Part 4 (2/2)

LUCILLA (_to GEORGE_). Do look at that one going up and sniffing at the bundle of fleeces, trying to find out which is his. _Isn't_ it pathetic?

GEORGE. H'm--puts one in mind of a shy man in a cloak-room after a party, saying feebly, ”I rather think that's _my_ coat, and there's a crush hat of mine _somewhere_ about,” eh?

LUCILLA (_who is always wis.h.i.+ng that GEORGE would talk more sensibly_).

Considering that sheep don't _wear_ crush hats, I hardly see how----

GEORGE. My dear, I bow to your superior knowledge of natural history.

Now you mention it, I believe it _is_ unusual. But I merely meant to suggest a general resemblance.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”They ain't on'y a lot o' sheep! I thought it was Reciters, or somethink o' that.”]

LUCILLA (_reprovingly_). I know. And you've got into such a silly habit of seeing resemblances in things that are perfectly different. I'm sure I'm _always_ telling you of it.

GEORGE. You are, my dear. But I'm not nearly so bad as I _was_. Think of all the things I used to compare _you_ to before we were married!

SARAH JANE (_to her TROOPER_). I could stand an' look at 'em hours, I could. I was born and bred in the country, and it do seem to bring back my old 'ome that plain.

Her TROOPER. I'm country bred too, though yer mightn't think it. But there ain't much in sheep shearin' to _my_ mind. If it was _pig killin'_, now!

SARAH JANE. Ah, that's along o' your bein' in the milingtary, I expect.

Her TROOPER. No, it ain't that. It's the reckerlections it 'ud call up.

I 'ad a 'ole uncle a pork-butcher, d'ye see, and (_with sentiment_) many and many a 'appy hour I've spent as a boy----[_He indulges in tender reminiscences._

A YOUNG CLERK (_who belongs to a Literary Society, to his FIANCeE_). It has a wonderfully rural look--quite like a scene in 'Ardy, isn't it?

His FIANCeE (_who has ”no time for reading rubbish”_). I daresay; though I've never been there myself.

The CLERK. Never been? Oh, I see. _You_ thought I said _Arden_--the Forest of Arden, in Shakspeare, didn't you?

His FIANCeE. Isn't that where Mr. Gladstone lives, and goes cutting down the trees in?

The CLERK. No; At least it's spelt different. But it was 'Ardy _I_ meant. _Far from the Madding Crowd_, you know.

His FIANCeE (_with a vague view to the next Bank Holiday_). What do you _call_ ”far”--farther than _Margate_?

[_Her companion has a sense of discouragement._

An ARTISAN (_to a neighbour in broadcloth and a white choker_). It's wonderful 'ow they can go so close without 'urtin' of 'em, ain't it?

His NEIGHBOUR (_with unction_). Ah, my friend, it on'y shows 'ow true it is that 'eving tempers the shears for the shorn lambs!

<script>