_Mr. Swallow._ I’ve looked at every house with decent eaves in the
whole place until I’m ready to drop.
_Mrs. Swallow._ What do you think about it?
_Mr. Swallow._ Well, it’s a puzzle. There’s the Manor House: I began
with that. There is good holding there, but the pond is a long way off,
and carrying mud so far would be a fearful grind. None the less it’s a
well-built house, and I feel sure we shouldn’t be disturbed.
_Mrs. Swallow._ What about the people?
_Mr. Swallow._ How funny you are about the people always! Never mind.
All I can find out is that there’s the squire and his wife and a
companion.
_Mrs. Swallow._ No children?
_Mr. Swallow._ None.
_Mrs. Swallow._ Then I don’t care for the Manor House. Tell me of
another.
_Mr. Swallow._ This is the merest sentiment; but no matter. The
Vicarage next.
_Mrs. Swallow._ Any children there?
_Mr. Swallow._ No, but it’s much nearer the pond.
_Mrs. Swallow._ And the next?
_Mr. Swallow._ The farmhouse. A beautiful place with a pond at your
very door. Everything you require, and lots of company. Good sheltered
eaves, too.
_Mrs. Swallow._ Any children?
_Mr. Swallow._ Yes, one little girl.
_Mrs. Swallow._ Isn’t there any house with babies?
_Mr. Swallow._ Only one that could possibly be any use to us; but it’s
a miserably poor place. No style.
_Mrs. Swallow._ How many babies?
_Mr. Swallow._ Twins, just born, and others of one and two and three.
_Mrs. Swallow._ We’ll build there.
_Mr. Swallow._ They’ll make a horrible row all night.
_Mrs. Swallow._ We’ll build there.