ther's out:
And that's as well: it makes things easier.
She'd flufter me: and I like to take things easy,
Though I'm no sneak: I come in, bold as brass,
By the front, when there's no back door. I'll do the trick
While she's gone: and borrow a trifle on account.
I trust that cuddy hasn't cropt your cashbox,
Before your eldest son has got his portion.

(_He starts to go towards the inner room, but stops half-way as he hears
a step on the threshold._)

PETER:
The devil!

_BELL HAGGARD, a tall young tinker-woman, with an orange-coloured
kerchief about her head, appears in the doorway with her young son,
MICHAEL._

PETER:
You, Bell? Lass, but you startled me.

EZRA (_muttering to himself_):
This must be death: the crows are gathering in.
I don't feel like cold carrion, but corbies will gather,
And flesh their bloody beaks on an old ram's carcase,
Before the life's quite out.

PETER (_to BELL_):
I feared 'twas mother.
Lucky, she's out; it's easier to do--
Well, you ken what, when she's ... But didn't I bid
You keep well out of sight, you and the lad?

BELL:
You did. What then?

PETER:
I thought 'twas better the bairn ...

BELL:
You think too much for a man with a small head:
You'll split the scalp, some day. I've not been used
To doing any man's bidding, as you should ken:
And I'd a mind to see the marble halls
You dreamt you dwelt in.

PETER:
Hearken, how she gammons!

BELL:
She--the cat's mother? You've no manners, Peter:
You haven't introduced us.

PETER:
Only hark!
Well, dad, she's Bell--Bell Haggard, tinker-born--
She'll tell you she's blood-royal, likely as not--
And this lad happens to be hers and mine,
Somehow, though we're not married.

BELL:
What a fashion
To introduce a boy to his grandfather--
And such a dear, respectable old sheep's head!
(_to MICHAEL_)
Look well on granddad, son, and see what comes
Of minding sheep.

MICHAEL:
I mean to be a shepherd.

BELL:
Well, you've a knack of getting your own way:
But, tripe and trotters, you can look on him,
And still say that? Ay, you're his grandson, surely--
All Barrasford, with not a dash of Haggard,
No drop of the wild colt's blood. Ewe's milk you'd bleed
If your nose were tapped. Who'd ever guess my dugs
Had suckled you? Even