BURLACOMBE: In my long medder? Where were yu, then, Tim Clyst?
CLYST. Passin' down the lane on my bike. Wonderful sorrowful-fine
music 'e played. The ponies they did come round 'e--yu cud zee the
tears rennin' down their chakes; 'twas powerful sad. 'E 'adn't no
'at on.
FREMAN. [Jeering] No; 'e 'ad a bird on 'is 'ead.
CLYST. [With a silencing grin] He went on playin' an' playin'. The
ponies they never muved. An' all the dimsy-white flowers they waved
and waved, an' the wind it went over 'em. Gav' me a funny feelin'.
GODLEIGH. Clyst, yu take the cherry bun!
CLYST. Where's that cider, Mr. Godleigh?
GODLEIGH. [Bending over the cider] Yu've a-- 'ad tu much already,
Tim.
[The door is opened, and TAM JARLAND appears. He walks rather
unsteadily; a man with a hearty jowl, and sullen, strange;
epileptic-looking eyes.]
CLYST. [Pointing to JARLAND] 'Tis Tam Jarland there 'as the cargo
aboard.
JARLAND. Avenin', all! [To GODLEIGH] Pinto' beer. [To JIM BERE]
Avenin', Jim.
[JIM BERE looks at him and smiles.]
GODLEIGH. [Serving him after a moment's hesitation] 'Ere y'are,
Tam. [To CLYST, who has taken out his paper again] Where'd yu get
thiccy paper?
CLYST. [Putting down his cider-mug empty] Yure tongue du watter,
don't it, Mr. Godleigh? [Holding out his mug] No zider, no poetry.
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