May. No, no, what was I a-saying to you? The dark must fall and cover me, or I won’t never go across the field nor a-nigh the house. Give I to drink, give I to drink. And then let me bide in quiet till all of the light be gone.
Harry. [Taking out a tin mug from the bundle beside her.] Where be I to find drink, and the frost lying stiff upon the ground?
May. [Pointing.] Up yonder, where the ash tree do stand. Look you there, ’tis a bit of spouting as do come through the hedge, and water from it, flowing downwards away to the ditch.
[Harry goes off with the can. May watches him, drawing her shawl again about her and striving to suppress a fit of coughing.
[Harry returns and holds out the can.
May. ’Tis not very quick as you’ve been, Harry Moss. Here—give it to I fast. Give!
[Harry puts the can towards her and she takes it in her hands, which shake feverishly, and she drinks with sharp avidity.
May. ’Tis the taste as I have thought on these many a year. Ah, and have gotten into my mouth, too, when I did lay sleeping, that I have. Water from yonder spout, with the taste of dead leaves sharp in it. Drink of it, too, Harry.
Harry. ’Tis no water as I wants, May. Give I summat as’ll lie more warm and comfortable to th’ inside like. I bain’t one for much water, and that’s the truth, ’tis. [He empties the water on the ground.
May. Then go you out upon your way, Harry Moss, for the dark be gathering on us fast, and there be many a mile afore you to the town, where the lamps do shine and ’tis bright and warm in the places where they sells the drink.