BELL: Michael! The lad will sit mumchance The evening through: he’s got a powerful gift Of saying nothing: no sparks to strike off him; Though he’s had to serve as a whetstone, this long while, To keep an edge on my tongue. JUDITH: He’s quiet? BELL: Quiet! A husband born. No need to fear for Ruth: She’s safe with Michael, safe for life. JUDITH: He’s steady? BELL: He’s not his mother’s son: he banks his money; And takes no hazards; never risks his shirt: As canny as I’m spendthrift, he’s the sort Can pouch his cutty, half-smoked, ten minutes after I’ve puffed away my pipeful. Ay: Ruth’s safe. His peatstacks never fire: he’ll never lose A lamb, or let a ewe slip through his hands, For want of watching; though he go for nights Without a nap. The day of Ezra’s funeral, A score of gimmers perished in the snow, But not a ewe of Michael’s: his were folded Before the wind began to pile the drifts: He takes no risks. JUDITH: Ruth needs a careful man: For she’s the sort that’s steady with the steady, And a featherhead with featherheads. She’s sense: And Michael ... BELL: Michael’s sense itself--a cob Too steady to shy even at the crack of doom: He’ll keep the beaten track, the road that leads To four walls, and the same bed every night. Talk of the devil--but he’s coming now Up Bloodysyke: ay, and there’s someone with him-- A petticoat, no less! JUDITH: Mercy! It’s Ruth: Yet I didn’t leave, till she was safely off To work ... BELL: Work? Michael, too, had business In Bellingham this morning, oddly enough. Doubtless, they helped each other; and got through The job the quicker, working well together: And a parson took a hand in it for certain, If I ken Michael: likes things proper, he does; And always had a weakness for black lambs. But, who’d have guessed he’d ... Surely, there’s a strain Of Haggard in the young limb, after all: No Haggard stops to ask a parent’s leave, Even should they happen to ken the old folk by sight: My own I knew by hearsay. But, what luck You’re here to welcome the young pair. JUDITH: No! They’ll wonder ... I bring no luck to weddings ... I must go ... BELL: You can’t, without being spotted: but you can hide Behind the door, till I speak with them. JUDITH: No! No! Not that door ... I can’t hide behind that door Again. BELL: That door? Well, you ken best what’s been Between that door and you. It’s crazy and old, But, it looks innocent, wooden-faced humbug: yet I don’t trust doors myself; they’ve got a knack Of shutting me in. But you’ll be snug enough In the other room: I’d advise you to lie down, And rest; you’re looking trashed: and, come to think, I’ve a deal to say to the bridegroom, before I go. JUDITH: Go?