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.