Krindlesyke | Page 6

and tell ... It isn't good?For a bride to know too much. So, we must hide?In the ditch, as they pass by, if we should chance?To meet them on the road--their road and ours--?The same road, though we're travelling different ways.?The bride comes home. Brides come home every day.?And you and I ...
ELIZA:
There's nothing else for it.
JUDITH:?There's nothing else?
ELIZA:
Nay, lass! How could you bide??They'll soon ... But, you'll not meet them, if you go ...
JUDITH:?Go, where?
ELIZA:
And how should I ken where you're bound for??I thought you might be making home.
JUDITH:
Home--home!?I might be making home? And where's my home--?Ay, and my bairn's home, if it be not here?
ELIZA:?Here? You'd not stay?
JUDITH:
Why not? Have I no right?
ELIZA:?If you'll not go for my sake, go for Jim's.?If you were fond ...
JUDITH:
And, think you, I'd be here,?If I had not been fond of Jim? And yet,?Why should I spare him? He's not spared me much,?Who gave him all a woman has to give.
ELIZA:?But, think of her, the bride, and her home-coming.
JUDITH:?I'll go.
ELIZA:
You lose but little: too well I ken?How little--I, who've dwelt this forty-year?At Krindlesyke.
JUDITH:
Happen you never loved.
ELIZA:?I, too, was young, once, daughter.
JUDITH:
Ay: and yet,?You've never tramped the road I've had to travel.?God send it stretch not forty-year!
ELIZA:
I've come?That forty-year. We're out on the selfsame road,?The three of us: but, she's the stoniest bit?To travel still--the bride just setting out,?And stepping daintily down the lilylea.?We've known the worst.
JUDITH:
But, she can keep the highway,?While I must slink in the ditch, among the nettles.
ELIZA:?I've kept the hard road, daughter, forty-year:?The ditch may be easier going, after all:?Nettles don't sting each other.
JUDITH:
Nay: but I'm not?A ditch-born nettle, but, among the nettles,?Only a woman, naked to every sting:?And there are slugs and slithery toads and paddocks?In the ditch-bottom; and their slimy touch?Is worse to bear than any nettle ...
ELIZA:
Ay--?The pity of it! A maid blooms only once:?And then, that a man should ruin ... But, you've your bairn: And bairns, while we can hold them safe in our arms,?And they still need the breast, make up for much:?For there's a kind of comfort in their clinging,?Though they only cling till they can stand alone.?But yours is not a son. If I'd only had?One daughter ...
JUDITH:
Well, you'll have a daughter now.?But we must go our way to--God kens where!?Before Jim brings the bride home. You've your wish:?Jim brings you home a daughter ...
(_As she speaks, a step is heard, and EZRA BARRASFORD appears in the doorway. Turning to go, JUDITH meets him. She tries to pass him, but he clutches her arm; and she stands, dazed, while his fingers grope over her._)
EZRA:
So Jim's back:?And has slipped by his old dad without a word??I caught no footfall, though once I'd hear an adder?Slink through the bent. I'm deafer than an adder--?Deaf as the stone-wall Johnny Looney built?Around the frog that worried him with croaking.?I couldn't hear the curlew--not a note.?But I forget my manners. Jim, you dog,?To go and wed, and never tell your dad!?I thought 'twas swedes you were after: and, by gox!?It's safer fetching turnips than a wife.?But, welcome home! Is this the bonnie bride??You're welcome, daughter, home to Krindlesyke.
(_Feeling her face._)?But, wife, it's Judith, after all! I kenned?That Judith was the lucky lass. You said?'Twas somebody else: I cannot mind the name--?Some fly-by-the-sky, outlandish name: but I?Was right, you see. Though I be blind and deaf,?I'm not so dull as some folk think. There's others?Are getting on in years, forby old Ezra.?Though some have ears to hear the churchyard worms?Stirring beneath the mould, and think it time?That he was straked and chested, the old dobby?Is not a corpse yet: and it well may happen?He'll not be the first at Krindlesyke to lie,?Cold as a slug, with pennies on his eyes.?Aiblains, the old ram's cassen, but he's no trake yet:?And, at the worst, he'll be no braxy carcase?When he's cold mutton. Ay, I'm losing grip;?But I've still got a kind of hold on life;?And a young wench in the house makes all the difference.?We've hardly blown the froth off, and smacked our lips,?Before we've reached the bottom of the pot:?Yet the last may prove the tastiest drop, who kens??You're welcome, daughter.
(_His hand, travelling over her shoulder, touches the child._)
Ah, a brat--Jim's bairn!?He hasn't lost much time, has Jim, the dog!?Come, let me take it, daughter. I've never held?A grandchild in my arms. Six sons I've had,?But not one's made me granddad, to my knowledge:?And all the hoggerels have turned lowpy-dyke,?And scrambled, follow-my-leader, over the crag's edge,?But Jim, your husband: and not for me to say,?Before his wife, that he's the draft of the flock.?Give me the baby: I'll not let it fall:?I've always had a way with bairns, and women.?It's not for naught I've tended ewes and lambs,?This sixty-year.
(_He snatches the baby from JUDITH, before she realizes what