George. Her would call upon me pitiful—and I would come back from where I was hid.
Clara. And did her crying cease?
George. She would take and spring as though her was one of they little wild squirrels as do dance about in the trees.
Clara. Where would she spring to, George?
George. I would hold out my two arms wide to her, and catch she.
Clara. And did she never fall, whilst springing from the tree, George?
George. I never let she fall, nor get hurted by naught so long as her was in the care of me.
Clara. [Slowly, after a short pause.] I do not think she can have forgotten those days, George.
George. [Getting up and speaking harshly.] They’re best forgot. Put them away. There be briars and brambles and thorns and sommat of all which do hurt the flesh of man atween that time and this’n.
[Clara turns her head away and furtively presses her handkerchief to her eyes. George looks gloomily on the floor. Emily enters.