May. Hark you here, Mother, and keep your screeching till another time. I wants to slip out quiet so as Steve and th’ old woman won’t never know as I’ve been nigh. And if you keeps your mouth shut, maybe I’ll drop in at our own place on the hill one of these days and bide comfortable along of you, only now—I’m off, do you hear?
Vashti. I can’t abide for you to go. ’Tis more nor I can stand. Why, if you goes, May, ’tis t’other wench and th’ old woman what’ll get mistressing it here again in your place. [Rising up.] No—you shan’t go. I’ll holler till I’ve waked them every one—you shan’t! My only child, my pretty May! Ah, ’tis not likely as you shall slip off again. ’Tis not.
May. Look you here, Mother—bide still, I say. [Looking round the room distractedly.] See here—’tis rare dry as I be. You bide quiet and us’ll have a drink together, that us will. Look, th’ old woman’s forgot to put away the bottle, us’ll wet our mouths nice and quiet, mother—she won’t hear I taking out the cork, nor nothing. See!
[May gets up and crosses the room; she takes the bottle off the shelf where she has just perceived it, and also two glasses; she fills one and hands it to her mother.
Vashti. [Stretching out her hand.] ’Tis rare dry and parched as I be, now I comes to think on it, May.
May. That’s right—drink your fill, Mother.
Vashti. ’Tis pleasant for I to see you mistressing it here again, May.
May. Ah, ’tis my own drink and all, come to that.
Vashti. So ’tis. And the tea what she gived me was but ditch water. I seed her spoon it in the pot, and ’twas not above a half spoon as her did put in for I, th’ old badger. My eye was on she, though, and her’ll have it cast up at she when the last day shall come and the trumpet sound and all flesh stand quailing, and me and mine looking on at her as is brought to judgment. How will it be then, you old sinner, says I.
May. [Re-filling the glass.] Take and drink this little drop more, mother.