"What is sets?"
"Dies."
"Oh."
The waters lay asleep under the soft red glow, and over them the seafowl were sailing.
"Why are the white birds sc'eaming?"
"Maybe they're calling their young, little Sunlocks."
It was late spring, and on the headland the sheep were bleating.
"Look at the baby one—away, away up yonder. What's it doing there by itself on the 'ock, and c'ying, and c'ying, and c'ying?"
"Maybe it's lost, little Sunlocks."
"Then why doesn't somebody go and tell its father?"