Cottage kitchen, with nets, oilskins, spinning wheel, some new boards standing by the wall, etc. Cathleen, a girl of about twenty, finishes kneading cake, and puts it down in the pot-oven by the fire; then wipes her hands, and begins to spin at the wheel. Nora, a young girl, puts her head in at the door.
Nora
In a low voice. Where is she?
Cathleen
She’s lying down, God help her, and may be sleeping, if she’s able.
Nora comes in softly, and takes a bundle from under her shawl.
Cathleen
Spinning the wheel rapidly. What is it you have?
Nora
The young priest is after bringing them. It’s a shirt and a plain stocking were got off a drowned man in Donegal.
Cathleen stops her wheel with a sudden movement, and leans out to listen.
Nora
We’re to find out if it’s Michael’s they are, some time herself will be down looking by the sea.
Cathleen
How would they be Michael’s, Nora? How would he go the length of that way to the far north?
Nora
The young priest says he’s known the like of it. “If it’s Michael’s they are,” says he, “you can tell herself he’s got a clean burial by the grace of God, and if they’re not his, let no one say a word about them, for she’ll be getting her death,” says he, “with crying and lamenting.”
The door which Nora half closed is blown open by a gust of wind.
Cathleen
