[He goes out, and all begin to follow him.]
MORSE. [Slowest, save for SOL POTTER] 'Tes rare lucky us was all agreed to hiss the curate afore us began the botherin' old meetin', or us widn' 'ardly 'ave 'ad time to settle what to du.
SOL POTTER. [Scratching his head] Aye, 'tes rare lucky; but I dunno if 'tes altogether reg'lar.
CURTAIN.
SCENE III
The village green before the churchyard and the yew-trees at the gate. Into the pitch dark under the yews, light comes out through the half-open church door. Figures are lurking, or moving stealthily—people waiting and listening to the sound of a voice speaking in the church words that are inaudible. Excited whispering and faint giggles come from the deepest yew-tree shade, made ghostly by the white faces and the frocks of young girls continually flitting up and back in the blackness. A girl's figure comes flying out from the porch, down the path of light, and joins the stealthy group.
WHISPERING VOICE of MERCY. Where's 'e got to now, Gladys?
WHISPERING VOICE OF GLADYS. 'E've just finished.
VOICE OF CONNIE. Whu pushed t'door open?
VOICE OF GLADYS. Tim Clyst I giv' it a little push, meself.