Krindlesyke Part 2

EZRA: Well, we'd our time of it, Fools, or no fools. And you could laugh in those days, And didn't sn.i.g.g.e.r like the ginger fizgig.

Your voice was a bird's: but you laugh little now; And--well, maybe, your voice is still a bird's.

There's birds and birds. Then, 'twas a cushy-doo's That's brooding on her nest, while the red giglet's Was a gowk's at the end of June. Do you call to mind We sat the livelong day in a golden carriage, Squandering a fortune, forby the tanner I dropt?

They wouldn't stop to let me pick it up; And when we alighted from the roundabout, Some skunk had pouched it: may he pocket it Red-hot in h.e.l.l through all eternity!

If I'd that fortune now safe in my kist!

But I was a scatterpenny: and you were bonnie-- Pink as a dog-rose were your plump cheeks then: Your hair'd the gloss and colour of clean straw: And when, at darkening, the naphtha flares were kindled, And all the red and blue and gold aglitter-- Drums banging, trumpets braying, rattles craking; And we were rus.h.i.+ng round and round, the music-- The music and the dazzle ...

ELIZA: Ay: that was it-- The rus.h.i.+ng and the music and the dazzle.

Happen 'twas on a roundabout that Jim Won Phbe Martin.

EZRA: And when you were dizzy, And all a hazegaze with the hubblyshew; You cuddled up against me, snug and warm: And round and round we went--the music braying And beating in my blood: the gold aglitter ...

ELIZA: And there's been little dazzle since, or music.

EZRA: But I was merry, till I fetched you home, To swarm the house with whinging wammerels.

ELIZA: You fetched me from my home. If I'd but known Before I crossed the threshold. I took my arles, And had to do my darg. And another bride Comes now. They'll soon be here: the train was due At half-past one: they'd walk it in two hours, Though bride and groom.

EZRA: I wish he'd married Judith.

Cow-eyed, you called the wench; but cows have horns, And, whiles, they use them when you least expect.

'Twould be no flighty heifer you'd to face, If she turned mankeen. But, I liked the runt.

Jim might do worse.

ELIZA: You liked ... But come, I'll set Your chair outside, where you can feel the sun; And hearken to the curlew; and be the first To welcome Jim and Phbe as man and wife.

Come!

EZRA: Are the curlew calling?

ELIZA: Calling? Ay!

And they've been at it all the blessed day, As on the day I came to Krindlesyke.

Likely the new bride--though 'twasn't at the time I noticed them: too heedless and new-fangled.

She may be different: she may hear them now: They're noisy enough.

EZRA: I cannot catch a note: I'm getting old, and deaved as well as darkened.

When I was young, I liked to hear the whaups Calling to one another down the slacks: And I could whistle, too, like any curlew.

'Twas an ancient bird wouldn't answer my call: and now I'm ancient myself--an old, blind, doddering heron, Dozing his day out in a syke, while minnows Play tiggy round his shanks and nibble his toes; And the hawk hangs overhead. But then the blood Was hot, and I'd a relish--such a relis.h.!.+

Keen as a kestrel ... and now ...

ELIZA: It's Jim and Phbe-- The music and the dazzle in their heads: And they'll be here ...

EZRA: I wish he'd married Judith: She's none the worse for being a ruddled ewe.

ELIZA: Nay, G.o.d forbid! At least, I'm spared that bildert.

(_EZRA rises; and ELIZA carries out his chair, and he hobbles after her. She soon returns, and puts griddle-cakes into the oven to keep hot. Presently a step is heard on the threshold, and JUDITH ELLERSHAW stands in the doorway, a baby in her arms. ELIZA does not notice her for a few moments; then, glancing up, recognizes her with a start._)

ELIZA: You, Judith Ellershaw! I thought 'twas Jim.

JUDITH: You thought 'twas Jim?

ELIZA: Jim and ... To think it's you!

Where've you sprung from? It's long since you've shown face In these parts; and we'd seen the last of you, I reckoned, little dreaming--and, least of all, To-day!

JUDITH: And should I be more welcome, then, On any other?

ELIZA: Welcome? I hardly know.

Decent folk don't keep open house for your sort At any time. Your foot's not dirtied that doorstone A dozen times in your life: and then, to come, To-day, of all days, just when Jim ...

(_Breaks off abruptly._)

JUDITH: When Jim?

ELIZA: But, don't stand there. You're looking pale and peaked.

It's heavy, traiking the fell-tracks with a baby: Come in, and rest a moment, if you're tired.

You cannot bide here long: I'm sorry, la.s.s; But I'm expecting company; and you Yourself, I take it, won't be over-eager For company.

JUDITH: I'm tired enough, G.o.d kens-- Bone-weary: but we'll not stay long, to shame you: And you can send us packing in good time, Before your company comes.

(_She enters, and seats herself on a chair near the door. ELIZA busies herself, laying the table for tea, and there is silence for a while._)

JUDITH: And so, Jim's gone To fetch the company?

ELIZA: Ay, Jim has gone ...

(_She breaks off again abruptly, and says no more for a while. Presently she goes to the oven, takes out a griddle-cake, splits and b.u.t.ters it, and hands it to JUDITH._)

ELIZA: Likely, you're hungry, and could do with a bite?

JUDITH (_taking it_): I'm famished. Cake! We're grand, to-day, indeed!

And scones and bannocks--carties, quite a spread!

It's almost like a wedding.

ELIZA: A wedding, woman?

Can't folk have scones and bannocks and singing-hinnies, But you must prate of weddings--you, and all!

JUDITH: I meant no harm. I thought, perhaps, Jim might ...

Though, doubtless, he was married long ago?

(_ELIZA does not answer. JUDITH's baby begins to whimper, and she tries to hush it in an absent manner._)

JUDITH: Whisht, whisht! my little la.s.s! You mustn't cry, And shame the ears of decent folk. Whisht, whisht!

ELIZA: Why, that's no way to hush the teelytoon.

Come, give the bairn to me. Come, woman, come!

(_Taking the child from JUDITH._) I'll show you how to handle babies. There!

JUDITH: And you would nurse my brat?

ELIZA: A bairn's a bairn-- Ay, even though its mother ...