[He chuckles.]

GODLEIGH. Now, Tim Clyst, if an' in case yu've a-got some scandal on
yer tongue, don't yu never unship it here. Yu go up to Rectory where
'twill be more relished-like.

CLYST. [Waving the paper] Will y' give me a drink for this, Mr.
Godleigh? 'Tes rale funny. Aw! 'tes somethin' swats. Butiful
readin'. Poetry. Rale spice. Yu've a luv'ly voice for readin', Mr.
Godleigh.

GODLEIGH. [All ears and twinkle] Aw, what is it then?

CLYST. Ah! Yu want t'know tu much.

[Putting the paper in his pocket.]

[While he is speaking, JIM BERE has entered quietly, with his
feeble step and smile, and sits down.]

CLYST. [Kindly] Hello, Jim! Cat come 'ome?

JIM BERE. No.

[All nod, and speak to him kindly. And JIM BERE smiles at them,
and his eyes ask of them the question, to which there is no
answer. And after that he sits motionless and silent, and they
talk as if he were not there.]

GODLEIGH. What's all this, now--no scandal in my 'ouse!