BELL: Quick, this way: step lively, or they’ll catch Your skirt-tail whisking round the doorcheek. (_BELL hustles JUDITH into the inner room; closing the door behind her. She then thrusts the orange-coloured kerchief into her pocket; picks up the bracken, and flings it on the fire; seats herself on the settle, with her back to the door; and gazes at the blaze: not even glancing up, as MICHAEL and RUTH enter._) MICHAEL: Mother! BELL: Is that you, Prodigal son? You’re late, to-day, As always when you’ve business in Bellingham. That’s through, I trust: those ewes have taken a deal Of seeing to: and I’m lonely as a milestone, When you’re away. MICHAEL: I’ve taken the last trip, mother: That job’s through: and I’ve made the best of bargains. You’ll not be lonely, now, when I’m not here: I’ve brought you a daughter to keep you company. BELL (_turning sharply_): I might have known you were no Prodigal son: He didn’t bring home even a single sausage, For all his keeping company with swine. But, what should I do with a daughter, lad? Do you fancy, if I’d had a mind for daughters, I couldn’t have had a dozen of my own? One petticoat’s enough in any house: And who are you, to bring your mother a daughter? MICHAEL: Her husband. Ruth’s my bride. Ruth Ellershaw She was till ten o’clock: Ruth Barrasford, Till doomsday, now. BELL: When did I give you leave To bring strange lasses to disturb my peace, Just as I’m getting used to Krindlesyke? To think you’d wed, without a word! MICHAEL: Leave, say you? You’ll always have your jest. I said no word: For words breed words: and I’d not have a swarm Of stinging ants bumming about my lugs For days beforehand. BELL: Ants? They’d need be kaids, To burrow through your fleece, and prog your skin. MICHAEL: I’d as lief ask leave of the tricky wind as you: And, leave or not, I’d see you damned, if you tried To part us. None of your games! I’m no young wether, To be let keep his old dam company; Trotting beside her ...