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You may copy it, give it away or + re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included + with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + Title: A Bit O' Love (Fourth Series Plays) + + Author: John Galsworthy + + Release Date: September 26, 2004 [EBook #2915] + Last Updated: October 28, 2012 + + Language: English + + Character set encoding: ASCII + + *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BIT O' LOVE (FOURTH SERIES *** + + Produced by David Widger + + + + +</pre> + <h2> + <i>GALSWORTHY'S PLAYS</i> + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_TOC" id="link2H_TOC"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + <i>Links to All Volumes</i> + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto" cellpadding="4" border="3"> + <tr> + <td> + THE FIRST SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2906/2906-h/2906-h.htm"><b>The + Silver Box</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2907/2907-h/2907-h.htm"><b>Joy</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2908/2908-h/2908-h.htm"><b>Strife</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE SECOND SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2909/2909-h/2909-h.htm"><b>The + Eldest Son</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2910/2910-h/2910-h.htm"><b>Little + Dream</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2911/2911-h/2911-h.htm"><b>Justice</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE THIRD SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2912/2912-h/2912-h.htm"><b>The + Fugitive</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2913/2913-h/2913-h.htm"><b>The + Pigeon</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2914/2914-h/2914-h.htm"><b>The + Mob</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE FOURTH SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2915/2915-h/2915-h.htm"><b>A + Bit O'Love</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2916/2916-h/2916-h.htm"><b>The + Foundations</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2917/2917-h/2917-h.htm"><b>The + Skin Game</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE FIFTH SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/4764/4764-h/4764-h.htm"><b>A + Family Man</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/4765/4765-h/4765-h.htm"><b>Loyalties</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/4766/4766-h/4766-h.htm"><b>Windows</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE SIXTH SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2918/2918-h/2918-h.htm"><b>The + First and Last</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2919/2919-h/2919-h.htm"><b>The + Little Man</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2920/2920-h/2920-h.htm"><b>Four + Short Plays</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + <i>PLAYS IN THE FOURTH SERIES</i> + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h1> + A BIT O' LOVE + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By John Galsworthy + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> PERSONS OF THE PLAY + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + MICHAEL STRANGWAY + BEATRICE STRANGWAY + MRS. BRADMERE + JIM BERE + JACK CREMER + MRS. BURLACOMBE + BURLACOMBE + TRUSTAFORD + JARLAND + CLYST + FREMAN + GODLEIGH + SOL POTTER + MORSE, AND OTHERS + IVY BURLACOMBE + CONNIE TRUSTAFORD + GLADYS FREMAN + MERCY JARLAND + TIBBY JARLAND + BOBBIE JARLAND + + SCENE: A VILLAGE OF THE WEST + + The Action passes on Ascension Day. + + ACT I. STRANGWAY'S rooms at BURLACOMBE'S. Morning. + + ACT II. Evening + + SCENE I. The Village Inn. + SCENE II. The same. + SCENE III. Outside the church. + + ACT III. Evening + + SCENE I. STRANGWAY'S rooms. + SCENE II. BURLACOMBE'S barn. +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto" cellpadding="4" border="3"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>A BIT O' LOVE</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> ACT I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> ACT II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> ACT III </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h1> + A BIT O' LOVE + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT I + </h2> + <blockquote> + <p> + It is Ascension Day in a village of the West. In the low panelled + hall-sittingroom of the BURLACOMBE'S farmhouse on the village green, + MICHAEL STRANGWAY, a clerical collar round his throat and a dark Norfolk + jacket on his back, is playing the flute before a very large framed + photograph of a woman, which is the only picture on the walls. His age + is about thirty-five his figure thin and very upright and his + clean-shorn face thin, upright, narrow, with long and rather pointed + ears; his dark hair is brushed in a coxcomb off his forehead. A faint + smile hovers about his lips that Nature has made rather full and he has + made thin, as though keeping a hard secret; but his bright grey eyes, + dark round the rim, look out and upwards almost as if he were being + crucified. There is something about the whole of him that makes him seen + not quite present. A gentle creature, burnt within. A low broad window + above a window-seat forms the background to his figure; and through its + lattice panes are seen the outer gate and yew-trees of a churchyard and + the porch of a church, bathed in May sunlight. The front door at right + angles to the window-seat, leads to the village green, and a door on the + left into the house. It is the third movement of Veracini's violin + sonata that STRANGWAY plays. His back is turned to the door into the + house, and he does not hear when it is opened, and IVY BURLACOMBE, the + farmer's daughter, a girl of fourteen, small and quiet as a mouse, comes + in, a prayer-book in one hand, and in the other a gloss of water, with + wild orchis and a bit of deep pink hawthorn. She sits down on the + window-seat, and having opened her book, sniffs at the flowers. Coming + to the end of the movement STRANGWAY stops, and looking up at the face + on the wall, heaves a long sigh. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + IVY. [From the seat] I picked these for yu, Mr. Strangway. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [Turning with a start] Ah! Ivy. Thank you. [He puts his flute + down on a chair against the far wall] Where are the others? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + As he speaks, GLADYS FREMAN, a dark gipsyish girl, and CONNIE + TRUSTAFORD, a fair, stolid, blue-eyed Saxon, both about sixteen, come in + through the front door, behind which they have evidently been listening. + They too have prayer-books in their hands. They sidle past Ivy, and also + sit down under the window. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + GLADYS. Mercy's comin', Mr. Strangway. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Good morning, Gladys; good morning, Connie. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + He turns to a book-case on a table against the far wall, and taking out + a book, finds his place in it. While he stands thus with his back to the + girls, MERCY JARLAND comes in from the green. She also is about sixteen, + with fair hair and china-blue eyes. She glides in quickly, hiding + something behind her, and sits down on the seat next the door. And at + once there is a whispering. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [Turning to them] Good morning, Mercy. + </p> + <p> + MERCY. Good morning, Mr. Strangway. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Now, yesterday I was telling you what our Lord's coming meant + to the world. I want you to understand that before He came there wasn't + really love, as we know it. I don't mean to say that there weren't many + good people; but there wasn't love for the sake of loving. D'you think you + understand what I mean? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + MERCY fidgets. GLADYS'S eyes are following a fly. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + IVY. Yes, Mr. Strangway. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. It isn't enough to love people because they're good to you, or + because in some way or other you're going to get something by it. We have + to love because we love loving. That's the great thing —without that + we're nothing but Pagans. + </p> + <p> + GLADYS. Please, what is Pagans? + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. That's what the first Christians called the people who lived in + the villages and were not yet Christians, Gladys. + </p> + <p> + MERCY. We live in a village, but we're Christians. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [With a smile] Yes, Mercy; and what is a Christian? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + MERCY kicks afoot, sideways against her neighbour, frowns over her + china-blare eyes, is silent; then, as his question passes on, makes a + quick little face, wriggles, and looks behind her. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Ivy? + </p> + <p> + IVY. 'Tis a man—whu—whu—— + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Yes?—Connie? + </p> + <p> + CONNIE. [Who speaks rather thickly, as if she had a permanent slight cold] + Please, Mr. Strangway, 'tis a man what goes to church. + </p> + <p> + GLADYS. He 'as to be baptised—and confirmed; and—and—buried. + </p> + <p> + IVY. 'Tis a man whu—whu's gude and—— + </p> + <p> + GLADYS. He don't drink, an' he don't beat his horses, an' he don't hit + back. + </p> + <p> + MERCY. [Whispering] 'Tisn't your turn. [To STRANGWAY] 'Tis a man like us. + </p> + <p> + IVY. I know what Mrs. Strangway said it was, 'cause I asked her once, + before she went away. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [Startled] Yes? + </p> + <p> + IVY. She said it was a man whu forgave everything. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Ah! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + The note of a cuckoo comes travelling. The girls are gazing at + STRANGWAY, who seems to have gone of into a dream. They begin to fidget + and whisper. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + CONNIE. Please, Mr. Strangway, father says if yu hit a man and he don't + hit yu back, he's no gude at all. + </p> + <p> + MERCY. When Tommy Morse wouldn't fight, us pinched him—he did + squeal! [She giggles] Made me laugh! + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Did I ever tell you about St. Francis of Assisi? + </p> + <p> + IVY. [Clasping her hands] No. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Well, he was the best Christian, I think, that ever lived—simply + full of love and joy. + </p> + <p> + IVY. I expect he's dead. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. About seven hundred years, Ivy. + </p> + <p> + IVY. [Softly] Oh! + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Everything to him was brother or sister—the sun and the + moon, and all that was poor and weak and sad, and animals and birds, so + that they even used to follow him about. + </p> + <p> + MERCY. I know! He had crumbs in his pocket. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. No; he had love in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + IVY. 'Tis like about Orpheus, that yu told us. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Ah! But St. Francis was a Christian, and Orpheus was a Pagan. + </p> + <p> + IVY. Oh! + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Orpheus drew everything after him with music; St. Francis by + love. + </p> + <p> + IVY. Perhaps it was the same, really. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [looking at his flute] Perhaps it was, Ivy. + </p> + <p> + GLADYS. Did 'e 'ave a flute like yu? + </p> + <p> + IVY. The flowers smell sweeter when they 'ear music; they du. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She holds up the glass of flowers.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [Touching one of the orchis] What's the name of this one? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The girls cluster; save MERCY, who is taking a stealthy interest in + what she has behind her.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + CONNIE. We call it a cuckoo, Mr. Strangway. + </p> + <p> + GLADYS. 'Tis awful common down by the streams. We've got one medder where + 'tis so thick almost as the goldie cups. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Odd! I've never noticed it. + </p> + <p> + IVY. Please, Mr. Strangway, yu don't notice when yu're walkin'; yu go + along like this. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She holds up her face as one looking at the sky.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Bad as that, Ivy? + </p> + <p> + IVY. Mrs. Strangway often used to pick it last spring. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Did she? Did she? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He has gone off again into a kind of dream.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MERCY. I like being confirmed. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Ah! Yes. Now——What's that behind you, Mercy? + </p> + <p> + MERCY. [Engagingly producing a cage a little bigger than a mouse-trap, + containing a skylark] My skylark. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. What! + </p> + <p> + MERCY. It can fly; but we're goin' to clip its wings. Bobbie caught it. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. How long ago? + </p> + <p> + MERCY. [Conscious of impending disaster] Yesterday. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [White hot] Give me the cage! + </p> + <p> + MERCY. [Puckering] I want my skylark. [As he steps up to her and takes the + cage—thoroughly alarmed] I gave Bobbie thrippence for it! + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [Producing a sixpence] There! + </p> + <p> + MERCY. [Throwing it down-passionately] I want my skylark! + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. God made this poor bird for the sky and the grass. And you put + it in that! Never cage any wild thing! Never! + </p> + <p> + MERCY. [Faint and sullen] I want my skylark. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [Taking the cage to the door] No! [He holds up the cage and + opens it] Off you go, poor thing! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The bird flies out and away. The girls watch with round eyes the fling + up of his arm, and the freed bird flying away.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + IVY. I'm glad! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MERCY kicks her viciously and sobs. STRANGWAY comes from the door, + looks at MERCY sobbing, and suddenly clasps his head. The girls watch + him with a queer mixture of wonder, alarm, and disapproval.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + GLADYS. [Whispering] Don't cry, Mercy. Bobbie'll soon catch yu another. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [STRANGWAY has dropped his hands, and is looking again at MERCY. IVY + sits with hands clasped, gazing at STRANGWAY. MERCY continues her + artificial sobbing.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [Quietly] The class is over for to-day. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He goes up to MERCY, and holds out his hand. She does not take it, and + runs out knuckling her eyes. STRANGWAY turns on his heel and goes into + the house.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + CONNIE. 'Twasn't his bird. + </p> + <p> + IVY. Skylarks belong to the sky. Mr. Strangway said so. + </p> + <p> + GLADYS. Not when they'm caught, they don't. + </p> + <p> + IVY. They du. + </p> + <p> + CONNIE. 'Twas her bird. + </p> + <p> + IVY. He gave her sixpence for it. + </p> + <p> + GLADYS. She didn't take it. + </p> + <p> + CONNIE. There it is on the ground. + </p> + <p> + IVY. She might have. + </p> + <p> + GLADYS. He'll p'raps take my squirrel, tu. + </p> + <p> + IVY. The bird sang—I 'eard it! Right up in the sky. It wouldn't have + sanged if it weren't glad. + </p> + <p> + GLADYS. Well, Mercy cried. + </p> + <p> + IVY. I don't care. + </p> + <p> + GLADYS. 'Tis a shame! And I know something. Mrs. Strangway's at Durford. + </p> + <p> + CONNIE. She's—never! + </p> + <p> + GLADYS. I saw her yesterday. An' if she's there she ought to be here. I + told mother, an' she said: "Yu mind yer business." An' when she goes in to + market to-morrow she'm goin' to see. An' if she's really there, mother + says, 'tis a fine tu-du an' a praaper scandal. So I know a lot more'n yu + du. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Ivy stares at her.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + CONNIE. Mrs. Strangway told mother she was goin' to France for the winter + because her mother was ill. + </p> + <p> + GLADYS. 'Tisn't, winter now—Ascension Day. I saw her cumin' out o' + Dr. Desert's house. I know 'twas her because she had on a blue dress an' a + proud luke. Mother says the doctor come over here tu often before Mrs. + Strangway went away, just afore Christmas. They was old sweethearts before + she married Mr. Strangway. [To Ivy] 'Twas yure mother told mother that. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Ivy gazes at them more and more wide-eyed.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + CONNIE. Father says if Mrs. Bradmere an' the old Rector knew about the + doctor, they wouldn't 'ave Mr. Strangway 'ere for curate any longer; + because mother says it takes more'n a year for a gude wife to leave her + 'usband, an' 'e so fond of her. But 'tisn't no business of ours, father + says. + </p> + <p> + GLADYS. Mother says so tu. She's praaper set against gossip. She'll know + all about it to-morrow after market. + </p> + <p> + IVY. [Stamping her foot] I don't want to 'ear nothin' at all; I don't, an' + I won't. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [A rather shame faced silence falls on the girls.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + GLADYS. [In a quick whisper] 'Ere's Mrs. Burlacombe. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [There enters fawn the house a stout motherly woman with a round grey + eye and very red cheeks.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. Ivy, take Mr. Strangway his ink, or we'll never 'eve no + sermon to-night. He'm in his thinkin' box, but 'tis not a bit o' yuse 'im + thinkin' without 'is ink. [She hands her daughter an inkpot and + blotting-pad. Ivy Takes them and goes out] What ever's this? [She picks up + the little bird-cage.] + </p> + <p> + GLADYS. 'Tis Mercy Jarland's. Mr. Strangway let her skylark go. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. Aw! Did 'e now? Serve 'er right, bringin' an 'eathen bird + to confirmation class. + </p> + <p> + CONNIE. I'll take it to her. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. No. Yu leave it there, an' let Mr. Strangway du what 'e + likes with it. Bringin' a bird like that! Well 'I never! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The girls, perceiving that they have lighted on stony soil, look at + each other and slide towards the door.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. Yes, yu just be off, an' think on what yu've been told in + class, an' be'ave like Christians, that's gude maids. An' don't yu come no + more in the 'avenin's dancin' them 'eathen dances in my barn, naighther, + till after yu'm confirmed—'tisn't right. I've told Ivy I won't 'ave + it. + </p> + <p> + CONNIE. Mr. Strangway don't mind—he likes us to; 'twas Mrs. + Strangway began teachin' us. He's goin' to give a prize. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. Yu just du what I tell yu an' never mind Mr. Strangway—he'm + tu kind to everyone. D'yu think I don't know how gells oughter be'ave + before confirmation? Yu be'ave like I did! Now, goo ahn! Shoo! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She hustles them out, rather as she might hustle her chickens, and + begins tidying the room. There comes a wandering figure to the open + window. It is that of a man of about thirty-five, of feeble gait, + leaning the weight of all one side of him on a stick. His dark face, + with black hair, one lock of which has gone white, was evidently once + that of an ardent man. Now it is slack, weakly smiling, and the brown + eyes are lost, and seem always to be asking something to which there is + no answer.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. [With that forced cheerfulness always assumed in the face + of too great misfortune] Well, Jim! better? [At the faint brightening of + the smile] That's right! Yu'm gettin' on bravely. Want Parson? + </p> + <p> + JIM. [Nodding and smiling, and speaking slowly] I want to tell 'un about + my cat. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [His face loses its smile.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. Why! what's she been duin' then? Mr. Strangway's busy. + Won't I du? + </p> + <p> + JIM. [Shaking his head] No. I want to tell him. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. Whatever she been duin'? Havin' kittens? + </p> + <p> + JIM. No. She'm lost. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. Dearie me! Aw! she'm not lost. Cats be like maids; they + must get out a bit. + </p> + <p> + JIM. She'm lost. Maybe he'll know where she'll be. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. Well, well. I'll go an' find 'im. + </p> + <p> + JIM. He's a gude man. He's very gude. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. That's certain zure. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [Entering from the house] Mrs. Burlacombe, I can't think where + I've put my book on St. Francis—the large, squarish pale-blue one? + </p> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. Aw! there now! I knu there was somethin' on me mind. Miss + Willis she came in yesterday afternune when yu was out, to borrow it. Oh! + yes—I said—I'm zure Mr. Strangway'll lend it 'ee. Now think o' + that! + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Of course, Mrs. Burlacombe; very glad she's got it. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. Aw! but that's not all. When I tuk it up there come out a + whole flutter o' little bits o' paper wi' little rhymes on 'em, same as I + see yu writin'. Aw! my gudeness! I says to meself, Mr. Strangway widn' + want no one seein' them. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Dear me! No; certainly not! + </p> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. An' so I putt 'em in your secretary. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. My-ah! Yes. Thank you; yes. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. But I'll goo over an' get the buke for yu. 'T won't take + me 'alf a minit. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She goes out on to the green. JIM BERE has come in.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [Gently] Well, Jim? + </p> + <p> + JIM. My cat's lost. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Lost? + </p> + <p> + JIM. Day before yesterday. She'm not come back. They've shot 'er, I think; + or she'm caught in one o' they rabbit-traps. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Oh! no; my dear fellow, she'll come back. I'll speak to Sir + Herbert's keepers. + </p> + <p> + JIM. Yes, zurr. I feel lonesome without 'er. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [With a faint smile—more to himself than to Jim] + Lonesome! Yes! That's bad, Jim! That's bad! + </p> + <p> + JIM. I miss 'er when I sits than in the avenin'. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. The evenings——They're the worst——and + when the blackbirds sing in the morning. + </p> + <p> + JIM. She used to lie on my bed, ye know, zurr. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [STRANGWAY turns his face away, contracted with pain] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + She'm like a Christian. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. The beasts are. + </p> + <p> + JIM. There's plenty folk ain't 'alf as Christian as 'er be. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Well, dear Jim, I'll do my very best. And any time you're + lonely, come up, and I'll play the flute to you. + </p> + <p> + JIM. [Wriggling slightly] No, zurr. Thank 'ee, zurr. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. What—don't you like music? + </p> + <p> + JIM. Ye-es, zurr. [A figure passes the window. Seeing it he says with his + slow smile] "'Ere's Mrs. Bradmere, comin' from the Rectory." [With queer + malice] She don't like cats. But she'm a cat 'erself, I think. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [With his smile] Jim! + </p> + <p> + JIM. She'm always tellin' me I'm lukin' better. I'm not better, zurr. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. That's her kindness. + </p> + <p> + JIM. I don't think it is. 'Tis laziness, an' 'avin' 'er own way. She'm + very fond of 'er own way. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [A knock on the door cuts off his speech. Following closely on the + knock, as though no doors were licensed to be closed against her, a + grey-haired lady enters; a capable, broad-faced woman of seventy, whose + every tone and movement exhales authority. With a nod and a "good + morning" to STRANGWAY she turns at face to JIM BERE.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE Ah! Jim; you're looking better. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [JIM BERE shakes his head. MRS. BRADMERE. Oh! yes, you are. Getting on + splendidly. And now, I just want to speak to Mr. Strangway.] [JIM BERE + touches his forelock, and slowly, leaning on his stick, goes out.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. [Waiting for the door to close] You know how that came on + him? Caught the girl he was engaged to, one night, with another man, the + rage broke something here. [She touches her forehead] Four years ago. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Poor fellow! + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. [Looking at him sharply] Is your wife back? + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [Starting] No. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. By the way, poor Mrs. Cremer—is she any better? + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. No; going fast: Wonderful—so patient. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. [With gruff sympathy] Um! Yes. They know how to die! [Wide + another sharp look at him] D'you expect your wife soon? + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. I I—hope so. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE: So do I. The sooner the better. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [Shrinking] I trust the Rector's not suffering so much this + morning? + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. Thank you! His foot's very bad. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [As she speaks Mrs. BURLACOMBE returns with a large pale-blue book in + her bared.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. Good day, M'm! [Taking the book across to STRANGWAY] Miss + Willie, she says she'm very sorry, zurr. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. She was very welcome, Mrs. Burlacombe. [To MRS. BURLACOMBE] + Forgive me—my sermon. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He goes into the house. The two women graze after him. Then, at once, + as it were, draw into themselves, as if preparing for an encounter, and + yet seem to expand as if losing the need for restraint.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. [Abruptly] He misses his wife very much, I'm afraid. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. Ah! Don't he? Poor dear man; he keeps a terrible tight + 'and over 'imself, but 'tis suthin' cruel the way he walks about at night. + He'm just like a cow when its calf's weaned. 'T'as gone to me 'eart truly + to see 'im these months past. T'other day when I went up to du his rume, I + yeard a noise like this [she sniffs]; an' ther' 'e was at the wardrobe, + snuffin' at 'er things. I did never think a man cud care for a woman so + much as that. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. H'm! + </p> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. 'Tis funny rest an' 'e comin' 'ere for quiet after that + tearin' great London parish! 'E'm terrible absent-minded tu —don't + take no interest in 'is fude. Yesterday, goin' on for one o'clock, 'e says + to me, "I expect 'tis nearly breakfast-time, Mrs. Burlacombe!" 'E'd 'ad it + twice already! + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. Twice! Nonsense! + </p> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. Zurely! I give 'im a nummit afore 'e gets up; an' 'e 'as + 'is brekjus reg'lar at nine. Must feed un up. He'm on 'is feet all day, + gain' to zee folk that widden want to zee an angel, they're that busy; an' + when 'e comes in 'e'll play 'is flute there. Hem wastin' away for want of + 'is wife. That's what 'tis. An' 'im so sweet-spoken, tu, 'tes a pleasure + to year 'im—Never says a word! + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. Yes, that's the kind of man who gets treated badly. I'm + afraid she's not worthy of him, Mrs. Burlacombe. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. [Plaiting her apron] 'Tesn't for me to zay that. She'm a + very pleasant lady. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE Too pleasant. What's this story about her being seen in + Durford? + </p> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. Aw! I du never year no gossip, m'm. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. [Drily] Of course not! But you see the Rector wishes to + know. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. [Flustered] Well—folk will talk! But, as I says to + Burlacombe—"'Tes paltry," I says; and they only married eighteen + months, and Mr. Strangway so devoted-like. 'Tes nothing but love, with + 'im. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. Come! + </p> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. There's puzzivantin' folk as'll set an' gossip the + feathers off an angel. But I du never listen. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE Now then, Mrs. Burlacombe? + </p> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. Well, they du say as how Dr. Desart over to Durford and + Mrs. Strangway was sweethearts afore she wer' married. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. I knew that. Who was it saw her coming out of Dr. Desart's + house yesterday? + </p> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. In a manner of spakin' 'tes Mrs. Freman that says 'er + Gladys seen her. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. That child's got an eye like a hawk. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. 'Tes wonderful how things du spread. 'Tesn't as if us + gossiped. Du seem to grow-like in the naight. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE [To herself] I never lied her. That Riviera excuse, Mrs. + Burlacombe—Very convenient things, sick mothers. Mr. Strangway + doesn't know? + </p> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. The Lord forbid! 'Twid send un crazy, I think. For all + he'm so moony an' gentlelike, I think he'm a terrible passionate man + inside. He've a-got a saint in 'im, for zure; but 'tes only 'alf-baked, in + a manner of spakin'. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. I shall go and see Mrs. Freman. There's been too much of + this gossip all the winter. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. 'Tes unfortunate-like 'tes the Fremans. Freman he'm a + gipsy sort of a feller; and he've never forgiven Mr. Strangway for spakin' + to 'im about the way he trates 'is 'orses. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. Ah! I'm afraid Mr. Strangway's not too discreet when his + feelings are touched. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. 'E've a-got an 'eart so big as the full mune. But 'tes no + yuse espectin' tu much o' this world. 'Tes a funny place, after that. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. Yes, Mrs. Burlacombe; and I shall give some of these good + people a rare rap over the knuckles for their want of charity. For all + they look as if butter wouldn't melt in their mouths, they're an + un-Christian lot. [Looking very directly at Mrs. BURLACOMBE] It's lucky + we've some hold over the village. I'm not going to have scandal. I shall + speak to Sir Herbert, and he and the Rector will take steps. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. [With covert malice] Aw! I du hope 'twon't upset the + Rector, an' 'is fute so poptious! + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. [Grimly] His foot'll be sound enough to come down sharp. By + the way, will you send me a duck up to the Rectory? + </p> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. [Glad to get away] Zurely, m'm; at once. I've some luv'ly + fat birds. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She goes into the house.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. Old puss-cat! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She turns to go, and in the doorway encounters a very little, + red-cheeked girl in a peacock-blue cap, and pink frock, who curtsies + stolidly.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. Well, Tibby Jarland, what do you want here? Always sucking + something, aren't you? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Getting no reply from Tibby JARLAND, she passes out. Tibby comes in, + looks round, takes a large sweet out of her mouth, contemplates it, and + puts it back again. Then, in a perfunctory and very stolid fashion, she + looks about the floor, as if she had been told to find something. While + she is finding nothing and sucking her sweet, her sister MERCY comes in + furtively, still frowning and vindictive.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MERCY. What! Haven't you found it, Tibby? Get along with 'ee, then! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She accelerates the stolid Tissy's departure with a smack, searches + under the seat, finds and picks up the deserted sixpence. Then very + quickly she goes to the door: But it is opened before she reaches it, + and, finding herself caught, she slips behind the chintz window-curtain. + A woman has entered, who is clearly the original of the large + photograph. She is not strictly pretty, but there is charm in her pale, + resolute face, with its mocking lips, flexible brows, and greenish eyes, + whose lids, square above them, have short, dark lashes. She is dressed + in blue, and her fair hair is coiled up under a cap and motor-veil. She + comes in swiftly, and closes the door behind her; becomes irresolute; + then, suddenly deciding, moves towards the door into the house. MERCY + slips from behind her curtain to make off, but at that moment the door + into the house is opened, and she has at once to slip back again into + covert. It is Ivy who has appeared.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + IVY. [Amazed] Oh! Mrs. Strangway! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Evidently disconcerted by this appearance, BEATRICE STRANGWAY pulls + herself together and confronts the child with a smile.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + BEATRICE. Well, Ivy—you've grown! You didn't expect me, did you? + </p> + <p> + IVY. No, Mrs. Strangway; but I hoped yu'd be comin' soon. + </p> + <p> + BEATRICE. Ah! Yes. Is Mr. Strangway in? + </p> + <p> + IVY. [Hypnotized by those faintly smiling lips] Yes—oh, yes! He's + writin' his sermon in the little room. He will be glad! + </p> + <p> + BEATRICE. [Going a little closer, and never taking her eyes off the child] + Yes. Now, Ivy; will you do something for me? + </p> + <p> + IVY. [Fluttering] Oh, yes, Mrs. Strangway. + </p> + <p> + BEATRICE. Quite sure? + </p> + <p> + IVY. Oh, yes! + </p> + <p> + BEATRICE. Are you old enough to keep a secret? + </p> + <p> + IVY. [Nodding] I'm fourteen now. + </p> + <p> + BEATRICE. Well, then—, I don't want anybody but Mr. Strangway to + know I've been here; nobody, not even your mother. D'you understand? + </p> + <p> + IVY. [Troubled] No. Only, I can keep a secret. + </p> + <p> + BEATRICE. Mind, if anybody hears, it will hurt Mr. Strangway. + </p> + <p> + IVY. Oh! I wouldn't—hurt—him. Must yu go away again? + [Trembling towards her] I wish yu wer goin' to stay. And perhaps some one + has seen yu—They—— + </p> + <p> + BEATRICE. [Hastily] No, no one. I came motoring; like this. [She moves her + veil to show how it can conceal her face] And I came straight down the + little lane, and through the barn, across the yard. + </p> + <p> + IVY. [Timidly] People du see a lot. + </p> + <p> + BEATRICE. [Still with that hovering smile] I know, but——Now go + and tell him quickly and quietly. + </p> + <p> + IVY. [Stopping at the door] Mother's pluckin' a duck. Only, please, Mrs. + Strangway, if she comes in even after yu've gone, she'll know, because—because + yu always have that particular nice scent. + </p> + <p> + BEATRICE. Thank you, my child. I'll see to that. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Ivy looks at her as if she would speak again, then turns suddenly, and + goes out. BEATRICE'S face darkens; she shivers. Taking out a little + cigarette case, she lights a cigarette, and watches the puff's of smoke + wreathe shout her and die away. The frightened MERCY peers out, spying + for a chance, to escape. Then from the house STRANGWAY comes in. All his + dreaminess is gone.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Thank God! [He stops at the look on her face] I don't + understand, though. I thought you were still out there. + </p> + <p> + BEATRICE. [Letting her cigarette fall, and putting her foot on it] No. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY: You're staying? Oh! Beatrice; come! We'll get away from here at + once—as far, as far—anywhere you like. Oh! my darling —only + come! If you knew—— + </p> + <p> + BEATRICE. It's no good, Michael; I've tried and tried. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Not! Then, why—? Beatrice! You said, when you were right + away—I've waited—— + </p> + <p> + BEATRICE. I know. It's cruel—it's horrible. But I told you not to + hope, Michael. I've done my best. All these months at Mentone, I've been + wondering why I ever let you marry me—when that feeling wasn't dead! + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. You can't have come back just to leave me again? + </p> + <p> + BEATRICE. When you let me go out there with mother I thought—I did + think I would be able; and I had begun—and then—spring came! + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Spring came here too! Never so—aching! Beatrice, can't + you? + </p> + <p> + BEATRICE. I've something to say. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. No! No! No! + </p> + <p> + BEATRICE. You see—I've—fallen. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Ah! [In a twice sharpened by pain] Why, in the name of mercy, + come here to tell me that? Was he out there, then? + </p> + <p> + BEATRICE. I came straight back to him. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. To Durford? + </p> + <p> + BEATRICE. To the Crossway Hotel, miles out—in my own name. They + don't know me there. I told you not to hope, Michael. I've done my best; I + swear it. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. My God! + </p> + <p> + BEATRICE. It was your God that brought us to live near him! + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Why have you come to me like this? + </p> + <p> + BEATRICE. To know what you're going to do. Are you going to divorce me? + We're in your power. Don't divorce me—Doctor and patient—you + must know—it ruins him. He'll lose everything. He'd be disqualified, + and he hasn't a penny without his work. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Why should I spare him? + </p> + <p> + BEATRICE. Michael; I came to beg. It's hard. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. No; don't beg! I can't stand it. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She shakes her head.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + BEATRICE. [Recovering her pride] What are you going to do, then? Keep us + apart by the threat of a divorce? Starve us and prison us? Cage me up here + with you? I'm not brute enough to ruin him. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Heaven! + </p> + <p> + BEATRICE. I never really stopped loving him. I never—loved you, + Michael. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [Stunned] Is that true? [BEATRICE bends her head] Never loved + me? Not—that night—on the river—not——? + </p> + <p> + BEATRICE. [Under her breath] No. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Were you lying to me, then? Kissing me, and—hating me? + </p> + <p> + BEATRICE. One doesn't hate men like you; but it wasn't love. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Why did you tell me it was? + </p> + <p> + BEATRICE. Yes. That was the worst thing I've ever done. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Do you think I would have married you? I would have burned + first! I never dreamed you didn't. I swear it! + </p> + <p> + BEATRICE. [Very low] Forget it! + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Did he try to get you away from me? [BEATRICE gives him a swift + look] Tell me the truth! + </p> + <p> + BEATRICE. No. It was—I—alone. But—he loves me. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. One does not easily know love, it seems. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [But her smile, faint, mysterious, pitying, is enough, and he turns away + from her.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + BEATRICE. It was cruel to come, I know. For me, too. But I couldn't write. + I had to know. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Never loved me? Never loved me? That night at Tregaron? [At the + look on her face] You might have told me before you went away! Why keep me + all these—— + </p> + <p> + BEATRICE. I meant to forget him again. I did mean to. I thought I could + get back to what I was, when I married you; but, you see, what a girl can + do, a woman that's been married—can't. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Then it was I—my kisses that——! [He laughs] + How did you stand them? [His eyes dart at her face] Imagination helped + you, perhaps! + </p> + <p> + BEATRICE. Michael, don't, don't! And—oh! don't make a public thing + of it! You needn't be afraid I shall have too good a time! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He stays quite still and silent, and that which is writhing in him + makes his face so strange that BEATRICE stands aghast. At last she goes + stumbling on in speech] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + If ever you want to marry some one else—then, of course—that's + only fair, ruin or not. But till then—till then——He's + leaving Durford, going to Brighton. No one need know. And you—this + isn't the only parish in the world. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [Quietly] You ask me to help you live in secret with another + man? + </p> + <p> + BEATRICE. I ask for mercy. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [As to himself] What am I to do? + </p> + <p> + BEATRICE. What you feel in the bottom of your heart. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. You ask me to help you live in sin? + </p> + <p> + BEATRICE. To let me go out of your life. You've only to do— nothing. + [He goes, slowly, close to her.] + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. I want you. Come back to me! Beatrice, come back! + </p> + <p> + BEATRICE. It would be torture, now. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [Writhing] Oh! + </p> + <p> + BEATRICE. Whatever's in your heart—do! + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. You'd come back to me sooner than ruin him? Would you? + </p> + <p> + BEATRICE. I can't bring him harm. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [Turning away] God!—if there be one help me! [He stands + leaning his forehead against the window. Suddenly his glance falls on the + little bird cage, still lying on the window-seat] Never cage any wild + thing! [He gives a laugh that is half a sob; then, turning to the door, + says in a low voice] Go! Go please, quickly! Do what you will. I won't + hurt you—can't——But—go! [He opens the door.] + </p> + <p> + BEATRICE. [Greatly moved] Thank you! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She passes him with her head down, and goes out quickly. STRANGWAY + stands unconsciously tearing at the little bird-cage. And while he tears + at it he utters a moaning sound. The terrified MERCY, peering from + behind the curtain, and watching her chance, slips to the still open + door; but in her haste and fright she knocks against it, and STRANGWAY + sees her. Before he can stop her she has fled out on to the green and + away.] [While he stands there, paralysed, the door from the house is + opened, and MRS. BURLACOMBE approaches him in a queer, hushed way.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. [Her eyes mechanically fixed on the twisted bird-cage in + his hands] 'Tis poor Sue Cremer, zurr, I didn't 'ardly think she'd last + thru the mornin'. An' zure enough she'm passed away! [Seeing that he has + not taken in her words] Mr. Strangway— yu'm feelin' giddy? + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. No, no! What was it? You said—— + </p> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. 'Tes Jack Cremer. His wife's gone. 'E'm in a terrible + way. 'Tes only yu, 'e ses, can du 'im any gude. He'm in the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Cremer? Yes! Of course. Let him—— + </p> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. [Still staring at the twisted cage] Yu ain't wantin' that—'tes + all twizzled. [She takes it from him] Sure yu'm not feelin' yer 'ead? + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [With a resolute effort] No! + </p> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. [Doubtfully] I'll send 'im in, then. [She goes. When she + is gone, Strangway passes his handkerchief across his forehead, and his + lips move fast. He is standing motionless when CREMER, a big man in + labourer's clothes, with a thick, broad face, and tragic, faithful eyes, + comes in, and stands a little in from the closed door, quite dumb.] + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [After a moment's silence—going up to him and laying a + hand on his shoulder] Jack! Don't give way. If we give way—we're + done. + </p> + <p> + CREMER. Yes, zurr. [A quiver passes over his face.] + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. She didn't. Your wife was a brave woman. A dear woman. + </p> + <p> + CREMER. I never thought to luse 'er. She never told me 'ow bad she was, + afore she tuk to 'er bed. 'Tis a dreadful thing to luse a wife, zurr. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [Tightening his lips, that tremble] Yes. But don't give way! + Bear up, Jack! + </p> + <p> + CREMER. Seems funny 'er goin' blue-bell time, an' the sun shinin' so warm. + I picked up an 'orse-shu yesterday. I can't never 'ave 'er back, zurr. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [His face quivers again.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Some day you'll join her. Think! Some lose their wives for + ever. + </p> + <p> + CREMER. I don't believe as there's a future life, zurr. I think we goo to + sleep like the beasts. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. We're told otherwise. But come here! [Drawing him to the + window] Look! Listen! To sleep in that! Even if we do, it won't be so bad, + Jack, will it? + </p> + <p> + CREMER. She wer' a gude wife to me—no man didn't 'ave no better + wife. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [Putting his hand out] Take hold—hard—harder! I + want yours as much as you want mine. Pray for me, Jack, and I'll pray for + you. And we won't give way, will we? + </p> + <p> + CREMER. [To whom the strangeness of these words has given some relief] No, + zurr; thank 'ee, zurr. 'Tes no gude, I expect. Only, I'll miss 'er. Thank + 'ee, zurr; kindly. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He lifts his hand to his head, turns, and uncertainly goes out to the + kitchen. And STRANGWAY stays where he is, not knowing what to do. They + blindly he takes up his flute, and hatless, hurries out into the air.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT II + </h2> + <p> + SCENE I + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + About seven o'clock in the taproom of the village inn. The bar, with the + appurtenances thereof, stretches across one end, and opposite is the + porch door on to the green. The wall between is nearly all window, with + leaded panes, one wide-open casement whereof lets in the last of the + sunlight. A narrow bench runs under this broad window. And this is all + the furniture, save three spittoons: GODLEIGH, the innkeeper, a smallish + man with thick ruffled hair, a loquacious nose, and apple-red cheeks + above a reddish-brown moustache; is reading the paper. To him enters + TIBBY JARLAND with a shilling in her mouth. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + GODLEIGH. Well, TIBBY JARLAND, what've yu come for, then? Glass o' beer? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [TIBBY takes the shilling from her mouth and smiles stolidly.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + GODLEIGH. [Twinkling] I shid zay glass o' 'arf an' 'arf's about yure form. + [TIBBY smiles more broadly] Yu'm a praaper masterpiece. Well! 'Ave sister + Mercy borrowed yure tongue? [TIBBY shakes her head] Aw, she 'aven't. Well, + maid? + </p> + <p> + TIBBY. Father wants six clay pipes, please. + </p> + <p> + GODLEIGH. 'E du, du 'ee? Yu tell yure father 'e can't 'ave more'n one, not + this avenin'. And 'ere 'tis. Hand up yure shillin'. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [TIBBY reaches up her hand, parts with the shilling, and receives a long + clay pipe and eleven pennies. In order to secure the coins in her + pinafore she places the clay pipe in her mouth. While she is still thus + engaged, MRS. BRADMERE enters the porch and comes in. TIBBY curtsies + stolidly.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. Gracious, child! What are you doing here? And what have you + got in your mouth? Who is it? Tibby Jarland? [TIBBY curtsies again] Take + that thing out. And tell your father from me that if I ever see you at the + inn again I shall tread on his toes hard. Godleigh, you know the law about + children? + </p> + <p> + GODLEIGH. [Cocking his eye, and not at all abashed] Surely, m'm. But she + will come. Go away, my dear. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [TIBBY, never taking her eyes off MRS. BRADMERE, or the pipe from her + mouth, has backed stolidly to the door, and vanished.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. [Eyeing GODLEIGH] Now, Godleigh, I've come to talk to you. + Half the scandal that goes about the village begins here. [She holds up + her finger to check expostulation] No, no—its no good. You know the + value of scandal to your business far too well. + </p> + <p> + GODLEIGH. Wi' all respect, m'm, I knows the vally of it to yourn, tu. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. What do you mean by that? + </p> + <p> + GODLEIGH. If there weren't no Rector's lady there widden' be no notice + taken o' scandal; an' if there weren't no notice taken, twidden be + scandal, to my thinkin'. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. [Winking out a grim little smile] Very well! You've given + me your views. Now for mine. There's a piece of scandal going about that's + got to be stopped, Godleigh. You turn the tap of it off here, or we'll + turn your tap off. You know me. See? + </p> + <p> + GODLEIGH. I shouldn' never presume, m'm, to know a lady. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. The Rector's quite determined, so is Sir Herbert. Ordinary + scandal's bad enough, but this touches the Church. While Mr. Strangway + remains curate here, there must be no talk about him and his affairs. + </p> + <p> + GODLEIGH. [Cocking his eye] I was just thinkin' how to du it, m'm. 'Twid + be a brave notion to putt the men in chokey, and slit the women's + tongues-like, same as they du in outlandish places, as I'm told. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. Don't talk nonsense, Godleigh; and mind what I say, because + I mean it. + </p> + <p> + GODLEIGH. Make yure mind aisy, m'm there'll be no scandal-monkeyin' here + wi' my permission. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MRS. BRADMERE gives him a keen stare, but seeing him perfectly grave, + nods her head with approval.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. Good! You know what's being said, of course? + </p> + <p> + GODLEIGH. [With respectful gravity] Yu'll pardon me, m'm, but ef an' in + case yu was goin' to tell me, there's a rule in this 'ouse: "No scandal + 'ere!" + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. [Twinkling grimly] You're too smart by half, my man. + </p> + <p> + GODLEIGH. Aw fegs, no, m'm—child in yure 'ands. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. I wouldn't trust you a yard. Once more, Godleigh! This is a + Christian village, and we mean it to remain so. You look out for yourself. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The door opens to admit the farmers TRUSTAFORD and BURLACOMBE. They + doff their hats to MRS. BRADMERE, who, after one more sharp look at + GODLEIGH, moves towards the door.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. Evening, Mr. Trustaford. [To BURLACOMBE] Burlacombe, tell + your wife that duck she sent up was in hard training. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [With one of her grim winks, and a nod, she goes.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + TRUSTAFORD. [Replacing a hat which is black, hard, and not very new, on + his long head, above a long face, clean-shaved but for little whiskers] + What's the old grey mare want, then? [With a horse-laugh] 'Er's lukin' + awful wise! + </p> + <p> + GODLEIGH. [Enigmatically] Ah! + </p> + <p> + TRUSTAFORD. [Sitting on the bench dose to the bar] Drop o' whisky, an' + potash. + </p> + <p> + BURLACOMBE. [A taciturn, alien, yellowish man, in a worn soft hat] What's + wise, Godleigh? Drop o' cider. + </p> + <p> + GODLEIGH. Nuse? There's never no nuse in this 'ouse. Aw, no! Not wi' my + permission. [In imitation] This is a Christian village. + </p> + <p> + TRUSTAFORD. Thought the old grey mare seemed mighty busy. [To BURLACOMBE] + 'Tes rather quare about the curate's wife a-cumin' motorin' this mornin'. + Passed me wi' her face all smothered up in a veil, goggles an' all. Haw, + haw! + </p> + <p> + BURLACOMBE. Aye! + </p> + <p> + TRUSTAFORD. Off again she was in 'alf an hour. 'Er didn't give poor old + curate much of a chance, after six months. + </p> + <p> + GODLEIGH. Havin' an engagement elsewhere—No scandal, please, + gentlemen. + </p> + <p> + BURLACOMBE. [Acidly] Never asked to see my missis. Passed me in the yard + like a stone. + </p> + <p> + TRUSTAFORD. 'Tes a little bit rumoursome lately about 'er doctor. + </p> + <p> + GODLEIGH. Ah! he's the favourite. But 'tes a dead secret; Mr. Trustaford. + Don't yu never repate it—there's not a cat don't know it already! + </p> + <p> + BURLACOMBE frowns, and TRUSTAFORD utters his laugh. The door is opened and + FREMAN, a dark gipsyish man in the dress of a farmer, comes in. + </p> + <p> + GODLEIGH. Don't yu never tell Will Freman what 'e told me! + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. Avenin'! + </p> + <p> + TRUSTAFORD. Avenin', Will; what's yure glass o' trouble? + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. Drop o' eider, clove, an' dash o' gin. There's blood in the sky + to-night. + </p> + <p> + BURLACOMBE. Ah! We'll 'ave fine weather now, with the full o' the mune. + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. Dust o' wind an' a drop or tu, virst, I reckon. 'Earl t' nuse + about curate an' 'is wife? + </p> + <p> + GODLEIGH. No, indeed; an' don't yu tell us. We'm Christians 'ere in this + village. + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. 'Tain't no very Christian nuse, neither. He's sent 'er off to th' + doctor. "Go an' live with un," 'e says; "my blessin' on ye." If 'er'd + a-been mine, I'd 'a tuk the whip to 'er. Tam Jarland's maid, she yeard it + all. Christian, indeed! That's brave Christianity! "Goo an' live with un!" + 'e told 'er. + </p> + <p> + BURLACOMBE. No, no; that's, not sense—a man to say that. I'll not + 'ear that against a man that bides in my 'ouse. + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. 'Tes sure, I tell 'ee. The maid was hid-up, scared-like, behind + the curtain. At it they went, and parson 'e says: "Go," 'e says, "I won't + kape 'ee from 'im," 'e says, "an' I won't divorce 'ee, as yu don't wish + it!" They was 'is words, same as Jarland's maid told my maid, an' my maid + told my missis. If that's parson's talk, 'tes funny work goin' to church. + </p> + <p> + TRUSTAFORD. [Brooding] 'Tes wonderful quare, zurely. + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. Tam Jarland's fair mad wi' curate for makin' free wi' his maid's + skylark. Parson or no parson, 'e've no call to meddle wi' other people's + praperty. He cam' pokin' 'is nose into my affairs. I told un I knew a + sight more 'bout 'orses than 'e ever would! + </p> + <p> + TRUSTAFORD. He'm a bit crazy 'bout bastes an' birds. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [They have been so absorbed that they bane not noticed the entrance of + CLYST, a youth with tousled hair, and a bright, quick, Celtic eye, who + stands listening, with a bit of paper in his hand.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + CLYST. Ah! he'm that zurely, Mr. Trustaford. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He chuckles.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + GODLEIGH. Now, Tim Clyst, if an' in case yu've a-got some scandal on yer + tongue, don't yu never unship it here. Yu go up to Rectory where 'twill be + more relished-like. + </p> + <p> + CLYST. [Waving the paper] Will y' give me a drink for this, Mr. Godleigh? + 'Tes rale funny. Aw! 'tes somethin' swats. Butiful readin'. Poetry. Rale + spice. Yu've a luv'ly voice for readin', Mr. Godleigh. + </p> + <p> + GODLEIGH. [All ears and twinkle] Aw, what is it then? + </p> + <p> + CLYST. Ah! Yu want t'know tu much. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Putting the paper in his pocket.] [While he is speaking, JIM BERE has + entered quietly, with his feeble step and smile, and sits down.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + CLYST. [Kindly] Hello, Jim! Cat come 'ome? + </p> + <p> + JIM BERE. No. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [All nod, and speak to him kindly. And JIM BERE smiles at them, and his + eyes ask of them the question, to which there is no answer. And after + that he sits motionless and silent, and they talk as if he were not + there.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + GODLEIGH. What's all this, now—no scandal in my 'ouse! + </p> + <p> + CLYST. 'Tes awful peculiar—like a drame. Mr. Burlacombe 'e don't + like to hear tell about drames. A guess a won't tell 'ee, arter that. + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. Out wi' it, Tim. + </p> + <p> + CLYST. 'Tes powerful thirsty to-day, Mr. Godleigh. + </p> + <p> + GODLEIGH. [Drawing him some cider] Yu're all wild cat's talk, Tim; yu've + a-got no tale at all. + </p> + <p> + CLYST. [Moving for the cider] Aw, indade! + </p> + <p> + GODLEIGH. No tale, no cider! + </p> + <p> + CLYST. Did ye ever year tell of Orphus? + </p> + <p> + TRUSTAFORD. What? The old vet. up to Drayleigh? + </p> + <p> + CLYST. Fegs, no; Orphus that lived in th' old time, an' drawed the bastes + after un wi' his music, same as curate was tellin' the maids. + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. I've 'eard as a gipsy over to Vellacott could du that wi' 'is + viddle. + </p> + <p> + CLYST. 'Twas no gipsy I see'd this arternune; 'twee Orphus, down to Mr. + Burlacombe's long medder; settin' there all dark on a stone among the + dimsy-white flowers an' the cowflops, wi' a bird upon 'is 'ead, playin' + his whistle to the ponies. + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. [Excitedly] Yu did never zee a man wi' a bird on 'is 'ead. + </p> + <p> + CLYST. Didn' I? + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. What sort o' bird, then? Yu tell me that. + </p> + <p> + TRUSTAFORD. Praaper old barndoor cock. Haw, haw! + </p> + <p> + GODLEIGH. [Soothingly] 'Tes a vairy-tale; us mustn't be tu partic'lar. + </p> + <p> + BURLACOMBE: In my long medder? Where were yu, then, Tim Clyst? + </p> + <p> + CLYST. Passin' down the lane on my bike. Wonderful sorrowful-fine music 'e + played. The ponies they did come round 'e—yu cud zee the tears + rennin' down their chakes; 'twas powerful sad. 'E 'adn't no 'at on. + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. [Jeering] No; 'e 'ad a bird on 'is 'ead. + </p> + <p> + CLYST. [With a silencing grin] He went on playin' an' playin'. The ponies + they never muved. An' all the dimsy-white flowers they waved and waved, + an' the wind it went over 'em. Gav' me a funny feelin'. + </p> + <p> + GODLEIGH. Clyst, yu take the cherry bun! + </p> + <p> + CLYST. Where's that cider, Mr. Godleigh? + </p> + <p> + GODLEIGH. [Bending over the cider] Yu've a— 'ad tu much already, + Tim. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The door is opened, and TAM JARLAND appears. He walks rather + unsteadily; a man with a hearty jowl, and sullen, strange; + epileptic-looking eyes.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + CLYST. [Pointing to JARLAND] 'Tis Tam Jarland there 'as the cargo aboard. + </p> + <p> + JARLAND. Avenin', all! [To GODLEIGH] Pinto' beer. [To JIM BERE] Avenin', + Jim. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [JIM BERE looks at him and smiles.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + GODLEIGH. [Serving him after a moment's hesitation] 'Ere y'are, Tam. [To + CLYST, who has taken out his paper again] Where'd yu get thiccy paper? + </p> + <p> + CLYST. [Putting down his cider-mug empty] Yure tongue du watter, don't it, + Mr. Godleigh? [Holding out his mug] No zider, no poetry. 'Tis amazin' + sorrowful; Shakespeare over again. "The boy stude on the burnin' deck." + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. Yu and yer yap! + </p> + <p> + CLYST. Ah! Yu wait a bit. When I come back down t'lane again, Orphus 'e + was vanished away; there was naught in the field but the ponies, an' a + praaper old magpie, a-top o' the hedge. I zee somethin' white in the beak + o' the fowl, so I giv' a "Whisht," an' 'e drops it smart, an' off 'e go. I + gets over bank an' picks un up, and here't be. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He holds out his mug.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + BURLACOMBE. [Tartly] Here, give 'im 'is cider. Rade it yureself, ye young + teasewings. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [CLYST, having secured his cider, drinks it o$. Holding up the paper to + the light, he makes as if to begin, then slides his eye round, + tantalizing.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + CLYST. 'Tes a pity I bain't dressed in a white gown, an' flowers in me + 'air. + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. Read it, or we'll 'aye yu out o' this. + </p> + <p> + CLYST. Aw, don't 'ee shake my nerve, now! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He begins reading with mock heroism, in his soft, high, burring voice. + Thus, in his rustic accent, go the lines] God lighted the zun in 'eaven + far. Lighted the virefly an' the star. My 'eart 'E lighted not! God + lighted the vields fur lambs to play, Lighted the bright strames, 'an + the may. My 'eart 'E lighted not! God lighted the mune, the Arab's way, + He lights to-morrer, an' to-day. My 'eart 'E 'ath vorgot! [When he has + finished, there is silence. Then TRUSTAFORD, scratching his head, + speaks:] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + TAUSTAFORD. 'Tes amazin' funny stuff. + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. [Looking over CLYST'S shoulder] Be danged! 'Tes the curate's + 'andwritin'. 'Twas curate wi' the ponies, after that. + </p> + <p> + CLYST. Fancy, now! Aw, Will Freman, an't yu bright! + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. But 'e 'adn't no bird on 'is 'ead. + </p> + <p> + CLYST. Ya-as, 'e 'ad. + </p> + <p> + JARLAND. [In a dull, threatening voice] 'E 'ad my maid's bird, this + arternune. 'Ead or no, and parson or no, I'll gie 'im one for that. + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. Ah! And 'e meddled wi' my 'orses. + </p> + <p> + TRUSTAFORD. I'm thinkin' 'twas an old cuckoo bird 'e 'ad on 'is 'ead. Haw, + haw! + </p> + <p> + GODLEIGH. "His 'eart She 'ath Vorgot!" + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. 'E's a fine one to be tachin' our maids convirmation. + </p> + <p> + GODLEIGH. Would ye 'ave it the old Rector then? Wi' 'is gouty shoe? Rackon + the maids wid rather 'twas curate; eh, Mr. Burlacombe? + </p> + <p> + BURLACOMBE. [Abruptly] Curate's a gude man. + </p> + <p> + JARLAND. [With the comatose ferocity of drink] I'll be even wi' un. + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. [Excitedly] Tell 'ee one thing—'tes not a proper man o' God + to 'ave about, wi' 'is luse goin's on. Out vrom 'ere he oughter go. + </p> + <p> + BURLACOMBE. You med go further an' fare worse. + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. What's 'e duin', then, lettin' 'is wife runoff? + </p> + <p> + TRUSTAFORD. [Scratching his head] If an' in case 'e can't kape 'er, 'tes a + funny way o' duin' things not to divorce 'er, after that. If a parson's + not to du the Christian thing, whu is, then? + </p> + <p> + BURLACOMBE. 'Tes a bit immoral-like to pass over a thing like that. Tes + funny if women's gain's on's to be encouraged. + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. Act of a coward, I zay. + </p> + <p> + BURLACOMBE. The curate ain't no coward. + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. He bides in yure house; 'tes natural for yu to stand up for un; + I'll wager Mrs. Burlacombe don't, though. My missis was fair shocked. + "Will," she says, "if yu ever make vur to let me go like that, I widden + never stay wi' yu," she says. + </p> + <p> + TRUSTAFORD. 'Tes settin' a bad example, for zure. + </p> + <p> + BURLACOMBE. 'Tes all very airy talkin'; what shude 'e du, then? + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. [Excitedly] Go over to Durford and say to that doctor: "Yu come + about my missis, an' zee what I'll du to 'ee." An' take 'er 'ome an' zee + she don't misbe'ave again. + </p> + <p> + CLYST. 'E can't take 'er ef 'er don' want t' come—I've 'eard lawyer, + that lodged wi' us, say that. + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. All right then, 'e ought to 'ave the law of 'er and 'er doctor; + an' zee 'er goin's on don't prosper; 'e'd get damages, tu. But this way + 'tes a nice example he'm settin' folks. Parson indade! My missis an' the + maids they won't goo near the church to-night, an' I wager no one else + won't, neither. + </p> + <p> + JARLAND. [Lurching with his pewter up to GODLEIGH] The beggar! I'll be + even wi' un. + </p> + <p> + GODLEIGH. [Looking at him in doubt] 'Tes the last, then, Tam. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Having received his beer, JARLAND stands, leaning against the bar, + drinking.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + BURLACOMBE. [Suddenly] I don' goo with what curate's duin—'tes tiff + soft 'earted; he'm a muney kind o' man altogether, wi' 'is flute an' 'is + poetry; but he've a-lodged in my 'ouse this year an' mare, and always 'ad + an 'elpin' 'and for every one. I've got a likin' for him an' there's an + end of it. + </p> + <p> + JARLAND. The coward! + </p> + <p> + TRUSTAFORD. I don' trouble nothin' about that, Tam Jarland. [Turning to + BURLACOMBE] What gits me is 'e don't seem to 'ave no zense o' what's his + own praperty. + </p> + <p> + JARLAND. Take other folk's property fast enough! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He saws the air with his empty. The others have all turned to him, + drawn by the fascination that a man in liquor has for his fellow-men. + The bell for church has begun to rang, the sun is down, and it is + getting dusk.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + He wants one on his crop, an' one in 'is belly; 'e wants a man to take an' + gie un a gude hidin zame as he oughter give 'is fly-be-night of a wife. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [STRANGWAY in his dark clothes has entered, and stands by the door, his + lips compressed to a colourless line, his thin, darkish face grey-white] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + Zame as a man wid ha' gi'en the doctor, for takin' what isn't his'n. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + All but JARLAND have seen STRANGWAY. He steps forward, JARLAND sees him + now; his jaw drops a little, and he is silent. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + STRANGWAY. I came for a little brandy, Mr. Godleigh—feeling rather + faint. Afraid I mightn't get through the service. + </p> + <p> + GODLEIGH. [With professional composure] Marteil's Three Star, zurr, or + 'Ennessy's? + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [Looking at JARLAND] Thank you; I believe I can do without, + now. [He turns to go.] + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [In the deadly silence, GODLEIGH touches the arm of JARLAND, who, + leaning against the bar with the pewter in his hand, is staring with his + strange lowering eyes straight at STRANGWAY.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + JARLAND. [Galvanized by the touch into drunken rage] Lave me be —I'll + talk to un-parson or no. I'll tache un to meddle wi' my maid's bird. I'll + tache un to kape 'is thievin' 'ands to 'imself. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [STRANGWAY turns again.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + CLYST. Be quiet, Tam. + </p> + <p> + JARLAND. [Never loosing STRANGWAY with his eyes—like a bull-dog who + sees red] That's for one chake; zee un turn t'other, the white-livered + buty! Whu lets another man 'ave 'is wife, an' never the sperit to go vor + un! + </p> + <p> + BURLACOMBE. Shame, Jarland; quiet, man! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [They are all looking at STRANGWAY, who, under JARLAND'S drunken insults + is standing rigid, with his eyes closed, and his hands hard clenched. + The church bell has stopped slow ringing, and begun its five minutes' + hurrying note.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + TRUSTAFORD. [Rising, and trying to hook his arm into JARLAND'S] Come away, + Tam; yu've a-'ad to much, man. + </p> + <p> + JARLAND. [Shaking him off] Zee, 'e darsen't touch me; I might 'it un in + the vase an' 'e darsen't; 'e's afraid—like 'e was o' the doctor. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He raises the pewter as though to fling it, but it is seized by + GODLEIGH from behind, and falls clattering to the floor. STRANGWAY has + not moved.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + JARLAND. [Shaking his fist almost in his face] Luke at un, Luke at un! A + man wi' a slut for a wife—— + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [As he utters the word "wife" STRANGWAY seizes the outstretched fist, + and with a jujitsu movement, draws him into his clutch, helpless. And as + they sway and struggle in the open window, with the false strength of + fury he forces JARLAND through. There is a crash of broken glass from + outside. At the sound STRANGWAY comes to himself. A look of agony passes + over his face. His eyes light on JIM BERE, who has suddenly risen, and + stands feebly clapping his hands. STRANGWAY rushes out.] [Excitedly + gathering at the window, they all speak at once.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + CLYST. Tam's hatchin' of yure cucumbers, Mr. Godleigh. + </p> + <p> + TRUSTAFORD. 'E did crash; haw, haw! + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. 'Twas a brave throw, zurely. Whu wid a' thought it? + </p> + <p> + CLYST. Tam's crawlin' out. [Leaning through window] Hello, Tam— + 'ow's t' base, old man? + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. [Excitedly] They'm all comin' up from churchyard to zee. + </p> + <p> + TRUSTAFORD. Tam du luke wonderful aztonished; haw, haw! Poor old Tam! + </p> + <p> + CLYST. Can yu zee curate? Reckon 'e'm gone into church. Aw, yes; gettin' a + bit dimsy-service time. [A moment's hush.] + </p> + <p> + TRUSTAFORD. Well, I'm jiggered. In 'alf an hour he'm got to prache. + </p> + <p> + GODLEIGH. 'Tes a Christian village, boys. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Feebly, quietly, JIM BERE laughs. There is silence; but the bell is + heard still ranging.] CURTAIN. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + SCENE II + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + The same-in daylight dying fast. A lamp is burning on the bar. A chair + has been placed in the centre of the room, facing the bench under the + window, on which are seated from right to left, GODLEIGH, SOL POTTER the + village shopman, TRUSTAFORD, BURLACOMBE, FREMAN, JIM BERE, and MORSE the + blacksmith. CLYST is squatting on a stool by the bar, and at the other + end JARLAND, sobered and lowering, leans against the lintel of the porch + leading to the door, round which are gathered five or six sturdy + fellows, dumb as fishes. No one sits in the chair. In the unnatural + silence that reigns, the distant sound of the wheezy church organ and + voices singing can be heard. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + TAUSTAFORD. [After a prolonged clearing of his throat] What I mean to zay + is that 'tes no yuse, not a bit o' yuse in the world, not duin' of things + properly. If an' in case we'm to carry a resolution disapprovin' o' + curate, it must all be done so as no one can't, zay nothin'. + </p> + <p> + SOL POTTER. That's what I zay, Mr. Trustaford; ef so be as 'tis to be a + village meetin', then it must be all done proper. + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. That's right, Sot Potter. I purpose Mr. Sot Potter into the chair. + Whu seconds that? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [A silence. Voices from among the dumb-as-fishes: "I du."] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + CLYST. [Excitedly] Yu can't putt that to the meetin'. Only a chairman can + putt it to the meetin'. I purpose that Mr. Burlacombe— bein as how + he's chairman o' the Parish Council—take the chair. + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. Ef so be as I can't putt it, yu can't putt that neither. + </p> + <p> + TRUSTAFORD. 'Tes not a bit o' yuse; us can't 'ave no meetin' without a + chairman. + </p> + <p> + GODLEIGH. Us can't 'ave no chairman without a meetin' to elect un, that's + zure. [A silence.] + </p> + <p> + MORSE. [Heavily] To my way o' thinkin', Mr. Godleigh speaks zense; us must + 'ave a meetin' before us can 'ave a chairman. + </p> + <p> + CLYST. Then what we got to du's to elect a meetin'. + </p> + <p> + BURLACOMBE. [Sourly] Yu'll not find no procedure far that. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Voices from among the dumb-as fishes: "Mr. Burlacombe 'e oughter + know."] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + SOL POTTER. [Scratching his head—with heavy solemnity] 'Tes my + belief there's no other way to du, but to elect a chairman to call a + meetin'; an' then for that meetin' to elect a chairman. + </p> + <p> + CLYST. I purpose Mr. Burlacombe as chairman to call a meetin'. + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. I purpose Sol Potter. + </p> + <p> + GODLEIGH. Can't 'ave tu propositions together before a meetin'; that's + apple-pie zure vur zurtain. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Voice from among the dumb-as fishes: "There ain't no meetin' yet, Sol + Potter zays."] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + TRUSTAFORD. Us must get the rights of it zettled some'ow. 'Tes like the + darned old chicken an' the egg—meetin' or chairman—which come + virst? + </p> + <p> + SOL POTTER. [Conciliating] To my thinkin' there shid be another way o' + duin' it, to get round it like with a circumbendibus. 'T'all comes from + takin' different vuse, in a manner o' spakin'. + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. Vu goo an' zet in that chair. + </p> + <p> + SOL POTTER. [With a glance at BURLACOMBE modestly] I shid'n never like fur + to du that, with Mr. Burlacombe zettin' there. + </p> + <p> + BURLACOMBE. [Rising] 'Tes all darned fulishness. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Amidst an uneasy shufflement of feet he moves to the door, and goes out + into the darkness.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + CLYST. [Seeing his candidate thus depart] Rackon curate's pretty well thru + by now, I'm goin' to zee. [As he passes JARLAND] 'Ow's to base, old man? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He goes out. One of the dumb-as-fishes moves from the door and fills + the apace left on the bench by BURLACOMBE'S departure.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + JARLAND. Darn all this puzzivantin'! [To SOL POTTER] Got an' zet in that + chair. + </p> + <p> + SOL POTTER. [Rising and going to the chair; there he stands, changing from + one to the other of his short broad feet and sweating from modesty and + worth] 'Tes my duty now, gentlemen, to call a meetin' of the parishioners + of this parish. I beg therefore to declare that this is a meetin' in + accordance with my duty as chairman of this meetin' which elected me + chairman to call this meetin'. And I purceed to vacate the chair so that + this meetin' may now purceed to elect a chairman. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He gets up from the chair, and wiping the sweat from his brow, goes + back to his seat.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FREMAN. Mr. Chairman, I rise on a point of order. + </p> + <p> + GODLEIGH. There ain't no chairman. + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. I don't give a darn for that. I rise on a point of order. + </p> + <p> + GODLEIGH. 'Tes a chairman that decides points of order. 'Tes certain yu + can't rise on no points whatever till there's a chairman. + </p> + <p> + TRUSTAFORD. 'Tes no yuse yure risin', not the least bit in the world, till + there's some one to set yu down again. Haw, haw! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Voice from the dumb-as-Etches: "Mr. Trustaford 'e's right."] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FREMAN. What I zay is the chairman ought never to 'ave vacated the chair + till I'd risen on my point of order. I purpose that he goo and zet down + again. + </p> + <p> + GODLEIGH. Yu can't purpose that to this meetin'; yu can only purpose that + to the old meetin' that's not zettin' any longer. + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. [Excitedly] I didn' care what old meetin' 'tis that's zettin'. I + purpose that Sol Potter goo an' zet in that chair again, while I rise on + my point of order. + </p> + <p> + TRUSTAFORD. [Scratching his head] 'Tesn't regular but I guess yu've got to + goo, Sol, or us shan't 'ave no peace. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [SOL POTTER, still wiping his brow, goes back to the chair.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MORSE. [Stolidly-to FREMAN] Zet down, Will Freman. [He pulls at him with a + blacksmith's arm.] + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. [Remaining erect with an effort] I'm not a-goin' to zet down till + I've arisen. + </p> + <p> + JARLAND. Now then, there 'e is in the chair. What's yore point of order? + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. [Darting his eyes here and there, and flinging his hand up to his + gipsy-like head] 'Twas—'twas—Darned ef y' 'aven't putt it + clean out o' my 'ead. + </p> + <p> + JARLAND. We can't wait for yore points of order. Come out o' that chair. + Sol Potter. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [SOL POTTER rises and is about to vacate the chair.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + FREMAN. I know! There ought to 'a been minutes taken. Yu can't 'ave no + meetin' without minutes. When us comes to electin' a chairman o' the next + meetin', 'e won't 'ave no minutes to read. + </p> + <p> + SOL POTTER. 'Twas only to putt down that I was elected chairman to elect a + meetin' to elect a chairman to preside over a meetin' to pass a resolution + dalin' wi' the curate. That's aisy set down, that is. + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. [Mollified] We'll 'ave that zet down, then, while we're electin' + the chairman o' the next meetin'. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [A silence. ] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + TRUSTAFORD. Well then, seein' this is the praaper old meetin' for carryin' + the resolution about the curate, I purpose Mr. Sol Potter take the chair. + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. I purpose Mr. Trustaford. I 'aven't a-got nothin' against Sol + Potter, but seein' that he elected the meetin' that's to elect 'im, it + might be said that 'e was electin' of himzelf in a manner of spakin'. Us + don't want that said. + </p> + <p> + MORSE. [Amid meditative grunts from the dumb-as-fishes] There's some-at in + that. One o' they tu purposals must be putt to the meetin'. + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. Second must be putt virst, fur zure. + </p> + <p> + TRUSTAFORD. I dunno as I wants to zet in that chair. To hiss the curate, + 'tis a ticklish sort of a job after that. Vurst comes afore second, Will + Freeman. + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. Second is amendment to virst. 'Tes the amendments is putt virst. + </p> + <p> + TRUSTAFORD. 'Ow's that, Mr. Godleigh? I'm not particular eggzac'ly to a + dilly zort of a point like that. + </p> + <p> + SOL POTTER. [Scratching his, head] 'Tes a very nice point, for zure. + </p> + <p> + GODLEIGH. 'Tes undoubtedly for the chairman to decide. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Voice from the dumb-as fishes: "But there ain't no chairman yet."] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + JARLAND. Sol Potter's chairman. + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. No, 'e ain't. + </p> + <p> + MORSE. Yes, 'e is—'e's chairman till this second old meetin' gets on + the go. + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. I deny that. What du yu say, Mr. Trustaford? + </p> + <p> + TRUSTAFORD. I can't 'ardly tell. It du zeem a darned long-sufferin' sort + of a business altogether. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [A silence.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MORSE. [Slowly] Tell 'ee what 'tis, us shan't du no gude like this. + </p> + <p> + GODLEIGH. 'Tes for Mr. Freman or Mr. Trustaford, one or t'other to + withdraw their motions. + </p> + <p> + TRUSTAFORD. [After a pause, with cautious generosity] I've no objections + to withdrawin' mine, if Will Freman'll withdraw his'n. + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. I won't never be be'indhand. If Mr. Trustaford withdraws, I + withdraws mine. + </p> + <p> + MORSE. [With relief] That's zensible. Putt the motion to the meetin'. + </p> + <p> + SOL POTTER. There ain't no motion left to putt. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Silence of consternation.] [In the confusion Jim BERE is seen to stand + up.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + GODLEIGH. Jim Bere to spike. Silence for Jim! + </p> + <p> + VOICES. Aye! Silence for Jim! + </p> + <p> + SOL POTTER. Well, Jim? + </p> + <p> + JIM. [Smiling and slow] Nothin' duin'. + </p> + <p> + TRUSTAFORD. Bravo, Jim! Yu'm right. Best zense yet! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Applause from the dumb-as-fishes.] [With his smile brightening, JIM + resumes his seat.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + SOL POTTER. [Wiping his brow] Du seem to me, gentlemen, seem' as we'm got + into a bit of a tangle in a manner of spakin', 'twid be the most zimplest + and vairest way to begin all over vrom the beginnin', so's t'ave it all + vair an' square for every one. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [In the uproar Of "Aye" and "No," it is noticed that TIBBY JARLAND is + standing in front of her father with her finger, for want of something + better, in her mouth.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + TIBBY. [In her stolid voice] Please, sister Mercy says, curate 'ave got to + "Lastly." [JARLAND picks her up, and there is silence.] An' please to come + quick. + </p> + <p> + JARLAND. Come on, mates; quietly now! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He goes out, and all begin to follow him.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MORSE. [Slowest, save for SOL POTTER] 'Tes rare lucky us was all agreed to + hiss the curate afore us began the botherin' old meetin', or us widn' + 'ardly 'ave 'ad time to settle what to du. + </p> + <p> + SOL POTTER. [Scratching his head] Aye, 'tes rare lucky; but I dunno if + 'tes altogether reg'lar. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + CURTAIN. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + SCENE III + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + The village green before the churchyard and the yew-trees at the gate. + Into the pitch dark under the yews, light comes out through the + half-open church door. Figures are lurking, or moving stealthily—people + waiting and listening to the sound of a voice speaking in the church + words that are inaudible. Excited whispering and faint giggles come from + the deepest yew-tree shade, made ghostly by the white faces and the + frocks of young girls continually flitting up and back in the blackness. + A girl's figure comes flying out from the porch, down the path of light, + and joins the stealthy group. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + WHISPERING VOICE of MERCY. Where's 'e got to now, Gladys? + </p> + <p> + WHISPERING VOICE OF GLADYS. 'E've just finished. + </p> + <p> + VOICE OF CONNIE. Whu pushed t'door open? + </p> + <p> + VOICE OF GLADYS. Tim Clyst I giv' it a little push, meself. + </p> + <p> + VOICE OF CONNIE. Oh! + </p> + <p> + VOICE of GLADYS. Tim Clyst's gone in! + </p> + <p> + ANOTHER VOICE. O-o-o-h! + </p> + <p> + VOICE of MERCY. Whu else is there, tu? + </p> + <p> + VOICE OF GLADYS. Ivy's there, an' Old Mrs. Potter, an' tu o' the maids + from th'Hall; that's all as ever. + </p> + <p> + VOICE of CONNIE. Not the old grey mare? + </p> + <p> + VOICE of GLADYS. No. She ain't ther'. 'Twill just be th'ymn now, an' the + Blessin'. Tibby gone for 'em? + </p> + <p> + VOICE OF MERCY. Yes. + </p> + <p> + VOICE of CONNIE. Mr. Burlacombe's gone in home, I saw 'im pass by just now—'e + don' like it. Father don't like it neither. + </p> + <p> + VOICE of MERCY. Mr. Strangway shoudn' 'ave taken my skylark, an' thrown + father out o' winder. 'Tis goin' to be awful fun! Oh! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She jumps up and dawn in the darkness. And a voice from far in the + shadow says: "Hsssh! Quiet, yu maids!" The voice has ceased speaking in + the church. There is a moment's dead silence. The voice speaks again; + then from the wheezy little organ come the first faint chords of a + hymn.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + GLADYS. "Nearer, my God, to Thee!" + </p> + <p> + VOICE of MERCY. 'Twill be funny, with no one 'ardly singin'. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The sound of the old hymn sung by just six voices comes out to them + rather sweet and clear.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + GLADYS. [Softly] 'Tis pretty, tu. Why! They're only singin' one verse! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [A moment's silence, and the voice speaks, uplifted, pronouncing the + Blessing: "The peace of God——" As the last words die away, + dark figures from the inn approach over the grass, till quite a crowd + seems standing there without a word spoken. Then from out of the church + porch come the congregation. TIM CLYST first, hastily lost among the + waiting figures in the dark; old Mrs. Potter, a half blind old lady + groping her way and perceiving nothing out of the ordinary; the two + maids from the Hall, self-conscious and scared, scuttling along. Last, + IVY BURLACOMBE quickly, and starting back at the dim, half-hidden + crowd.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + VOICE of GLADYS. [Whispering] Ivy! Here, quick! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Ivy sways, darts off towards the voice, and is lost in the shadow.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + VOICE OF FREMAN. [Low] Wait, boys, till I give signal. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Two or three squirks and giggles; Tim CLYST'S voice: "Ya-as! Don't 'ee + tread on my toe!" A soft, frightened "O-o-h!" from a girl. Some quick, + excited whisperings: "Luke!" "Zee there!" "He's comin'!" And then a + perfectly dead silence. The figure of STRANGWAY is seen in his dark + clothes, passing from the vestry to the church porch. He stands plainly + visible in the lighted porch, locking the door, then steps forward. Just + as he reaches the edge of the porch, a low hiss breaks the silence. It + swells very gradually into a long, hissing groan. STRANGWAY stands + motionless, his hand over his eyes, staring into the darkness. A girl's + figure can be seen to break out of the darkness and rush away. When at + last the groaning has died into sheer expectancy, STRANGWAY drops his + hand.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [In a loco voice] Yes! I'm glad. Is Jarland there? + </p> + <p> + FREMAN. He's 'ere-no thanks to yu! Hsss! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The hiss breaks out again, then dies away.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + JARLAND'S VOICE. [Threatening] Try if yu can du it again. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. No, Jarland, no! I ask you to forgive me. Humbly! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [A hesitating silence, broken by muttering.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + CLYST'S VOICE. Bravo! + </p> + <p> + A VOICE. That's vair. + </p> + <p> + A VOICE. 'E's afraid o' the sack—that's what 'tis. + </p> + <p> + A VOICE. [Groaning] 'E's a praaper coward. + </p> + <p> + A VOICE. Whu funked the doctor? + </p> + <p> + CLYST'S VOICE. Shame on 'ee, therr! + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. You're right—all of you! I'm not fit! An uneasy and + excited mustering and whispering dies away into renewed silence. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. What I did to Tam Jarland is not the real cause of what you're + doing, is it? I understand. But don't be troubled. It's all over. I'm + going—you'll get some one better. Forgive me, Jarland. I can't see + your face—it's very dark. + </p> + <p> + FREMAN'S Voice. [Mocking] Wait for the full mune. + </p> + <p> + GODLEIGH. [Very low] "My 'eart 'E lighted not!" + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [starting at the sound of his own words thus mysteriously given + him out of the darkness] Whoever found that, please tear it up! [After a + moment's silence] Many of you have been very kind to me. You won't see me + again—Good-bye, all! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He stands for a second motionless, then moves resolutely down into the + darkness so peopled with shadows.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + UNCERTAIN VOICES AS HE PASSES. Good-bye, zurr! Good luck, zurr! [He has + gone.] + </p> + <p> + CLYST'S VOICE. Three cheers for Mr. Strangway! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [And a queer, strangled cheer, with groans still threading it, arises.] + CURTAIN. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ACT III + </h2> + <p> + SCENE I + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + In the BURLACOMBES' hall-sitting-room the curtains are drawn, a lamp + burns, and the door stands open. BURLACOMBE and his wife are hovering + there, listening to the sound of mingled cheers and groaning. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. Aw! my gudeness—what a thing t'appen! I'd saner 'a + lost all me ducks. [She makes towards the inner door] I can't never face + 'im. + </p> + <p> + BURLACOMBE. 'E can't expect nothin' else, if 'e act like that. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. 'Tes only duin' as 'e'd be done by. + </p> + <p> + BURLACOMBE. Aw! Yu can't go on forgivin' 'ere, an' forgivin' there. + 'Tesn't nat'ral. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. 'Tes the mischief 'e'm a parson. 'Tes 'im bein' a lamb o' + God—or 'twidden be so quare for 'im to be forgivin'. + </p> + <p> + BURLACOMBE. Yu goo an' make un a gude 'ot drink. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. Poor soul! What'll 'e du now, I wonder? [Under her + breath] 'E's cumin'! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She goes hurriedly. BURLACOMBE, with a startled look back, wavers and + makes to follow her, but stops undecided in the inner doorway. STRANGWAY + comes in from the darkness. He turns to the window and drops overcoat + and hat and the church key on the windowseat, looking about him as men + do when too hard driven, and never fixing his eyes long enough on + anything to see it. BURLACOMBE, closing the door into the house, + advances a step. At the sound STRANGWAY faces round.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + BURLACOMBE. I wanted for yu to know, zurr, that me an' mine 'adn't nothin' + to du wi' that darned fulishness, just now. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [With a ghost of a smile] Thank you, Burlacombe. It doesn't + matter. It doesn't matter a bit. + </p> + <p> + BURLACOMBE. I 'ope yu won't take no notice of it. Like a lot o' silly bees + they get. [After an uneasy pause] Yu'll excuse me spakin' of this mornin', + an' what 'appened. 'Tes a brave pity it cam' on yu so sudden-like before + yu 'ad time to think. 'Tes a sort o' thing a man shude zet an' chew upon. + Certainly 'tes not a bit o' yuse goin' against human nature. Ef yu don't + stand up for yureself there's no one else not goin' to. 'Tes yure not + 'avin' done that 'as made 'em so rampageous. [Stealing another look at + STRANGWAY] Yu'll excuse me, zurr, spakin' of it, but 'tes amazin' sad to + zee a man let go his own, without a word o' darin'. 'Tea as ef 'e 'ad no + passions like. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Look at me, Burlacombe. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [BURLACOMBE looks up, trying hard to keep his eyes on STRANGWAY'S, that + seem to burn in his thin face.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Do I look like that? Please, please! [He touches his breast] + I've too much here. Please! + </p> + <p> + BURLACOMBE. [With a sort of startled respect] Well, zurr, 'tes not for me + to zay nothin', certainly. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He turns and after a slow look back at STRANGWAY goes out.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [To himself] Passions! No passions! Ha! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The outer door is opened and IVY BURLACOMBE appears, and, seeing him, + stops. Then, coming softly towards him, she speaks timidly.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + IVY. Oh! Mr. Strangway, Mrs. Bradmere's cumin' from the Rectory. I ran an' + told 'em. Oh! 'twas awful. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [STRANGWAY starts, stares at her, and turning on his heel, goes into the + house. Ivy's face is all puckered, as if she were on the point of tears. + There is a gentle scratching at the door, which has not been quite + closed.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + VOICE OF GLADYS. [Whispering] Ivy! Come on Ivy. I won't. + </p> + <p> + VOICE OF MERCY. Yu must. Us can't du without Yu. + </p> + <p> + Ivy. [Going to the door] I don't want to. + </p> + <p> + VOICE of GLADYS. "Naughty maid, she won't come out," Ah! du 'ee! + </p> + <p> + VOICE OF CREMER. Tim Clyst an' Bobbie's cumin'; us'll only be six anyway. + Us can't dance "figure of eight" without yu. + </p> + <p> + Ivy. [Stamping her foot] I don't want to dance at all! I don't. + </p> + <p> + MERCY. Aw! She's temper. Yu can bang on tambourine, then! + </p> + <p> + GLADYS. [Running in] Quick, Ivy! Here's the old grey mare cumin' down the + green. Quick. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [With whispering and scuffling; gurgling and squeaking, the reluctant + Ivy's hand is caught and she is jerked away. In their haste they have + left the door open behind them.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + VOICE of MRS. BRADMERE. [Outside] Who's that? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She knocks loudly, and rings a bell; then, without waiting, comes in + through the open door.] [Noting the overcoat and hat on the window-sill + she moves across to ring the bell. But as she does so, MRS. BURLACOMBE, + followed by BURLACOMBE, comes in from the house.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE This disgraceful business! Where's Mr. Strangway? I see he's + in. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. Yes, m'm, he'm in—but—but Burlacombe du zay + he'm terrible upset. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. I should think so. I must see him—at once. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. I doubt bed's the best place for 'un, an' gude 'ot drink. + Burlacombe zays he'm like a man standin' on the edge of a cliff; and the + lasts tipsy o' wind might throw un over. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. [To BURLACOMBE] You've seen him, then? + </p> + <p> + BURLACOMBE. Yeas; an' I don't like the luke of un—not a little bit, + I don't. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BURLACOMBE. [Almost to herself] Poor soul; 'e've a-'ad to much to try + un this yer long time past. I've a-seen 'tis sperrit cumin' thru 'is body, + as yu might zay. He's torn to bits, that's what 'tis. + </p> + <p> + BURLACOMBE. 'Twas a praaper cowardly thing to hiss a man when he's down. + But 'twas natural tu, in a manner of spakin'. But 'tesn't that troublin' + 'im. 'Tes in here [touching his forehead], along of his wife, to my + thinkin'. They zay 'e've a-known about 'er a-fore she went away. Think of + what 'e've 'ad to kape in all this time. 'Tes enough to drive a man silly + after that. I've a-locked my gun up. I see a man like—like that once + before—an' sure enough 'e was dead in the mornin'! + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. Nonsense, Burlacombe! [To MRS. BURLACOMBE] Go and tell him + I want to see him—must see him. [MRS. BURLACOMBE goes into the + house] And look here, Burlacombe; if we catch any one, man or woman, + talking of this outside the village, it'll be the end of their tenancy, + whoever they may be. Let them all know that. I'm glad he threw that + drunken fellow out of the window, though it was a little—— + </p> + <p> + BURLACOMBE. Aye! The nuspapers would be praaper glad of that, for a tiddy + bit o' nuse. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. My goodness! Yes! The men are all up at the inn. Go and + tell them what I said—it's not to get about. Go at once, Burlacombe. + </p> + <p> + BURLACOMBE. Must be a turrable job for 'im, every one's knowin' about 'is + wife like this. He'm a proud man tu, I think. 'Tes a funny business + altogether! + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. Horrible! Poor fellow! Now, come! Do your best, Burlacombe! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [BURLACOMBE touches his forelock and goes. MRS. BRADMERE stands quite + still, thinking. Then going to the photograph, she stares up at it.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. You baggage! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [STRANGWAY has come in noiselessly, and is standing just behind her. She + turns, and sees him. There is something so still, so startlingly still + in his figure and white face, that she cannot for the moment fond her + voice.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. [At last] This is most distressing. I'm deeply sorry. + [Then, as he does not answer, she goes a step closer] I'm an old woman; + and old women must take liberties, you know, or they couldn't get on at + all. Come now! Let's try and talk it over calmly and see if we can't put + things right. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. You were very good to come; but I would rather not. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. I know you're in as grievous trouble as a man can be. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Yes. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. [With a little sound of sympathy] What are you— + thirty-five? I'm sixty-eight if I'm a day—old enough to be your + mother. I can feel what you must have been through all these months, I can + indeed. But you know you've gone the wrong way to work. We aren't angels + down here below! And a son of the Church can't act as if for himself + alone. The eyes of every one are on him. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [Taking the church key from the window.] Take this, please. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. No, no, no! Jarland deserved all he got. You had great + provocation. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. It's not Jarland. [Holding out the key] Please take it to the + Rector. I beg his forgiveness. [Touching his breast] There's too much I + can't speak of—can't make plain. Take it to him, please. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. Mr. Strangway—I don't accept this. I am sure my + husband—the Church—will never accept—— + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Take it! + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. [Almost unconsciously taking it] Mind! We don't accept it. + You must come and talk to the Rector to-morrow. You're overwrought. You'll + see it all in another light, then. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [With a strange smile] Perhaps. [Lifting the blind] Beautiful + night! Couldn't be more beautiful! + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. [Startled-softly] Don't turn sway from these who want to + help you! I'm a grumpy old woman, but I can feel for you. Don't try and + keep it all back, like this! A woman would cry, and it would all seem + clearer at once. Now won't you let me——? + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. No one can help, thank you. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. Come! Things haven't gone beyond mending, really, if you'll + face them. [Pointing to the photograph] You know what I mean. We dare not + foster immorality. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [Quivering as at a jabbed nerve] Don't speak of that! + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. But think what you've done, Mr. Strangway! If you can't + take your wife back, surely you must divorce her. You can never help her + to go on like this in secret sin. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Torture her—one way or the other? + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. No, no; I want you to do as the Church—as all + Christian society would wish. Come! You can't let this go on. My dear man, + do your duty at all costs! + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Break her heart? + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. Then you love that woman—more than God! + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [His face quivering] Love! + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. They told me——Yes, and I can see you're is a + bad way. Come, pull yourself together! You can't defend what you're doing. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. I do not try. + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. I must get you to see! My father was a clergyman; I'm + married to one; I've two sons in the Church. I know what I'm talking + about. It's a priest's business to guide the people's lives. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [Very low] But not mine! No more! + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. [Looking at him shrewdly] There's something very queer + about you to-night. You ought to see doctor. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [A smile awning and going on his lips] If I am not better soon—— + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. I know it must be terrible to feel that everybody—— + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [A convulsive shiver passes over STRANGWAY, and he shrinks against the + door] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + But come! Live it down! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [With anger growing at his silence] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + Live it down, man! You can't desert your post—and let these + villagers do what they like with us? Do you realize that you're letting a + woman, who has treated you abominably;—yes, abominably —go + scot-free, to live comfortably with another man? What an example! + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Will you, please, not speak of that! + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. I must! This great Church of ours is based on the rightful + condemnation of wrongdoing. There are times when forgiveness is a sin, + Michael Strangway. You must keep the whip hand. You must fight! + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Fight! [Touching his heart] My fight is here. Have you ever + been in hell? For months and months—burned and longed; hoped against + hope; killed a man in thought day by day? Never rested, for love and hate? + I—condemn! I—judge! No! It's rest I have to find—somewhere—somehow-rest! + And how—how can I find rest? + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. [Who has listened to his outburst in a soft of coma] You + are a strange man! One of these days you'll go off your head if you don't + take care. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [Smiling] One of these days the flowers will grow out of me; + and I shall sleep. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [MRS. BRADMERE stares at his smiling face a long moment in silence, then + with a little sound, half sniff, half snort, she goes to the door. There + she halts.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. And you mean to let all this go on——Your wife—— + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Go! Please go! + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. Men like you have been buried at cross-roads before now! + Take care! God punishes! + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Is there a God? + </p> + <p> + MRS. BRADMERE. Ah! [With finality] You must see a doctor. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Seeing that the look on his face does not change, she opens the door, + and hurries away into the moonlight.] [STRANGWAY crosses the room to + where his wife's picture hangs, and stands before it, his hands grasping + the frame. Then he takes it from the wall, and lays it face upwards on + the window seat.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [To himself] Gone! What is there, now? + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [The sound of an owl's hooting is floating in, and of voices from the + green outside the inn.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [To himself] Gone! Taken faith—hope—life! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [JIM BERE comes wandering into the open doorway.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + JIM BERE. Gude avenin', zurr. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [At his slow gait, with his feeble smile, he comes in, and standing by + the window-seat beside the long dark coat that still lies there, he + looks down at STRANGWAY with his lost eyes.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + JIM. Yu threw un out of winder. I cud 'ave, once, I cud. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [STRANGWAY neither moves nor speaks; and JIM BERE goes on with his + unimaginably slow speech] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + They'm laughin' at yu, zurr. An' so I come to tell 'ee how to du. 'Twas + full mune—when I caught 'em, him an' my girl. I caught 'em. [With a + strange and awful flash of fire] I did; an' I tuk un [He taken up + STRANGWAY'S coat and grips it with his trembling hands, as a man grips + another's neck] like that—I tuk un. As the coat falls, like a body + out of which the breath has been squeezed, STRANGWAY, rising, catches it. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [Gripping the coat] And he fell! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He lets the coat fall on the floor, and puts his foot on it. Then, + staggering back, he leans against the window.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + JIM. Yu see, I loved 'er—I did. [The lost look comes back to his + eyes] Then somethin'—I dunno—and—and——[He + lifts his hand and passes it up and down his side] Twas like this for + ever. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [They gaze at each other in silence.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + JIM. [At last] I come to tell yu. They'm all laughin' at yu. But yu'm + strong—yu go over to Durford to that doctor man, an' take un like I + did. [He tries again to make the sign of squeezing a man's neck] They + can't laugh at yu no more, then. Tha's what I come to tell yu. Tha's the + way for a Christian man to du. Gude naight, zurr. I come to tell yee. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [STRANGWAY motions to him in silence. And, very slowly, JIM BERE passes + out.] [The voices of men coming down the green are heard.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + VOICES. Gude night, Tam. Glide naight, old Jim! + </p> + <p> + VOICES. Gude might, Mr. Trustaford. 'Tes a wonderful fine mune. + </p> + <p> + VOICE OF TRUSTAFORD. Ah! 'Tes a brave mune for th' poor old curate! + </p> + <p> + VOICE. "My 'eart 'E lighted not!" + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [TRUSTAFORD'S laugh, and the rattling, fainter and fainter, of wheels. A + spasm seizes on STRANGWAY'S face, as he stands there by the open door, + his hand grips his throat; he looks from side to side, as if seeking a + way of escape.] CURTAIN. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + SCENE II + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + The BURLACOMBES' high and nearly empty barn. A lantern is hung by a rope + that lifts the bales of straw, to a long ladder leaning against a + rafter. This gives all the light there is, save for a slender track of + moonlight, slanting in from the end, where the two great doors are not + quite closed. On a rude bench in front of a few remaining, stacked, + square-cut bundles of last year's hay, sits TIBBY JARLAND, a bit of + apple in her mouth, sleepily beating on a tambourine. With stockinged + feet GLADYS, IVY, CONNIE, and MERCY, TIM CLYST, and BOBBIE JARLAND, a + boy of fifteen, are dancing a truncated "Figure of Eight"; and their + shadow are dancing alongside on the walls. Shoes and some apples have + been thrown down close to the side door through which they have come in. + Now and then IVY, the smallest and best of the dancers, ejaculates words + of direction, and one of the youths grunts or breathes loudly out of the + confusion of his mind. Save for this and the dumb beat and jingle of the + sleepy tambourine, there is no sound. The dance comes to its end, but + the drowsy TIBBY goes on beating. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + MERCY. That'll du, Tibby; we're finished. Ate yore apple. [The stolid + TIBBY eats her apple.] + </p> + <p> + CLYST. [In his teasing, excitable voice] Yu maids don't dance 'elf's well + as us du. Bobbie 'e's a great dancer. 'E dance vine. I'm a gude dancer, + meself. + </p> + <p> + GLADYS. A'n't yu conceited just? + </p> + <p> + CLYST. Aw! Ah! Yu'll give me kiss for that. [He chases, but cannot catch + that slippery white figure] Can't she glimmer! + </p> + <p> + MERCY. Gladys! Up ladder! + </p> + <p> + CLYST. Yu go up ladder; I'll catch 'ee then. Naw, yu maids, don't yu give + her succour. That's not vair [Catching hold of MERCY, who gives a little + squeal.] + </p> + <p> + CONNIE. Mercy, don't! Mrs. Burlacombe'll hear. Ivy, go an' peek. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [Ivy goes to flee side door and peers through.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + CLYST. [Abandoning the chase and picking up an apple—they all have + the joyous irresponsibility that attends forbidden doings] Ya-as, this is + a gude apple. Luke at Tibby! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [TIBBY, overcome by drowsiness, has fallen back into the hay, asleep. + GLADYS, leaning against the hay breaks into humming:] "There cam' three + dukes a-ridin', a-ridin', a-ridin', There cam' three dukes a ridin' With + a ransy-tansy tay!" + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + CLYST. Us 'as got on vine; us'll get prize for our dancin'. + </p> + <p> + CONNIE. There won't be no prize if Mr. Strangway goes away. 'Tes funny + 'twas Mrs. Strangway start us. + </p> + <p> + IVY. [From the door] 'Twas wicked to hiss him. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [A moment's hush.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + CLYST. Twasn't I. + </p> + <p> + BOBBIE. I never did. + </p> + <p> + GLADYS. Oh! Bobbie, yu did! Yu blew in my ear. + </p> + <p> + CLYST. 'Twas the praaper old wind in the trees. Did make a brave noise, + zurely. + </p> + <p> + MERCY. 'E shuld'n' 'a let my skylark go. + </p> + <p> + CLYST. [Out of sheer contradictoriness] Ya-as, 'e shude, then. What du yu + want with th' birds of the air? They'm no gude to yu. + </p> + <p> + IVY. [Mournfully] And now he's goin' away. + </p> + <p> + CLYST. Ya-as; 'tes a pity. He's the best man I ever seen since I was + comin' from my mother. He's a gude man. He'em got a zad face, sure enough, + though. + </p> + <p> + IVY. Gude folk always 'ave zad faces. + </p> + <p> + CLYST. I knu a gude man—'e sold pigs—very gude man: 'e 'ad a + budiful bright vase like the mane. [Touching his stomach] I was sad, + meself, once. 'Twas a funny scrabblin'—like feelin'. + </p> + <p> + GLADYS. If 'e go away, whu's goin' to finish us for confirmation? + </p> + <p> + CONNIE. The Rector and the old grey mare. + </p> + <p> + MERCY. I don' want no more finishin'; I'm confirmed enough. + </p> + <p> + CLYST. Ya-as; yu'm a buty. + </p> + <p> + GLADYS. Suppose we all went an' asked 'im not to go? + </p> + <p> + IVY. 'Twouldn't be no gude. + </p> + <p> + CONNIE. Where's 'e goin'? + </p> + <p> + MERCY. He'll go to London, of course. + </p> + <p> + IVY. He's so gentle; I think 'e'll go to an island, where there's nothin' + but birds and beasts and flowers. + </p> + <p> + CLYST. Aye! He'm awful fond o' the dumb things. + </p> + <p> + IVY. They're kind and peaceful; that's why. + </p> + <p> + CLYST. Aw! Yu see tu praaper old tom cats; they'm not to peaceful, after + that, nor kind naighther. + </p> + <p> + BOBBIE. [Surprisingly] If 'e's sad, per'aps 'e'll go to 'Eaven. + </p> + <p> + IVY. Oh! not yet, Bobbie. He's tu young. + </p> + <p> + CLYST. [Following his own thoughts] Ya-as. 'Tes a funny place, tu, + nowadays, judgin' from the papers. + </p> + <p> + GLADYS. Wonder if there's dancin' in 'Eaven? + </p> + <p> + IVY. There's beasts, and flowers, and waters, and 'e told us. + </p> + <p> + CLYST. Naw! There's no dumb things in 'Eaven. Jim Bere 'e says there is! + 'E thinks 'is old cat's there. + </p> + <p> + IVY. Yes. [Dreamily] There's stars, an' owls, an' a man playin' on the + flute. Where 'tes gude, there must be music. + </p> + <p> + CLYST. Old brass band, shuldn' wonder, like th' Salvation Army. + </p> + <p> + IVY. [Putting up her hands to an imaginary pipe] No; 'tis a boy that goes + so; an' all the dumb things an' all the people goo after 'im—like + this. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She marches slowly, playing her imaginary pipe, and one by one they all + fall in behind her, padding round the barn in their stockinged feet. + Passing the big doors, IVY throws them open.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + An' 'tes all like that in 'Eaven. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She stands there gazing out, still playing on her imaginary pipe. And + they all stand a moment silent, staring into the moonlight.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + CLYST. 'Tes a glory-be full mune to-night! + </p> + <p> + IVY. A goldie-cup—a big one. An' millions o' little goldie-cups on + the floor of 'Eaven. + </p> + <p> + MERCY. Oh! Bother 'Eaven! Let's dance "Clapperclaws"! Wake up, Tibby! + </p> + <p> + GLADYS. Clapperelaws, clapperclaws! Come on, Bobbie—make circle! + </p> + <p> + CLYST. Clapperclaws! I dance that one fine. + </p> + <p> + IVY. [Taking the tambourine] See, Tibby; like this. She hums and beats + gently, then restores the tambourine to the sleepy TIBBY, who, waking, has + placed a piece of apple in her mouth. + </p> + <p> + CONNIE. 'Tes awful difficult, this one. + </p> + <p> + IVY. [Illustrating] No; yu just jump, an' clap yore 'ands. Lovely, lovely! + </p> + <p> + CLYST. Like ringin' bells! Come ahn! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [TIBBY begins her drowsy beating, IVY hums the tune; they dance, and + their shadows dance again upon the walls. When she has beaten but a few + moments on the tambourine, TIBBY is overcome once more by sleep and + falls back again into her nest of hay, with her little shoed feet just + visible over the edge of the bench. Ivy catches up the tambourine, and + to her beating and humming the dancers dance on.] [Suddenly GLADYS stops + like a wild animal surprised, and cranes her neck towards the aide + door.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + CONNIE. [Whispering] What is it? + </p> + <p> + GLADYS. [Whispering] I hear—some one comin' across the yard. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She leads a noiseless scamper towards the shoes. BOBBIE JARLAND shins + up the ladder and seizes the lantern. Ivy drops the tambourine. They all + fly to the big doors, and vanish into the moonlight, pulling the door + nearly to again after them.] [There is the sound of scrabbling at the + hitch of the side door, and STRANGWAY comes into the nearly dark barn. + Out in the night the owl is still hooting. He closes the door, and that + sound is lost. Like a man walking in his sleep, he goes up to the + ladder, takes the rope in his hand, and makes a noose. He can be heard + breathing, and in the darkness the motions of his hands are dimly seen, + freeing his throat and putting the noose round his neck. He stands + swaying to and fro at the foot of the ladder; then, with a sigh, sets + his foot on it to mount. One of the big doors creaks and opens in the + wind, letting in a broad path of moonlight.] [STRANGWAY stops; freeing + his neck from the noose, he walks quickly up the track of moonlight, + whitened from head to foot, to close the doors.] [The sound of his boots + on the bare floor has awakened TIBBY JARLAND. Struggling out of her hay + nest she stands staring at his whitened figure, and bursts suddenly into + a wail.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + TIBBY. O-oh! Mercy! Where are yu? I'm frightened! I'm frightened! O-oooo! + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [Turning—startled] Who's that? Who is it? + </p> + <p> + TIBBY. O-oh! A ghosty! Oo-ooo! + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [Going to her quickly] It's me, Tibby—Tib only me! + </p> + <p> + TIBBY. I seed a ghosty. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [Taking her up] No, no, my bird, you didn't! It was me. + </p> + <p> + TIBBY. [Burying her face against him] I'm frighted. It was a big one. [She + gives tongue again] O-o-oh! + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. There, there! It's nothing but me. Look! + </p> + <p> + TIBBY. No. [She peeps out all the same.] + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. See! It's the moonlight made me all white. See! You're a brave + girl now? + </p> + <p> + TIBBY. [Cautiously] I want my apple. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [She points towards her nest. STRANGWAY carries her there, picks up an + apple, and gives it her. TIBBY takes a bite.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + TIBBY. I want any tambourine. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [Giving her the tambourine, and carrying her back into the' + track of moonlight] Now we're both ghosties! Isn't it funny? + </p> + <p> + TABBY. [Doubtfully] Yes. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. See! The moon's laughing at us! See? Laugh then! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [TABBY, tambourine in one hand and apple in the other, smiles stolidly. + He sets her down on the ladder, and stands, holding her level With him.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + TABBY. [Solemnly] I'se still frightened. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. No! Full moon, Tibby! Shall we wish for it? + </p> + <p> + TABBY. Full mune. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Moon! We're wishing for you. Moon, moon! + </p> + <p> + TIBBY. Mune, we're wishin' for yu! + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. What do, you wish it to be? + </p> + <p> + TIBBY. Bright new shillin'! + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. A face. + </p> + <p> + TIBBY. Shillin', a shillin'! + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [Taking out a shilling and spinning it so that it falls into + her pinafore] See! Your wish comes true. + </p> + <p> + TIBBY. Oh! [Putting the shilling in her mouth] Mune's still there! + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Wish for me, Tibby! + </p> + <p> + TIBBY. Mune. I'm wishin' for yu! + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Not yet! + </p> + <p> + TIBBY. Shall I shake my tambouline? + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Yes, shake your tambouline. + </p> + <p> + TIBBY. [Shaking her tambourine] Mune, I'm shaken' at yu. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [STRANGWAY lays his hand suddenly on the rope, and swings it up on to + the beam.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + TIBBY. What d'yu du that for? + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. To put it out of reach. It's better—— + </p> + <p> + TIBBY. Why is it better? [She stares up at him.] + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Come along, Tibby! [He carries her to the big doors, and sets + her down] See! All asleep! The birds, and the fields, and the moon! + </p> + <p> + TIBBY. Mune, mune, we're wishing for yu! + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Send her your love, and say good-night. + </p> + <p> + TIBBY. [Blowing a kiss] Good-night, mune! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [From the barn roof a little white dove's feather comes floating down in + the wind. TIBBY follows it with her hand, catches it, and holds it up to + him.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + TIBBY. [Chuckling] Luke. The mune's sent a bit o' love! + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [Taking the feather] Thank you, Tibby! I want that bit o' love. + [Very faint, comes the sound of music] Listen! + </p> + <p> + TIBBY. It's Miss Willis, playin' on the pianny! + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. No; it's Love; walking and talking in the world. + </p> + <p> + TIBBY. [Dubiously] Is it? + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [Pointing] See! Everything coming out to listen! See them, + Tibby! All the little things with pointed ears, children, and birds, and + flowers, and bunnies; and the bright rocks, and—men! Hear their + hearts beating! And the wind listening! + </p> + <p> + TIBBY. I can't hear—nor I can't see! + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Beyond——[To himself] They are—they must be; I + swear they are! [Then, catching sight of TIBBY'S amazed eyes] And now say + good-bye to me. + </p> + <p> + TIBBY. Where yu goin'? + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. I don't know, Tibby. + </p> + <p> + VOICE OF MERCY. [Distant and cautious] Tibby! Tibby! Where are yu? + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Mercy calling; run to her! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [TIBBY starts off, turns back and lifts her face. He bends to kiss her, + and flinging her arms round his neck, she gives him a good hug. Then, + knuckling the sleep out of her eyes, she runs.] [STRANGWAY stands, + uncertain. There is a sound of heavy footsteps; a man clears his throat, + close by.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Who's that? + </p> + <p> + CREMER. Jack Cremer. [The big man's figure appears out of the shadow of + the barn] That yu, zurr? + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Yes, Jack. How goes it? + </p> + <p> + CREMER. 'Tes empty, zurr. But I'll get on some'ow. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. You put me to shame. + </p> + <p> + CREMER. No, zurr. I'd be killin' meself, if I didn' feel I must stick it, + like yu zaid. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [They stand gazing at each other in the moonlight.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [Very low] I honour you. + </p> + <p> + CREMER. What's that? [Then, as STRANGWAY does not answer] I'll just be + walkin'—I won' be gain' 'ome to-night. 'Tes the full mune— + lucky. + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [Suddenly] Wait for me at the crossroads, Jack. I'll come with + you. Will you have me, brother? + </p> + <p> + CREMER. Sure! + </p> + <p> + STRANGWAY. Wait, then. + </p> + <p> + CREMER. Aye, zurr. + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [With his heavy tread CREMER passes on. And STRANGWAY leans against the + lintel of the door, looking at the moon, that, quite full and golden, + hangs not far above the straight horizon, where the trees stand small, + in a row.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + STRANGWAY. [Lifting his hand in the gesture of prayer] God, of the moon + and the sun; of joy and beauty, of loneliness and sorrow—give me + strength to go on, till I love every living thing! + </p> + <blockquote> + <p> + [He moves away, following JACK CREMER. The full moon shines; the owl + hoots; and some one is shaking TIBBY'S tambourine.] + </p> + </blockquote> + <div class="mynote"> + <h2> + <i>GALSWORTHY'S PLAYS</i> + </h2> + <a name="link2H_TOC" id="link2H_TOC_"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + <h2> + <i>Links to All Volumes</i> + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto" cellpadding="4" border="3"> + <tr> + <td> + THE FIRST SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2906/2906-h/2906-h.htm"><b>The + Silver Box</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2907/2907-h/2907-h.htm"><b>Joy</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2908/2908-h/2908-h.htm"><b>Strife</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE SECOND SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2909/2909-h/2909-h.htm"><b>The + Eldest Son</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2910/2910-h/2910-h.htm"><b>Little + Dream</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2911/2911-h/2911-h.htm"><b>Justice</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE THIRD SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2912/2912-h/2912-h.htm"><b>The + Fugitive</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2913/2913-h/2913-h.htm"><b>The + Pigeon</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2914/2914-h/2914-h.htm"><b>The + Mob</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE FOURTH SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2915/2915-h/2915-h.htm"><b>A + Bit O'Love</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2916/2916-h/2916-h.htm"><b>The + Foundations</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2917/2917-h/2917-h.htm"><b>The + Skin Game</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE FIFTH SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/4764/4764-h/4764-h.htm"><b>A + Family Man</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/4765/4765-h/4765-h.htm"><b>Loyalties</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/4766/4766-h/4766-h.htm"><b>Windows</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + THE SIXTH SERIES: + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2918/2918-h/2918-h.htm"><b>The + First and Last</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2919/2919-h/2919-h.htm"><b>The + Little Man</b></a> + </td> + <td> + <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2920/2920-h/2920-h.htm"><b>Four + Short Plays</b></a> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + + End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Bit O' Love (Fourth Series Plays) + by John Galsworthy + + *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BIT O' LOVE (FOURTH SERIES *** + + ***** This file should be named 2915-h.htm or 2915-h.zip ***** + This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/1/2915/ + + Produced by David Widger + + Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions + will be renamed. + + Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no + one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation + (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without + permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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