A Bit O Love | Page 6

Mercy cried.
IVY. I don't care.
GLADYS. 'Tis a shame! And I know something. Mrs. Strangway's at
Durford.
CONNIE. She's--never!
GLADYS. I saw her yesterday. An' if she's there she ought to be here. I
told mother, an' she said: "Yu mind yer business." An' when she goes in
to market to-morrow she'm goin' to see. An' if she's really there, mother
says, 'tis a fine tu-du an' a praaper scandal. So I know a lot more'n yu
du.
[Ivy stares at her.]
CONNIE. Mrs. Strangway told mother she was goin' to France for the
winter because her mother was ill.
GLADYS. 'Tisn't, winter now--Ascension Day. I saw her cumin' out o'
Dr. Desert's house. I know 'twas her because she had on a blue dress an'
a proud luke. Mother says the doctor come over here tu often before
Mrs. Strangway went away, just afore Christmas. They was old
sweethearts before she married Mr. Strangway. [To Ivy] 'Twas yure
mother told mother that.
[Ivy gazes at them more and more wide-eyed.]
CONNIE. Father says if Mrs. Bradmere an' the old Rector knew about
the doctor, they wouldn't 'ave Mr. Strangway 'ere for curate any longer;
because mother says it takes more'n a year for a gude wife to leave her
'usband, an' 'e so fond of her. But 'tisn't no business of ours, father says.
GLADYS. Mother says so tu. She's praaper set against gossip. She'll
know all about it to-morrow after market.
IVY. [Stamping her foot] I don't want to 'ear nothin' at all; I don't, an' I
won't.
[A rather shame faced silence falls on the girls.]
GLADYS. [In a quick whisper] 'Ere's Mrs. Burlacombe.
[There enters fawn the house a stout motherly woman with a round
grey eye and very red cheeks.]
MRS. BURLACOMBE. Ivy, take Mr. Strangway his ink, or we'll never
'eve no sermon to-night. He'm in his thinkin' box, but 'tis not a bit o'
yuse 'im thinkin' without 'is ink. [She hands her daughter an inkpot and
blotting-pad. Ivy Takes them and goes out] What ever's this? [She picks
up the little bird-cage.]

GLADYS. 'Tis Mercy Jarland's. Mr. Strangway let her skylark go.
MRS. BURLACOMBE. Aw! Did 'e now? Serve 'er right, bringin' an
'eathen bird to confirmation class.
CONNIE. I'll take it to her.
MRS. BURLACOMBE. No. Yu leave it there, an' let Mr. Strangway du
what 'e likes with it. Bringin' a bird like that! Well 'I never!
[The girls, perceiving that they have lighted on stony soil, look at each
other and slide towards the door.]
MRS. BURLACOMBE. Yes, yu just be off, an' think on what yu've
been told in class, an' be'ave like Christians, that's gude maids. An'
don't yu come no more in the 'avenin's dancin' them 'eathen dances in
my barn, naighther, till after yu'm confirmed--'tisn't right. I've told Ivy I
won't 'ave it.
CONNIE. Mr. Strangway don't mind--he likes us to; 'twas Mrs.
Strangway began teachin' us. He's goin' to give a prize.
MRS. BURLACOMBE. Yu just du what I tell yu an' never mind Mr.
Strangway--he'm tu kind to everyone. D'yu think I don't know how
gells oughter be'ave before confirmation? Yu be'ave like I did! Now,
goo ahn! Shoo!
[She hustles them out, rather as she might hustle her chickens, and
begins tidying the room. There comes a wandering figure to the open
window. It is that of a man of about thirty-five, of feeble gait, leaning
the weight of all one side of him on a stick. His dark face, with black
hair, one lock of which has gone white, was evidently once that of an
ardent man. Now it is slack, weakly smiling, and the brown eyes are
lost, and seem always to be asking something to which there is no
answer.]
MRS. BURLACOMBE. [With that forced cheerfulness always
assumed in the face of too great misfortune] Well, Jim! better? [At the
faint brightening of the smile] That's right! Yu'm gettin' on bravely.
Want Parson?
JIM. [Nodding and smiling, and speaking slowly] I want to tell 'un
about my cat.
[His face loses its smile.]
MRS. BURLACOMBE. Why! what's she been duin' then? Mr.
Strangway's busy. Won't I du?
JIM. [Shaking his head] No. I want to tell him.

MRS. BURLACOMBE. Whatever she been duin'? Havin' kittens?
JIM. No. She'm lost.
MRS. BURLACOMBE. Dearie me! Aw! she'm not lost. Cats be like
maids; they must get out a bit.
JIM. She'm lost. Maybe he'll know where she'll be.
MRS. BURLACOMBE. Well, well. I'll go an' find 'im.
JIM. He's a gude man. He's very gude.
MRS. BURLACOMBE. That's certain zure.
STRANGWAY. [Entering from the house] Mrs. Burlacombe, I can't
think where I've put my book on St. Francis--the large, squarish
pale-blue one?
MRS. BURLACOMBE. Aw! there now! I knu there was somethin'