice. — Yes, yes, even as a sister. (Nance falls on her shoul- 
 der.) 
 
 (Particularly fierce lightning and thunder, etc., a rumbling 
 and grinding heard off R.) 
 
 Letheby. — Great God ! She's on the ledge — a wreck, — 
 Merciful heaven, is there no help? (all on stage excited.)' 
 
 Fr. Dan (coming down C.) Alice, Nance, Mary, all of you, 
 ■ down on your knees and pray — pray as you never prayed before 
 — for the souls of Captain Campion and his men. (all peasants 
 on knees — merchants remain standing.) 
 
 Letheby (in agony on cliff.) She sinks — she sinks — and the 
 men leap into the raging sea. Oh, God (putting his hands 
 before his eyes.) 
 
 Fr. Dan (praying.) '^Out of the depths I have cried to Thee, 
 O Lord, O Lord, here my voice." 
 
 Peasants (responding.) ''And let Thine ears be attentive 
 to the voice of my supplication." 
 
 Letheby (extending his hands towards the sea, and speak- 
 ing as if to throw his voice far over the waters.) Oh, you poor 
 souls dying in that storm and sea, by the power of Almighty 
 God, delegated to me, His priest, I absolve you from all your 
 sins. 
 
 (Fire and smoke off L.) 
 
 Fr. Dan. — Look, father, look, your factory's on fire. 
 
 —47— 
 
Letheby (tumbling down cliff.) My God, Father Dan, ruined 
 — ruined! (drops to feet of Fr. Dan. at C.) 
 
 Fagan (Who. has entered unseen among the peasants rush- 
 ing to R. C. with the group of excited merchants.) No not you, 
 ruined — but thim — the merchants (pointing to his R.) bank- 
 rupt — robbed! Away with him! to jail with him (rushes 
 fiendishly to seize the kneeling Letheby.) 
 
 Fr. Dan (quickly.) Back; nor dare to touch the annointed 
 of God! 
 
 Here Fr. Dan flashes in the air a crucifix (illuminated) or a 
 
 cross of light on the drop curtain — at the same instant a terrible 
 
 crash of thunder and a lightning bolt — electric effect — comes 
 
 from the flies, striking Fagan, who drops dead with a loud shriek 
 
 (Merchants bending over Fagan.) Dead! 
 
 Picture 
 
 Curtain. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 ( 
 
 Scene : — same as act I. 
 
 Letheby (discovered seated L. of table, disconsolate.) 
 
 Letheby. — Bankrupt! Bankrupt! Oh, the shame of it. De- 
 feated, routed, ruined ! But today a week ago the world seemed 
 so bright with roseate hope. Today it is a blank — dark, dismal, 
 black with disgrace indelible as the biting of a burning acid. 
 And for the years to come no prospect but dishonor. — Bankrijpt I 
 Bankrupt ! 
 
 (Enter Fr. Dan L.) 
 
 Fr. Dan. — Sh ame, still brooding? Tut, tut, come, let 
 
 us take a walk. The sea air will do you good, work the cob- 
 webs off your brain. 
 
 Letheby. — -Oh, I have had enough of the sea and its works. 
 
 Fr. Dan. — Man alive, wher is you courage? Or, do you 
 think you have a monoply of all the^-misfortune in the world?- 
 Tut, tut, think of poor blind Alice Moylan. Is your trouble 
 greater than hers, or is your faith less? — 
 
 Letheby. — Alice Moylan is a saint. 
 
 Fr. Dan. — ^Well, imitate her then. And again, think of that 
 
 —48— 
 
. poor ^child, Beatta, returning this day from a broken wedding 
 trip to a fatherless fireside. 
 
 Letheby. — Her sorrow will be healed in time. But what will 
 cure dishonor? 
 
 Fr. Dan. ^Dishonor? 
 
 Letheby. — Yes. Am I not a hopeless insolvent? Not a 
 shilling in the world. And yet I am security, sole security, for 
 those merchants, whose savings of a lifetime I guaranteed to 
 protect and preserve, and that I am bound to do on every prin- 
 ciple of honor. 
 
 Fr. Dan. — Well, looking at it in its worst light, insolvency 
 is not dishonor. 
 
 Letheby. — In a priest it is the acme of dishonor. — rises and 
 crosses to bookcase L. — , 
 
 (Enter Mrs. D'Arcy.) \ 
 
 Mrs. D. — Your Riverence, a committee of merchants is at 
 the door. 
 
 Letheby. — My creditors after their money. 
 
 Fr. Dan. — Well, never mind. Don't worry. They can't 
 get blood out of a stone. I'll face them for you. (going R.) 
 
 Letheby.— No, Father Dan, this is my cross, and I will bear 
 it alone. Mrs. D'Arcy, admit the gentlemen. — exit Mrs. D. R. — 
 
 Fr. Dan. (aside) Poor soul! there's no persuading him. It 
 breaks my heart not to be able to help him, but sure I'm as poor 
 as a church mouse myself. Qh, how I wish Ormsby were only 
 here. 
 
 (Fr. Dan exits R., as merchants enter R. He looks them over 
 as he exits, with a gesture of despair. Note : — The chairmeyi of 
 the merchants is a consequential looking Englishman, who 
 hems and haws during the following scene : ) 
 
 Chairman. — Mr. Letheby — we — er — have come, sir — 
 
 Letheby. — I understand, gentlemen. You have come to 
 inquire what is going to be done about the ill-fated "Star of the 
 Sea." 
 
 Chairman. — Precisely, sir. What is — er — going to be done? 
 
 Letheby. — I will pay you back every farthing, principal and 
 interest as soon as I am able. 
 
 Chairman. — Hum ! as soon as you are — er — able. That will 
 be — er — doomsday, I suppose. You will remember, sir, that it 
 
 —49— 
 
was — er — only at your repeated solicitations that we — er — con- 
 sented to advance our money out of our hard earnings. 
 
 A merchant. — Hard enough, begor, and got by honest labor. 
 
 Chairman. — Pardon me, Mr. Blake, but perhaps I could ex- 
 plain to the Reverend gentleman in — er — more satisfactory 
 manner. 
 
 Letheby. — Pardon me, sir, but there is simply nothing to be 
 explained. The boat is at the bottom of the sea, and I'm in- 
 debted to you gentlemen in the sum of two thousand pounds and 
 interest. 
 
 Chairman. — Er — er — ahem! Er — pardon me, sir but that 
 is not all. You seem to forget, sir, that we are — er — accustomed 
 to repose in our — er — clergymen th — er — deepest confidence, 
 sir. 
 
 Letheby. — And how have I forfeited that confidence, may I 
 ask? Am I to blame for the acts of nature? Am I to be held 
 responsible for the villainy of that dead monster, Mr. Fagan ? 
 
 Chairman. — That is not the point, sir. The — er — fact is, we 
 relied entirely upon your word of honor and — er — did not de- 
 mand the — er — usual securities for our money. Consequently, 
 we — er — find ourselves in a very awkward predicament, our 
 money gone, sir, and no redress but the — er — law, sir — the law, 
 
 Letheby (injured.) You doubt my word of honor? 
 
 Chairman. — We — er — have been deceived, sir. 
 
 Letheby (indignant.) Deceived? Pray, how? 
 
 Chairman ( doggedly. ) We have been deceived, sir. 
 
 Letheby.- — Sir, are you aware that your language approaches 
 very close to insult? 
 
 Chairman. — The truth's the truth, sir. That boat was' a' 
 swindle from beginning to end, and we know it. (firmly.) 
 
 Merchants. — Yes, a swindle, a swindle. 
 
 (Jem enters quietly and unobserved P.) 
 
 Letheby. — Gentlemen, I must declare this interview at an 
 end and ask you to retire. 
 
 Chairman. — Ask us to retire with our money in your pocket? 
 Turn us out, sir, and by pleasantness, "please be good enough 
 to leave my house." 
 
 Jem (rolling up sleeves.) Say the word, your Riverence, an' 
 I'll pitch the whole bloomin' lot into the sea. 
 
 -50- 
 
Chairman (retiring grumblingly with the others.) We go, 
 sir — but in our place will come the bailiffs, two of them sir, the 
 — er — representatives of the law, sir. They are outside even 
 now, sir, awaiting our orders to — er — proceed and attach, sir-^ 
 
 Jem (pushing him out the door R.) Attach an' be damned to 
 ye. (exeunt chairman and merchants R.) 
 
 Jem. — Poor gintleman, poor gintleman. To think of all " 
 his trouble an' no one to help him (sits at table C.) Oh, wirra, 
 wirra, wirra! To think of him lying in the cold debtor's jail 
 on the stone floor wid nothing to eat but the black bread an' the 
 sour wather. Oh, wirra, wirra, wirra! (rises and goes to win- 
 dow.) Yiss ; thim's two .bailiffs shure enough. But, by the holy 
 St. Patrick! they'll nivver touch his Riverence or anythin' 
 belongin' to him, except over my dead body. No, ye divils, 
 come, come an' thry it. Come on I say, come on (squares off, 
 and rushes around stage wildly, fighting imaginary bailiffs; 
 finally drops into chair C.) (with his head in his hands.) 
 
 Mrs. D. (who has entered during the above business and 
 seen Jem's antics with surprise.) In the name of hiven, Jem * 
 Deady, phwat's the matter wdd ye now? 
 
 Jem. — Go way woman, I'm half mad wid thinkin'. 
 
 Mrs. D. — Wid drinkin' ye mane. It's the daylirius trimmers 
 ye have got again, ye vagabond. Oh, but me heart's broke wid 
 ye entoirely. Why did I ivver marry ye at all, at all? (sobbing.) 
 An' me wid thim two blissed orphans on me hands (goes to 
 window.) (looks out and then returns to him.) Wake up ye 
 omadhaun. Is it after slapin' ye'd he wid thim two Dublin 
 Jackeens outside awaitin' to pounce down on his Riverence, and 
 all that belongs to him? (looking at him with contempt.) You're 
 a fine A. 0. H., ain't ye? 
 
 Jem. (rising.) Tare an' hounds! Flesh and blood! can't 
 stand this, (thinks of something suddenly, rushes to hatrack 
 and takes cassock and beretta.) I have it! Get me a Roman 
 collar phwile you'd be sayin' sharp sticks (beginning to get 
 into cassock.) 
 
 Mrs.^.-'^A Roman collar, Jem? 
 
 Jem (dressing.) Yiss; a priest's collar and necktie (a knock 
 on outside door R.) quick they're comin'. 
 
 Mrs. D. — Oh, it's mad he is, ravin' mad (exit L.) 
 
 -51— 
 
Jem (surveying himself dressed in cassock and beretta.) 
 Me mother always wanted me to be a priest an' begorrah I'm 
 one at last. 
 
 (Re-enter Mrs. D. with. Roman collar, which she helps Jem to 
 adjust.) 
 
 Jem.- — Now, me good spouse, run over to the ale-house and tell 
 the ''Holy Terrors" to come here in a jiffy. I may need thim 
 in case of emergency. 
 
 Mrs. D. (alarmed.) Emergency, Jem? Musha, in the name 
 of hiven and thim blissed orphans, phwat would ye be doin' at 
 all, at all? (another knock at the door.) 
 
 Jem. — Doin' is it? Begorrah, I'm goin' to give thim a run 
 for their money, they'll nivver forget the longest day they live. 
 ' Mrs. D. — Oh, Jem, me darlint, I knewye wouldn't desert the 
 priest in his trouble (embraces Jem.) 
 
 Jem (pushes her away.) Stop that woman — Remimber the 
 cloth (pointing to the cassock.) (loud knock R.) (Mrs. D. goes 
 to door.) 
 
 Jem (softly to her — at the door.) Psh! Listen. Introduce 
 me as his riverence — Fr. Letheby, D. D. 
 
 Mrs. D. (In surprise.) Fr. Letheby? 
 
 Jem. — Yiss; don't forget the D. D. (exit Mrs. D. Jem takes 
 a book from case and sits L. of table C, Avith a very dignified 
 air.) Now X hopes I didn't lose me timper. * 
 
 Mrs. D. (Shows in Diggins and Bobbs, bailiffs, R.) 
 
 Mrs. D. — This way gintlemen. There's himself ye're after, 
 Fr. Letheby, D. D. (making a lot of the D. D.) 
 
 (Note: Diggins is tall and dignified; Bobbs, an Englishman, 
 with cockney dialect, is short, ner\^ous and fretful. 
 
 Diggins. (trying to attract Jem's attention.) Ahem, sir, 
 ahem! 
 
 Jem (without looking from book.) Go away woman; can't 
 ye see I'm studyin' me sermon for nixt Sunday mornin'? 
 
 Diggins (louder.) Ahem, sir, ahem! 
 
 Jem (same bus. as before.) ahem yourself. 
 
 Diggins. — Excuse this interruption, Mr. Letheby, but we are 
 the bailiffs. 
 
 Jem (turning and affecting surprise.) Oh, so ye are (rises.) 
 Sit down, ye divils, an' give your horns a rest. 
 
 *Local announcements can be funny here. 
 
 —52— 
 
Bobbs. (amazed at language) 'Orns, sir, 'orns? 
 
 Jem. — Oh, excuse me, gintlemen, I was only quotin' a part of 
 one of me sermons (going to arrange chairs for them at R. C.) 
 
 Bobbs. (to himself) 'is sermons must be full of 'ell fire. 
 
 (Is about to sit, when Jem from behind pulls the chair from 
 under him and he sprawls on the floor — Mrs. D. all the while 
 trying to keep from laughing. ) 
 
 Jem. (lifting up Bobbs) Are ye hurt, man (Bobbs grunts.) 
 
 Bobbs. (aside) If he wasn't a reverant, I'd a said he'd did that 
 on poipose. 
 
 Jem. (resuming seat at left of table.) Well, gintlemen, I sup- 
 pose ye've come after me proputty. 
 
 Diggins. (looking over bunch of legal papers.) Yes; and T 
 regret to say, your person, if your property be not sufficient to 
 satisfy the several executions (showing seals of papers to audi- 
 ence.) 
 
 Jem. (rising and rolling up sleeves.) Ho ! Ho ! so there's goin' 
 to be an execution, is there? Well, thin, I guess I know who's 
 goin' to be the executioner^ 
 
 Mrs. D. (bursts into loud guffaw and runs out.) 
 
 Bobbs (very nervous, goes to door, returns to Diggins and 
 aside) Diggins I don't loike that laff. (Eyes everything in the 
 room suspiciously.) 
 
 Diggins. — Nonsense, Bobbs. (aloud) As I was saying, Mr. 
 Letheby — 
 
 Mrs. D. (through window) The boys is comin'. (disappears.) 
 
 (Diggins and Bobbs rise and turn about as if to discover the 
 source of voice — Bobbs very ners'ous.) 
 
 Diggins. — What was that? 
 
 Jem (seated) I heard nuthin'. Did ye? 
 
 Diggins. — solemnly — I thought I heard a woman's voice say- 
 ing "The boys are coming." 
 
 Jem.-^Not at all, man, not at all. This house is haunted, 
 that's all. 
 
 Diggins and Bobbs. (together and staring at him.) Haunted? 
 
 Jem. — Yiss by the ghost of a bailiff that dropped dead onst 
 in that very chair of yours^-pointing to Diggins'. chair — 
 
 (Bus. with chair by Diggins and Bobbs.) 
 
 Bobbs (aside to Diggins) Diggins, I smell trouble. Think 
 
 —53— 
 
we'd best remove to proputty at once, sir. 
 
 Diggins. — You're right, Bobbs, (Aloud.) Begin with the- 
 books. 
 
 (Bobbs crosses Diggins and starts towards bookcase — is inter- 
 cepted by Jem.) 
 
 Jem (assuming defiant attitude.) Not a single book (pushes. 
 Bobbs.) 
 
 Diggins (advancing with authority) Mr. Letheby, reflect, 
 what you are doing, sir, defying the law. 
 
 Bobbs (trembling behind Diggins) Haye, her Majesty's law^ 
 
 Diggins. — And furthermore reflect, sir, that if you refuse to 
 permit us to remove your personal property, we shall be under 
 the painful necessity of taking your body, sir. 
 
 Bobbs (bus. as before) Haye, harresting you, sir (Jem waves 
 at him contemptuously.) 
 
 Jem. — Oh, no you won't, ) 
 
 Diggins (advancing with Bobbs behind him) We certainly 
 shall, sir. i 
 
 Jem (facing them) You shall not, sir (pushes his stomach 
 against Diggins and both he and Bobbs sprawl backwards.) 
 Now be aisy (as they pick themselves up.) 'Tis for your own 
 good I'm spakin'. Sit down an' I'll tell you why (they sit 
 down again.) (Presently peasants with Mrs. D. are seen peeking 
 at window.) As a priest it is my duty to inform ye that there 
 ain't in all her Majesty's dominions a more flendish set of 
 ruffians than right here in me own parish. And the most 
 blood thirsty gang of thim all is a secret society of murderers 
 called the ''Holy Terrors." 
 
 Diggins. — Yes, we have already been warned to be on our 
 guard against the villains. 
 
 Bobbs. — Haye, an' especially against their leader. 'An 
 houtrageous scoundrel by the name of — of (trying to recollect) 
 —Jem — Jem Deady, sir. 
 
 Jem. — But whist! (mysteriously) Don't mintion liis naoie- 
 above a whisper — He's a divil incarnate. He eats raw meat. 
 An' di'inks hot blood, bailiffs preferred — Bobbs in fright slips 
 from chair to floor — But now to me point (sitting on table, and 
 secretly making signals to the peasants to enter) What did this^ 
 unhung bailiff-eater an' his gang of cut-throats do in this verj'- 
 place not ten years ago? _. 
 
 —54— 
 
Diggins and Bobbs. (faltering) Wh-what? 
 
 Jem.— Well, sirs, there was a bailiff — jist like yourselves — 
 an honest man — mind ye, as ever lived — came down here from 
 Dublin — jist like yourselves — to serve papers on a priest — jist 
 like meself — an' how did those murderin' villains treat that 
 poor process sarver ? 
 
 (Peasants are on, grouped behind the bailiffs.) 
 
 Diggins and Bobbs (faltering) We — we don't know. 
 
 Jem (Stepping in between them.) Well, me an' the Holy 
 Terrors will show ye, eh boys? 
 
 Peasants. — Shure, Jem, Hurroo! 
 
 Diggins and Bobbs (in mortal terror.) J- Jem? (kneeling 
 in fear.) 
 
 Jem (removing cassock.) Yiss, ye divils, Mr. James Deady 
 at your sarvice an' his particular friends; the Holy Terrors. 
 
 Diggins and Bobbs (crouching together.) Mercy! Mercy! 
 
 Jem. — Now ye process-sarvers, will ye go back to Dublin in 
 peace or in peaces? 
 
 Diggins and Bobbs. — In peace, in peace. 
 
 Jem. — An' do ye swear nivver to come back? 
 
 Diggins and Bobbs (holding up hand.) We — we swear; we 
 swear. 
 
 Jem. — Thin, the boys will escort ye as far as the station. 
 Away with thim, boys, (peasants rush bailiffs R., passing win- 
 dow off stage.) 
 
 Mrs. D. (to Jem, putting on his coat.) Jem, me darlint, wid 
 all your faults I love ye still, (embraces him.) 
 
 Jem. — Stop that! This is no time for palaverin'. I must 
 away wid the boys to the station. Hurroo ! (exits R. — shouts off 
 stage L. as Letheby enters L. and goes to window C.) 
 
 Letheby. — Mrs. D'Arcy, what's all this uproar about? 
 
 Mrs. D. — It's only Jem and the boys seein' the bailiffs off to 
 Dublin. Hurroo! ■ (runs out R.) 
 
 Letheby. — More trouble and on my account! Bankrupt! 
 Bankrupt! Ah, who could have foreseen this ending of it all? 
 What a name I shall leave after me — Letheby — a word of warn- 
 ing against shame and defeat (sits disconsolate at table C.) And 
 I was growing so fond of my work — of my little home — =of my 
 books — the sodalities — and "the little children (pauses awhile. 
 
 -55- 
 
then rises with sudden determi^nation.) Oh, but this weakness 
 is unmanly, unpriestly. Yes, now, with renewed confidence in 
 God, I'll face the front again, conquer disaster and bury all my 
 misfortunes in work, work, work, (goes to bookcase.) 
 
 (Enter Alice, Mary and Nance, R. — Alice sits R.) 
 
 All. — Good morning. Father. ^ 
 
 Letheby. — Good morning, friends. 
 
 Alice. — Father, Nance would speak with you. 
 
 Letheby. — What is it Nance? 
 
 Nance (advancing) Father, you have helped me in my 
 trouble and I want to help you in yours. Please take this (offers 
 money.) It's a little money sent me by my brother in America 
 to pay my passage to go there and live with him — L. 
 
 Letheby (gently) No, Nance; a thousand times I thank you, 
 but no, no no. 
 
 Nance. — Oh, do take it, poor man. I don't need it. I am 
 strong and can work my passage over ; or if need be, my brother 
 will wait till I earn the money over again. 
 
 Letheby. — My good woman, again I thank you, but keep 
 your money, go to your brother in America on the next ship, 
 and in your new home in that land of promise, may every bless- 
 ing of God attend you. 
 
 Alice. — But, father, isn't there some way Nance and 1 can 
 help you? 
 
 Letheby. — Are you not helping me every day by your prayers 
 and above all by your noble example? You, Nance, by your 
 living down scorn and uncharitableness, have taught me how 
 to face the hard world. And you, Alice, by your example of 
 patience and endurance under suffering, oh, what an ineffable 
 source of strength you have been to me! Where I, a priest, 
 have wavered under the cross, you a child, have stood firm. 
 
 Alice. — But, oh, father, where would I be today, if you had 
 not shown me the Crucified behind the Cross? 
 
 ( Noise of carriage off stage. ) 
 
 Mi-s. D. — Here comes our poor Beatta home at last. 
 
 Letheby.— Now comes the hardest trial of all, to face the 
 poor innocent whose father I sent to his untimely death. 
 
 (Enter Beatta in mourning costume.) 
 
 Omnes. — Welcome home, Beatta. 
 
 -56— 
 
Beatta. — Thanks, friends, (crosses to table C.) Oh, father, 
 how 1 have suffered. 
 
 Letheby. — And I have been the unwitting cause of it all. 
 
 Beatta. — No father ; God would have it so. But, oh, my poor 
 father's soul, what of his soul? 
 
 Letheby. — It rests, I think, with its Maker. 
 
 Beatta. — Oh, if I could be sure of that. 
 
 Letheby. — You may depend upon it with all faith. For 
 even as the ''Star of the Sea" went down and your father and 
 his crew were perishing in the angry waters, I myself pro- 
 nounced over them a general absolution of their sins ; and the 
 sole surviver of the disaster has since informed me that your 
 father, as he was sinking for the last time opened his lips in 
 prayer and held clasped in his hand a rosary. 
 
 Beatta. — My rosary ! 
 
 Letheby. — Yes; and with that rosary he knocked upon the 
 gates of heaven, and they were opened unto him. 
 
 Beatta. — Praise be to God. (rises) Now I am indeed happy, 
 and I will weep no more. How happy my husband will be 
 when he hears this. He's down the road now, father, with Fr. 
 Dan, talking business with some merchants. 
 I Letheby (aside) My creditors! 
 
 Beatta (shaking hands Avith Nance.) Nance, how well you 
 look. (Note: In this act, Nance is neatly dressed, showing a 
 marked improvement in appearance.) And Alice, how are you 
 feeling these day^? 
 
 Alice. — My general health is much improved, Beatta; but 
 my eyes remain the same. 
 
 Beatta. — Poor soul ! But where there is faith there is hope. 
 And so I have brought this from abroad, (produces a gold 
 crucifix, rather large. ) 
 
 Alice.- — What is it, Beatta? 
 
 Beatta. — A crucifix from the shrine of the Blessed Virgin 
 at Lourdes. It has been dipped in the holy waters and blessed 
 by the Bishop of Lourdes himself. 
 
 Letheby. — I have known these crucifixes to work miraculous 
 cures among the faithful. 
 
 Beatta. — Who knows, Alice, with your faith, what this may 
 do for you? (giving her crucifix.) 
 
 -57— 
 
Alice. — Thank you, Beatta, I'll keep it about me always and 
 pray with it often. 
 
 (Enter Orsmby and Fr. Dan. — R.) 
 
 Ormsby (crossing and taking hand of Letheby.) Father! 
 
 Letheby. — Welcome home, my friend. 
 
 Fr. Dan. — Friend is the word, Fr. Letheby. What do you 
 suppose he has just done for you? 
 
 Letheby. — I'm sure I can't imagine. 
 
 Ormsby. — Only a mere trifle. Father. 
 
 Fr. Dan.— What? Only a mere trifle to pay all another 
 man's debts? Well then, hereafter command Daddy Dan to 
 all triflers. 
 
 Letheby. — You have paid all my debts, sir? 
 
 Fr. Dan. — That he has, father — not ten minutes ago- — with 
 his. own check to your merchants creditors. 
 
 Letheby (taking Ormsby 's hand.) Sir, I am eternally 
 obliged to you. How shall I ever repay my indebtedness to 
 
 you 
 
 Ormsby (crossing to Beatta and taking her arm.) The in- 
 debtednes is all on my side, Sir. You are my creditor for a 
 priceless happiness of soul. 
 
 (Darken stage and throw spot on Alice and the crucifix.) , 
 
 Alice (holding crucifix before her and staring at it.) What 
 a beautiful crucifix this is ! 
 
 Beatta (crossing to her.) What's that you say, Alice? 
 
 Alice. — Is not the cross of gold and the bod^'^ of silver? 
 
 Beatta. — Yes, yes, do you really see that or only imagine it? 
 
 Letheby (advancing to C.) What's this I hear? , 
 
 Alice. — Wait ! — rising — \ 
 
 Note: (Shift spot to picture of Madonna and Child.) 
 ^ Alice (w^alking slowly towards picture, holding, crucifix be- 
 fore her.) Is not that a picture on the wall there? 
 
 Letheby. — Yes, yes ; can you make out what it represents? 
 
 Alice (staring at it and brokenly.) It's oh, it's — it's — the 
 Madonna and the Child, (kneels before picture, while all look 
 on amazed.) Oh, Blessed Virgin Mother, I knew you would not 
 desert me. (rises and turns towards characters, pointing the 
 crucifix in the direction of each as she names them.) (Note: — 
 she does not mention Letheby, because up to now she has never 
 
 —58- 
 
) 
 
 seen his face.) Oh, Daddy Dan, I recognize you — Beatta — 
 Nance — Mary — Mrs. D'Arcy — I recognize everybody — I see ! — 
 thank God! I see! 
 
 (Kneels holding out crucifix.) 
 
 Letheby (As all bow their heads, except Alice.) Praise be to 
 God from whom all blessings flow — 
 
 Picture^ — Curtain. 
 
 A. M. D. G. 
 
 "A lesson of faith, fervor and sterling Irish piety combined 
 wdth humor, pathos and rollicking Irish fun." 
 
 —59— 
 
V