Short Plays

that are rich and genial and humorous. I do not think that these country people, who have so much humour themselves, will mind being laughed at without malice, as the people in every country have been laughed at in their own comedies.

J. M. S.

December 2nd, 1907.

Note: “The Tinker’s Wedding” was first written a few years ago, about the time I was working on “Riders to the Sea,” and “In the Shadow of the Glen.” I have rewritten it since.

Persons in the Play

• Michael Byrne, a tinker

• Mary Byrne, an old woman, his mother

• Sarah Casey, a young tinker woman

• A Priest

Scene: A village roadside after nightfall.

Act I

Scene: A village roadside after nightfall. A fire of sticks is burning near the ditch a little to the right. Michael is working beside it. In the background, on the left, a sort of tent and ragged clothes drying on the hedge. On the right a chapel gate.

Sarah Casey	Coming in on right, eagerly. We’ll see his reverence this place, Michael Byrne, and he passing backward to his house tonight.
Michael	Grimly. That’ll be a sacred and a sainted joy!
Sarah	Sharply. It’ll be small joy for yourself if you aren’t ready with my wedding ring. She goes over to him. Is it near done this time, or what way is it at all?
Michael	A poor way only, Sarah Casey, for it’s the divil’s job making a ring, and you’ll be having my hands destroyed in a short while the way I’ll not be able to make a tin can at all maybe at the dawn of day.
Sarah	Sitting down beside him and throwing sticks on the fire. If it’s the divil’s job, let you mind it, and leave your speeches that would choke a fool.
Michael	Slowly and glumly. And it’s you’ll go talking of fools, Sarah Casey, when no man did ever hear a lying story even of your like unto this mortal day. You to be going beside me a great while, and rearing a lot of them, and then to be setting off with your talk of getting married, and your driving me to it, and I not asking it at all.
	Sarah turns her back to him and arranges something in the ditch.
Michael	Angrily. Can’t you speak a word when I’m asking what is it ails you since the moon did change?
Sarah	Musingly. I’m thinking there isn’t anything ails me, Michael Byrne; but the springtime is a queer time, and it’s queer thoughts maybe I do think at whiles.
Michael	It’s hard set you’d be to think queerer than welcome, Sarah Casey; but what will you gain dragging me to the priest this night, I’m saying, when it’s new thoughts you’ll be thinking at the dawn of day?
Sarah	Teasingly. It’s at the dawn of day I do be thinking I’d have a right to be going off to the rich tinkers do be travelling from Tibradden to the Tara Hill; for it’d be a fine life to be driving with young Jaunting Jim, where there wouldn’t be any big hills to break the back of you, with walking up and walking down.
Michael	With dismay. It’s the like of that you do be thinking!
Sarah	The like of that, Michael Byrne, when there is a bit of sun in it, and a kind air, and a great smell coming from the thorn-trees is above your head.
Michael	Looks at her for a moment with horror, and then hands her the ring. Will that fit you now?
Sarah	Trying it on. It’s making it tight you are, and the edges sharp on the tin.
Michael	Looking at it carefully. It’s the fat of your own finger, Sarah Casey; and isn’t it a mad thing I’m saying again that you’d be asking marriage of me, or making a talk of going away from me, and you thriving and getting your good health by the grace of the Almighty God?
Sarah	Giving it back to him. Fix it now, and it’ll do, if you’re wary you don’t squeeze it again.
Michael	Moodily, working again. It’s easy saying be wary; there’s many things easy said, Sarah Casey, you’d wonder a fool even would be saying at all. He starts violently. The divil mend you, I’m scalded again!
Sarah	Scornfully. If you are, it’s a clumsy man you are this night, Michael Byrne raising her voice; and let you make haste now, or herself will be coming with the porter.
Michael	Defiantly, raising his voice. Let me make haste? I’ll be making haste maybe to hit you a great clout; for I’m thinking it’s the like of that you want. I’m thinking on the day I got you above at Rathvanna, and the way you began crying out and we coming down off the hill, crying out and saying, “I’ll go back to my ma”; and I’m thinking on the way I came behind you that time, and hit you a great clout in the lug, and how quiet and easy it was you came along with me from that hour to this present day.
Sarah	Standing up and throwing all her sticks into the fire. And a big fool I was too, maybe; but we’ll be seeing Jaunting Jim tomorrow in Ballinaclash, and he after getting a great price for his white foal in the horse-fair of Wicklow, the way it’ll be a great sight to see him squandering his share of gold, and he with a grand eye for a fine horse, and a grand eye for a woman.
Michael	Working again with impatience. The divil do him good with the two of them.
Sarah	Kicking up the ashes with her foot. Ah, he’s a great lad, I’m telling you, and it’s proud and happy I’ll be to see him, and he the first one called me the Beauty of Ballinacree, a fine name for a