Krindlesyke | Page 9

broken your back like a rabbit's,
At one time,
if you'd talked to me like that.
But now I'm old and sightless; and any
tit
May chivvy a blind kestrel. Ay, I'm old
And weak--so waffly in
arms and shanks, that now
I couldn't even hold down a hog to be
clipped:
So, boys can threaten me, and go unskelped:
So you can
bray; and I must hold my peace:
Yet, mark my words, the hemp's ripe

for the rope
That'll throttle you one day, you gallows-bird.
But,
something's happening that a blind man's sense
Cannot take hold of;
so, I'd best be quiet--
Ay, just sit still all day, and nod and nod,

Until I nod myself into my coffin:
That's all that's left me.
JUDITH (_to PHOEBE_):
You'd weigh an old man's gossip
Against my word? O woman, pay
no heed
To idle tongues, if you'd keep happiness.
PHOEBE:
While the tongue lies, the eyes speak out the truth.
JUDITH:
The eyes? Then you'll not take my word for it,
But let a
dotard's clatterjaw destroy you?
You ken my worth: yet, if you care
for Jim,
You'll trust his oath. If he denies the bairn,
Then, you'll
believe? You'd surely never doubt
Your husband's word, and on your
wedding-day?
Small wonder you'd be duberous of mine.
But Jim's
not my sort; he's an honest lad;
And he'll speak truly. If he denies the
bairn ...
PHOEBE:
I've not been used to doubting people's word.
My
father's daughter couldn't but be trustful
Of what men said; for he was
truth itself.
If only he'd lived, I mightn't ...
JUDITH:
If Jim denies ...
PHOEBE:
If Jim can look me in the eyes, and swear ...
JUDITH:
Come, set her mind at ease. Don't spare me, Jim;
But
look her in the eyes, and tell her all;
For she's your wife; and has a
right to ken
The bairn's no bairn of yours. Come, lad, speak out;

And don't stand gaping. You ken as well as I
The bairn ... Speak!
Speak! Have you no tongue at all?

(_She pauses; but JIM hesitates to speak._)
Don't think of me. You've naught to fear from me.
Tell all you ken of
me right out: no word
Of yours can hurt me now: I'm shameless, now:

I'm in the ditch, and spattered to the neck.
Come, don't mince
matters: your tongue's not so modest
It fears to make your cheeks
burn--I ken that;
And when the question is a woman's virtue,
It
rattles like a reaper round a wheatfield,
And as little cares if it's
cutting grain or poppies.
So, it's too late to blush and stammer now,

And let your teeth trip up your tongue. Speak out!
(_JIM still hesitates._)
Your wife is waiting; if you don't tell her true,
And quick about it, it's
your own look-out.
I wouldn't be in your shoes, anyway.
See, how
she's badgered me; and all because ...
Come: be a man: and speak.
JIM:
The brat's no brat
Of mine, Phoebe, I swear ...
(_He stops in confusion, dropping his eyes. PHOEBE turns from him,
lays one hand on the latch and the other on JUDITH's arm._)
PHOEBE:
Come, lass, it's time
We were getting home.
JUDITH:
We?
PHOEBE:
Ay, unless you'd stay?
You've the right.
JUDITH:

I stay? O God, what have I done!
That I'd never crossed the
threshold!
ELIZA:
You're not going
To leave him, Phoebe? You cannot: you're his wife;

And cannot quit ... But, I'm getting old ...
JIM:
Leave me?
Leave me? She's mad! I never heard the like--
And on
my wedding-day--stark, staring mad!
But, I'm your husband; and I
bid you bide.
PHOEBE:
O Jim, if you had only told the truth,
I might, God
knows--for I was fond of you,
And trusted ...
JIM:
Now you're talking sense. Leave me--
And married to me in a church,
and all!
But, that's all over; and you're not huffed now.
There's
naught in me to take a scunner at.
Yet the shying filly may prove a
steady mare,
Once a man's astriddle her who'll stand no capers.

You've got to let a woman learn who's master,
Sooner or later: so, it's
just as well
To get it over, once and for all. That's that.
And now, let
Judith go. Come, Phoebe, lass:
I thought you'd a tender heart. Don't
be too hard
On a luckless wench: but let bygones be bygones.
All's
well that ends well. And what odds, my lass,
Even if the brat were
mine?
PHOEBE:
Judith, you're ready?
JIM:
Let the lass bide, and sup with us. I'll warrant
She'll not say
nay: she's a peckish look, as though
She'd tasted no singing-hinnies

this long while back.
Mother, another cup. Draw up your chairs.

We've not a wedding-party every day
At Krindlesyke. I'm ravenous
as a squab,
When someone's potted dad and mammy crow.
So sit
down, Phoebe, before I clear the board.
PHOEBE:
Judith, it's time we were getting home.
JUDITH:
Home, lass?
I've got no home: I've long been homeless: I ...
PHOEBE:
That much he told me about you: he spoke the truth
So
far, at least: but I have still a home,
My mother will be glad to see me
back--
Ay, more than glad: she was loth to let me go;
Though,
trusting