] -- It's a fine holy man will bring it, a
saint of the Almighty God.
MARY DOUL -- [overawed.] -- A saint is it?
TIMMY. Ay, a fine saint, who's going round through the churches
of Ireland, with a long cloak on him, and naked feet, for he's
brought a sup of the water slung at his side, and, with the like
of him, any little drop is enough to cure the dying, or to make
the blind see as clear as the gray hawks do be high up, on a
still day, sailing the sky.
MARTIN DOUL -- [feeling for his stick.] -- What place is he,
Timmy? I'll be walking to him now.
TIMMY. Let you stay quiet, Martin. He's straying around saying
prayers at the churches and high crosses, between this place and
the hills, and he with a great crowd go- ing behind -- for it's
fine prayers he does be saying, and fasting with it, till he's as
thin as one of the empty rushes you have there on your knee; then
he'll be coming after to this place to cure the two of you --
we're after telling him the way you are -- and to say his prayers
in the church.
MARTIN DOUL -- [turning suddenly to Mary Doul.] -- And we'll be
seeing ourselves this day. Oh, glory be to God, is it true
surely?
MARY DOUL -- [very pleased, to Timmy.
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