CLYST. I knu a gude man—'e sold pigs—very gude man: 'e 'ad a budiful bright vase like the mane. [Touching his stomach] I was sad, meself, once. 'Twas a funny scrabblin'—like feelin'.
GLADYS. If 'e go away, whu's goin' to finish us for confirmation?
CONNIE. The Rector and the old grey mare.
MERCY. I don' want no more finishin'; I'm confirmed enough.
CLYST. Ya-as; yu'm a buty.
GLADYS. Suppose we all went an' asked 'im not to go?
IVY. 'Twouldn't be no gude.
CONNIE. Where's 'e goin'?
MERCY. He'll go to London, of course.
IVY. He's so gentle; I think 'e'll go to an island, where there's nothin' but birds and beasts and flowers.