Part 23

(Telka) “Do leave me for to turn the spit that I may lick the finger-drip. Thy nose, Franco, doth trick thee. Thou canst sniff o’ dung-dust and scoff at drip. Go, roll the apples o’er in yonder pile. They then would suit thee well!”

(Franco) “Telka, I bid thee to wash away such tunging. Here, I set them so. Now do I to fetch thy wheel. Nay, Marion, do cast thy blush. ’Tis but the Telka witch. Do thou to start thee at thy tale aspin.”

(Telka) “Aye, Marion, thou then, since ne’er truth knoweth thee, thou shouldst ne’er to lack for story. Story do I say? Aye, or lie, ’tis brothers they be. And, Franco, do thou to spin, ’twill suit thy taste to feed ’pon maid’s fare. I be the spinner o’ the tale afirst. But, Franco, I fain would have thee fetch a pair o’ harkers. Didst deem to fret me that thee dumped the twain aneath the stack? Go thou and fetch. ’Tis well that thee shouldst bed with swine lest thee be preening for a swan.”

(Franco) “Ugh, Telka! Thou art like to a vat o’ wine awork. Thou’lt fetch the swine do ye seek to company them.”

(Telka) “So well, Polly, I do go, for ’tis swine o’ worth amore than color daub. Set thee, since thou be wench.”

(Franco) “Look ye, Telka, ’tis here I cast the cloak and show thee metal abared. Thou hast ridden ’pon a high nag for days, and I do kick his hock and set him at a limp. Do thou to clip thy words ashort or I do cast a stone athro’ thy bubble.”

(Telka) “Ah, Franco, ’tis nay meaning! Put here. Do spin thy tale, but do ye first to leave me fetch the wee-squeals. Then I do be a tamed dove. See ye?”

(Franco) “Away, then, and fetch thee back ahurry.” (Exit Telka.)

(Franco) “Marion, ’tis what that I should put as path to tread? She be awronged but do I feed the fires, or put a stop?”

(Marion) “Franco, ’tis a pot and stew she loveth. Think ye to coax thy dream-forms from out the pot? Telka arounded and awrathed be like unto a thunder-storm, but Telka less the wrath and round, be Winter’s dreary.”

(Franco) “Not so, Marion, I shall then call forth the ghosts o’ painted pots and touch the dreary abloom. Didst thou e’er to slit thy eye and view thro’ afar? Dost thou then behold the motes? So, then, shall I to view the Telka maid. Whist! Here she be! Aback, Telka? Come, I itch for to spin a tale. Sit thee here and dry the wet sparkles from thy curls. List, do!

“’Twere a peddle-packer who did stroll adown the blade-strewn path along the village edge, abent. And brow-shagged eye did hide a twinkle-mirth aneath——”

“E-e-ek! E-e-e-k!”

(Telka) “Look, Franco, see they ’e-e-e-k’ do I to pull their tails uncurl!”

(Franco) “Do ye then wish thee, Telka, for to play upon their one-string lyre, or do I put ahead?”

“Bestrung, aborder o’ the road, the cots send smoke-wreathes up to join the cloud. ’Twere sup-hour, and drip afrazzle soundeth thro’ the doors beope, like to a water-cachit aslipping thro’ dry leaf to pool aneath. Do I then put it clear?”

(Telka) “Yea, Franco, what hath he in his pack? I’d put a gander for a frock!”

(Marion) “On, Franco, thy tale hath a lilt.”

(Franco) “Awag-walk he weaveth to the door afirst-hand. The wee lads and lass do cluster ’bout the door, and twist atween their finger and thumb their smock-hem, or chew thereon. But he doth seem aloth to cast of pack or ope, and standeth at apeer to murmur—then to cast.”

“E-e-e-k! E-e-e-k!”

(Telka) “Nay, Franco, ’twere not my doing, I swear. ’Twere he who sat upon a fire-spark. Do haste! I hot for sight athin the pack.”

(Franco) “What, Telka, thou awag and pig asqueak, and me the tail! Do put quiet!

“The dame and sire do step them out from gray innards o’ the hut, and pack-tipper beggeth for a mug o’ porridge, and showeth o’ the strand-bound pack. Wee lads and lass aquiver, tip-topple at a peep, and dame doth fetch the brew, but shaketh nay at offering o’ gift, and spake it so: ‘A porridge pot doth hold a mug, and one amore for he who bideth ’thout a brew. Nay, drink ye, and thank the morrow’s sun. ’Tis stony path thee trod, and dust choketh. Do rest, and bide thee at our sill till weariness awarn away.’

“Think ye, Marion, that peddle-man did leave and cast not pence? What think ye, Telka?”

(Telka) “I did hear thee tell o’ his fill, but tell thee o’ fill o’ pack.”

(Franco) “A time, Telka. Nay, he did drink and left as price an ancient jug o’ clay, and thick and o’ a weight, to thank and wag-weave hence.”

(Telka) “Did he then to pack anew and off ’thout a peep?”

(Franco) “Yea, and dark did yawn and swallow him. But morrow bringeth tale that peddle-packer had paid to each o’ huts a beg, and what think ye? Left a jug where’er, he supped!”