When I tuk it up there
come out a whole flutter o' little bits o' paper wi' little rhymes on
'em, same as I see yu writin'. Aw! my gudeness! I says to meself,
Mr. Strangway widn' want no one seein' them.
STRANGWAY. Dear me! No; certainly not!
MRS. BURLACOMBE. An' so I putt 'em in your secretary.
STRANGWAY. My-ah! Yes. Thank you; yes.
MRS. BURLACOMBE. But I'll goo over an' get the buke for yu.
'T won't take me 'alf a minit.
[She goes out on to the green. JIM BERE has come in.]
STRANGWAY. [Gently] Well, Jim?
JIM. My cat's lost.
STRANGWAY. Lost?
JIM. Day before yesterday. She'm not come back. They've shot 'er,
I think; or she'm caught in one o' they rabbit-traps.
STRANGWAY. Oh! no; my dear fellow, she'll come back. I'll speak to
Sir Herbert's keepers.
JIM. Yes, zurr. I feel lonesome without 'er.
STRANGWAY. [With a faint smile--more to himself than to Jim]
Lonesome! Yes! That's bad, Jim! That's bad!
JIM. I miss 'er when I sits than in the avenin'.
STRANGWAY. The evenings----They're the worst----and when the
blackbirds sing in the morning.
JIM. She used to lie on my bed, ye know, zurr.
[STRANGWAY turns his face away, contracted with pain]
She'm like a Christian.
STRANGWAY. The beasts are.
JIM. There's plenty folk ain't 'alf as Christian as 'er be.
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