BELL: Ay: we fratched, at first; For he"d a tongue of his own; and could use it, too, Better than most menfolk--a bonnie sparrer, I warrant, in his time; but past his best Before I kenned him; little fight left in him: And when his wits went cranky, he just havered-- Ground out his two tunes like a hurdygurdy, With most notes missing and a creaky handle.
JUDITH: And Michael?
BELL: Michael! The lad will sit mumchance The evening through: he"s got a powerful gift Of saying nothing: no sparks to strike off him; Though he"s had to serve as a whetstone, this long while, To keep an edge on my tongue.
JUDITH: He"s quiet?
BELL: Quiet!
A husband born. No need to fear for Ruth: She"s safe with Michael, safe for life.
JUDITH: He"s steady?
BELL: He"s not his mother"s son: he banks his money; And takes no hazards; never risks his shirt: As canny as I"m spendthrift, he"s the sort Can pouch his cutty, half-smoked, ten minutes after I"ve puffed away my pipeful. Ay: Ruth"s safe.
His peatstacks never fire: he"ll never lose A lamb, or let a ewe slip through his hands, For want of watching; though he go for nights Without a nap. The day of Ezra"s funeral, A score of gimmers perished in the snow, But not a ewe of Michael"s: his were folded Before the wind began to pile the drifts: He takes no risks.
JUDITH: Ruth needs a careful man: For she"s the sort that"s steady with the steady, And a featherhead with featherheads. She"s sense: And Michael ...
BELL: Michael"s sense itself--a cob Too steady to shy even at the crack of doom: He"ll keep the beaten track, the road that leads To four walls, and the same bed every night.
Talk of the devil--but he"s coming now Up b.l.o.o.d.ysyke: ay, and there"s someone with him-- A petticoat, no less!
JUDITH: Mercy! It"s Ruth: Yet I didn"t leave, till she was safely off To work ...
BELL: Work? Michael, too, had business In Bellingham this morning, oddly enough.
Doubtless, they helped each other; and got through The job the quicker, working well together: And a parson took a hand in it for certain, If I ken Michael: likes things proper, he does; And always had a weakness for black lambs.
But, who"d have guessed he"d ... Surely, there"s a strain Of Haggard in the young limb, after all: No Haggard stops to ask a parent"s leave, Even should they happen to ken the old folk by sight: My own I knew by hearsay. But, what luck You"re here to welcome the young pair.
JUDITH: No! They"ll wonder ...
I bring no luck to weddings ... I must go ...
BELL: You can"t, without being spotted: but you can hide Behind the door, till I speak with them.
JUDITH: No! No!
Not that door ... I can"t hide behind that door Again.
BELL: That door? Well, you ken best what"s been Between that door and you. It"s crazy and old, But, it looks innocent, wooden-faced humbug: yet I don"t trust doors myself; they"ve got a knack Of shutting me in. But you"ll be snug enough In the other room: I"d advise you to lie down, And rest; you"re looking trashed: and, come to think, I"ve a deal to say to the bridegroom, before I go.
JUDITH: Go?
BELL: Quick, this way: step lively, or they"ll catch Your skirt-tail whisking round the doorcheek.
(_BELL hustles JUDITH into the inner room; closing the door behind her.
She then thrusts the orange-coloured kerchief into her pocket; picks up the bracken, and flings it on the fire; seats herself on the settle, with her back to the door; and gazes at the blaze: not even glancing up, as MICHAEL and RUTH enter._)
MICHAEL: Mother!
BELL: Is that you, Prodigal son? You"re late, to-day, As always when you"ve business in Bellingham.
That"s through, I trust: those ewes have taken a deal Of seeing to: and I"m lonely as a milestone, When you"re away.
MICHAEL: I"ve taken the last trip, mother: That job"s through: and I"ve made the best of bargains.
You"ll not be lonely, now, when I"m not here: I"ve brought you a daughter to keep you company.
BELL (_turning sharply_): I might have known you were no Prodigal son: He didn"t bring home even a single sausage, For all his keeping company with swine.
But, what should I do with a daughter, lad?
Do you fancy, if I"d had a mind for daughters, I couldn"t have had a dozen of my own?
One petticoat"s enough in any house: And who are you, to bring your mother a daughter?
MICHAEL: Her husband. Ruth"s my bride. Ruth Ellershaw She was till ten o"clock: Ruth Barrasford, Till doomsday, now.
BELL: When did I give you leave To bring strange la.s.ses to disturb my peace, Just as I"m getting used to Krindlesyke?
To think you"d wed, without a word!
MICHAEL: Leave, say you?
You"ll always have your jest. I said no word: For words breed words: and I"d not have a swarm Of stinging ants b.u.mming about my lugs For days beforehand.
BELL: Ants? They"d need be kaids, To burrow through your fleece, and prog your skin.
MICHAEL: I"d as lief ask leave of the tricky wind as you: And, leave or not, I"d see you d.a.m.ned, if you tried To part us. None of your games! I"m no young wether, To be let keep his old dam company; Trotting beside her ...
BELL: c.o.c.k-a-whoop, my lad!
Well done, for you, Ruth, la.s.s; you"ve kindled him, As I could never do, for all my chaff.
I little dreamt he"d ever turn lobstroplous: I hardly ken him, with his dander up, Swelling and bridling like a bubblyjock.
If I p.r.i.c.ked him now, he"d bleed red blood--not ewe"s milk: The flick of my tongue can nettle him at last: His haunches quiver, for all his woolly coat; He"ll prove a Haggard, yet. Nay--he said "husband": No Haggard I"ve heard tell on"s been a husband: But, if your taste"s for husbands, la.s.s, you"re suited, Till doomsday, as he says. He kens his mind: When barely breeched, he chose to bide with sheep; Though he might have travelled with horses: and it"s sheep His heart is set on still. But, I"ve no turn For certainties myself: no sheep for me: Life, with a tossing mane, and clattering hoofs, The chancy life for me--not certain death, With the stink of tar and sheepdip in my nostrils.
MICHAEL: Life, with a clattering tongue, you mean to say.
BELL: Well: you"re a bonnie la.s.s, I must admit: And, if I"d fancied daughters, I might have done Much worse than let young Michael pick them for me: He"s not gone poseying in the kitchen garden.
I never guessed he"d an eye for aught but ewes: As, blind as other mothers, I"d have sworn I"d kenned him, inside-out, since he was--nay!
But he was never a rapscallion ripst.i.tch-- Always a prim and proper little man, A b.u.t.ter-won"t-melt-in-my-mouth young sobersides, Since he found his own feet. Yet, the blade that"s wed-- The jack-knife, turned into a pair of scissors-- Without a word, is not the son I thought him.
There"s something of his mammy, after all, In Michael: and as for you, my la.s.s, you"re just Your minney"s very spit.
RUTH: You ken my mother?
BELL: Ken Judith Ellershaw? You"ll ask me, next, If I"m acquainted with Bell Haggard. Well, Gaping for turnips, Michael?
MICHAEL: I never heard ...
BELL: What have you heard this fifteen-year, except The bleat of sheep, till Ruth"s voice kittled your ear?
But, Judith sent some message by her daughter?
RUTH: She doesn"t ken I"ve come: nay, doesn"t dream I"m married even; though I meant to tell her This morning; but I couldn"t: she started so, When I let slip Michael"s name; and turned so pale.
I don"t know why; but I feared some word of hers Might come between us: and I couldn"t let Even my mother come between us now: So, I pretended to set out for work As usual: then, when we were married, went back With Michael, to break the news. But the door was locked: And neighbours said she was out--been gone some time: And Michael was impatient to be home: So, I had to come. I can"t think what has happened.
I hated leaving her like that: I"ve never In all my life done such a thing.
BELL: Well, Michael Should be relieved to learn it"s a first offence.
RUTH: She"d gone without a word ...
BELL: A family failing-- And, happen, on like errand to your own.