nocence?
And, come to think, it's none too nice a word
For grandson's ears: and me, his tender mammy,
Doing all I can to keep the lamb's heart pure.
And as for "murder"--how could there be murder?
Murder's full-blooded--no mean word like "thieves":
And who could murder a bundle of dried peas-sticks?
Flung on the fire, happen they'd crackle and blaze:
But I'm hot enough, to-day, without you frizzling.
Still, "thieves" sticks in my gullet, old heel-of-the-loaf.
Yet I'm not particular, myself, at times:
And I've always gathered from your dutiful son
Manners were taken for granted at Krindlesyke,
And never missed: so I'll overlook the word.
You've not been used to talking with a lady,
Old scrag-end: still, I'm truly honoured, sir,
In making your acquaintance: for I've heard
Some pretty things about you from your son.

(_EZRA, who has shrunk back, gasping, into his chair, suddenly starts
chuckling to himself._)

BELL:
You're merry, sir! Will you not share the jest?
Aren't you the sparky blade, the daffing callant,
Naffing and nickering like a three-year-old?
Come, none-so-pretty, cough the old wheeze up,
Before it chokes you. Let me clap your back.
You're, surely, never laughing at a lady?

(_Seizing him by the collar, and shaking him._)

You deafy nut--you gibbet--you rusty corncrake!
Tell me what's kittling you, old skeleton,
Or I'll joggle your bones till they rattle like castanets.

(_Suddenly releasing him._)

Come, Peter: let's away from this mouldy gaol,
Before old heeltaps takes a fit. Your son
Will be a full-grown shepherd before we leave--
And his old mother, trapped between four walls--
If you don't put a jerk in it.

(_PETER comes slowly from the inner room, empty-handed; and stands,
dazed, in the doorway._)

BELL:
Well, fumble-fingers?
What's kept you this half-year? I could have burgled
The Bank of England in the time. What's up?
Have you gone gite, now?

EZRA (_still chuckling_):
Thieves cheated by a thief!

BELL:
But, where's the box?

PETER:
I didn't see the box.

BELL:
You didn't see it?

PETER:
No; I didn't see it:
The valance hangs too low.

BELL:
And you're too proud--
Too proud a prig to stoop? Did you expect
The box to bounce itself into your arms,
The moment it heard your step?

PETER:
I dared not stoop:
For the