Krindlesyke | Page 5

Calling? Ay!
And they've been at it all the blessed day,
As on the

day I came to Krindlesyke.
Likely the new bride--though 'twasn't at
the time
I noticed them: too heedless and new-fangled.
She may be
different: she may hear them now:
They're noisy enough.
EZRA:
I cannot catch a note:
I'm getting old, and deaved as well as darkened.

When I was young, I liked to hear the whaups
Calling to one
another down the slacks:
And I could whistle, too, like any curlew.

'Twas an ancient bird wouldn't answer my call: and now
I'm ancient
myself--an old, blind, doddering heron,
Dozing his day out in a syke,
while minnows
Play tiggy round his shanks and nibble his toes;

And the hawk hangs overhead. But then the blood
Was hot, and I'd a
relish--such a relish!
Keen as a kestrel ... and now ...
ELIZA:
It's Jim and Phoebe--
The music and the dazzle in their heads:
And
they'll be here ...
EZRA:
I wish he'd married Judith:
She's none the worse for being a ruddled
ewe.
ELIZA:
Nay, God forbid! At least, I'm spared that bildert.
(_EZRA rises; and ELIZA carries out his chair, and he hobbles after
her. She soon returns, and puts griddle-cakes into the oven to keep hot.
Presently a step is heard on the threshold, and JUDITH ELLERSHAW
stands in the doorway, a baby in her arms. ELIZA does not notice her
for a few moments; then, glancing up, recognizes her with a start._)
ELIZA:
You, Judith Ellershaw! I thought 'twas Jim.
JUDITH:
You thought 'twas Jim?

ELIZA:
Jim and ... To think it's you!
Where've you sprung from? It's long
since you've shown face In these parts; and we'd seen the last of you,

I reckoned, little dreaming--and, least of all,
To-day!
JUDITH:
And should I be more welcome, then,
On any other?
ELIZA:
Welcome? I hardly know.
Decent folk don't keep open house for your
sort
At any time. Your foot's not dirtied that doorstone
A dozen
times in your life: and then, to come,
To-day, of all days, just when
Jim ...
(_Breaks off abruptly._)
JUDITH:
When Jim?
ELIZA:
But, don't stand there. You're looking pale and peaked.
It's
heavy, traiking the fell-tracks with a baby:
Come in, and rest a
moment, if you're tired.
You cannot bide here long: I'm sorry, lass;

But I'm expecting company; and you
Yourself, I take it, won't be
over-eager
For company.
JUDITH:
I'm tired enough, God kens--
Bone-weary: but we'll not stay long, to
shame you:
And you can send us packing in good time,
Before your
company comes.
(_She enters, and seats herself on a chair near the door. ELIZA busies
herself, laying the table for tea, and there is silence for a while._)

JUDITH:
And so, Jim's gone
To fetch the company?
ELIZA:
Ay, Jim has gone ...
(_She breaks off again abruptly, and says no more for a while.
Presently she goes to the oven, takes out a griddle-cake, splits and
butters it, and hands it to JUDITH._)
ELIZA:
Likely, you're hungry, and could do with a bite?
JUDITH (_taking it_):
I'm famished. Cake! We're grand, to-day,
indeed!
And scones and bannocks--carties, quite a spread!
It's
almost like a wedding.
ELIZA:
A wedding, woman?
Can't folk have scones and bannocks and
singing-hinnies,
But you must prate of weddings--you, and all!
JUDITH:
I meant no harm. I thought, perhaps, Jim might ...

Though, doubtless, he was married long ago?
(_ELIZA does not answer. JUDITH's baby begins to whimper, and she
tries to hush it in an absent manner._)
JUDITH:
Whisht, whisht! my little lass! You mustn't cry,
And
shame the ears of decent folk. Whisht, whisht!
ELIZA:
Why, that's no way to hush the teelytoon.
Come, give the
bairn to me. Come, woman, come!
(_Taking the child from JUDITH._)
I'll show you how to handle
babies. There!

JUDITH:
And you would nurse my brat?
ELIZA:
A bairn's a bairn--
Ay, even though its mother ...
(_Breaks off abruptly, and stands, gazing before her, clasping the baby
to her bosom._)
JUDITH:
Why don't you finish?
"Ay, even though its mother ..." you were
saying.
ELIZA:
It's ill work, calling names.
JUDITH:
You needn't fear
To make me blush by calling me any name
That
hasn't stung me to the quick already.
My pious father had a holy
tongue;
And he had searched the Scriptures to some purpose.
ELIZA (_gazing before her in an abstracted manner_):
Ay: likely
enough.... Poor bairn, poor little bairn--
It's strange, but, as you
snuggled to my breast,
I could have fancied, a moment, 'twas Jim I
held
In my arms again. I'm growing old and foolish,
To have such
fancies.
JUDITH:
Fancied 'twas Jim, your son--
My bastard brat?
ELIZA:
Shame on you, woman, to call
Your own bairn such, poor innocent.
It's not
To blame for being a chance-bairn. Yet ... O Jim!

JUDITH:
Why do you call on Jim? He's not come home yet?
But I
must go, before your son brings back ...
Give me the bairn ...
ELIZA (_withholding the baby_):
Nay, daughter, not till I learn
The
father's name.
JUDITH:
What right have you ...
ELIZA:
God kens ...
And yet ...
JUDITH:
Give me the bairn. You'll never learn
The father's name from me.