Part 8 (2/2)

Where are you, woman? Speak! There's no one here-- Though I'd have sworn I heard the old wife waigling, As if she carried a hoggerel on her shoulders.

I heard a foot: yet, she couldn't come so soon.

I'm going watty. My mind's so set on d.o.g.g.i.ng The heels of that d.a.m.ned thief, hot-foot for the gallows, I hear his footsteps echoing in my head.

He'd hirple it barefoot on the coals of h.e.l.l, With a red-hot p.r.o.ng at his hurdies to prog him on, If I'd my way with him: de'il scart the hanniel!

(_He sits, brooding: and some time has pa.s.sed, when the head of a tramp, s.h.a.ggy and unkempt, is thrust in at the door; and is followed by the body of PETER BARRASFORD, who steps cautiously in, and stealing up to the old man's chair, stands looking down upon him with a grin._)

EZRA (_stirring uneasily_): A step, for sure! You're back? Though how you've travelled So quickly, Eliza, I can't think. And when's John Steel to turn us out, to follow Jim And the other vagabonds? And who's he sending?

He's not a man to spare ... But, sheep are sheep: Someone must tend them, though all else go smash.

I've given my life to sheep, spent myself for them: And now, I'm not the value of a dead sheep To any farmer--a rackle of bones for the midden!

A bitter day, 'twill be, when I turn my back On Krindlesyke. I little reckoned to go, A blind old cripple, hobbling on two sticks.

Pride has a fall, they say: and I was proud-- Proud as a thistle; and a donkey's cropt The thistle's p.r.i.c.kly pride. Why don't you speak?

I'm not mistaken this time: I heard you come: I feel you standing over me.

(_He pokes round with his stick, catching PETER on the s.h.i.+n with it._)

PETER (_wresting the stick from EZRA's grasp_): Easy on!

Peter's no lad to take a leathering, now.

Your time's come round for breeches down, old boy: But don't be scared; for I'm no walloper-- Too like hard work! My son's a clean white skin: He's never skirled, as you made me. By gox, You gave me gip: my back still bears the stripes Of the loundering I got the night I left.

But I bear no malice, you old bag-of-bones: And where's the satisfaction in committing a.s.sault and battery on a blasted scarecrow?

'Twas basting hot young flesh that you enjoyed: I still can hear you smack your lips with relish, To see the blue weals rising, as you laid on, Until the tawse was b.l.o.o.d.y. Not juice enough In your geyzened carcase to raise one weal: and I never Could bear the sound of cracking bones: and you're All n.o.bs and knuckles, like the parson's pig.

To think I feared you once, old spindleshanks!

But I'm not here for paying compliments: I've other pressing business on that brings me To the G.o.d-forsaken gaol where I was born.

If I make sense of your doting, mother's out: And that's as well: it makes things easier.

She'd flufter me: and I like to take things easy, Though I'm no sneak: I come in, bold as bra.s.s, By the front, when there's no back door. I'll do the trick While she's gone: and borrow a trifle on account.

I trust that cuddy hasn't cropt your cashbox, Before your eldest son has got his portion.

(_He starts to go towards the inner room, but stops half-way as he hears a step on the threshold._)

PETER: The devil!

_BELL HAGGARD, a tall young tinker-woman, with an orange-coloured kerchief about her head, appears in the doorway with her young son, MICHAEL._

PETER: You, Bell? La.s.s, but you startled me.

EZRA (_muttering to himself_): This must be death: the crows are gathering in.

I don't feel like cold carrion, but corbies will gather, And flesh their b.l.o.o.d.y beaks on an old ram's carcase, Before the life's quite out.

PETER (_to BELL_): I feared 'twas mother.

Lucky, she's out; it's easier to do-- Well, you ken what, when she's ... But didn't I bid You keep well out of sight, you and the lad?

BELL: You did. What then?

PETER: I thought 'twas better the bairn ...

BELL: You think too much for a man with a small head: You'll split the scalp, some day. I've not been used To doing any man's bidding, as you should ken: And I'd a mind to see the marble halls You dreamt you dwelt in.

PETER: Hearken, how she gammons!

BELL: She--the cat's mother? You've no manners, Peter: You haven't introduced us.

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