e-bell time, an' the sun shinin' so
warm. I picked up an 'orse-shu yesterday. I can't never 'ave 'er
back, zurr.

[His face quivers again.]

STRANGWAY. Some day you'll join her. Think! Some lose their wives
for ever.

CREMER. I don't believe as there's a future life, zurr. I think we
goo to sleep like the beasts.

STRANGWAY. We're told otherwise. But come here! [Drawing him to
the window] Look! Listen! To sleep in that! Even if we do, it
won't be so bad, Jack, will it?

CREMER. She wer' a gude wife to me--no man didn't 'ave no better
wife.

STRANGWAY. [Putting his hand out] Take hold--hard--harder! I want
yours as much as you want mine. Pray for me, Jack, and I'll pray for
you. And we won't give way, will we?

CREMER. [To whom the strangeness of these words has given some
relief] No, zurr; thank 'ee, zurr. 'Tes no gude, I expect. Only,
I'll miss 'er. Thank 'ee, zurr; kindly.

[He lifts his hand to his head, turns, and uncertainly goes out
to the kitchen. And STRANGWAY stays where he is, not knowing
what to do. They blindly he takes up his flute, and hatless,
hurries out into the air.]

ACT II

SCENE I

About seven o'clock in the taproom of the village inn. The bar,
with the appurtenances thereof, stretches across one end, and
opposite is the porch door on to the green. The wall between is
nearly all window, with leaded panes, one wide-open casement
whereof lets in the last of the sunlight. A narrow bench runs
under this broad window. And this is all the furniture, save
three spittoons:

GODLEIGH, the innkeeper, a smallish man with thick ruffled hair,
a loquacious nose, and apple-red cheeks above a reddish-brown
moustache; is reading the paper. To him enters TIBBY JARLAND
with a shilling in her mouth.

GODLEIGH. Well, TIBBY JARLAND, what've yu come for, then? Glass o'
beer?

[TIBBY takes the shilling from her mouth and smiles stolidly.]

GODLEIGH. [Twinkling] I shid zay glass o' 'arf an' 'arf's about
yure form. [TIBBY smiles more broadly] Yu'm a praaper masterpiece.
Well! 'Ave sister Mercy borrowed yure tongue? [TIBBY shakes her
head] Aw, she 'aven't. Well, maid?

TIBBY. Father wants six clay pipes, please.

GODLEIGH. 'E du, du 'ee? Yu tell yure father 'e can't 'ave more'n
one, not this avenin'. And 'ere 'tis. Hand up yure shillin'.

[TIBBY reaches u