He lights to-morrer, an' to-day.
My 'eart 'E 'ath vorgot!

[When he has finished, there is silence. Then TRUSTAFORD,
scratching his head, speaks:]

TAUSTAFORD. 'Tes amazin' funny stuff.

FREMAN. [Looking over CLYST'S shoulder] Be danged! 'Tes the
curate's 'andwritin'. 'Twas curate wi' the ponies, after that.

CLYST. Fancy, now! Aw, Will Freman, an't yu bright!

FREMAN. But 'e 'adn't no bird on 'is 'ead.

CLYST. Ya-as, 'e 'ad.

JARLAND. [In a dull, threatening voice] 'E 'ad my maid's bird, this
arternune. 'Ead or no, and parson or no, I'll gie 'im one for that.

FREMAN. Ah! And 'e meddled wi' my 'orses.

TRUSTAFORD. I'm thinkin' 'twas an old cuckoo bird 'e 'ad on 'is
'ead. Haw, haw!

GODLEIGH. "His 'eart She 'ath Vorgot!"

FREMAN. 'E's a fine one to be tachin' our maids convirmation.

GODLEIGH. Would ye 'ave it the old Rector then? Wi' 'is gouty shoe?