MARY. I'm looking at the pictures.
CARMODY. It's the dead spit and image of your sister Eileen you are, with your nose always in a book;and you're like your mother, too, God rest her soul. (Hecrosses himself with pious unction and Mary also does so.) It's Nora and Tom has the high spirits in them like their father; and Billy, too,—if he is a lazy, shiftless divil—has the fightin' Carmody blood like me. You're a Cullen like your mother's people. They always was dreamin' their lives out. (He lights his pipe and shakes his head with ponderous gravity.) There's no good in too many books, I'll tell you. It's out rompin' and playin' with your brother and sister you ought to be at your age, not carin' a fig for books. With a glanceat the clock.) Is that auld fool of a doctor stayin' the night? If he had his wits about him he'd know in a jiffy 't is only a cold has taken Eileen, and give her the medicine. Run out in the hall, Mary, and see if you hear him. He may have sneaked away by the front door.