Vashti. [Rising.] I be a-going to fetch him down, and that’s what I’m a-going for to do.

May. [Pushing her back into her chair.] Harken you, Steve, he’s never got to know as I’ve been here.

Vashti.  I tell you, May, I’ll screech till he do come!

May. [Sitting down by Vashti and laying her hand on her.] I’ll put summat in your mouth as’ll stop you if you start screeching, mother.  Why, hark you here.  ’Tis enough of this old place as I’ve had this night, and ‘tis out upon the roads as I be going.  Th’ old woman—­ there’s naught much changed in she—­And Steve—­well, Steve be wonderful hard in the soul of him.  “Can I get you an old sack,” says he—­and never so much as seed ’twas I—­Ah—­’tis more than enough to turn the stomach in anyone—­that it is. [A slight pause.

May.  I was never a meek one as could bide at the fireside for long.  The four walls of this here room have very near done for me now, so they have.  And ’tis the air blowing free upon the road as I craves—­ Ah, and the wind which hollers, so that the cries of we be less nor they of lambs new born.

Vashti.  God bless you, May, and if you goes beyond the door ’tis the mealy-faced jade will get in come morning, for Steve to wed.

May.  So ’tis.  And if I stopped ’twould be the same, her’d be between us always, the pretty cage bird—­For look you here on I, Mother, and here—­[pointing to her feet]—­and here—­and here—­See what’s been done to I what’s knocked about in the world along the roads, and then think if I be such a one as might hold the love of Steve.

Vashti. [Beginning to whine desolately.] O, do not you go for to leave your old mammy again what has mourned you as if you was dead all the years.  Do not you go for to leave I and the wicked around of I as might be the venomous beasts in the grass.  Stop with I, my pretty child—­Stop along of your old mother, for the days of I be few and numbered, and the enemies be thick upon the land.

May.  Hark you here, Mother, and keep your screeching till another time.  I wants to slip out quiet so as Steve and th’ old woman won’t never know as I’ve been nigh.  And if you keeps your mouth shut, maybe I’ll drop in at our own place on the hill one of these days and bide comfortable along of you, only now—­I’m off, do you hear?

Vashti.  I can’t abide for you to go.  ’Tis more nor I can stand.  Why, if you goes, May, ‘tis t’other wench and th’ old woman what’ll get mistressing it here again in your place. [Rising up.] No—­you shan’t go.  I’ll holler till I’ve waked them every one—­you shan’t!  My only child, my pretty May!  Ah, ’tis not likely as you shall slip off again.  ’Tis not.

May.  Look you here, Mother—­bide still, I say. [Looking round the room distractedly.] See here—­’tis rare dry as I be.  You bide quiet and us’ll have a drink together, that us will.  Look, th’ old woman’s forgot to put away the bottle, us’ll wet our mouths nice and quiet, mother—­she won’t hear I taking out the cork, nor nothing.  See!