CLYST. [In his teasing, excitable voice] Yu maids don't dance
'elf's well as us du. Bobbie 'e's a great dancer. 'E dance vine.
I'm a gude dancer, meself.

GLADYS. A'n't yu conceited just?

CLYST. Aw! Ah! Yu'll give me kiss for that. [He chases, but cannot
catch that slippery white figure] Can't she glimmer!

MERCY. Gladys! Up ladder!

CLYST. Yu go up ladder; I'll catch 'ee then. Naw, yu maids, don't
yu give her succour. That's not vair [Catching hold of MERCY, who
gives a little squeal.]

CONNIE. Mercy, don't! Mrs. Burlacombe'll hear. Ivy, go an' peek.

[Ivy goes to flee side door and peers through.]

CLYST. [Abandoning the chase and picking up an apple--they all have
the joyous irresponsibility that attends forbidden doings] Ya-as,
this is a gude apple. Luke at Tibby!

[TIBBY, overcome by drowsiness, has fallen back into the hay,
asleep. GLADYS, leaning against the hay breaks into humming:]

"There cam' three dukes a-ridin', a-ridin', a-ridin',
There cam' three dukes a ridin'
With a ransy-tansy tay!"