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!"