MERCY. [Engagingly producing a cage a little bigger than a mouse-trap, containing a skylark] My skylark.
STRANGWAY. What!
MERCY. It can fly; but we're goin' to clip its wings. Bobbie caught it.
STRANGWAY. How long ago?
MERCY. [Conscious of impending disaster] Yesterday.
STRANGWAY. [White hot] Give me the cage!
MERCY. [Puckering] I want my skylark. [As he steps up to her and takes the cage—thoroughly alarmed] I gave Bobbie thrippence for it!
STRANGWAY. [Producing a sixpence] There!
MERCY. [Throwing it down-passionately] I want my skylark!
STRANGWAY. God made this poor bird for the sky and the grass. And you put it in that! Never cage any wild thing! Never!