Ruth:
She’s not dead?
Judith:
Ay, son: she breathed her last an hour ago.
Ruth:
So, after all, the poor old soul crept back
To Krindlesyke to die.
(Michael Barrasford, without a word, moves towards the inner room in a dazed manner, lifts the latch, and goes in. After a moment’s hesitation, Ruth follows him, closing the door behind her. The boys, who have been sitting staring at the fire, drowsily and unheeding, rouse themselves gradually, stretching and yawning.)
Nicholas:
Grannie, we saw the circus:
And Ralph still says he wants to be a herd,
Like dad: but I can’t bide the silly baas.
When I’m a man I’ll be a circus-rider,
And gallop, gallop! I’m clean daft on horses.
(An owl hoots piercingly without.)