YOUNG MAN [to Private]
He don’t know what it is! That’s his pride and puffery. What is it
that’ so ghastly—hey?
PRIVATE
Well, there, I can’t tell it. ’Twas that that made the whole eighty
of our company run away—though we be the bravest of the brave in
natural jeopardies, or the little boys wouldn’t run after us and
call us and call us the “Bang-up-Locals.”
WOMAN [in undertones]
I can tell you a word or two on’t. It is about His victuals. They
say that He lives upon human flesh, and has rashers o’ baby every
morning for breakfast—for all the world like the Cernal Giant in
old ancient times!
YOUNG MAN
Ye can’t believe all ye hear.
PRIVATE
I only believe half. And I only own—such is my challengeful
character—that perhaps He do eat pagan infants when He’s in the
desert. But not Christian ones at home. Oh no—’tis too much.
WOMAN
Whether or no, I sometimes—God forgive me!—laugh wi’ horror at
the queerness o’t, till I am that weak I can hardly go round the
house. He should have the washing of ’em a few times; I warrant
’a wouldn’t want to eat babies any more!
[A silence, during which they gaze around at the dark dome of the
starless sky.]
YOUNG MAN
There’ll be a change in the weather soon, by the look o’t. I can
hear the cows moo in Froom Valley as if I were close to ’em, and
the lantern at Max Turnpike is shining quite plain.
OLD MAN
Well, come in and taste a drop o’ sommat we’ve got here, that will
warm the cockles of your heart as ye wamble homealong. We housed
eighty tuns last night for them that shan’t be named—landed at
Lullwind Cove the night afore, though they had a narrow shave with
the riding-officers this run.
[They make toward the hut, when a light on the west horizon becomes
visible, and quickly enlarges.]
YOUNG MAN
He’s come!
OLD MAN
Come he is, though you do say it! This, then, is the beginning of
what England’s waited for!
[They stand and watch the light awhile.]