Mrs. Strangway start us.

IVY. [From the door] 'Twas wicked to hiss him.

[A moment's hush.]

CLYST. Twasn't I.

BOBBIE. I never did.

GLADYS. Oh! Bobbie, yu did! Yu blew in my ear.

CLYST. 'Twas the praaper old wind in the trees. Did make a brave
noise, zurely.

MERCY. 'E shuld'n' 'a let my skylark go.

CLYST. [Out of sheer contradictoriness] Ya-as, 'e shude, then.
What du yu want with th' birds of the air? They'm no gude to yu.

IVY. [Mournfully] And now he's goin' away.

CLYST. Ya-as; 'tes a pity. He's the best man I ever seen since I
was comin' from my mother. He's a gude man. He'em got a zad face,
sure enough, though.

IVY. Gude folk always 'ave zad faces.

CLYST. I knu a gude man--'e sold pigs--very gude man: 'e 'ad a
budiful bright vase like the mane. [Touching his stomach] I was sad,
meself, once. 'Twas a funny scrabblin'--like feelin'.

GLADYS. If 'e go away, whu's goin' to finish us for confirmation?

CONNIE. The Rector and the old grey mare.

MERCY. I don' want no more finishin'; I'm confirmed enough.

CLYST. Ya-as; yu'm a buty.

GLADYS. Suppose we all went an' asked 'im not to go?

IVY. 'Twouldn't be no gude.

CONNIE. Where's 'e goin'?

MERCY. He'll go to London, of course.

IVY. He's so gentle; I think 'e'll go to an island, where there's
nothin' but birds and beasts and flowers.

CLYST. Aye! He'm awful fond o' the dumb things.

IVY. They're kind and peaceful; that's why.

CLYST. Aw! Yu see tu praaper old tom cats; they'm not to peaceful,
after that, nor kind naighther.

BOBBIE. [Surprisingly] If 'e's sad, per'aps 'e'll go to 'Eaven.

IVY. Oh! not yet, Bobbie. He's tu young.

CLYST. [Following his own thoughts] Ya-as. 'Tes a funny place, tu,
nowadays, judgin' from the papers.

GLADYS. Wonder if there's dancin' in 'Eaven?

IVY. There's beasts, and flowers, and waters, and 'e told us.

CLYST. Naw! There's no dumb things in 'Eaven. Jim Bere 'e says
there is! 'E thinks 'is old cat's there.

IVY. Yes. [Dreamily] There's stars, an' owls, an' a man playin' on
the flute. Where 'tes gude, there must be music.

CLYST. Old brass band, shuldn' wonder, like th' Salvation Army.

IVY. [Putting up her hands to an imaginary pipe] No; 'tis a boy
that goes so; an' all the dumb things an' all the people goo after
'im--like this.

[She marches slowly, playing her imaginary pipe, and one by one
they all fall in be