GEORGE. I’m off. I’ve no patience to listen any longer. You called me roadster varmint. Well, let it be so. On the road I was born and on the road I was picked from my dead mother’s side, and I count as ’tis on the road as I shall breathe my last. But for all that, I’ll not have road dirt flung on me by no one. For, roadsters varmint though I be, there be things which I do hold brighter nor silver and cleaner nor new opened leaves, and I’ll not have defilement throwed upon them. EMILY. [_Seizing the arms of_ JESSIE _and_ ROBIN.] The lad’s raving. ’Tis plain as he’s been getting at the cider. Come you off with me to the haymaking, Robin and Jess. ROBIN. May I take my book along of me? EMILY. [_Flinging the book down violently_.] I’ll book you! What next? JESSIE. Poor Georgie. He was not courting Joan, mother. He was only doing the taters for her. EMILY. [_As they go out_.] The lazy good-for-nothing cat. I’ll get her packed off from here afore another sun has set, see if I don’t. [GEORGE _is left alone in the kitchen_. _When all sounds of_ EMILY _and the children have died away_, _he sighs_. _Then_, _looking furtively round the room_, _he draws a blue ribbon slowly from his pocket_. _He spreads it out on one hand and stands looking down on it_, _sadly and longingly_. _Then he slowly raises it to his lips and kisses it_. _Just as he is doing this_ THOMAS _comes into the room_. THOMAS. Why, George, my lad. GEORGE. [_Confusedly putting the ribbon back into his pocket_.] Yes, Master Thomas. THOMAS. [_Looking meaningly at_ GEORGE.] ’Tis a pretty enough young maid, George. GEORGE. What did you say, Master? THOMAS. That one with the bit of blue round the head of her. GEORGE. Blue? THOMAS. Ah, George. I was a young man myself once on a time. GEORGE. Yes, master. THOMAS. ’Twasn’t a piece of blue ribbon as I did find one day, but ’twas a blossom dropped from her gown. GEORGE. Whose gown, master? I’ll warrant ’twasn’t missus’s. THOMAS. Bless my soul, no. No, no, George. ’Twasn’t the mistress then. GEORGE. Ah, I count as it could not have been she. THOMAS. First love, ’tis best, George. GEORGE. Ah, upon my word, that ’tis. THOMAS. But my maid went and got her married to another. GEORGE. More’s the pity, Master Thomas. THOMAS. [_Sighing_.] Ah, I often thinks of how it might have been—with her and me, like. GEORGE. Had that one a soft tongue to her mouth, master? THOMAS. Soft and sweet as the field lark, George. GEORGE. Then that had been the one for you to have wed, Master Thomas. THOMAS. Ah, George, don’t you never run into the trap, no matter whether ’tis baited with the choicest thing you ever did dream on. Once in, never out. There ’tis. GEORGE. No one would trouble to set a snare for me, master. I baint worth trapping.