TALKER. The birds. I held converse with a cuckoo-bird this morning. "Cuckoo," he said—in this manner (he imitates it on his pipe)—meaning, as I gathered, "O fool!" I bowed low to him, and "Pardon, bird," said I,—"but I would have you tell me why I am a fool." He answered thus in parables—"Cuckoo."
MOTHER. And what did that mean?
TALKER (sighing). It meant, "There's no fool like an old fool."
(She looks away. He waits a little, then sighs again and leaves the window, entering a moment later by the door.)
MOTHER (looking up). Well, Sir?
TALKER. Madame, I am a man of good family, although—although I quarrelled with my good family. I left them many years ago and took to the road. I have seen something of the world since then, but I think I must always have had at the back of my mind some dim picture of what a home was—some ancient memory, perhaps. That memory has been very strong within me these last days.
MOTHER. You have liked my home, Master Johannes?
TALKER. I have liked it well. (He takes out his pipe and plays a melancholy "Cuckoo.") Well, well—we start this afternoon.
MOTHER. You want my daughter?
TALKER (sadly). Not your daughter, Madame.