against a man that bides in my 'ouse.

FREMAN. 'Tes sure, I tell 'ee. The maid was hid-up, scared-like,
behind the curtain. At it they went, and parson 'e says: "Go," 'e
says, "I won't kape 'ee from 'im," 'e says, "an' I won't divorce 'ee,
as yu don't wish it!" They was 'is words, same as Jarland's maid
told my maid, an' my maid told my missis. If that's parson's talk,
'tes funny work goin' to church.

TRUSTAFORD. [Brooding] 'Tes wonderful quare, zurely.

FREMAN. Tam Jarland's fair mad wi' curate for makin' free wi' his
maid's skylark. Parson or no parson, 'e've no call to meddle wi'
other people's praperty. He cam' pokin' 'is nose into my affairs. I
told un I knew a sight more 'bout 'orses than 'e ever would!

TRUSTAFORD. He'm a bit crazy 'bout bastes an' birds.

[They have been so absorbed that they bane not noticed the
entrance of CLYST, a youth with tousled hair, and a bright,
quick, Celtic eye, who stands listening, with a bit of paper in
his hand.]

CLYST. Ah! he'm that zurely, Mr. Trustaford.

[He chuckles.]

GODLEIGH. Now, Tim Clyst, if an' in case yu've a-got some scandal on
yer tongue, don't yu never unship it here. Yu go up to Rectory where
'twill be more relished-like.

CLYST. [Waving the paper] Will y' give me a drink for this, Mr.
Godleigh? 'Tes rale funny. Aw! 'tes somethin' swats. Butiful
readin'. Poetry. Rale spice. Yu've a luv'ly voice for readin', Mr.
Godleigh.

GODLEIGH. [All ears and twinkle] Aw, what is it then?

CLYST. Ah! Yu want t'know tu much.

[Putting the paper in his pocket.]

[While he is speaking, JIM BERE has entered quietly, with his
feeble step and smile, and sits down.]

CLYST. [Kindly] Hello, Jim! Cat come 'ome?

JIM BERE. No.

[All nod, and speak to him kindly. And JIM BERE smiles at them,
and his eyes ask of them the question, to which there is no
answer. And after that he sits motionless and silent, and they
talk as if he were not there.]

GODLEIGH. What's all this, now--no scandal in my 'ouse!

CLYST. 'Tes awful peculiar--like a drame. Mr. Burlacombe 'e don't
like to hear tell about drames. A guess a won't tell 'ee, arter
that.

FREMAN. Out wi' it, Tim.

CLYST. 'Tes powerful thirsty to-day, Mr. Godleigh.

GODLEIGH. [Drawing him some cider] Yu're all wild cat's talk, Tim;
yu've a-got no tale at all.

CLYST. [Moving for the cider] Aw, indade!

GODL