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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Six Plays, by Florence Henrietta Darwin
+(#1 in our series by Florence Henrietta Darwin)
+
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+**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971**
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+*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****
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+Title: Six Plays
+
+Author: Florence Henrietta Darwin
+
+Release Date: May, 2004  [EBook #5618]
+[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
+[This file was first posted on July 23, 2002]
+
+Edition: 10
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, SIX PLAYS ***
+
+
+
+
+Transcribed from the 1921 W. Heffer & Sons edition by David Price,
+email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk
+
+
+
+
+SIX PLAYS BY FLORENCE HENRIETTA DARWIN
+
+
+
+
+Contents:
+   The Lovers' Tasks
+   Bushes and Briars
+   My man John
+   Princess Royal
+   The Seeds of Love
+   The New Year
+
+
+
+
+THE LOVERS' TASKS
+
+
+
+
+CHARACTERS
+
+FARMER DANIEL,
+ELIZABETH, his wife.
+MILLIE, her daughter.
+ANNET, his niece.
+MAY, Annet's sister, aged ten.
+GILES, their brother.
+ANDREW, a rich young farmer.
+GEORGE, JOHN servants to Giles.
+
+AN OLD MAN.
+
+
+
+ACT I.--Scene 1.
+
+
+
+The parlour at Camel Farm.
+
+Time:  An afternoon in May.
+
+ELIZABETH is sewing by the table with ANNET.  At the open doorway MAY
+is polishing a bright mug.
+
+ELIZABETH.  [Looking up.]  There's Uncle, back from the Fair.
+
+MAY.  [Looking out of the door.]  O Uncle's got some rare big packets
+in his arms, he has.
+
+ELIZABETH.  Put down that mug afore you damage it, May; and, Annet,
+do you go and help your uncle in.
+
+MAY.  [Setting down the mug.]  O let me go along of her too--[ANNET
+rises and goes to the door followed by MAY, who has dropped her
+polishing leather upon the ground.
+
+ELIZABETH.  [Picking it up and speaking to herself in exasperation.]
+If ever there was a careless little wench, 'tis she.  I never did
+hold with the bringing up of other folks children and if I'd had my
+way, 'tis to the poor-house they'd have went, instead of coming here
+where I've enough to do with my own.
+
+[The FARMER comes in followed by ANNET and MAY carrying large
+parcels.
+
+DANIEL.  Well Mother, I count I'm back a smartish bit sooner nor what
+you did expect.
+
+ELIZABETH.  I'm not one that can be taken by surprise, Dan.  May, lay
+that parcel on the table at once, and put away your uncle's hat and
+overcoat.
+
+DAN.  Nay, the overcoat's too heavy for the little maid--I'll hang it
+up myself.
+
+[He takes off his coat and goes out into the passage to hang it up.
+May runs after him with his hat.
+
+ANNET.  I do want to know what's in all those great packets, Aunt.
+
+ELIZABETH.  I daresay you'll be told all in good season.  Here, take
+up and get on with that sewing, I dislike to see young people idling
+away their time.
+
+[The FARMER and MAY come back.
+
+MAY.  And now, untie the packets quickly, uncle.
+
+DANIEL.  [Sinking into a big chair.]  Not so fast, my little maid,
+not so fast--'tis a powerful long distance as I have journeyed this
+day, and 'tis wonderful warm for the time of year.
+
+ELIZABETH.  I don't hold with drinking nor with taking bites atween
+meals, but as your uncle has come a good distance, and the day is
+warm, you make take the key of the pantry, Annet, and draw a glass of
+cider for him.
+
+[She takes the key from her pocket and hands it to ANNET, who goes
+out.
+
+DANIEL.  That's it, Mother--that's it.  And when I've wetted my mouth
+a bit I'll be able the better to tell you all about how 'twas over
+there.
+
+MAY.  O I'd dearly like to go to a Fair, I would.  You always said
+that you'd take me the next time you went, Uncle.
+
+DANIEL.  Ah and so I did, but when I comed to think it over, Fairs
+baint the place for little maids, I says to mother here--and no, that
+they baint, she answers back.  But we'll see how 'tis when you be
+growed a bit older, like.  Us'll see how 'twill be then, won't us
+Mother?
+
+ELIZABETH.  I wouldn't encourage the child in her nonsense, if I was
+you, Dan.  She's old enough to know better than to ask to be taken to
+such places.  Why in all my days I never set my foot within a fair,
+pleasure or business, nor wanted to, either.
+
+MAY.  And never rode on the pretty wood horses, Aunt, all spotted and
+with scarlet bridles to them?
+
+ELIZABETH.  Certainly not.  I wonder at your asking such a question,
+May.  But you do say some very unsuitable things for a little child
+of your age.
+
+MAY.  And did you get astride of the pretty horses at the Fair,
+Uncle?
+
+DANIEL.  Nay, nay,--they horses be set in the pleasure part of the
+Fair, and where I goes 'tis all for doing business like.
+
+[ANNET comes back with the glass of cider.  DANIEL takes it from her.
+
+DANIEL.  [Drinking.]  You might as well have brought the jug, my
+girl.
+
+ELIZABETH.  No, Father, 'twill spoil your next meal as it is.
+
+[The girls sit down at the table, taking up their work.
+
+DANIEL.  [Putting down his glass.]  But, bless my soul, yon was a
+Fair in a hundred.  That her was.
+
+BOTH GIRLS.  O do tell us of all that you did see there, Uncle.
+
+DANIEL.  There was a cow--well, 'tis a smartish lot of cows as I've
+seen in my time, but this one, why, the King haven't got the match to
+she in all his great palace, and that's the truth, so 'tis.
+
+ANNET.  O don 't tell us about the cows, Uncle, we want to know about
+all the other things.
+
+MAY.  The shows of acting folk, and the wild animals, and the nice
+sweets.
+
+ELIZABETH.  They don't want to hear about anything sensible, Dan.
+They're like all the maids now, with their thoughts set on pleasuring
+and foolishness.
+
+DANIEL.  Ah, the maids was different in our day, wasn't they Mother?
+
+ELIZABETH.  And that they were.  Why, when I was your age, Annet, I
+should have been ashamed if I couldn't have held my own in any proper
+or suitable conversation.
+
+DANIEL.  Ah, you was a rare sensible maid in your day, Mother.  Do
+you mind when you comed along of me to Kingham sale?  "You're never
+going to buy an animal with all that white to it, Dan, you says to
+me.
+
+ELIZABETH.  Ah--I recollect.
+
+DANIEL.  "'Tis true her has a whitish leg," I says, "but so have I,
+and so have you, Mother--and who's to think the worse on we for
+that?"  Ah, I could always bring you round to look at things quiet
+and reasonable in those days--that I could.
+
+ELIZABETH.  And a good thing if there were others of the same pattern
+now, I'm thinking.
+
+DANIEL.  So 'twould be--so 'twould be.  But times do bring changes in
+the forms of the cattle and I count 'tis the same with the womenfolk.
+'Tis one thing this year and 'tis t'other in the next.
+
+MAY.  Do tell us more of what you did see at the Fair, Uncle.
+
+DANIEL.  There was a ram.  My word! but the four feet of he did cover
+a good two yards of ground; just as it might be, standing.
+
+ELIZABETH.  Come, Father.
+
+DANIEL.  And the horns upon the head of he did reach out very nigh as
+far as might do the sails of one of they old wind-mills.
+
+MAY.  O Uncle, and how was it with the wool of him?
+
+DANIEL.  The wool, my wench, did stand a good three foot from all
+around of the animal.  You might have set a hen with her eggs on top
+of it--and that you might.  And now I comes to recollect how 'twas,
+you could have set a hen one side of the wool and a turkey t'other.
+
+MAY.  O Uncle, that must have been a beautiful animal!  And what was
+the tail of it?
+
+DANIEL.  The tail, my little maid?  Why 'twas longer nor my arm and
+as thick again--'twould have served as a bell rope to the great bell
+yonder in Gloucester church--and so 'twould.  Ah, 'twas sommat like a
+tail, I reckon, yon.
+
+ELIZABETH.  Come, Father, such talk is hardly suited to little girls,
+who should know better than to ask so many teasing questions.
+
+ANNET.  'Tisn't only May, Aunt, I do love to hear what uncle tells,
+when he has been out for a day or two.
+
+ELIZABETH.  And did you have company on the way home, Father?
+
+DANIEL.  That I did.  'Twas along of young Andrew as I did come back.
+
+ELIZABETH.  Along of Andrew?  Girls, you may now go outside into the
+garden for a while.  Yes, put aside your work.
+
+MAY.  Can't we stop till the packets are opened?
+
+ELIZABETH.  You heard what I said?  Go off into the garden, and stop
+there till I send for you.  And take uncle's glass and wash it at the
+spout as you go.
+
+ANNET.  [Taking the glass.]  I'll wash it, Aunt.  Come May, you see
+aunt doesn't want us any longer.
+
+MAY.  Now they're going to talk secrets together.  O I should dearly
+love to hear the secrets of grown-up people.  [ANNET and MAY go out
+together.
+
+DANIEL.  Annet be got a fine big wench, upon my word.  Now haven't
+her, Mother?
+
+ELIZABETH.  She's got old enough to be put to service, and if I'd
+have had my way, 'tis to service she'd have gone this long time
+since, and that it is.
+
+DANIEL.  'Twould be poor work putting one of dead sister's wenches
+out to service, so long as us have a roof over the heads of we and
+plenty to eat on the table.
+
+ELIZABETH.  Well, you must please yourself about it Father, as you do
+most times.  But 'tis uncertain work taking up with other folks
+children as I told you from the first.  See what a lot of trouble you
+and me have had along of Giles.
+
+DANIEL.  Giles be safe enough in them foreign parts where I did send
+him.  You've no need to trouble your head about he, Mother--unless
+'tis a letter as he may have got sending to Mill.
+
+ELIZABETH.  No, Father, Giles has never sent a letter since the day
+he left home.  But very often there is no need for letters to keep
+remembrance green.  'Tis a plant what thrives best on a soil that is
+bare.
+
+DANIEL.  Well, Mother, and what be you a-driving at?  I warrant as
+Mill have got over them notions as she did have once.  And, look you
+here, 'twas with young Andrew as I did journey back from the Fair.
+And he be a-coming up presently for to get his answer.
+
+ELIZABETH.  All I say is that I hope he may get it then.
+
+DANIEL.  Ah, I reckon as 'tis rare put about as he have been all this
+long while, and never a downright "yes" to what he do ask.
+
+[MAY comes softly in and hides behind the door.
+
+ELIZABETH.  Well, that's not my fault, Father.
+
+DANIEL.  But her'll have to change her note this day, that her'll
+have.  For I've spoke for she, and 'tis for next month as I've
+pitched the wedding day.
+
+ELIZABETH.  And you may pitch, Father.  You may lead the mare down to
+the pond, but she'll not drink if she hasn't the mind to.  You know
+what Millie is.  'Tisn't from my side that she gets it either.
+
+DANIEL.  And 'tain't from me.  I be all for easy going and each one
+to his self like.
+
+ELIZABETH.  Yes, there you are, Father.
+
+DANIEL.  But I reckon as the little maid will hearken to what I says.
+Her was always a wonderful good little maid to her dad.  And her did
+always know, that when her dad did set his foot down, well, there
+'twas.  'Twas down.
+
+ELIZABETH.  Well, if you think you can shew her that, Father, 'tis a
+fortunate job on all sides.
+
+[They suddenly see MAY who has been quiet behind the door.
+
+ELIZABETH.  May, what are you a-doing here I should like to know?
+Didn't I send you out into the garden along of your sister?
+
+MAY.  Yes, Auntie, but I've comed back.
+
+ELIZABETH.  Then you can be off again, and shut the door this time,
+do your hear?
+
+DANIEL.  That's it, my little maid.  Run along--and look you, May,
+just you tell Cousin Millie as we wants her in here straight away.
+And who knows bye and bye whether there won't be sommat in yon great
+parcel for a good little wench.
+
+MAY.  O Uncle--I'd like to see it now.
+
+DANIEL.  Nay, nay--this is not a suitable time--Aunt and me has
+business what's got to be settled like.  Nay--'tis later on as the
+packets is to be opened.
+
+ELIZABETH.  Get along off, you tiresome child.--One word might do for
+some, but it takes twenty to get you to move.--Run along now, do you
+hear me?
+
+[MAY goes.
+
+Well, Father, I've done my share with Millie and she don't take a bit
+of notice of what I say.  So now it's your turn.
+
+DANIEL.  Ah, I count 'tis more man's work, this here, so 'tis.  There
+be things which belongs to females and there be others which do not.
+You get and leave it all to me.  I'll bring it off.
+
+ELIZABETH.  All right, Father, just you try your way--I'll have
+nothing more to do with it.  [MILLIE comes in.]
+
+MILLIE.  Why, Father, you're back early from the Fair.
+
+DANIEL.  That's so, my wench.  See that package over yonder?
+
+MILLIE.  O, that I do, Father.
+
+DANIEL.  Yon great one's for you, Mill.
+
+MILLIE.  O Father, what's inside it?
+
+DANIEL.  'Tis a new, smart bonnet, my wench.
+
+MILLIE.  For me, Father?
+
+DANIEL.  Ah--who else should it be for, Mill?
+
+MILLIE.  O Father, you are good to me.
+
+DANIEL.  And a silk cloak as well.
+
+MILLIE.  A silken cloak, and a bonnet--O Father, 'tis too much for
+you to give me all at once, like.
+
+DANIEL.  Young Andrew did help me with the choice, and 'tis all to be
+worn on this day month, my girl.
+
+MILLIE.  Why, Father, what's to happen then?
+
+DANIEL.  'Tis for you to go along to church in, Mill.
+
+MILLIE.  To church, Father?
+
+DANIEL.  Ah, that 'tis--you in the cloak and bonnet, and upon the arm
+of young Andrew, my wench.
+
+MILLIE.  O no, Father.
+
+DANIEL.  But 'tis "yes" as you have got to learn, my wench.  And
+quickly too.  For 'tis this very evening as Andrew be coming for his
+answer.  And 'tis to be "yes" this time.
+
+MILLIE.  O no, Father.
+
+DANIEL.  You've an hour before you, my wench, in which to get another
+word to your tongue.
+
+MILLIE.  I can't learn any word that isn't "no," Father.
+
+DANIEL.  Look at me, my wench.  My foot be down.  I means what I
+says--
+
+MILLIE.  And I mean what I say, too, Father.  And I say, No!
+
+DANIEL.  Millie, I've set down my foot.
+
+MILLIE.  And so have I, Father.
+
+DANIEL.  And 'tis "yes" as you must say to young Andrew when he do
+come a-courting of you this night.
+
+MILLIE.  That I'll never say, Father.  I don't want cloaks nor
+bonnets, nor my heart moved by gifts, or tears brought to my eyes by
+fair words.  I'll not wed unless I can give my love along with my
+hand.  And 'tis not to Andrew I can give that, as you know.
+
+DANIEL.  And to whom should a maid give her heart if 'twasn't to
+Andrew?  A finer lad never trod in a pair of shoes.  I'll be blest if
+I do know what the wenches be a-coming to.
+
+ELIZABETH.  There, Father, I told you what to expect.
+
+DANIEL.  But 'tis master as I'll be, hark you, Mother, hark you,
+Mill.  And 'tis "Yes" as you have got to fit your tongue out with my
+girl, afore 'tis dark.  [Rising.]  I be a'going off to the yard, but,
+Mother, her'll know what to say to you, her will.
+
+MILLIE.  Dad, do you stop and shew me the inside of my packet.  Let
+us put Andrew aside and be happy--do!
+
+DANIEL.  Ah, I've got other things as is waiting to be done nor
+breaking in a tricksome filly to run atween the shafts.  'Tis fitter
+work for females, and so 'tis.
+
+ELIZABETH.  And so I told you, Father, from the start.
+
+MILLIE.  And 'tis "No" that I shall say.
+
+[Curtain.]
+
+
+
+ACT I.--Scene 2.
+
+
+
+It is dusk on the same evening.
+
+MILLIE is standing by the table folding up the silken cloak.  ANNET
+sits watching her, on her knees lies a open parcel disclosing a
+woollen shawl.  In a far corner of the room MAY is seated on a stool
+making a daisy chain.
+
+ANNET.  'Twas very good of Uncle to bring me this nice shawl, Millie.
+
+MILLIE.  You should have had a cloak like mine, Annet, by rights.
+
+ANNET.  I'm not going to get married, Millie.
+
+MILLIE.  [Sitting down with a sudden movement of despondence and
+stretching her arms across the table.]  O don't you speak to me of
+that, Annet.  'Tis more than I can bear to-night.
+
+ANNET.  But, Millie, he's coming for your answer now.  You musn't let
+him find you looking so.
+
+MILLIE.  My face shall look as my heart feels.  And that is all
+sorrow, Annet.
+
+ANNET.  Can't you bring yourself round to fancy Andrew, Millie?
+
+MILLIE.  No, that I cannot, Annet, I've tried a score of times, I
+have--but there it is--I cannot.
+
+ANNET.  Is it that you've not forgotten Giles, then?
+
+MILLIE.  I never shall forget him, Annet.  Why, 'tis a five year this
+day since father sent him off to foreign parts, and never a moment of
+all that time has my heart not remembered him.
+
+ANNET.  I feared 'twas so with you, Millie.
+
+MILLIE.  O I've laid awake of nights and my tears have wetted the
+pillow all over so that I've had to turn it t'other side up.
+
+ANNET.  And Giles has never written to you, nor sent a sign nor
+nothing?
+
+MILLIE.  Your brother Giles was never very grand with the pen, Annet.
+But, O, he's none the worse for that.
+
+ANNET.  Millie, I never cared for to question you, but how was it
+when you and he did part, one with t'other?
+
+MILLIE.  I did give him my ring, Annet--secret like--when we were
+walking in the wood.
+
+ANNET.  What, the one with the white stones to it?
+
+MILLIE.  Yes, grandmother's ring, that she left me.  And I did say to
+him--if ever I do turn false to you and am like to wed another,
+Giles--look you at these white stones.
+
+ANNET.  Seven of them, there were, Millie.
+
+MILLIE.  And the day that I am like to wed another, Giles, I said to
+him, the stones shall darken.  But you'll never see that day.  [She
+begins to cry.
+
+ANNET.  Don't you give way, Millie, for, look you, 'tis very likely
+that Giles has forgotten you for all his fine words, and Andrew,--
+well, Andrew he's as grand a suitor as ever maid had.  And 'tis
+Andrew you have got to wed, you know.
+
+MILLIE.  Andrew, Andrew--I'm sick at the very name of him.
+
+ANNET.  See the fine house you'll live in.  Think on the grand
+parlour that you'll sit in all the day with a servant to wait on you
+and naught but Sunday clothes on your back.
+
+MILLIE.  I'd sooner go in rags with Giles at the side of me.
+
+ANNET.  Come, you must hearten up.  Andrew will soon be here.  And
+Uncle says that you have got to give him his answer to-night for good
+and all.
+
+MILLIE.  O I cannot see him--I'm wearied to death of Andrew, and
+that's the very truth it is.
+
+ANNET.  O Millie--I wonder how 'twould feel to be you for half-an-
+hour and to have such a fine suitor coming to me and asking for me to
+say Yes.
+
+MILLIE.  O I wish 'twas you and not me that he was after, Annet.
+
+ANNET.  'Tisn't likely that anyone such as Master Andrew will ever
+come courting a poor girl like me, Millie.  But I'd dearly love to
+know how 'twould feel.
+
+[MILLIE raises her head and looks at her cousin for a few minutes in
+silence, then her face brightens.
+
+MILLIE.  Then you shall, Annet.
+
+ANNET.  Shall what, Mill?
+
+MILLIE.  Know how it feels.  Look here--'Tis sick to death I am with
+courting, when 'tis from the wrong quarter, and if I'm to wed Andrew
+come next month, I'll not be tormented with him before that time,--so
+'tis you that shall stop and talk with him this evening, Annet, and
+I'll slip out to the woods and gather flowers.
+
+ANNET.  How wild and unlikely you do talk, Mill.
+
+MILLIE.  In the dusk he'll never know that 'tisn't me.  Being
+cousins, we speak after the same fashion, and in the shape of us
+there's not much that's amiss.
+
+ANNET.  But in the clothing of us, Mill--why, 'tis a grand young lady
+that you look--whilst I -
+
+MILLIE.  [Taking up the silken cloak.]  Here--put this over your
+gown, Annet.
+
+ANNET.  [Standing up.]  I don't mind just trying it on, like.
+
+MILLIE.  [Fastening it.]  There--and now the bonnet, with the veil
+pulled over the face.
+
+[She ties the bonnet and arranges the veil on ANNET.
+
+MILLIE.  [Standing back and surveying her cousin.]  There, Annet,
+there May, who is to tell which of us 'tis?
+
+MAY.  [Coming forward.]  O I should never know that 'twasn't you,
+Cousin Mill.
+
+MILLIE.  And I could well mistake her for myself too, so listen,
+Annet.  'Tis you that shall talk with Master Andrew when he comes to-
+night.  And 'tis you that shall give him my answer.  I'll not burn my
+lips by speaking the word he asks of me.
+
+ANNET.  O Mill--I cannot--no I cannot.
+
+MILLIE.  Don't let him have it very easily, Annet.  Set him a ditch
+or two to jump before he gets there.  And let the thorns prick him a
+bit before he gathers the flower.  You know my way with him.
+
+MAY.  And I know it too, Millie--Why, your tongue, 'tis very near as
+sharp as when Aunt do speak.
+
+ANNET.  O Millie, take off these things--I cannot do it, that's the
+truth.
+
+MAY.  [Looking out through the door.]  There's Andrew a-coming over
+the mill yard.
+
+MILLIE.  Here, sit down, Annet, with the back of you to the light.
+
+[She pushes ANNET into a chair beneath the window.
+
+MAY.  Can I get into the cupboard and listen to it, Cousin Mill?
+
+MILLIE.  If you promise to bide quiet and to say naught of it
+afterwards.
+
+MAY.  O I promise, I promise--I'll just leave a crack of the door
+open for to hear well.
+
+[MAY gets into the cupboard.  MILLIE takes up ANNET'S new shawl and
+puts it all over her.
+
+MILLIE.  No one will think that 'tisn't you, in the dusk.
+
+ANNET.  O Millie, what is it that you've got me to do?
+
+MILLIE.  Never you mind, Annet--you shall see what 'tis to have a
+grand suitor and I shall get a little while of quiet out yonder,
+where I can think on Giles.
+
+[She runs out of the door just as ANDREW comes up.  ANDREW knocks and
+then enters the open door.
+
+ANDREW.  Where's Annet off to in such a hurry?
+
+ANNET.  [Very faintly.]  I'm sure I don't know.  [ANDREW lays aside
+his hat and comes up to the window.  He stands before ANNET looking
+down on her.  She becomes restless under his gaze, and at last signs
+to him to sit down.
+
+ANDREW.  [Sitting down on a chair a little way from her.]  The Master
+said that I might come along to-night, Millie--Otherwise--[ANNET is
+still silent.
+
+Otherwise I shouldn't have dared do so.
+
+[ANNET sits nervously twisting the ribbons of her cloak.
+
+The Master said, as how may be, your feeling for me, Millie, might be
+changed like.  [ANNET is still silent.
+
+And that if I was to ask you once more, very likely 'twould be
+something different as you might say.
+
+[A long silence.
+
+Was I wrong in coming, Millie?
+
+ANNET.  [Faintly.]  'Twould have been better had you stayed away
+like.
+
+ANDREW.  Then there isn't any change in your feelings towards me,
+Millie?
+
+ANNET.  O, there's a sort of a change, Andrew.
+
+ANDREW.  [Slowly.]  O Mill, that's good hearing.  What sort of a
+change is it then?
+
+ANNET.  'Tis very hard to say, Andrew.
+
+ANDREW.  Look you, Mill, 'tis more than a five year that I've been a-
+courting of you faithful.
+
+ANNET.  [Sighing.]  Indeed it is, Andrew.
+
+ANDREW.  And I've never got naught but blows for my pains.
+
+ANNET.  [Beginning to speak in a gentle voice and ending sharply.]  O
+I'm so sorry--No--I mean--'Tis your own fault, Andrew.
+
+ANDREW.  But I would sooner take blows from you than sweet words from
+another, Millie.
+
+ANNET.  I could never find it in my heart to--I mean, 'tis as well
+that you should get used to blows, seeing we're to be wed, Andrew.
+
+ANDREW.  Then 'tis to be!  O Millie, this is brave news--Why, I do
+scarcely know whether I be awake or dreaming.
+
+ANNET.  [Very sadly.]  Very likely you'll be glad enough to be
+dreaming a month from now, poor Andrew.
+
+ANDREW.  [Drawing nearer.]  I am brave, Millie, now that you speak to
+me so kind and gentle, and I'll ask you to name the day.
+
+ANNET.  [Shrinking back.]  O 'twill be a very long distance from now,
+Andrew.
+
+ANDREW.  Millie, it seems to be your pleasure to take up my heart and
+play with it same as a cat does with the mouse.
+
+ANNET.  [Becoming gay and hard in her manner.]  Your heart, Andrew?
+'Twill go all the better afterwards if 'tis tossed about a bit first.
+
+ANDREW.  Put an end to this foolishness, Mill, and say when you'll
+wed me.
+
+ANNET.  [Warding him off with her hand.]  You shall have my answer in
+a new song Andrew, which I have been learning.
+
+[ANDREW sits down despondently and prepares to listen.
+
+ANNET.  Now hark you to this, Andrew, and turn it well over in your
+mind.  [She begins to sing:
+
+Say can you plough me an acre of land
+Sing Ivy leaf, Sweet William and Thyme.
+Between the sea and the salt sea strand
+And you shall be a true lover of mine?
+
+[A slight pause.  ANNET looks questioningly at ANDREW, who turns away
+with a heavy sigh.
+
+ANNET.  [Singing.]
+
+Yes, if you plough it with one ram's horn
+Sing Ivy Leaf, Sweet William and Thyme
+And sow it all over with one peppercorn
+And you shall be a true lover of mine.
+
+ANDREW.  'Tis all foolishness.
+
+ANNET.  [Singing.]
+
+Say can you reap with a sickle of leather
+Sing Ivy Leaf, Sweet William and Thyme
+And tie it all up with a Tom-tit's feather
+And you shall be a true lover of mine.
+
+ANDREW.  [Rises up impatiently.]  I can stand no more.  You've danced
+upon my heart till 'tis fairly brittle, and ready to be broke by a
+feather.
+
+ANNET.  [Very gently.]  O Andrew, I'll mend your heart one day.
+
+ANDREW.  Millie, the sound of those words has mended it already.
+
+ANNET.  [In a harder voice.]  But very likely there'll be a crack
+left to it always.
+
+[FARMER DANIEL and ELIZABETH come into the room.
+
+DANIEL.  Well my boy, well Millie?
+
+ANDREW.  [Boldly.]  'Tis for a month from now.
+
+DANIEL.  Bless my soul.  Hear that, Mother?  Hear that?
+
+ELIZABETH.  I'm not deaf, Father.
+
+DANIEL.  [Shaking ANDREW'S hand.]  Ah my boy, I knowed as you'd bring
+the little maid to the senses of she.
+
+ELIZABETH.  Millie has not shown any backwardness in clothing herself
+as though for church.
+
+DANIEL.  'Tis with the maids as 'tis with the fowls when they be come
+out from moult.  They be bound to pick about this way and that in
+their new feathers.
+
+ELIZABETH.  Well, 'tis to be hoped the young people have fixed it up
+for good and all this time.
+
+DANIEL.  Come Mill, my wench, you be wonderful quiet.  Where's your
+tongue?
+
+ELIZABETH.  I think we've all had quite enough of Millie's tongue,
+Father.  Let her give it a rest if she've a mind.
+
+DANIEL.  I warrant she be gone as shy as a May bettel when 'tis
+daylight.  But us'll take it as she have fixed it up in her own mind
+like.  Come, Mother, such a time as this, you won't take no objection
+to the drawing of a jug of cider.
+
+ELIZABETH.  And supper just about to be served?  I'm surprised at
+you, Father.  No, I can't hear of cider being drawn so needless like.
+
+DANIEL.  Well, well,--have it your own way--but I always says, and my
+father used to say it afore I, a fine deed do call for a fine drink,
+and that's how 'twas in my time.
+
+ELIZABETH.  Millie, do you call your cousins in to supper.
+
+DANIEL.  Ah, and where be the maids gone off to this time of night,
+Mother?
+
+ANDREW.  Annet did pass me as I came through the yard, Master
+
+[MAY, quietly opens the cupboard door and comes out.
+
+ELIZABETH.  So that's where you've been, you deceitful little wench.
+
+ANDREW.  Well, to think of that, Millie.
+
+ELIZABETH.  And how long may you have bid there, I should like to
+know?
+
+DANIEL.  Come, come, my little maid, 'tis early days for you to be
+getting a lesson in courtship.
+
+MAY.  O there wasn't any courtship, Uncle, and I didn't hear nothing
+at all to speak of.
+
+ELIZABETH.  There, run along quick and find your sister.  Supper's
+late already, and that it is.
+
+ANNET.  I'll go with her.
+
+[She starts forward and hurriedly moves towards the door.
+
+ELIZABETH.  Stop a moment, Millie.  What are you thinking of to go
+trailing out in the dew with that beautiful cloak and bonnet.  Take
+and lay them in the box at once, do you hear?
+
+DANIEL.  That's it, Mill.  'Twouldn't do for to mess them up afore
+the day.  'Twas a fair price as I gived for they, and that I can tell
+you, my girl.
+
+[ANNET stops irresolutely.  MAY seizes her hand.
+
+MAY.  Come off, come off, "Cousin Millie"; 'tis not damp outside, and
+O I'm afeared to cross the rickyard by myself.
+
+[She pulls ANNET violently by the hand and draws her out of the door.
+
+ELIZABETH.  Off with the cloak this minute, Millie.
+
+MAY.  [Calling back.]  She's a-taking of it off, Aunt, she is.
+
+ELIZABETH.  I don't know what's come to the maid.  She don't act like
+herself to-day.
+
+DANIEL.  Ah, that be asking too much of a maid, to act like herself,
+and the wedding day close ahead of she.
+
+ELIZABETH.  I'd be content with a suitable behaviour, Father.  I'm
+not hard to please.
+
+DANIEL.  Ah, you take and let her go quiet, same as I lets th' old
+mare when her first comes up from grass.
+
+ELIZABETH.  'Tis all very well for you to talk, Father but 'tis I who
+have got to do.
+
+DANIEL.  Come Mother, come Andrew, I be sharp set.  And 'tis the feel
+of victuals and no words as I wants in my mouth.
+
+ELIZABETH.  Well, Father, I'm not detaining you.  There's the door,
+and the food has been cooling on the table this great while.
+
+DANIEL.  Come you, Andrew, come you, Mother.  Us'll make a bit of a
+marriage feast this night.
+
+[He leads the way and the others follow him out.
+
+[Curtain.]
+
+
+
+ACT II.--Scene 1.
+
+
+
+A woodland path.  GILES comes forward with his two servants, GEORGE
+and JOHN, who are carrying heavy packets.
+
+GILES.  'Tis powerful warm to-day.  We will take a bit of rest before
+we go further.
+
+GEORGE.  [Setting down his packet.]  That's it, master.  'Tis a rare
+weight as I've been carrying across my back since dawn.
+
+JOHN.  [Also setting down his burden.]  Ah, I be pleased for to lay
+aside yon.  'Tis wonderful heavy work, this journeying to and fro
+with gold and silver.
+
+GILES.  Our travelling is very nigh finished.  There lies the road
+which goes to Camel Farm.
+
+GEORGE.  Oh, I count as that must be a rare sort of a place, master.
+
+JOHN.  Seeing as us haven't stopped scarce an hour since us landed
+off the sea.
+
+GEORGE.  But have come running all the while same as the fox may run
+in th' early morning towards the poultry yard.
+
+JOHN.  Nor broke bread, nor scarce got a drop of drink to wet th'
+insides of we.
+
+GILES.  'Tis very little further that you have got to journey, my
+good lads.  We are nigh to the end of our wayfaring.
+
+GEORGE.  And what sort of a place be we a-coming to, master?
+
+GILES.  'Tis the place out of all the world to me.
+
+JOHN.  I count 'tis sommat rare and fine in that case, seeing as we
+be come from brave foreign parts, master.
+
+GILES.  'Tis rarer, and finer than all the foreign lands that lie
+beneath the sun, my lads.
+
+GEORGE.  That's good hearing, master.  And is the victuals like to be
+as fine as the place?
+
+GILES.  O, you'll fare well enough yonder.
+
+JOHN.  I was never one for foreign victuals, nor for the drink that
+was over there neither.
+
+GILES.  Well, the both of you shall rest this night beneath the
+grandest roof that ever sheltered a man's head.  And you shall sit at
+a table spread as you've not seen this many a year.
+
+GEORGE.  That'll be sommat to think on, master, when us gets upon our
+legs again.
+
+JOHN.  I be thinking of it ahead as I lies here, and that's the
+truth.
+
+[The two servants stretch themselves comfortably beneath the trees.
+GILES walks restlessly backwards and forwards as though impatient at
+any delay.  From time to time he glances at a ring which he wears,
+sighing heavily as he does so.
+
+[An old man comes up, leaning on his staff.
+
+OLD MAN.  Good-morning to you, my fine gentlemen.
+
+GILES.  Good-morning, master.
+
+OLD MAN.  'Tis a wonderful warm sun to-day.
+
+GILES.  You're right there, master.
+
+OLD MAN.  I warrant as you be journeying towards the same place where
+I be going, my lord.
+
+GILES.  And where is that, old master?
+
+OLD MAN.  Towards Camel Farm.
+
+GILES.  You're right.  'Tis there and nowhere else that we are going.
+
+OLD MAN.  Ah, us'll have to go smartish if us is to be there in time.
+
+GILES.  In time for what, my good man?
+
+OLD MAN.  In time for to see the marrying, my lord.
+
+GILES.  The marrying?  What's that you're telling me?
+
+OLD MAN.  'Tis at noon this day that she's to be wed.
+
+GILES.  Who are you speaking of, old man?
+
+OLD MAN.  And where is your lordship journeying this day if 'tis not
+to the marrying?
+
+GILES.  Who's getting wed up yonder, tell me quickly?
+
+OLD MAN.  'Tis th' old farmer's daughter what's to wed come noon-
+tide.
+
+GILES.  [Starting.]  Millie!  O that is heavy news.  [Looking at his
+hand.]  Then 'tis as I feared, for since daybreak yesterday the
+brightness has all gone from out of the seven stones.  That's how
+'twould be, she told me once.
+
+[He turns away from the others in deep distress of mind.
+
+GEORGE.  Us'll see no Camel Farm this day.
+
+JOHN.  And th' inside of I be crying out for victuals.
+
+OLD MAN.  Then you be not of these parts, masters?
+
+GEORGE.  No, us be comed from right over the seas, along of master.
+
+JOHN.  Ah, 'tis a fine gentleman, master.  But powerful misfortunate
+in things of the heart.
+
+GEORGE.  Ah, he'd best have stopped where he was.  Camel Farm baint
+no place for the like of he to go courting at.
+
+JOHN.  Ah, master be used to them great palaces, all over gold and
+marble with windows as you might drive a waggon through, and that you
+might.
+
+GEORGE.  All painted glass.  And each chair with golden legs to him,
+and a sight of silver vessels on the table as never you did dream of
+after a night's drinking, old man.  [GILES comes slowly towards them.
+
+GILES.  And who is she to wed, old man?
+
+OLD MAN.  Be you a-speaking of the young mistress up at Camel Farm,
+my lord?
+
+GILES.  Yes.  With whom does she go to church to-day?
+
+OLD MAN.  'Tis along of Master Andrew that her do go.  What lives up
+Cranham way.
+
+GILES.  Ah, th' old farmer was always wonderful set on him.  [A
+pause.
+
+OLD MAN.  I be a poor old wretch what journeys upon the roads,
+master, and maybe I picks a crust here and gets a drink of water
+there, and the shelter of the pig-stye wall to rest the bones of me
+at night time.
+
+GILES.  What matters it if you be old and poor, master, so that the
+heart of you be whole and unbroken?
+
+OLD MAN.  Us poor old wretches don't carry no hearts to th' insides
+of we.  The pains of us do come from the having of no victuals and
+from the winter's cold when snow do lie on the ground and the wind do
+moan over the fields, and when the fox do bark.
+
+GILES.  What is the pang of hunger and the cold bite of winter set
+against the cruel torment of a disappointed love?
+
+OLD MAN.  I baint one as can judge of that, my lord, seeing that I be
+got a poor old badger of a man, and the days when I was young and did
+carry a heart what could beat with love, be ahind of I, and the feel
+of them clean forgot.
+
+GILES.  Then what do you up yonder at the marrying this morning?
+
+OLD MAN.  Oh, I do take me to those places where there be burying or
+marriage, for the hearts of folk at these seasons be warmed and
+kinder, like.  And 'tis bread and meat as I gets then.  Food be
+thrown out to the poor old dog what waits patient at the door.
+
+GILES.  [Looks intently at him for a moment.]  See here, old master.
+I would fain strike a bargain with you.  And 'tis with a handful of
+golden pieces that I will pay your service.
+
+OLD MAN.  Anything to oblige you, my young lord.
+
+GILES.  [To GEORGE.]  Take out a handful from the bag of gold.  And
+you, John, give him some of the silver.
+
+[GEORGE and JOHN untie their bags and take out gold and silver.  They
+twist it up in a handkerchief which they give to the old man.]
+
+OLD MAN.  May all the blessings of heaven rest on you, my lord, for
+'tis plain to see that you be one of the greatest and finest
+gentlemen ever born to the land.
+
+GILES.  My good friend, you're wrong there, I was a poor country lad,
+but I had the greatest treasure that a man could hold on this earth.
+'Twas the love of my cousin Millie.  And being poor, I was put from
+out the home, and sent to seek my fortune in parts beyond the sea.
+
+OLD MAN.  Now, who'd have thought 'twas so, for the looks of you be
+gentle born all over.
+
+GILES.  "Come back with a bushel of gold in one hand and one of
+silver in t'other" the old farmer said to me, "and then maybe I'll
+let you wed my daughter."
+
+OLD MAN.  And here you be comed back, and there lie the gold and the
+silver bags.
+
+GILES.  And yonder is Millie given in marriage to another.
+
+GEORGE.  'Taint done yet, master.
+
+JOHN.  'Tisn't too late, by a long way, master.
+
+GILES.  [To OLD MAN.]  And so I would crave something of you, old
+friend.  Lend me your smock, and your big hat and your staff.  In
+that disguise I will go to the farm and look upon my poor false love
+once more.  If I find that her heart is already given to another, I
+shall not make myself known to her.  But if she still holds to her
+love for me, then -
+
+GEORGE.  Go in the fine clothes what you have upon you, master.  And
+even should the maid's heart, be given to another, the sight of so
+grand a cloth and such laces will soon turn it the right way again.
+
+JOHN.  Ah, that's so, it is.  You go as you be clothed now, master.
+I know what maids be, and 'tis finery and good coats which do work
+more on the hearts of they nor anything else in the wide world.
+
+GILES.  No, no, my lads.  I will return as I did go from yonder.
+Poor, and in mean clothing.  Nor shall a glint of all my wealth speak
+one word for me.  But if so be as her heart is true in spite of
+everything, my sorrowful garments will not hide my love away from
+her.
+
+OLD MAN.  [Taking off his hat.]  Here you are master.
+
+[GILES hands his own hat to GEORGE.  He then takes off his coat and
+gives it to JOHN.  The OLD MAN takes off his smock, GILES puts it on.
+
+OLD MAN.  Pull the hat well down about the face of you, master, so as
+the smooth skin of you be hid.
+
+GILES.  [Turning round in his disguise.]  How's that, my friends?
+
+GEORGE.  You be a sight too straight in the back, master.
+
+GILES.  [Stooping.]  I'll soon better that.
+
+JOHN.  Be you a-going in them fine buckled shoes, master?
+
+GILES.  I had forgot the shoes.  When I get near to the house 'tis
+barefoot that I will go.
+
+GEORGE.  Then let us be off, master, for the' time be running short.
+
+JOHN.  Ah, that 'tis.  I count it be close on noon-day now by the
+look of the sun.
+
+OLD MAN.  And heaven be with you, my young gentleman.
+
+GILES.  My good friends, you shall go with me a little further.  And
+when we have come close upon the farm, you shall stop in the shelter
+of a wood that I know of and await the signal I shall give you.
+
+GEORGE.  And what'll that be, master?
+
+GILES.  I shall blow three times, and loudly from my whistle, here.
+
+JOHN.  And be we to come up to the farm when we hears you?
+
+GILES.  As quickly as you can run.  'Twill be the sign that I need
+all of you with me.
+
+GEORGE and JOHN.  That's it, master.  Us do understand what 'tis as
+we have got to do.
+
+OLD MAR.  Ah, 'tis best to be finished with hearts that beat to the
+tune of a maid's tongue, and to creep quiet along the roads with
+naught but them pains as hunger and thirst do bring to th' inside.
+So 'tis.
+
+[Curtain.]
+
+
+
+ACT III.--Scene 1.
+
+
+
+The parlour at Camel Farm.  ELIZABETH, in her best dress, is moving
+about the room putting chairs in their places and arranging ornaments
+on the dresser, etc.  MAY stands at the door with a large bunch of
+flowers in her hands.
+
+ELIZABETH.  And what do you want to run about in the garden for when
+I've just smoothed your hair and got you all ready to go to church?
+
+MAY.  I've only been helping Annet gather some flowers to put upon
+the table.
+
+ELIZABETH.  You should know better then.  Didn't I tell you to sit
+still in that chair with your hands folded nicely till we were ready
+to start.
+
+MAY.  Why, I couldn't be sitting there all the while, now could I,
+Aunt?
+
+ELIZABETH.  This'll be the last time as I tie your ribbon, mind.
+
+[She smoothes MAY's hair and ties it up for her.  ANNET comes into
+the room with more flowers.
+
+ELIZABETH.  What's your cousin doing now, Annet?
+
+ANNET.  The door of her room is still locked, Aunt.  And what she
+says is that she do want to bide alone there
+
+ELIZABETH.  In all my days I never did hear tell of such a thing, I
+don't know what's coming to the world, I don't.
+
+MAY.  I count that Millie do like to be all to herself whilst she is
+a-dressing up grand in her white gown, and the silken cloak and
+bonnet.
+
+ANNET.  Millie's not a-dressing of herself up.  I heard her crying
+pitiful as I was gathering flowers in the garden.
+
+ELIZABETH.  Crying?  She'll have something to cry about if she
+doesn't look out, when her father comes in, and hears how she's a-
+going on.
+
+MAY.  I wonder why Cousin Millie's taking on like this.  I shouldn't,
+if 'twas me getting married.
+
+ELIZABETH.  Look you, May, you get and run up, and knock at the door
+and tell her that 'twill soon be time for us to set off to church and
+that she have got to make haste in her dressing.
+
+MAY.  I'll run, Aunt, only 'tis very likely as she'll not listen to
+anything that I say.  [MAY goes out.
+
+ELIZABETH.  Now Annet, no idling here, if you please.  Set the
+nosegay in water, and when you've given a look round to see that
+everything is in its place, upstairs with you, and on with your
+bonnet, do you hear?  Uncle won't wish to be kept waiting for you,
+remember.
+
+ANNET.  I'm all ready dressed, except for my bonnet, Aunt.  'Tis
+Millie that's like to keep Uncle waiting this morning.  [She goes
+out.
+
+[DANIEL comes in.
+
+DANIEL.  Well, Mother--well, girls--but, bless my soul, where's
+Millie got to?
+
+ELIZABETH.  Millie has not seen fit to shew herself this morning,
+Father.  She's biding up in her room with the door locked, and
+nothing that I've been able to say has been attended to, so perhaps
+you'll kindly have your try.
+
+DANIEL.  Bless my soul--where's May?  Where's Annet?  Send one of the
+little maids up to her, and tell her 'tis very nigh time for us to be
+off.
+
+ELIZABETH.  I'm fairly tired of sending up to her, Father.  You'd
+best go yourself.
+
+[MAY comes into the room.
+
+MAY.  Please Aunt, the door, 'tis still locked, and Millie is crying
+ever so sadly within, and she won't open to me, nor speak, nor
+nothing.
+
+ELIZABETH.  There, Father,--perhaps you'll believe what I tell you
+another time.  Millie has got that hardened and wayward, there's no
+managing of her, there's not.
+
+DANIEL.  Ah, 'twon't be very long as us'll have the managing of she.
+'Twill be young Andrew as'll take she in hand after this day.
+
+ELIZABETH.  'Tis all very well to talk of young Andrew, but who's a-
+going to get her to church with him I'd like to know.
+
+DANIEL.  Why, 'tis me as'll do it, to be sure.
+
+ELIZABETH.  Very well, Father, and we shall all be much obliged to
+you.
+
+[DANIEL goes to the door and shouts up the stairs.
+
+DANIEL.  Well, Millie, my wench.  Come you down here.  'Tis time we
+did set out.  Do you hear me, Mill.  'Tis time we was off.
+
+[ELIZABETH waits listening.  No answer comes.
+
+DANIEL.  Don't you hear what I be saying, Mill?  Come you down at
+once.  [There is no answer.
+
+DANIEL.  Millie, there be Andrew a-waiting for to take you to church.
+Come you down this minute.
+
+ELIZABETH.  You'd best take sommat and go and break open the door,
+Father.  'Tis the sensiblest thing as you can do, only you'd never
+think of anything like that by yourself.
+
+DANIEL.  I likes doing things my own way, Mother.  Women-folk, they
+be so buzzing.  'Tis like a lot of insects around of anyone on a
+summer's day.  A-saying this way and that--whilst a man do go at
+anything quiet and calm-like.  [ANNET comes in.
+
+ANNET.  Please, Uncle, Millie says that she isn't coming down for no
+one.
+
+DANIEL.  [Roaring in fury.]  What!  What's that, my wench--isn't a-
+coming down for no one?  Hear that, Mother, hear that?  I'll have
+sommat to say to that, I will.  [Going to the door.
+
+DANIEL.  [Roaring up the stairs.]  Hark you, Mill, down you comes
+this moment else I'll smash the door right in, and that I will.
+
+[DANIEL comes back into the room, storming violently.
+
+DANIEL.  Ah, 'tis a badly bred up wench is Millie, and her'd have
+growed up very different if I'd a-had the bringing up of she.  But
+spoiled she is and spoiled her've always been, and what could anyone
+look for from a filly what's been broke in by women folk!
+
+ELIZABETH.  There, there, Father--there's no need to bluster in this
+fashion.  Take up the poker and go and break into the door quiet and
+decent, like anyone else would do.  And girls--off for your bonnets
+this moment I tell you.
+
+[She takes up a poker and hands it to DANIEL, who mops his face and
+goes slowly out and upstairs.  ANNET and MAY leave the room.  The
+farmer is heard banging at the door of Millie's bedroom.
+
+[ELIZABETH moves about the room setting it in order.  ANDREW comes in
+at the door.  He carries a bunch of flowers, which he lays on the
+table.
+
+ANDREW.  Good-morning to you, mistress.
+
+ELIZABETH.  Good-morning, Andrew.
+
+ANDREW.  What's going on upstairs?
+
+ELIZABETH.  'Tis Father at a little bit of carpentering.
+
+ANDREW.  I'm come too soon, I reckon.
+
+ELIZABETH.  We know what young men be upon their wedding morn!  I
+warrant as the clock can't run too fast for them at such a time.
+
+ANDREW.  You're right there, mistress.  But the clock have moved
+powerful slow all these last few weeks--for look you here, 'tis a
+month this day since I last set eyes on Mill or had a word from her
+lips--so 'tis.
+
+ELIZABETH.  You'll have enough words presently.  Hark, she's coming
+down with Father now.
+
+[ANDREW turns eagerly towards the door.  The farmer enters with
+MILLIE clinging to his arm, she wears her ordinary dress.  Her hair
+is ruffled and in disorder, and she has been crying.
+
+DANIEL.  Andrew, my lad, good morning to you.
+
+ANDREW.  Good morning, master.
+
+DANIEL.  You mustn't mind a bit of an April shower, my boy.  'Tis the
+way with all maids on their wedding morn.  Isn't that so, Mother?
+
+ELIZABETH.  I wouldn't make such a show of myself if I was you, Mill.
+Go upstairs this minute and wash your face and smooth your hair and
+put yourself ready for church.
+
+DANIEL.  Nay, she be but just come from upstairs, Mother.  Let her
+bide quiet a while with young Andrew here; whilst do you come along
+with me and get me out my Sunday coat.  'Tis time I was dressed for
+church too, I'm thinking.
+
+ELIZABETH.  I don't know what's come to the house this morning, and
+that's the truth.  Andrew, I'll not have you keep Millie beyond a
+five minutes.  'Tis enough of one another as you'll get later on,
+like.  Father, go you off upstairs for your coat.  'Tis hard work for
+me, getting you all to act respectable, that 'tis.
+
+[DANIEL and ELIZABETH leave the room.  ANDREW moves near MILLIE and
+holds out both his hands.  She draws herself haughtily away.
+
+ANDREW.  Millie--'tis our wedding day.
+
+MILLIE.  And what if it is, Andrew.
+
+ANDREW.  Millie, it cuts me to the heart to see your face all wet
+with tears.
+
+MILLIE.  Did you think to see it otherwise, Andrew?
+
+ANDREW.  No smile upon your lips, Millie.
+
+MILLIE.  Have I anything to smile about, Andrew?
+
+ANDREW.  No love coming from your eyes, Mill.
+
+MILLIE.  That you have never seen, Andrew.
+
+ANDREW.  And all changed in the voice of you too.
+
+MILLIE.  What do you mean by that, Andrew?
+
+ANDREW.  Listen, Millie--'tis a month since I last spoke with you.
+Do you recollect?  'Twas the evening of the great Fair.
+
+MILLIE And what if it was?
+
+ANDREW.  Millie, you were kinder to me that night than ever you had
+been before.  I seemed to see such a gentle look in your eyes then.
+And when you spoke, 'twas as though--as though--well--'twas one of
+they quists a-cooing up in the trees as I was put in mind of.
+
+MILLIE.  Well, there's nothing more to be said about that now,
+Andrew.  That night's over and done with.
+
+ANDREW.  I've carried the thought of it in my heart all this time,
+Millie.
+
+MILLIE.  I never asked you to, Andrew.
+
+ANDREW.  I've brought you a nosegay of flowers, Mill.  They be rare
+blossoms with grand names what I can't recollect to all of them.
+
+[MILLIE takes the nosegay, looks at it for an instant, and then lets
+it fall.
+
+MILLIE.  I have no liking for flowers this day, Andrew.
+
+ANDREW.  O Millie, and is it so as you and me are going to our
+marriage?
+
+MILLIE.  Yes, Andrew.  'Tis so.  I never said it could be different.
+I have no heart to give you.  My love was given long ago to another.
+And that other has forgotten me by now.
+
+ANDREW.  O Millie, you shall forget him too when once you are wed to
+me, I promise you.
+
+MILLIE.  'Tis beyond the power of you or any man to make me do that,
+Andrew.
+
+ANDREW.  Millie, what's the good of we two going on to church one
+with t'other?
+
+MILLIE.  There's no good at all, Andrew.
+
+ANDREW.  Millie, I could have sworn that you had begun to care sommat
+more than ordinary for me that last time we were together.
+
+MILLIE.  Then you could have sworn wrong.  I care nothing for you,
+Andrew, no, nothing.  But I gave my word I'd go to church with you
+and be wed.  And--I'll not break my word, I'll not.
+
+ANDREW.  And is this all that you can say to me to-day, Mill?
+
+MILLIE.  Yes, Andrew, 'tis all.  And now, 'tis very late, and I have
+got to dress myself.
+
+ELIZABETH.  [Calling loudly from above.]  Millie, what are you
+stopping for?  Come you up here and get your gown on, do.
+
+[MILLIE looks haughtily at ANDREW as she passes him.  She goes slowly
+out of the room.
+
+[ANDREW picks up the flowers and stands holding them, looking
+disconsolately down upon them.  MAY comes in, furtively.
+
+MAY.  All alone, Andrew?  Has Millie gone to put her fine gown on?
+
+ANDREW.  Yes, Millie's gone to dress herself.
+
+MAY.  O that's a beautiful nosegay, Andrew.  Was it brought for Mill?
+
+ANDREW.  Yes, May, but she won't have it.
+
+MAY.  Millie don't like you very much, Andrew, do she?
+
+ANDREW.  Millie's got quite changed towards me since last time.
+
+MAY.  And when was that, Andrew?
+
+ANDREW.  Why, last time was the evening of the Fair, May.
+
+MAY.  When I was hid in the cupboard yonder, Andrew?
+
+ANDREW.  So you were, May.  Well, can't you recollect how 'twas that
+she spoke to me then?
+
+MAY.  O yes, Andrew, and that I can.  'Twas a quist a-cooing in the
+tree one time--and then--she did recollect herself and did sharpen up
+her tongue and 'twas another sort of bird what could drive its beak
+into the flesh of anyone--so 'twas.
+
+ANDREW.  O May--you say she did recollect herself--what do you mean
+by those words?
+
+MAY.  You see, she did give her word that she would speak sharp and
+rough to you.
+
+ANDREW.  What are you talking about, May?  Do you mean that the
+tongue of her was not speaking as the heart of her did feel?
+
+MAY.  I guess 'twas sommat like that, Andrew.
+
+ANDREW.  O May, you have gladdened me powerful by these words.
+
+MAY.  But, O you must not tell of me, Andrew.
+
+ANDREW.  I will never do so, May--only I shall know better how to be
+patient, and to keep the spirit of me up next time that she do strike
+out against me.
+
+MAY.  I'm not a-talking of Mill, Andrew.
+
+ANDREW.  Who are you talking of then, I'd like to know?
+
+MAY.  'Twas Annet.
+
+ANDREW.  What was?
+
+MAY.  Annet who was dressed up in the cloak and bonnet of Millie that
+night and who did speak with you so gentle and nice.
+
+ANDREW.  Annet!
+
+ELIZABETH.  [Is heard calling.]  There, father, come along down and
+give your face a wash at the pump.
+
+MAY.  Let's go quick together into the garden, Andrew, and I'll tell
+you all about it and how 'twas that Annet acted so.
+
+[She seizes ANDREW'S hand and pulls him out of the room with her.
+
+[Curtain.]
+
+
+
+ACT III.--Scene 2.
+
+
+
+A few minutes later.
+
+ELIZABETH stands tying her bonnet strings before a small mirror on
+the wall.  DANIEL is mopping his face with a big, bright
+handkerchief.  ANNET, dressed for church, is by the table.  She sadly
+takes up the nosegay of flowers which ANDREW brought for MILLIE, and
+moves her hand caressingly over it.
+
+ELIZABETH.  If you think that your neckerchief is put on right 'tis
+time you should know different, Father.
+
+DANIEL.  What's wrong with it then, I'd like to know?
+
+ELIZABETH.  'Tis altogether wrong.  'Tis like the two ears of a
+heifer sticking out more than anything else that I can think on.
+
+DANIEL.  Have it your own way, Mother--and fix it as you like.
+
+[He stands before her and she rearranges it.
+
+ANNET.  These flowers were lying on the ground.
+
+ELIZABETH.  Thrown there in a fine fit of temper, I warrant.
+
+DANIEL.  Her was as quiet as a new born lamb once the door was broke
+open and she did see as my word, well, 'twas my word.
+
+ELIZABETH.  We all hear a great deal about your word, Father, but
+'twould be better for there to be more do and less say about you.
+
+DANIEL.  [Going over to Annet and looking at her intently.]  Why, my
+wench--what be you a-dropping tears for this day?
+
+ANNET.  [Drying her eyes.]  'Twas--'twas the scent out of one of the
+flowers as got to my eyes, Uncle.
+
+DANIEL.  Well, that's a likely tale it is.  Hear that, Mother?  'Tis
+with her eyes that this little wench do snuff at a flower.  That's
+good, bain't it?
+
+ELIZABETH.  I haven't patience with the wenches now-a-days.  Lay down
+that nosegay at once, Annet, and call your cousin from her room.  I
+warrant she has finished tricking of herself up by now.
+
+DANIEL.  Ah, I warrant as her'll need a smartish bit of time for to
+take the creases out of the face of she.
+
+[ANDREW and MAY come in.]
+
+DANIEL.  Well, Andrew, my lad, 'tis about time as we was on the way
+to church I reckon.
+
+ANDREW.  I count as 'tis full early yet, master.
+
+[He takes up the nosegay from the table and crosses the room to the
+window where ANNET is standing, and trying to control her tears.
+
+ANDREW.  Annet, Millie will have none of my blossoms.  I should like
+it well if you would carry them in your hand to church this day.
+
+ANNET.  [Looking wonderingly at him.]  Me, Andrew?
+
+ANDREW.  Yes, you, Annet.  For, look you, they become you well.  They
+have sommat of the sweetness of you in them.  And the touch of them
+is soft and gentle.  And--I would like you to keep them in your hands
+this day, Annet.
+
+ANNET.  O Andrew, I never was given anything like this before.
+
+ANDREW.  [Slowly.]  I should like to give you a great deal more,
+Annet--only I cannot.  And 'tis got too late.
+
+ELIZABETH.  Too late--I should think it was.  What's come to the
+maid!  In my time girls didn't use to spend a quarter of the while
+afore the glass as they do now.  Suppose you was to holler for her
+again, Father.
+
+DANIEL.  Anything to please you, Mother -
+
+MAY.  I hear her coming, Uncle.  I hear the noise of the silk.
+
+[MILLIE comes slowly into the room in her wedding clothes.  She holds
+herself very upright and looks from one to another quietly and
+coldly.
+
+MAY.  Andrew's gived your nosegay to Annet, Millie.
+
+MILLIE.  'Twould have been a pity to have wasted the fresh blossoms.
+
+MAY.  But they were gathered for you, Mill.
+
+MILLIE.  Annet seems to like them better than I did.
+
+DANIEL.  Well, my wench--you be tricked out as though you was off to
+the horse show.  Mother, there bain't no one as can beat our wench in
+looks anywhere this side of the country.
+
+ELIZABETH.  She's right enough in the clothing of her, but 'twould be
+better if her looks did match the garments more.  Come, Millie, can't
+you appear pleasanter like on your wedding day?
+
+MILLIE.  I'm very thirsty, Mother.  Could I have a drink of water
+before we set out?
+
+ELIZABETH.  And what next, I should like to know?
+
+MILLIE.  'Tis only a drink of water that I'm asking for.
+
+DANIEL.  Well, that's reasonable, Mother, bain't it?
+
+ELIZABETH.  Run along and get some for your cousin, May.  [MAY runs
+out of the room.
+
+DANIEL.  Come you here, Andrew, did you ever see a wench to beat ourn
+in looks, I say?
+
+ANDREW.  [Who has remained near ANNET without moving.]  'Tis very
+fine that Millie's looking.
+
+DANIEL.  Fine, I should think 'twas.  You was a fine looking wench,
+Mother, the day I took you to church, but 'tis my belief that Millie
+have beat you in the appearance of her same as the roan heifer did
+beat th' old cow when the both was took along to market.  Ah, and did
+fetch very near the double of what I gived for the dam.
+
+[MAY returns carrying a glass bowl full of water.
+
+MAY.  Here's a drink of cold water, Millie.  I took it from the
+spring.
+
+[MILLIE takes the bowl.  At the same moment a loud knocking is heard
+at the outside door.
+
+ELIZABETH.  Who's that, I should like to know?
+
+[MILLIE sets down the bowl on the table.  She listens with a sudden
+intent, anxiety on her face as the knock is repeated.
+
+DANIEL.  I'll learn anyone to come meddling with me on a day when
+'tis marrying going on.
+
+[The knocking is again heard.
+
+MILLIE.  [To MAY, who would have opened the door.]  No, no.  'Tis I
+who will open the door.
+
+[She raises the latch and flings the door wide open.  GILES disguised
+as a poor and bent old man, comes painfully into the room.
+
+ELIZABETH.  We don't want no beggars nor roadsters here to-day, if
+you please.
+
+DANIEL.  Ah, and that us don't.  Us be a wedding party here, and 'tis
+for you to get moving on, old man.
+
+MILLIE.  He is poor and old.  And he has wandered far, in the heat of
+the morning.  Look at his sad clothing.
+
+ANDREW.  [To ANNET.]  I never heard her put so much gentleness to her
+words afore.
+
+MILLIE.  And 'tis my wedding day.  He shall not go uncomforted from
+here.
+
+ELIZABETH.  I never knowed you so careful of a poor wretch afore,
+Millie.  'Tis quite a new set out, this.
+
+MILLIE.  I am in mind of another, who may be wandering, and hungered,
+and in poor clothing this day.
+
+MAY.  Give him something quick, Aunt, and let him get off so that we
+can start for the wedding.
+
+MILLIE.  [Coming close to GILES.]  What is it I can do for you,
+master?
+
+GILES.  'Tis only a drink of water that I ask, mistress.
+
+MILLIE.  [Taking up the glass bowl.]  Only a drink of water, master?
+Then take, and be comforted.
+
+[She holds the bowl before him for him to drink.  As he takes it, he
+drops a ring into the water.  He then drinks and hands the bowl back
+to MILLIE.  For a moment she gazes speechless at the bottom of the
+bowl.  Then she lifts the ring from it and would drop the bowl but
+for MAY, who takes it from her.
+
+MILLIE.  Master, from whom did you get this?
+
+GILES.  Look well at the stones of it, mistress, for they are clouded
+and dim.
+
+MILLIE.  And not more clouded than the heart which is in me, master.
+O do you bring me news?
+
+GILES.  Is it not all too late for news, mistress?
+
+MILLIE.  Not if it be the news for which my heart craves, master.
+
+GILES.  And what would that be, mistress?
+
+[MILLIE goes to GILES, and with both hands slowly pushes back his big
+hat and gazes at him.
+
+MILLIE.  O Giles, my true love.  You are come just in time.  Another
+hour and I should have been wed.
+
+GILES.  And so you knew me, Mill?
+
+MILLIE.  O Giles, no change of any sort could hide you from the eyes
+of my love.
+
+GILES.  Your love, Millie.  And is that still mine?
+
+MILLIE.  It always has been yours, Giles.  O I will go with you so
+gladly in poor clothing and in hunger all over the face of the earth.
+
+[She goes to him and clasps his arm; and, standing by his side, faces
+all those in the room.
+
+ELIZABETH.  [Angrily.]  Please to come to your right senses, Millie.
+
+DANIEL.  Come, Andrew, set your foot down as I've set mine.
+
+ANDREW.  Nay, master.  There's naught left for me to say.  The heart
+does shew us better nor all words which way we have to travel.
+
+MAY.  And are you going to marry a beggar man instead of Andrew, who
+looks so brave and fine in his wedding clothes, Millie?
+
+MILLIE.  I am going to marry him I have always loved, May--and--O
+Andrew, I never bore you malice, though I did say cruel and hard
+words to you sometimes.--But you'll not remember me always--you will
+find gladness too, some day.
+
+ANDREW.  I count as I shall, Millie.
+
+DANIEL.  Come, come, I'll have none of this--my daughter wed to a
+beggar off the highway!  Mother, 'tis time you had a word here.
+
+ELIZABETH.  No, Father, I'll leave you to manage this affair.  'Tis
+you who have spoiled Mill and brought her up so wayward and unruly,
+and 'tis to you I look for to get us out of this unpleasant position.
+
+MAY.  Dear Millie--don't wed my brother Giles.  Why, look at his
+ragged smock and his bare feet.
+
+MILLIE.  I shall be proud to go bare too, so long as I am by his
+side, May.
+
+[GILES goes to the door and blows his whistle three times and loudly.
+
+MAY.  What's that for, Giles?
+
+GILES.  You shall soon see, little May.
+
+DANIEL.  I'll be hanged if I'll stand any more of this caddling
+nonsense.  Here, Mill--the trap's come to the door.  Into it with
+you, I say.
+
+GILES.  I beg you to wait a moment, master.
+
+DANIEL.  Wait!--'Tis a sight too long as we have waited this day.  If
+all had been as I'd planned, we should have been to church by now.
+But womenfolk, there be no depending on they.  No, and that there
+bain't.
+
+[GEORGE, JOHN and the OLD MAN come up.  GEORGE and JOHN carry their
+packets and the OLD MAN has GILES' coat and hat over his arm.
+
+ELIZABETH.  And who are these persons, Giles?
+
+[GEORGE and JOHN set down their burdens on the floor and begin to mop
+their faces.  The OLD MAN stretches out his fine coat and hat and
+buckled shoes to GILES.
+
+OLD MAN.  Here they be, my lord, and I warrant as you'll feel more
+homely like in they, nor what you've got upon you now.  [GILES takes
+the things from him.
+
+GILES.  Thank you, old master.  [He turns to MILLIE.]  Let me go into
+the other room, Millie.  I will not keep you waiting longer than a
+few moments.
+
+[He goes out.
+
+ELIZABETH.  [To GEORGE.]  And who may you be, I should like to know?
+You appear to be making very free with my parlour.
+
+GEORGE.  We be the servants what wait upon Master Giles, old Missis.
+
+ELIZABETH.  Old Missis, indeed.  Father, you shall speak to these
+persons.
+
+DANIEL.  Well, my men.  I scarce do know whether I be a-standing on
+my head or upon my heels, and that's the truth 'tis.
+
+GEORGE.  Ah, and that I can well understand, master, for I'm a
+married man myself, and my woman has a tongue to her head very
+similar to that of th' old missis yonder--so I know what 'tis.
+
+ELIZABETH.  Put them both out of the door, Father, do you hear me?
+'Tis to the cider as they've been getting.  That's clear.
+
+MILLIE.  My good friends, what is it that you carry in those bundles
+there?
+
+GEORGE.  'Tis gold in mine.
+
+JOHN.  And silver here.
+
+ELIZABETH.  Depend upon it 'tis two wicked thieves we have got among
+us, flying from justice.
+
+MILLIE.  No, no--did not you hear them say, their master is Giles.
+
+GEORGE.  And a better master never trod the earth.
+
+JOHN.  And a finer or a richer gentleman I never want to see.
+
+ELIZABETH.  Do you hear that, Father?  O you shocking liars--'tis
+stolen goods that you've been and brought to our innocent house this
+day.  But, Father, do you up and fetch in the constable, do you hear?
+
+MAY.  O I'll run.  I shall love to see them going off to gaol.
+
+MILLIE.  Be quiet, May.  Can't you all see how 'tis.  Giles has done
+the cruel hard task set him by Father--and is back again with the
+bushel of silver and that of gold to claim my hand.  [GILES enters.]
+But Giles--I'd have given it to you had you come to me poor and
+forlorn and ragged, for my love has never wandered from you in all
+this long time.
+
+ANDREW.  No, Giles--and that it has not.  Millie has never given me
+one kind word nor one gentle look all the years that I've been
+courting of her, and that's the truth.  And you can call witness to
+it if you care.
+
+GILES.  Uncle, Aunt, I've done the task you set me years ago--and now
+I claim my reward.  I went from this house a poor wretch, with
+nothing but the hopeless love in my heart to feed and sustain me.  I
+have returned with all that the world can give me of riches and
+prosperity.  Will you now let me be the husband of your daughter?
+
+MILLIE.  O say ye, Uncle, for look how fine and grand he is in his
+coat--and the bags are stuffed full to the brim and 'tis with gold
+and silver.
+
+ELIZABETH.  Well--'tis a respectabler end than I thought as you'd
+come to, Giles.  And different nor what you deserved.
+
+DANIEL.  Come, come, Mother.--The fewer words to this, the better.
+Giles, my boy--get you into the trap and take her along to the church
+and drive smart.
+
+ANDREW.  Annet--will you come there with me too?
+
+ANNET.  O Andrew--what are you saying?
+
+DANIEL.  Come, come.  Where's the wind blowing from now?  Here,
+Mother, do you listen to this.
+
+ELIZABETH.  I shall be deaf before I've done, but it appears to me
+that Annet's not lost any time in making the most of her chances.
+
+DANIEL.  Ah, and she be none the worse for that.  'Tis what we all
+likes to do.  Where'd I be in the market if I did let my chances blow
+by me?  Hear that, Andrew?
+
+ANDREW.  I'm a rare lucky man this day, farmer.
+
+DANIEL.  Ah, and 'tis a rare good little wench, Annet--though she
+bain't so showy as our'n.  A rare good little maid.  And now 'tis
+time we was all off to church, seeing as this is to be a case of
+double harness like.
+
+MAY.  O Annet, you can't be wed in that plain gown.
+
+ANNET.  May, I'm so happy that I feel as though I were clothed all
+over with jewels.
+
+ANDREW.  Give me your hand, Annet.
+
+MAY.  [Mockingly.]  Millie--don't you want to give a drink of water
+to yon poor old man?
+
+MILLIE.  That I will, May?  Here--fetch me something that's better
+than water for him.
+
+ELIZABETH.  I'll have no cider drinking out of meal times here.
+
+MILLIE.  Then 'twill I have to be when we come back from church.
+
+OLD MAN.  Bless you, my pretty lady, but I be used to waiting.  I'll
+just sit me down outside in the sun till you be man and wife.
+
+ELIZABETH.  And that'll not be till this day next year if this sort
+of thing goes on any longer.
+
+DANIEL.  That's right, Mother.  You take and lead the way.  'Tis the
+womenfolk as do keep we back from everything.  But I knows how to
+settle with they--[roaring]--come Mill, come Giles, Andrew, Annet,
+May.  Come Mother, out of th' house with all of you and to church, I
+say.
+
+[He gets behind them all and drives them before him and out of the
+room.  When they have gone, the OLD MAN sinks on a bench in the door-
+way.
+
+OLD MAN.  I'm done with all the foolishness of life and I can sit me
+down and sleep till it be time to eat.
+
+[Curtain.]
+
+
+
+
+BUSHES AND BRIARS
+
+
+
+
+CHARACTERS
+
+THOMAS SPRING, a farmer, aged 35.
+EMILY, his wife, the same age.
+CLARA, his sister, aged 21.
+JESSIE AND ROBIN, the children of Thomas and Emily, aged 10 and 8.
+JOAN, maid to Clara.
+MILES HOOPER, a rich draper.
+LUKE JENNER, a farmer.
+LORD LOVEL.
+GEORGE, aged 28.
+
+
+
+ACT I.--Scene 1.
+
+
+
+A wood.  It is a morning in June.
+
+GEORGE, carrying an empty basket, comes slowly through the wood.  On
+reaching a fallen tree he sits down on it, placing his basket on the
+ground.  With his stick he absently moves the grass and leaves that
+lie before him, and is so deeply lost in his own thoughts that he
+does not hear the approach of MILES and LUKE until they are by his
+side.
+
+MILES.  Here's the very man to tell us all we want to know.
+
+LUKE.  Why, if 'tisn't George from Ox Lease.
+
+[GEORGE half rises.
+
+MILES.  No, sit you down again, my lad, and we'll rest awhile by the
+side of you.
+
+LUKE.  That's it, Miles.  Nothing couldn't have fallen out better for
+us, I'm thinking.
+
+MILES.  You're about right, Luke.  Now, George, my man, we should
+very much appreciate a few words with you.
+
+GEORGE.  [Taking up his basket.]  Morning baint the time for words,
+masters.  I count as words will keep till the set of sun.  'Tis
+otherwise with work.
+
+MILES.  Work, why, George, 'tis clear you are come out but to gather
+flowers this morning.
+
+LUKE.  'Tis the very first time as ever I caught George an idling
+away of his time like this.
+
+GEORGE.  'Tis over to Brook as I be going, masters, to fetch back a
+couple of young chicken.  Ourn be mostly old fowls, or pullets what
+do lay.
+
+LUKE.  I never heard tell of young chicken being ate up at Ox Lease
+afore July was in.
+
+GEORGE.  Nor me neither, master.  Never heared nor seed such a thing.
+But mistress, her says, you can't sit a maid from town at table
+unless there be poultry afore of she.  They be rare nesh in their
+feeding, maids from town, so mistress do say.
+
+MILES.  That just brings us to our little matter, George.  When is it
+that you expect the young lady?
+
+GEORGE.  The boxes of they be stacked mountains high in the bedroom
+since yesterday.  And I count as the maids will presently come on
+their own feet from where the morning coach do set them down.
+
+LUKE.  Nay, but there's only one maid what's expected.
+
+GEORGE.  Miss Clara, what's master's sister; and the serving wench of
+she.
+
+MILES.  Well, George, 'twas a great day for your master when old
+Madam Lovel took little Miss Clara to be bred up as one of the
+quality.
+
+GEORGE.  A water plant do grow best by the stream, and a blossom,
+from the meadows, midst the grass.  Let each sort bide in the place
+where 'twas seeded.
+
+MILES.  No, no, George, you don't know what you're talking about.  A
+little country wench may bloom into something very modish and
+elegant, once taken from her humble home and set amongst carpets of
+velvet and curtains of satin.  You'll see.
+
+GEORGE.  'Twould be a poor thing for any one to be so worked upon by
+curtains, nor yet carpets, master.
+
+MILES.  Take my word for it, George, Ox Lease will have to smarten up
+a bit for this young lady.  I know the circles she has been moving
+in, and 'tis to the best of everything that she has been used.
+
+GEORGE.  [Rising.]  That's what mistress do say.  And that's why I be
+sent along down to Brook with haymaking going on and all.  Spring
+chicken with sparrow grass be the right feeding for such as they.  So
+mistress do count.
+
+MILES.  Stop a moment, George.  You have perhaps heard the letters
+from Miss Clara discussed in the family from time to time.
+
+GEORGE.  Miss Clara did never send but two letters home in all the
+while she was gone.  The first of them did tell as how th' old lady
+was dead and had left all of her fortune to Miss Clara.  And the
+second was to say as how her was coming back to the farm this
+morning.
+
+LUKE.  And hark you here, George, was naught mentioned about Miss
+Clara's fine suitors in neither of them letters?
+
+GEORGE.  That I cannot say, Master Jenner.
+
+MILES.  Nothing of their swarming thick around her up in London,
+George?
+
+GEORGE.  They may be swarming by the thousand for aught as I do know.
+They smells gold as honey bees do smell the blossom.  Us'll have a
+good few of them a-buzzing round the farm afore we're many hours
+older, so I counts.
+
+MILES.  Well, George, that'll liven up the place a bit, I don't
+doubt.
+
+LUKE.  'Tis a bit of quiet and no livening as Ox Lease do want.
+Isn't that so, George, my lad?
+
+GEORGE.  [Preparing to set off.]  I'll say good morning to you,
+masters.  I count I've been and wasted a smartish time already on the
+road.  We be a bit hard pressed up at the farm this day.
+
+MILES.  But George, my man, we have a good many questions to ask of
+you before you set off.
+
+GEORGE.  Them questions will have to bide till another time, I
+reckon.  I'm got late already, master.
+
+[He hurries off.
+
+MILES.  Arriving by the morning coach!  I shall certainly make my
+call to the farm before sunset.  What do you say, Jenner?
+
+LUKE.  You're a rich man, Miles, and I am poor.  But we have always
+been friends.
+
+MILES.  And our fathers before us, Luke.
+
+LUKE.  And the courting of the same maid shall not come between us.
+
+MILES.  [Slowly.]  That'll be all right, Luke.
+
+LUKE.  What I do say is, let's start fair.  Neck to neck, like.
+
+MILES.  As you please, my good Luke.
+
+LUKE.  Then, do you tell me honest, shall I do in the clothes I'm a-
+wearing of now, Miles?
+
+MILES.  [Regarding him critically.]  That neckerchief is not quite
+the thing, Luke.
+
+LUKE.  'Tis my Sunday best.
+
+MILES.  Step over to the High Street with me, my lad.  I've got
+something in the shop that will be the very thing.  You shall have it
+half price for 'tis only a bit damaged in one of the corners.
+
+LUKE.  I'm sure I'm very much obliged to you, Miles.
+
+MILES.  That's all right, Luke.
+
+LUKE.  George would look better to my thinking if there was a new
+coat to the back of him.
+
+MILES.  Ah, poor beggar, he would, and no mistake.
+
+LUKE.  I warrant as Emily do keep it afore him as how he was took in
+from off the road by th' old farmer in his day.
+
+MILES.  I flatter myself that I have a certain way with the ladies.
+They come to me confidential like and I tell them what's what, and
+how that, this or t'other is worn about town.  But with Missis Spring
+'tis different.  That's a woman I could never get the right side of
+no how.
+
+LUKE.  Ah, poor Thomas!  There's a man who goes down trod and hen
+scratched if you like.
+
+MILES.  'Tis altogether a very poor place up at Ox Lease, for young
+Miss.
+
+LUKE.  [Pulling out his watch.]  Time's slipping on.  What if we were
+to stroll on to the shop and see about my neckerchief, Miles?
+
+MILES.  I'm sure I'm quite agreeable, Luke.  'Twill help to pass away
+the morning.
+
+[He puts his arm in LUKE'S and they go briskly off in the direction
+of the village.
+
+
+
+ACT I.--Scene 2.
+
+
+
+CLARA, followed by JOAN, comes through the wood.  CLARA is dressed in
+a long, rich cloak and wears a bonnet that is brightly trimmed with
+feathers and ribbons.  JOAN wears a cotton bonnet and small shawl.
+She carries her mistress's silken bag over her arm.
+
+CLARA.  [Pointing to the fallen tree.]  There is the very resting
+place for us.  We will sit down under the trees for a while.  [She
+seats herself.
+
+JOAN.  [Dusting the tree with her handkerchief before she sits on
+it.]  Have we much further to go, mistress?
+
+CLARA.  Only a mile or two, so far as I can remember.
+
+JOAN.  'Tis rough work for the feet, down in these parts, mistress.
+
+CLARA.  If London roads were paved with diamonds I'd sooner have my
+feet treading this rugged way that leads to home.
+
+JOAN.  What sort of a place shall we find it when we gets there,
+mistress.
+
+CLARA.  I was but seven when I left them all, Joan.  And that is
+fourteen years ago to-day.
+
+JOAN.  So many years may bring about some powerful big changes,
+mistress.
+
+CLARA.  But I dream that I shall find all just as it was when I went
+away.  Only that Gran'ma won't be there.
+
+[There is a short silence during which CLARA seems lost in thought.
+JOAN flicks the dust off her shoes with a branch of leaves.
+
+JOAN.  'Tis the coaches I do miss down in these parts.
+
+CLARA.  I would not have driven one step of the way this morning,
+Joan.  In my fancy I have been walking up from the village and
+through the wood and over the meadows since many a day.  I have not
+forgotten one turn of the path.
+
+JOAN.  The road has not changed then, mistress?
+
+CLARA.  No.  But it does not seem quite so broad or so fine as I
+remembered it to be.  That is all.
+
+JOAN.  And very likely the house won't seem so fine neither,
+mistress, after the grand rooms which you have been used to.
+
+JOAN.  What company shall we see there, mistress?
+
+CLARA.  Well, there's Thomas, he is my brother, and Emily his wife.
+Then the two children.
+
+CLARA.  [After a short silence, and as though to herself.]  And there
+was George.
+
+JOAN.  Yes, mistress
+
+CLARA.  Georgie seemed so big and tall to me in those days.  I wonder
+how old he really was, when I was seven.
+
+JOAN.  Would that be a younger brother of yours, like, mistress
+
+CLARA.  No, George minded the horses and looked after the cows and
+poultry.  Sometimes he would drive me into market with him on a
+Saturday.  And in the evenings I would follow him down to the pool to
+see the cattle watered.
+
+JOAN.  I'm mortal afeared of cows, mistress.  I could never abide the
+sight nor the sound of those animals.
+
+CLARA.  You'll soon get over that, Joan.
+
+JOAN.  And I don't care for poultry neither, very much.  I goes full
+of fear when I hears one of they old turkey cocks stamping about.
+
+CLARA.  [Pulling up the sleeve of her left arm.]  There, do you see
+this little scar?  I was helping George to feed the ducks and geese
+when the fierce gander ran after me and knocked me down and took a
+piece right out of my arm.
+
+JOAN.  [Looking intently on the scar.]  I have often seen that there
+mark, mistress.  And do you think as that old gander will be living
+along of the poultry still?
+
+CLARA.  I wish he might be, Joan.
+
+JOAN.  What with the cows and the horses and the ganders, we shall go
+with our lives in our hands, as you might say.
+
+CLARA.  [As though to herself.]  When the days got colder, we would
+sit under the straw rick, George and I.  And he would sing to me.
+Some of his songs, I could say off by heart this day.
+
+JOAN.  [Looking nervously upward.]  O do look at that nasty little
+thing dropping down upon us from a piece of thread silk.  Who ever
+put such a thing up in the tree I'd like to know.
+
+CLARA.  [Brushing it gently aside.]  That won't hurt you--a tiny
+caterpillar.
+
+JOAN.  [After a moment.]  What more could the farm hand do, mistress?
+
+CLARA.  He would clasp on his bells and dance in the Morris on
+certain days, Joan.
+
+JOAN.  'Tis to be hoped as there'll be some dancing or something to
+liven us all up a bit down here.
+
+CLARA.  Why, Joan, I believe you're tired already of the country.
+
+JOAN.  'Tis so powerful quiet and heavy like, mistress.
+
+CLARA.  'Tis full of sounds.  Listen to the doves in the trees and
+the lambs calling from the meadow.
+
+JOAN.  I'd sooner have the wheels of the coaches and the cries upon
+the street, and the door bell a ringing every moment and fine
+gentlemen and ladies being shewn up into the parlour.
+
+CLARA.  [Stretching out her arms.]  O how glad I am to be free of all
+that.  And most of all, how glad to be ridded of one person.
+
+JOAN.  His lordship will perhaps follow us down here, mistress.
+
+CLARA.  No, I have forbidden it.  I must have a month of quiet, and
+he is to wait that time for his answer.
+
+JOAN.  O mistress, you'll never disappoint so fine a gentleman.
+
+CLARA.  You forget that Lord Lovel and I have played together as
+children.  It is as a brother that I look upon him.
+
+JOAN.  His lordship don't look upon you as a sister, mistress.
+
+CLARA.  [Rising.]  That is a pity, Joan.  But see, it is getting late
+and we must be moving onwards.
+
+[JOAN rises and smoothes and shakes out her skirt.
+
+CLARA.  Here, loosen my cloak, Joan, and untie the ribbons of my
+bonnet.
+
+JOAN.  O mistress, keep the pretty clothes upon you till you have got
+to the house.
+
+CLARA.  No, no--such town garments are not suited to the woods and
+meadows.  I want to feel the country breeze upon my head, and my
+limbs must be free from the weight of the cloak.  I had these things
+upon me during the coach journey.  They are filled with road dust and
+I dislike them now.
+
+JOAN.  [Unfastening the cloak and untying the bonnet.]  They are
+fresh and bright for I brushed and shook them myself this morning.
+
+CLARA.  [Retying a blue ribbon which she wears in her hair.]  I have
+taken a dislike to them.  See here, Joan, since you admire them, they
+shall be yours.
+
+JOAN.  Mine?  The French bonnet and the satin cloak?
+
+CLARA.  To comfort you for the pains of the country, Joan.
+
+JOAN.  O mistress, let us stop a moment longer in this quiet place so
+that I may slip them on and see how they become me.
+
+CLARA.  As you will.  Listen, that is the cuckoo singing.
+
+JOAN.  [Throwing off her cotton bonnet and shawl and dressing herself
+hastily in the bonnet and cloak.]  O what must it feel like to be a
+grand lady and wear such things from dawn to bed time.
+
+CLARA.  I am very glad to be without them for a while.  How good the
+air feels on my head.
+
+JOAN.  There, mistress, how do I look?
+
+CLARA.  Very nicely, Joan.  So nicely that if you like, you may keep
+them upon you for the remainder of the way.
+
+JOAN.  O mistress, may I really do so?
+
+CLARA.  Yes.  And Joan, do you go onwards to the farm by the quickest
+path which is through this wood and across the high road.  Anyone
+will shew you where the place is.  I have a mind to wander about in
+some of the meadows which I remember.  But I will join you all in
+good time.
+
+JOAN.  Very well, mistress.  If I set off in a few moments it will
+do, I suppose?  I should just like to take a peep at myself as I am
+now, in the little glass which you carry in your silk bag.
+
+CLARA.  [Going off.]  Don't spend too much time looking at what will
+be shewn you, Joan.
+
+JOAN.  Never fear, mistress.  I'll be there afore you, if I have to
+run all the way.  [CLARA wanders off.
+
+[JOAN sits down again on the trunk of the fallen tree.  She opens the
+silken bag, draws out a small hand glass and looks long and steadily
+at her own reflection.  Then she glances furtively around and, seeing
+that she is quite alone, she takes a small powder box from the bag
+and hastily opening it, she gives her face several hurried touches
+with the powder puff.
+
+JOAN.  [Surveying the effect in the glass.]  Just to take off the
+brown of my freckles.  Now if any one was to come upon me sitting
+here they wouldn't know as I was other than a real, high lady.  All
+covered with this nice cloak as I be, the French bonnet on my head,
+and powder to my face, who's to tell the difference?  But O--these
+must be hid first.
+
+[She perceives her cotton bonnet and little shawl on the ground.  She
+hastily rolls them up in a small bundle and stuffs them into the
+silken bag.  Then she takes up the glass and surveys herself again.
+
+JOAN.  How should I act now if some grand gentleman was to come up
+and commence talking to me?  Perhaps he might even take me for a lady
+of title in these fine clothes, and 'twould be a pity to have to
+undeceive him.
+
+[She arranges her hair a little under the bonnet and then lowers the
+lace veil over her face.
+
+[MILES and LUKE come slowly up behind her.  MILES nudges LUKE with
+his elbow, signing to him to remain where he is whilst he steps
+forward in front of JOAN.
+
+MILES.  Pardon me, madam, but you appear to have mistook the way.
+Allow me to set you on the right path for Ox Lease.
+
+JOAN.  [Letting the mirror fall on her lap and speaking very low.]
+How do you know I am going to Ox Lease, sir?
+
+MILES.  You see, madam, I happen to know that a stylish young miss
+from town is expected there to-day.
+
+LUKE.  [Coming forward and speaking in a loud whisper.]  Now Miles.
+I count as you made one of the biggest blunders of the time.  Our
+young lady be journeying along of her servant wench.  This one baint
+she.
+
+MILES.  If we have made a small error, madam, allow me to beg your
+pardon.
+
+JOAN.  Don't mention it, sir.  Everyone is mistaken sometimes.
+
+LUKE.  Well, I'm powerful sorry if we have given any offence, mam.
+
+JOAN.  [Looking up at LUKE with sudden boldness and speaking in a
+slow, affected voice.]  There's nothing to make so much trouble
+about, sir.
+
+MILES.  Can we be of any assistance to you, madam?  The wood may
+appear rather dense at this point.
+
+JOAN.  That it does.  Dense and dark--and the pathway!  My goodness,
+but my feet have never travelled over such rough ground before.
+
+Muss.  That I am sure of, madam.  I have no doubt that the delicate
+texture of your shoes has been sadly treated by our stones and ruts.
+
+JOAN.  [Insensibly pulling her skirts over her thick walking shoes.]
+Well, it's vastly different to London streets, where I generally take
+exercise--at least when I'm not a-riding in the coach.
+
+MILES.  The country is but a sad place at the best, Miss Clara
+Spring.
+
+JOAN.  [Looking round furtively and speaking in a whisper.]  O, how
+did you guess my--my name?
+
+LUKE.  Come, 'twasn't a hard matter, that.
+
+MILES.  Missey can command my services.
+
+JOAN.  [Rallying, and standing up.]  Then gentlemen, do you walk a
+bit of the road with me and we could enjoy some conversation as we go
+along.
+
+LUKE.  [Offering his arm.]  You take my arm, Miss Clara--do--.
+
+MILES.  [Also offering his arm.]  I shall also give myself the
+pleasure of supporting Miss.
+
+JOAN.  [Taking an arm of each.]  O thank you, kindly gentlemen.  Now
+we shall journey very comfortably, I am sure.
+
+[They all set out walking in the direction of the farm.
+
+
+
+ACT II.--Scene 1.
+
+
+
+The kitchen of Ox Lease Farm.  There are three doors.  One opens to
+the staircase, one to the garden and a third into the back kitchen.
+At a table in the middle of the room EMILY stands ironing some net
+window curtains.  JESSIE and ROBIN lean against the table watching
+her.  By the open doorway, looking out on the garden, stands THOMAS,
+a mug of cider in one hand and a large slice of bread in the other.
+As he talks, he takes alternate drinks and bites.
+
+EMILY.  [Speaking in a shrill, angry voice.]  Now Thomas, suppose you
+was to take that there bread a step further away and eat it in the
+garden, if eat it you must, instead of crumbling it all over my clean
+floor.
+
+THOMAS.  Don't you be so testy, Emily.  The dogs'll lick the crumbs
+up as clean as you like presently.
+
+EMILY.  Dogs?  I'd like to see the dog as'll shew its nose in here
+to-day when I've got it all cleaned up against the coming of fine
+young madam.
+
+THOMAS.  [Finishing his bread and looking wistfully at his empty
+hand.]  The little maid'll take a brush and sweep up her daddy's
+crumbs, now, won't her?
+
+EMILY.  I'll give it to any one who goes meddling in my brush
+cupboard now that I've just put all in order against the prying and
+nozzling of the good-for-nothing baggage what's coming along with
+your sister.
+
+ROBIN.  What's baggage, Mother?
+
+EMILY.  [Sharply.]  Never you mind.  Get and take your elbow off my
+ironing sheet.
+
+JESSIE.  [Looking at her father.]  I count as you'd like a piece more
+bread, Dad?
+
+THOMAS.  Well, I don't say but 'twouldn't come amiss.  'Tis hungry
+work in th' hayfield.  And us be to go without our dinners this day,
+isn't that so, Emily?
+
+EMILY.  [Slamming down her iron on the stand.]  If I've told you
+once, I've told you twenty times, 'twas but the one pair of hands as
+I was gived at birth.  Now, what have you got to say against that,
+Thomas?
+
+THOMAS.  [Sheepishly.]  I'm sure I don't know.
+
+EMILY.  And if so be as I'm to clean and wash and cook, and run, and
+wait, and scour, and mend, for them lazy London minxes, other folk
+must go without hot cooking at mid-day.
+
+THOMAS.  [Faintly.]  'Twasn't nothing cooked, like.  'Twas a bit of
+bread as I did ask for.
+
+JESSIE.  [Getting up.]  I'll get it for you, Dad.  I know where the
+loaf bides and the knife too.  I'll cut you, O such a large piece.
+
+EMILY.  [Seizing her roughly by the hand.]  You'll do nothing of the
+sort.  You'll take this here cold iron into Maggie and you'll bring
+back one that is hot.  How am I to get these curtains finished and
+hung and all, by the time the dressed up parrots come sailing in, I'd
+like to know.
+
+[JESSIE runs away with the iron.
+
+THOMAS.  [Setting down his mug and coming to the table.]  I'd leave
+the windows bare if it was me, Emily.  The creeping rose do form the
+suitablest shade for they, to my thinking.
+
+EMILY.  That shews how much you know about it, Thomas.  No, take your
+hands from off my table.  Do you think as I wants dirty thumbs
+shewing all over the clean net what I've washed and dried and ironed,
+and been a-messing about with since 'twas light?
+
+THOMAS.  Now that's what I be trying for to say.  There's no need for
+you to go and work yourself into the fidgets, Emily, because of
+little Clara coming back.  Home's home.  And 'twon't be neither the
+curtains nor the hot dinner as Clara will be thinking of when her
+steps into th' old place once more.
+
+JESSIE.  [Running back with the hot iron which she sets down on the
+table.]  What will Aunt Clara be thinking of then, Dad?
+
+THOMAS.  [Shy and abashed under a withering glance from EMILY who has
+taken up the iron and is slamming it down on the net.]  Her'll
+remember, very like, how 'twas when her left--some fourteen year ago.
+And her'll have her eyes on Gran'ma's chair, what's empty.
+
+ROBIN.  I should be thinking of the hot fowl and sparrow grass what's
+for dinner.
+
+THOMAS.  And her'll look up to th' old clock, and different things
+what's still in their places.  The grand parts where she have been
+bred up will be forgot.  'Twill be only home as her'll think on.
+
+EMILY.  I haven't patience to listen to such stuff.
+
+THOMAS.  [After a pause.]  I count that 'tisn't likely as a young
+woman what's been left riches as Clara have, would choose to make her
+home along of such as we for always, like.
+
+EMILY.  We have perches and plenty of them for barn door poultry, but
+when it comes to roosting spangled plumes and fancy fowls, no thank
+you, Thomas, I'm not going to do it.
+
+ROBIN.  Do let us get and roost some fancy fowls, Mother.
+
+JESSIE.  What are spangled plumes, Mother?
+
+EMILY.  [Viciously.]  You'll see plenty of them presently.
+
+ROBIN.  Will Aunt Clara bring the fowls along of she?
+
+[A slight pause during which EMILY irons vigorously.
+
+EMILY.  [As she irons.]  Some folk have all the honey.  It do trickle
+from the mouths of them and down to the ground.
+
+ROBIN.  Has Aunt Clara got her mouth very sticky, then?
+
+EMILY.  And there be others what are born to naught but crusts and
+the vinegar.
+
+JESSIE.  Like you, Mother--Least, that's what Maggie said this
+morning.
+
+EMILY.  What's that?
+
+JESSIE.  That 'twas in the vinegar jar as your tongue had growed,
+Mother.
+
+EMILY.  I'll learn that wench to keep her thoughts to herself if she
+can't fetch them out respectful like.  [Shouting.]  Mag, come you
+here this minute--what are you after now, I'd like to know, you ugly,
+idle piece of mischief?
+
+[MAGGIE, wiping a plate comes from the back kitchen.
+
+MAGGIE.  Was you calling, mistress?
+
+EMILY.  What's this you've got saying to Miss Jessie, I should like
+to know.
+
+JESSIE.  [Running to MAGGIE and laying her hand on her arm.]  Dear
+Maggie, 'tis only what you did tell about poor mother's tongue being
+in the vinegar jar.
+
+MAGGIE.  O Miss Jessie.
+
+EMILY.  Hark you here, my girl--if 'twasn't hay time you should
+bundle up your rags and off with you this minute.  But as 'tis
+awkward being short of a pair of hands just now, you'll bide a week
+or two and then you'll get outside of my door with no more character
+to you nor what I took you with.
+
+THOMAS.  Come, come Emily.  The girl's a good one for to work, and
+that she is.
+
+EMILY.  Be quiet, Thomas.  This is my business, and you'll please to
+keep your words till they're wanted.
+
+MAGGIE.  O mistress, I didn't mean no harm, I didn't.
+
+EMILY.  I don't want no words nor no tears neither.
+
+MAGGIE.  [Beginning to cry loudly.]  I be the only girl as have
+stopped with you more nor a month, I be.  T'others wouldn't bide a
+day, some of them.
+
+EMILY.  Be quiet.  Back to your work with you.  And when the hay is
+all carried, off with you, ungrateful minx, to where you came from.
+
+JESSIE.  O let us keep her always, Mother, she's kind.
+
+ROBIN.  Don't you cry, Mag.  I'll marry you when I'm a big man like
+Daddy.
+
+THOMAS.  Harken to them, Emily!  She's been a good maid to the
+children.  I'd not part with any one so hasty, if 'twas me.
+
+EMILY.  [Very angrily.]  When I want your opinion, Thomas, I'll ask
+for it.  Suppose you was to go out and see after something which you
+do understand.
+
+THOMAS.  O I'll go down to the field fast enough, I can tell you.
+'Twas only being hungered as drove me into the hornets' nest, as you
+might say.
+
+EMILY.  [Ironing fiercely.]  What's that?
+
+THOMAS.  Nothing.  I did only say as I was a-going back to the field
+when George do come home.
+
+EMILY.  There again.  Did you ever know the man to be so slow before.
+I warrant as he have gone drinking or mischiefing down at the Spotted
+Cow instead of coming straight home with they chicken.
+
+THOMAS.  Nay, nay.  George is not the lad to do a thing like that.  A
+quieter more well bred up lad nor George never trod in shoes.
+
+EMILY [Glancing at MAGGIE.]  What are you tossing your head like that
+for, Maggie?  Please to recollect as you're a lazy, good-for-nothing
+little slut of a maid servant, and not a circus pony all decked out
+for the show.
+
+JESSIE.  Maggie's fond of Georgie.  And Georgie's kind to Mag.
+
+MAGGIE.  [Fearfully.]  O don't, Miss Jessie, for goodness sake.
+
+EMILY.  [Viciously.]  I'll soon put an end to anything in that
+quarter.
+
+THOMAS.  Now, Emily--take it quiet.  Why, we shall have Clara upon us
+before us knows where we are.
+
+EMILY.  [Folding the curtains.]  I'll settle her too, if she comes
+before I'm ready for her.
+
+ROBIN.  [Pointing through the open.]  There's George, coming with the
+basket.
+
+[GEORGE comes into the room.  He carefully rubs his feet on the mat
+as he enters.  Then he advances to the table.  MAGGIE dries her eyes
+with the back of her hand.  JESSIE is standing with her arm in
+MAGGIE'S.
+
+EMILY.  Well, and where have you been all this while, I'd like to
+know?
+
+GEORGE.  To Brook Farm, mam, and home.
+
+EMILY.  You've been up to some mischief on the way, I warrant.
+
+THOMAS.  Come, Emily.
+
+[GEORGE looks calmly into EMILY'S face.  Then his gaze travels
+leisurely round the room.
+
+GEORGE.  I was kept waiting while they did pluck and dress the
+chicken.
+
+EMILY.  [Lifting the cloth covering the basket, and looking within
+it.]  I'd best have gone myself.  Of all the thick-headed men I ever
+did see, you're the thickest.  Upon my word you are.
+
+GEORGE.  What's wrong now, mistress?
+
+EMILY.  'Taint chicken at all what you've been and fetched me.
+
+GEORGE.  I'll be blowed if I do know what 'tis then.
+
+EMILY.  If I'd been given a four arms and legs at birth same as th'
+horses, I'd have left a pair of them at home and gone and done the
+job myself, I would.  And then you should see what I'd have brought
+back.
+
+GEORGE.  You can't better what I've got here.  From the weight it
+might be two fat capons.  So it might.
+
+EMILY.  [Seizing the basket roughly.]  Here, Mag, off into the pantry
+with them.  A couple of skinny frogs from out the road ditch would
+have done as well.  And you, Jess, upstairs with these clean curtains
+and lay them careful on the bed.  I'll put them to the windows later.
+
+THOMAS.  George, my boy, did you meet with any one on the way, like?
+
+EMILY.  You'd best ask no questions if you don't want to be served
+with lies, Thomas.
+
+GEORGE.  [Throwing a glance of disdain at EMILY.]  Miles Hooper and
+Farmer Jenner was taking the air 'long of one another in the wood,
+master.
+
+THOMAS.  Miles Hooper and Luke a-taking of the air, and of a weekday
+morning!
+
+GEORGE.  That they was, master.  And they did stop I -
+
+EMILY.  Ah, now you've got it, Thomas.  Now we shall know why George
+was upon the road the best part of the day and me kept waiting for
+the chicken.
+
+GEORGE.  [Steadily.]  Sunday clothes to the back of both of them.
+And, when was Miss Clara expected up at home.
+
+THOMAS.  Ah, 'tis a fair commotion all over these parts already, I
+warrant.  There wasn't nothing else spoke of in market last time, but
+how as sister Clara with all her money was to come home.
+
+JESSIE.  [Coming back.]  I've laid the curtains on the bed, shall I
+gather some flowers and set them on the table, mother?
+
+EMILY.  I'd like to see you!  Flowers in the bedroom?  I never heard
+tell of such senseless goings on.  What next, I'd like to know?
+
+GEORGE.  Miss Clara always did fill a mug of clover blooms and set it
+aside of her bed when her was a little thing--so high.
+
+JESSIE.  Do you remember our fine aunt, then, Georgie?
+
+GEORGE.  I remembers Miss Clara right enough.
+
+EMILY.  Don't you flatter yourself, George, as such a coxsy piece of
+town goods will trouble herself to remember you.
+
+THOMAS.  The little maid had a good enough heart to her afore she was
+took away from us.
+
+JESSIE.  Do you think our aunt Clara has growed into a coxsy town
+lady, George?
+
+GEORGE.  No, I do not, Miss Jessie.
+
+EMILY.  [Beginning to stir about noisily as she sets the kitchen in
+order.]  Get off with you to the field, Thomas, can't you.  I've had
+enough to do as 'tis without a great hulking man standing about and
+taking up all the room.
+
+THOMAS.  Come, George, us'll clear out down to th' hay field, and
+snatch a bite as we do go.
+
+GEORGE.  That's it, master.
+
+EMILY.  [Calling angrily after them.]  There's no dinner for no one
+to-day, I tell you.
+
+[THOMAS and GEORGE go out of the back kitchen door.  EMILY begins
+putting the irons away, folding up the ironing sheet and setting the
+chairs back against the wall.
+
+[JESSIE and ROBIN, from their places at the table, watch her
+intently.
+
+EMILY.  [As she moves about.]  'Twouldn't be half the upset if the
+wench was coming by herself, but to have a hussy of a serving maid
+sticking about in the rooms along of us, is more nor I can stand.
+
+[She begins violently to sweep up the hearth.
+
+[Steps are heard outside.
+
+JESSIE.  Hark, what's that, mother?
+
+EMILY.  I'll give it to any one who wants to come in here.
+
+JESSIE.  [Running to the open door.]  They're coming up the path.
+'Tis our fine auntie and two grand gentlemen either side of she.
+
+ROBIN.  [Running also to the door.]  O I want to look on her too.
+
+EMILY.  [Putting the broom in a corner.]  'Tis no end to the
+vexation.  But she'll have to wait on herself.  I've no time to play
+the dancing bear.  And that I've not.
+
+[JOAN, between MILES HOOPER and LUKE JENNER, comes up to the open
+door.
+
+MILES.  [To Jessie.]  See here, my little maid, what'll you give
+Mister Hooper for bringing this pretty lady safe up to the farm?
+
+JESSIE.  I know who 'tis you've brought.  'Tis my Aunt Clara.
+
+LUKE.  You're a smart little wench, if ever there was one.
+
+ROBIN.  I know who 'tis, too, 'cause of the spangled plumes in the
+bonnet of she.  Mother said as there'd be some.
+
+EMILY.  [Coming forward.]  Well, Clara, if 'twas by the morning coach
+as you did come, you're late.  If 'twas by th' evening one, you're
+too soon by a good few hours.
+
+MILES.  Having come by the morning coach, Miss Clara had the pleasant
+fancy to stroll here through the woodlands, Missis Spring.
+
+LUKE.  Ah, and 'twas lost on the way as we did find her, like a
+strayed sheep.
+
+MILES.  And ours has been the privilege to bring the fair wanderer
+safely home.
+
+EMILY.  [Scornfully looking JOAN over from head to foot.]  Where's
+that serving wench of yours got to, Clara?
+
+MILES.  Our young missy had a wish for solitude.  She sent her maid
+on by another road.
+
+EMILY.  The good-for-nothing hussy.  I warrant as she have found
+something of mischief for her idle hands to do.
+
+MILES.  If I may venture to say so, our Miss Clara is somewhat
+fatigued by her long stroll.  London young ladies are very delicately
+framed, Missis Spring.
+
+EMILY.  [Pointing ungraciously.]  There's chairs right in front of
+you.
+
+[MILES and LUKE lead JOAN forward, placing her in an armchair with
+every attention.  JOAN sinks into it, and, taking a little fan from
+the silken bag on her arm, begins to fan herself violently.
+
+EMILY.  [Watching her with fierce contempt.]  Maybe as you'd like my
+kitchen wench to come and do that for you, Clara, seeing as your fine
+maid is gadding about the high roads instead of minding what it
+concerns her to attend to.
+
+JOAN.  [Faintly.]  O no, thank you.  The day is rather warm--that's
+all.
+
+EMILY.  Warm, I should think it was warm in under of that great white
+curtain.
+
+JESSIE.  Aunt Clara, I'm Jessie.
+
+JOAN.  Are you, my dear?
+
+ROBIN.  And I'm Robin.
+
+MILES.  Now, I wager, if you are both good little children, this
+pretty lady will give you each a kiss.
+
+JOAN.  [Faintly.]  To be sure I will.
+
+JESSIE.  Then you'll have to take off that white thing from your
+face.  'Tis like what mother do spread over the currant bushes to
+keep the birds from the fruit.
+
+[JOAN slowly raises her veil, showing her face.
+
+JESSIE.  Shall I give you a kiss, Aunt?
+
+EMILY.  I'd be careful if I was you, Jess.  Fine ladies be brittle as
+fine china.
+
+JESSIE.  O I'll kiss her very lightly, Mother.
+
+[She goes up to JOAN and kisses her.  ROBIN then reaches up his face
+and JOAN kisses him.
+
+ROBIN.  [Rubbing his mouth.]  The flour do come from Aunt same as it
+does from a new loaf.
+
+MILES.  [To JOAN.]  You must pardon these ignorant little country
+brats, Miss Clara.
+
+JOAN.  O there's nothing amiss, thank you.
+
+EMILY.  Amiss, who said as there was?  When folks what can afford to
+lodge at the inn do come down and fasten theirselves on the top of
+poor people, they must take things as they do find them and not start
+grumbling at the first set off.
+
+LUKE.  There, there, Missis Spring.  There wasn't naught said about
+grumbling.  But Miss Clara have come a smartish long distance, and it
+behoves us all as she should find summat of a welcome at the end of
+her journey, like.
+
+MILES.  [Aside to JOAN.]  How strange this country tongue must fall
+on your ears, Miss Clara!
+
+JOAN.  I don't understand about half of what they say.
+
+EMILY.  [Overhearing her.]  O, you don't, don't you.  Well, Clara, I
+was always one for plain words, and I say 'tis a pity when folks do
+get above the position to which they was bred, and for all the fine
+satins and plumes upon you, the body what's covered by them belongs
+to Clara Spring, what's sister to Thomas.  And all the world knows
+what Thomas is--A poor, mean spirited, humble born man with but two
+coats to the back of him, and with not a thought to the mind of him
+which is not foolishness.  And I judge from by what they be in birth,
+and not by the bags of gold what have been left them by any old
+madams in their dotage.  So now you see how I takes it all and you
+and me can start fair, like.
+
+JOAN.  [To LUKE.]  O Mister--Mister Jenner, I feel so faint.
+
+MILES.  [Taking her fan.]  Allow me.  [He begins to fan her.]  I
+assure you she means nothing by it.  It's her way.  You see, she
+knows no better.
+
+LUKE.  I'd fetch out summat for her to eat if I was you, missis.
+'Tis famished as the poor young maid must be.
+
+EMILY.  She should have come when 'twas meal time then.  I don't hold
+with bites nor drinks in between whiles.
+
+JOAN.  O I'm dying for a glass of milk--or water would do as well.
+
+MILES.  My dear young lady--anything to oblige.  [Turning to Jessie.]
+Come, my little maid, see if you can't make yourself useful in
+bringing a tray of refreshment for your auntie.  And you [turning to
+Robin] trot off and help sister.
+
+EMILY.  Not if I know it.  Stop where you are, Jess.  Robin, you dare
+to move.  If Clara wants to eat and drink I'm afeared she must wait
+till supper time.
+
+ROBIN.  There be chicken and sparrow grass for supper, Aunt.
+
+JESSIE.  And a great pie of gooseberries.
+
+JOAN.  [Faintly.]  O I couldn't touch a mouthful of food, don't speak
+to me about it.
+
+ROBIN.  I likes talking of dinner.  After I've done eating of it, I
+likes next best to talk about it.
+
+LUKE.  See here, missis.  Let's have a glass of summat cool for Miss
+Clara.
+
+EMILY.  [Calling angrily.]  Maggie, Maggie, where are you, you great
+lazy-boned donkey?
+
+MAGGIE.  [Comes in from the back kitchen, her apron held to her
+eyes.]  Did you call me, mistress?
+
+EMILY.  Get up a bucket of water from the well.  Master's sister
+wants a drink.
+
+MAGGIE.  [Between sobs.]  Shall I bring it in the bucket, or would
+the young lady like it in a jug?
+
+EMILY.  [With exasperation.]  There's no end to the worriting that
+other folks do make.
+
+JESSIE.  Let me go and help poor Maggie, mother.
+
+ROBIN.  [To JOAN.]  Do you know what Maggie's crying for, Aunt Clara?
+
+JOAN.  I'm sure I don't, little boy.
+
+ROBIN.  'Tis because she's got to go.  Mother's sent her off.  'Twas
+what she said of mother's tongue.
+
+EMILY.  [Roughly taking hold of ROBIN and JESSIE.]  Come you along
+with me, you ill-behaved little varmints.  'Tis the back kitchen and
+the serving maid as is the properest place for such as you.  I'll not
+have you bide 'mongst the company no longer.  [She goes out with the
+children and followed by MAGGIE.]
+
+[Directly they have left the room JOAN, whose manner has been
+nervously shrinking, seems to recover herself and she assumes a
+languid, artificial air, badly imitating the ways of a lady of
+fashion.
+
+JOAN.  [Fanning herself with her handkerchief and her fan.]  Well, I
+never did meet with such goings on before.
+
+MILES.  You and I know how people conduct themselves in London, Miss
+Clara.  We must not expect to find the same polite ways down here.
+
+LUKE.  Come now, 'tisn't so bad as all that with we.  There baint
+many what has the tongue of mistress yonder.
+
+JOAN.  I'm quite unused to such people.
+
+LUKE.  And yet, Miss Clara, 'tisn't as though they were exactly
+strangers to you like.
+
+JOAN.  They feel as good as strangers to me, any way.
+
+MILES.  Ah, how well I understand that, Miss.  'Tisn't very often as
+we lay a length of fine silken by the side of unbleached woollen at
+my counters.
+
+JOAN.  I could go through with it better perhaps, if I didn't feel so
+terrible faint and sinking.
+
+LUKE.  [Going to the back kitchen door.]  Here, Maggie, stir yourself
+up a bit.  The lady is near fainting, I do count.
+
+JESSIE.  [Runs in with a tray on which is a jug of water and a
+glass.]  I'm bringing the drink for Aunt, Mr. Jenner.  Maggie's
+crying ever so badly, and Mother's sent her upstairs to wash her face
+and put her hair tidy.
+
+[JESSIE puts the tray on the table near to where JOAN is sitting.
+MILES HOOFER busies himself in pouring out a glass of water and in
+handing it with a great deal of exaggerated deference to JOAN.
+
+JOAN.  [Drinking.]  Such a coarse glass!
+
+MILES.  Ah, you must let me send you up one from my place during your
+stay here.  Who could expect a lady to drink from such a thing as
+that?
+
+JOAN.  [Laying aside the glass.]  There's a taste of mould in the
+water too.
+
+JESSIE.  It's fresh.  Mother drawed it up from the well, she did.
+
+JOAN.  [Looking disdainfully round on the room.]  Such a strange
+room.  So very common.
+
+LUKE.  Nay, you mustn't judge of the house by this.  Don't you
+recollect the parlour yonder, with the stuffed birds and the chiney
+cupboard?
+
+JOAN.  [Looking round again.]  Such an old-fashioned place as this I
+never did see.  'Tis a low sort of room too, no carpet on the boards
+nor cloth to the table, nor nothing elegant.
+
+MILES.  Ah, we find the mansions in town very different to a country
+farm house, don't we Miss?
+
+JOAN.  I should think we did, Mister Hooper.  Why, look at that great
+old wooden chair by the hearth?  Don't it look un-stylish, upon my
+word, with no cushions to it nor nothing.
+
+JESSIE.  [Coming quite close to JOAN and looking straight into her
+face.]  That's great gran'ma's chair, what Dad said you'd be best
+pleased for to see.
+
+[JOAN looks very confused and begins to fan herself hastily.
+
+JESSIE.  And th' old clock's another thing what Dad did say as you'd
+look upon.
+
+JOAN.  O the old clock's well enough, to be sure.
+
+JESSIE.  I did want to gather a nosegay of flowers to set in your
+bedroom, Aunt, but Mother, she said, no.
+
+JOAN.  [Languidly.]  I must say I don't see any flowers blooming here
+that I should particular care about having in my apartment.
+
+JESSIE.  And Father said as how you'd like to smell the blossoms in
+the garden.  And Georgie told as how you did use to gather the clover
+blooms when you was a little girl and set them by you where you did
+sleep.
+
+JOAN.  [Crossly.]  O run away, child, I'm tired to death with all
+this chatter.  How would you like to be so pestered after such a
+travel over the rough country roads as I have had?
+
+LUKE.  Now, my little maid, off you go.  Take back the tray to
+Mother, and be careful as you don't break the glasses on it.
+
+JESSIE.  [Taking up the tray.]  I'm off to play in the hayfield along
+of Robin, then.
+
+[LUKE opens the back kitchen door for her and she goes out.
+Meanwhile MILES has taken up the fan and is fanning JOAN, who leans
+back in her chair with closed eyes and exhausted look.
+
+LUKE.  [Coming to her side and sitting down.]  'Twill seem more
+homelike when Thomas do come up from the field.
+
+JOAN.  [Raising herself and looking at him.]  You mustn't trouble
+about me, Mister Jenner.  I shall be quite comfortable presently.
+
+[The back door opens and MAGGIE comes hurriedly in.
+
+MAGGIE.  Please, mistress, there be a young person a-coming through
+the rick yard.
+
+JOAN.  [Nervously.]  A young person?
+
+MAGGIE.  Mistress be at the gooseberries a-gathering of them, and the
+children be gone off to th' hay field.
+
+MILES.  'Tis very likely your serving maid, dear Miss.  Shall I fetch
+the young woman in to you?
+
+JOAN.  My maid, did you say?  My maid?
+
+LUKE.  Ah, depend on it, 'tis she.
+
+MAGGIE.  The young person do have all the looks of a serving wench,
+mistress.  She be tramping over the yard with naught but a white
+handkerchief over the head of she and a poking into most of the styes
+and a-calling of the geese and poultry.
+
+LUKE.  That's her, right enough.  Bring her in, Mag.
+
+JOAN.  [Agitatedly.]  No, no--I mean--I want to see her particular--
+and alone.  I'll go to meet her.  You--gentlemen--[MAGGIE goes slowly
+into the back kitchen.
+
+MILES.  [Placing a chair for JOAN.]  Delicate ladies should not
+venture out into the heat at this time of day.
+
+JOAN.  [With sudden resolution ignoring the chair and going to the
+window.]  Then, do you two kind gentlemen take a stroll in the
+garden.  I have need of the services of my--my young woman.  But when
+she has put me in order after the dusty journey, I shall ask you to
+be good enough to come back and while away an hour for me in this sad
+place.
+
+MILES.  [Fervently.]  Anything to oblige a lady, miss.
+
+LUKE.  That's right.  Us'll wait while you do lay aside your bonnet.
+
+[MILES and LUKE go out through the garden door.  MILES, turning to
+bow low before he disappears.  JOAN stands as though distraught in
+the middle of the room.  Through the open door of the back kitchen
+the voices of CLARA and MAGGIE are distinctly heard.
+
+CLARA.  Is no one at home then?
+
+MAGGIE.  Ah, go you straight on into the kitchen, you'll find whom
+you be searching for in there.  I'd take and shew you in myself only
+I'm wanted down to th' hayfield now.
+
+CLARA.  Don't put yourself to any trouble about me.  I know my way.
+
+[CLARA comes into the kitchen.  She has tied a white handkerchief
+over her head, and carries a bunch of wildflowers in her hands.
+
+CLARA.  Still in your cloak and bonnet!  Why, I thought by now you
+would have unpacked our things and made yourself at home.
+
+JOAN.  [Joining her hands supplicatingly and coming towards CLARA,
+speaking almost in a whisper.]  O mistress, you'll never guess what
+I've been and done.  But 'twasn't all my fault at the commencement.
+
+CLARA.  [Looking her over searchingly.]  You do look very disturbed,
+Joan, what has happened?
+
+JOAN.  'Twas the fine bonnet and cloak, mam.  'Twas they as did it.
+
+CLARA.  Did what?
+
+JOAN.  Put the thought into my head, like.
+
+CLARA.  What thought?
+
+JOAN.  As how 'twould feel to be a real grand lady, like you,
+mistress.
+
+CLARA.  What then, Joan?
+
+JOAN.  So I began to pretend all to myself as how that I was one,
+mistress.
+
+CLARA.  Come, tell me all.
+
+JOAN.  And whilst I was sat down upon that fallen tree, and sort of
+pretending to myself, the two gentlemen came along.
+
+CLARA.  What gentlemen?
+
+JOAN.  Gentlemen as was after courting you, mistress.
+
+CLARA.  Courting me?
+
+JOAN.  Yes, and they commenced speaking so nice and respectful like.
+
+CLARA.  Go on, Joan, don't be afraid.
+
+JOAN.  It did seem to fall in with the game I was a-playing with
+myself.  And then, before I did know how, 'twas they was both of them
+a-taking me for you, mam.
+
+CLARA.  And did you not un-deceive them, Joan?
+
+JOAN.  [Very ashamedly.]  No, mam.
+
+CLARA.  You should have told them the truth about yourself at once.
+
+JOAN.  O I know I should have, mistress.  But there was something as
+held me back when I would have spoke the words.
+
+CLARA.  I wonder what that could have been?
+
+JOAN.  'Twas them being such very nice and kind gentlemen.  And, O
+mistress, you'll not understand it, because you've told me many times
+as the heart within you have never been touched by love.
+
+CLARA.  [Suddenly sitting down.]  And has yours been touched to-day,
+Joan, by love?
+
+JOAN.  That it have, mistress.  Love have struck at it heavily.
+
+CLARA.  Through which of the gentlemen did it strike, Joan?
+
+JOAN.  Through both.  Leastways, 'tis Mister Jenner that my feelings
+do go out most quickly to, mistress.  But 'tis Mister Hooper who do
+court the hardest and who has the greatest riches like.
+
+CLARA.  Well, and what do you want me to do or to say now, Joan?
+
+JOAN.  See here, mistress, I want you to give me a chance.  They'll
+never stoop to wed me if they knows as I'm but a poor serving maid.
+
+CLARA.  Your dressing up as a fine lady won't make you other than
+what you are, Joan.
+
+JOAN.  Once let me get the fish in my net, mistress.
+
+CLARA.  Are you proposing to catch the two, Joan?
+
+JOAN.  I shall take the one as do offer first, mistress.
+
+CLARA.  That'll be Mister Hooper, I should think.
+
+JOAN.  I should go riding in my own chaise, mistress, if 'twas him.
+
+CLARA.  But, Joan, either of these men would have to know the truth
+before there could be any marriage.
+
+JOAN.  I knows that full well, mistress.  But let one of them just
+offer hisself.  By that time my heart and his would be so closely
+twined together like, 'twould take more nor such a little thing as my
+station being low to part us.
+
+[CLARA sits very still for a few moments, looking straight before
+her, lost in thought.  JOAN sinks on to a chair by the table as
+though suddenly tired out, and she begins to cry gently.
+
+CLARA.  Listen, Joan.  I'm one for the straight paths.  I like to
+walk in open fields and over the bare heath.  Only times come when
+one is driven to take to the ways which are set with bushes and with
+briars.
+
+JOAN.  [Lifting her head and drying her eyes.]  O mistress, I feel to
+be asking summat as is too heavy for you to give.
+
+CLARA.  But for a certain thing, I could never have lent myself to
+this acting game of yours, Joan.
+
+JOAN.  No, mistress?
+
+CLARA.  Only that, to-day, my heart too has gone from my own keeping.
+
+JOAN.  O mistress, you don't mean to say as his lordship have
+followed us down already.
+
+CLARA.  [Scornfully.]  His lordship!  As if I should be stirred by
+him!
+
+JOAN.  [Humbly.]  Who might it be, mistress, if I may ask?
+
+CLARA.  'Tis one who would never look upon me with thoughts of love
+if I went to him as I am now, Joan.
+
+JOAN.  I can't rightly understand you, mam.
+
+CLARA.  My case is just the same as yours, Joan.  You say that your
+fine gentlemen would not look upon a serving maid.
+
+JOAN.  I'm certain of it, mistress.
+
+CLARA.  And the man I--I love will never let his heart go out to mine
+with the heaviness of all these riches lying between us.
+
+JOAN.  I count that gold do pave the way for most of us, mistress.
+
+CLARA.  So for this once, I will leave the clear high road, Joan.
+And you and I will take a path that is set with thorns.  Pray God
+they do not wound us past healing at the end of our travel.
+
+JOAN.  O mistress, 'twill be a lightsome journey for me.
+
+CLARA.  But the moment that you reach happiness, Joan, remember to
+confess.
+
+JOAN.  There won't be nothing to fear then, mistress.
+
+CLARA.  Make him love you for yourself, Joan.  O we must each tie the
+heart of our true love so tightly to our own that naught shall ever
+be able to cut the bonds.
+
+JOAN.  Yes, mistress, and I'm sure I'm very much obliged to you.
+
+CLARA.  Ah, I am lending myself to all this, because I, too, have
+something to win or lose.
+
+JOAN.  Where did you meet him, mistress?
+
+CLARA.  I did not meet him.  I stood on the high ground, and he
+passed below.  His face was raised to the light, and I saw its look.
+I think my love for him has always lain asleep in my heart, Joan.
+But when he passed beneath me in the meadow, it awoke.
+
+JOAN.  O mistress, what sort of an appearance has the gentleman?
+
+CLARA.  I don't know how to answer you, Joan.
+
+JOAN.  I count as it would take a rare, grand looking man for to put
+his lordship into the shadow, like.
+
+CLARA.  You are right there, Joan.  But now we must talk of your
+affairs.  Your fine courtiers will be coming in presently and you
+must know how to receive them in a good way.
+
+JOAN.  That's what do hamper me dreadful, my speech and other things.
+How would it be if you was to help me a little bit, like?
+
+CLARA.  With all my heart.
+
+JOAN.  How should I act so not to be found out, mistress?
+
+CLARA.  You must speak little, and low.  Do not show haste in your
+goings and comings.  Put great care into your way of eating and
+drinking.
+
+JOAN.  O that will be a fearsome hard task.  What else?
+
+CLARA.  You must be sisterly with Thomas.
+
+JOAN.  I'd clean forgot him.  I don't doubt but what he'll ferret out
+the truth in no time.
+
+CLARA.  I don't think so.  I was but a little child when I left him.
+He will not remember how I looked.  And our colouring is alike, Joan.
+
+JOAN.  'Tis the eating and drinking as do play most heavily upon my
+mind, mistress.
+
+CLARA.  Then think of these words as you sit at table.  Eat as though
+you were not hungry and drink as though there were no such thing as
+thirst.  Let your hands move about your plate as if they were too
+tired to lift the knife and fork.
+
+[JOAN, darts to the dresser--seizes up a plate with a knife and fork,
+places them on the table and sits down before them, pretending to cut
+up meat.  CLARA watches her smilingly.
+
+JOAN.  [Absently, raising the knife to her mouth.]  How's that,
+mistress?
+
+CLARA.  Not so, not so, Joan.  That might betray you.
+
+JOAN.  What, mistress?
+
+CLARA.  'Tis the fork which journeys to the mouth, and the knife
+stops at home on the plate.
+
+JOAN.  [Dispiritedly.]  'Tis almost more than I did reckon for when I
+started.
+
+CLARA.  Well, we mustn't think of that now.  We must hold up our
+spirits, you and I.
+
+JOAN.  [Getting up and putting away the crockery.]  I'd best take off
+the bonnet and the cloak, mistress, hadn't I?
+
+CLARA.  Yes, that you had.  We will go upstairs together and I will
+help you change into another gown.  Come quickly so that we may have
+plenty of time.
+
+[They go towards the staircase door, CLARA leading the way.  With her
+hand on the latch of the door she gives one look round the kitchen.
+Then with a sudden movement she goes up to the wooden armchair at the
+hearth and bends her head till her lips touch it, she then runs
+upstairs, followed by JOAN.
+
+
+
+ACT II.--Scene 2.
+
+
+
+After a few moments MILES HOOPER and LUKE JENNER come into the
+kitchen.  They both look round the room enquiringly.
+
+LUKE.  Ah, she be still up above with that there serving wench what's
+come.
+
+MILES.  My good man, you didn't expect our fair miss to have finished
+her toilet under an hour, did you?
+
+LUKE.  I don't see what there was to begin on myself, let alone
+finish.
+
+MILES.  'Tis clear you know little of the ways of our town beauties,
+Luke.
+
+LUKE.  Still, I mean to have my try with her, Miles Hooper.
+
+MILES.  [Sarcastically.]  I'm quite agreeable, Mister Jenner.
+
+[THOMAS and GEORGE come in.  GEORGE carries a bucket of water.
+
+THOMAS.  Where's the little maid got to?  George and me be come up
+from the field on purpose for to bid her welcome home.
+
+MILES.  Miss is still at her toilet, farmer.
+
+[JOAN, in a flowered silk gown, comes slowly and carefully into the
+room, followed by CLARA, who carries a lace shawl over one arm.  She
+has put on a large white apron, but wears nothing on her head but the
+narrow blue ribbon.  During the following scene she stands quietly,
+half hidden by the door.
+
+[JOAN looks nervously round the room, then she draws herself up very
+haughtily.  MILES comes forward and bows low.
+
+THOMAS.  [Looking JOAN up and down.]  Well, bless my soul, who'd have
+guessed at the change it do make in a wench?
+
+JOAN.  [Holding out her hand, very coldly.]  A good afternoon to you,
+sir.
+
+THOMAS.  [Taking her hand slowly.]  Upon my word, but you might knock
+me over.
+
+MILES.  Miss has grown into a very superb young lady, Thomas.
+
+THOMAS.  [Still looking at her.]  That may be so, yet 'twasn't as
+such I had figured she in the eye of my mind, like.  [There is a
+moment's silence.
+
+THOMAS.  George, my boy, you and sister Clara used to be up to rare
+games one with t'other once on a time.  [Turning to JOAN.]  There, my
+wench, I count you've not forgotten Georgie?
+
+JOAN.  I'm afeared I've not much of a memory.
+
+THOMAS.  Shake hands, my maid, and very like as the memory will come
+back to roost same as the fowls do.
+
+JOAN.  [Bowing coldly.]  Good afternoon, George.
+
+MILES.  [Aside to Luke.]  Now that's what I call a bit of stylish
+breeding.
+
+[GEORGE has made no answer to JOAN's bow.  He quietly ignores it, and
+takes up his pail of water.  As he does so he catches sight of CLARA,
+who has been watching the whole scene from the corner where she is
+partly concealed.  He looks at her for one moment, and then sets the
+bucket down again.
+
+THOMAS.  Why, George--I guess as it's took you as it took me, us
+didn't think how 'twould appear when Miss Clara was growed up.
+
+GEORGE.  [Quietly.]  No, us did not, master.
+
+[He carries his pail into the back kitchen as EMILY and the children
+come in.
+
+EMILY.  What's all this to-do in my kitchen, I should like to know?
+
+THOMAS.  Us did but come up for to--to give a handshake to sister
+Clara, like.
+
+EMILY.  Well, now you can go off back to work again.  And you--
+[turning to JOAN]--now that you've finished curling of your hair and
+dressing of yourself up, you can go and sit down in the best parlour
+along with your fancy gentlemen.
+
+MILES.  [Offering his arm to JOAN.]  It will be my sweet pleasure to
+conduct Missy to the parlour.
+
+[LUKE offers his arm on the other side, and JOAN moves off with both
+the young men.
+
+JOAN.  [As she goes.]  Indeed, I shall be glad to rest on a
+comfortable couch.  I'm dead tired of the country air already.
+
+ROBIN.  [Calling after her.]  You'll not go off to sleep afore the
+chicken and sparrow grass is ate, will you, Aunt?
+
+[MILES, LUKE and JOAN having gone out, EMILY begins to bang the
+chairs back in their places and to arrange the room, watched by the
+two children.  CLARA, who has remained half hidden by the door, now
+goes quietly upstairs.
+
+EMILY.  [Calling.]  Here, George, Mag.
+
+[GEORGE comes in.
+
+EMILY.  Well, George, 'tisn't much worse nor I expected.
+
+JESSIE.  I don't like Aunt Clara.
+
+ROBIN.  I hates her very much.
+
+GEORGE.  [Slowly.]  And I don't seem to fancy her neither.
+
+[Curtain.]
+
+
+
+ACT III.--Scene 1.
+
+
+
+Two days have passed by.
+
+It is morning.  CLARA, wearing an apron and a muslin cap on her head,
+sits by the kitchen table mending a lace handkerchief.  MAGGIE, who
+is dusting the plates on the dressers, pauses to watch her.
+
+MAGGIE.  I'd sooner sweep the cow sheds out and that I would, nor
+have to set at such a niggly piece of sewing work as you.
+
+CLARA.  I cannot do it quickly, it is so fine.
+
+MAGGIE.  I count 'tis very nigh as bad as the treadmills, serving a
+young miss such as yourn be.
+
+CLARA.  What makes you say that, Maggie?
+
+MAGGIE.  Missis be very high in her ways and powerful sharp in the
+tongue, but I declare as your young lady will be worser nor missis
+when she do come to that age.
+
+CLARA.  Why do you think this, Mag?
+
+MAGGIE.  O she do look at any one as though they was lower nor the
+very worms in the ground.  And her speaks as though each word did
+cost she more nor a shilling to bring it out.  And see how
+destructive she be with her fine clothing.  A laced petticoat tore to
+ribbons last night, and to-day yon handkerchief.
+
+CLARA.  These things are soon mended.
+
+[MAGGIE continues to dust for a few moments.
+
+MAGGIE.  The day you comed here, 'twas a bit of ribbon as you did
+have around of your hair.
+
+CLARA.  [After a moment's hesitation.]  I put it on to keep my hair
+neat on the journeying.
+
+MAGGIE.  [Coming nearer.]  I count as you've not missed it, have you?
+
+CLARA.  Indeed I have, and I think I must have lost it in the
+hayfield.
+
+MAGGIE.  'Tain't lost.
+
+CLARA.  Where is it then?
+
+MAGGIE.  Look here, I could tell you, but I shan't.
+
+CLARA.  If you have found it, Maggie, you may keep it.
+
+MAGGIE.  'Twould be a fine thing to be a grand serving maid as you
+be, and to give away ribbons, so 'twould.
+
+[CLARA takes no notice of her and goes on sewing.
+
+MAGGIE.  [More insistently.]  'Twasn't me as found the ribbon.
+
+CLARA.  Who was it then?
+
+MAGGIE.  I daresay you'd like for to know, but I'm not going to say
+nothing more about it.
+
+[MAGGIE leans against the table watching CLARA as she sews.
+
+[EMILY with both the children now come in.  EMILY carries a basket of
+potatoes, and JESSIE a large bowl.
+
+EMILY.  [Setting down the basket.]  Maggie, you idle, bad girl,
+whatever are you doing here when master expects you down in the
+meadow to help with the raking?
+
+MAGGIE.  I be just a-going off yonder, mistress.
+
+EMILY.  I'd thank other folk not to bring dressed up fine young
+serving minxes down here--you was bad enough afore, Maggie, but
+you'll be a hundred times worser now.
+
+MAGGIE.  I'll be off and help master.  I've been and put the meat on
+to boil as you said, missis.
+
+[MAGGIE goes off.
+
+[CLARA continues to sew, quietly.  JESSIE has put her bowl down on
+the table, and now comes to her side.  ROBIN also comes close to her.
+EMILY flings herself into a chair for a moment and contemptuously
+watches them.
+
+JESSIE.  We don't care much about our new aunt, Joan.
+
+ROBIN.  Dad said as how Aunt would be sure to bring us sommat good
+from London town in them great boxes.
+
+JESSIE.  And Aunt has been here two days and more, and she hasn't
+brought us nothing.
+
+EMILY.  Your fine aunt have been too much took up with her fancy
+gentlemen to think of what would be suitable behaviour towards you
+children.
+
+JESSIE.  Will Aunt Clara get married soon?
+
+EMILY.  'Tis to be hoped as she will be.  Such a set out in the house
+I have never seen afore in all my days.  Young women as is hale and
+hearty having their victuals took up to their rooms and a-lying in
+bed till 'tis noon or later.
+
+JESSIE.  'Tis only one of them as lies in bed.
+
+ROBIN.  [To CLARA.]  Do you think Aunt has got sommat for us
+upstairs, Joan?
+
+CLARA.  [Rising and putting down her work.]  I know she has, Robin.
+
+EMILY.  Don't let me catch you speaking to Master Spring as though
+you and he was of the same station, young person.
+
+CLARA.  Master Robin, and Miss Jessie, I will go upstairs and fetch
+the gifts that your aunt has brought for you.
+
+[She goes leisurely towards the staircase door, smiling at the
+children.
+
+EMILY.  Ah, and you may tell your young madam that 'tis high time as
+she was out of bed and abroad.  Hear that?  [CLARA goes out.
+
+JESSIE.  I like her.  She speaks so gentle.  Not like Aunt.
+
+EMILY.  She's a stuck up sort of fine lady herself like.  Look at the
+hands of her, 'tis not a day's hard work as they have done in her
+life, I'll warrant.
+
+ROBIN.  What will she bring us from out of the great boxes, do you
+think?
+
+EMILY.  Sommat what you don't need, I warrant.  'Tis always so.  When
+folks take it into their heads to give you aught, 'tis very nigh
+always sommat which you could do better without.
+
+[EMILY gets up and begins settling the pots on the fire, and fetching
+a jug of cold water from the back kitchen and a knife which she lays
+on the table.
+
+[CLARA enters carrying some parcels.  She brings them to the table.
+Both the children run to her.
+
+CLARA.  [Holding out a long parcel to EMILY and speaking to the
+children.]  The first is for your mother, children.
+
+EMILY.  [With an angry exclamation.]  Now, you mark my words, 'twill
+be sommat as I shall want to fling over the hedge for all the use
+'twill be.
+
+[She comes near, opens the parcel and perceives it to be a length of
+rich black silk.
+
+CLARA.  My mistress thought it might be suitable.
+
+EMILY.  Suitable?  I'll suitable her.  When shall my two hands find
+time to sew me a gown out of it, I'd like to know?  And if 'twas
+sewn, when would my limbs find time to sit down within of it?
+[Flinging it down on the table.]  Suitable?  You can tell your
+mistress from me as she can keep her gifts to herself if she can't do
+better nor this.
+
+JESSIE.  [Stroking the silk.]  O Mother, the feel of it be softer nor
+a dove's feather.
+
+ROBIN.  [Feeling it too.]  'Tis better nor the new kittens' fur.
+
+EMILY.  Let us see if your aunt have done more handsomely towards you
+children.
+
+CLARA.  I am afraid not.  These coral beads are for Miss Jessie, with
+her aunt's dear love.  And this book of pictures is for Master Robin.
+
+JESSIE.  [Seizing the beads with delight.]  I love a string of beads.
+[Putting them on.]  How do they look on me?
+
+EMILY.  Off with them this moment.  I'll learn her to give strings of
+rubbish to my child.
+
+JESSIE.  [Beginning to cry.]  O do let me wear it just a little
+while, just till dinner, Mother.
+
+EMILY.  Have done with that noise.  Off with it at once, do you hear.
+
+JESSIE.  [Taking the necklace off.]  I love the feel of it--might I
+keep it in my hand then?
+
+EMILY.  [Seizing it.]  'Twill be put by with the silk dress.  So
+there.  'Tis not a suitable thing for a little girl like you.
+
+ROBIN.  [Looking up from the pages of his book.]  No one shan't take
+my book from me.  There be pictures of great horses and sheep and
+cows in it--and no one shan't hide it from me.
+
+EMILY.  [Putting the silk dress and necklace on another table.]  Next
+time your aunt wants to throw her money into the gutter I hope as
+she'll ask me to come and see her a-doing of it.
+
+JESSIE.  [Coming up to CLARA very tearfully.]  And was there naught
+for Dad in the great box?
+
+CLARA.  Perhaps there may be.
+
+ROBIN.  And did Aunt Clara bring naught for Georgie?
+
+CLARA.  I don't know.
+
+JESSIE.  Poor Georgie.  He never has nothing gived him.
+
+ROBIN.  And Mother puts the worst of the bits on his plate at dinner.
+
+EMILY.  [Sharply.]  Look you here, young woman.  Suppose you was to
+take and do something useful with that idle pair of hands as you've
+got.
+
+CLARA.  Yes, mistress, I should like to help you in something.
+
+EMILY.  Us knows what fine promises lead to.
+
+CLARA.  But I mean it.  Do let me help a little.
+
+EMILY.  See them taters?
+
+CLARA.  Yes.
+
+EMILY.  Take and peel and wash them and get them ready against when I
+wants to cook them.
+
+CLARA.  [A little doubtfully.]  Yes--I'll--I'll try -
+
+EMILY.  Ah, 'tis just as I thought.  You're one of them who would
+stir the fire with a silver spoon rather nor black their hands with
+the poker.
+
+CLARA.  [Eagerly.]  No, no--it isn't that.  I'll gladly do them.
+Come, Miss Jessie, you will shew me if I do them wrongly, won't you?
+
+JESSIE.  O yes, I'll help you because I like you, Joan.
+
+ROBIN.  I'll help too, when I have finished looking at my book.
+
+[EMILY goes out.  CLARA sits down by the table and takes up a potato
+and the knife and slowly and awkwardly sets to work.  JESSIE stands
+by her watching.
+
+JESSIE.  You mustn't take no account of Mother when she speaks so
+sharp.  'Tis only her way.
+
+ROBIN.  Could you come and be our serving maid when Maggie's sent
+off?
+
+CLARA.  O I should be too slow and awkward at the work, I think.
+
+JESSIE.  Yes, you don't do them taters very nice.
+
+ROBIN.  That don't matter, I like you, and you can tell me fine
+things about other parts.
+
+JESSIE.  Georgie can tell of fine things too.  See, there he comes
+with the vegetables from the garden.
+
+[GEORGE comes in with a large basket of vegetables, which he sets
+down in the back kitchen.  Then he stands at the door, silently
+watching the group near the table.
+
+JESSIE.  Come here, Georgie, and let Joan hear some of the tales out
+of what you do sing.
+
+GEORGE.  What would mistress say if she was to catch me at my songs
+this time of day?
+
+JESSIE.  Mother's gone upstairs, she won't know nothing.
+
+ROBIN.  Come you here, George, and look at my fine book what Aunt
+have brought me.
+
+GEORGE.  [Slowly approaching the table.]  That be a brave, fine book
+of pictures, Master Robin.
+
+ROBIN.  [Holding up the open book.]  I don't fancy Aunt Clara much,
+but I likes her better nor I did because of this book.
+
+[GEORGE'S eyes wander from the book to CLARA as she bends over her
+work.
+
+JESSIE.  Joan doesn't know how to do them very nicely, does she
+George!
+
+GEORGE.  'Tis the first time you've been set down to such work, may
+be, mistress.
+
+JESSIE.  You mustn't say "mistress" to Joan, you know.  Why, Mother
+would be ever so angry if she was to hear you.  Joan's only a
+servant.
+
+CLARA.  [Looking up.]  Like you, George.
+
+GEORGE.  [Steadily.]  What I was saying is--'Tis the first time as
+you have been set afore a bowl of taters like this.
+
+CLARA.  You are right, George.  It is the first time since--since I
+was quite a little child.  And I think I'm very clumsy at my work.
+
+GEORGE.  No one could work with them laces a-falling down all over
+their fingers.
+
+JESSIE.  You should turn back your sleeves for kitchen work, Joan,
+same as Maggie does.
+
+GEORGE.  Yes, you should turn back your sleeves, Miss Joan.
+
+[JOAN puts aside the knife and basket, turns back her sleeves, and
+then resumes her work.  GEORGE'S eyes are rivetted on her hands and
+arms for a moment.  Then he turns as though to go away.
+
+JESSIE.  Don't go away, Georgie.  Come and tell us how you like Aunt
+Clara now that she's growed into such a grand lady.
+
+GEORGE.  [Coming back to the table.]  I don't like nothing about her,
+Miss Jessie.
+
+JESSIE.  Is Aunt very much changed from when she did use to ride the
+big horses to the trough, Georgie?
+
+ROBIN.  And from the time when th' old gander did take a big piece
+right out of her arm, Georgie?
+
+GEORGE.  [His eyes on CLARA'S bent head.]  I count her be wonderful
+changed, like.
+
+JESSIE.  So that you would scarce know her?
+
+GEORGE.  So that I should scarce know she.
+
+JESSIE.  She have brought Mother a silken gown and me a string of
+coral beads.  But naught for you, Georgie.
+
+GEORGE.  I reckon as Miss Clara have not kept me in her remembrance
+like.
+
+CLARA.  [With sudden earnestness.]  O that she has, George.
+
+JESSIE.  She didn't seem to know him by her looks.
+
+CLARA.  Looks often speak but poorly for the heart.
+
+ROBIN.  [Who has been watching CLARA.]  See there, Joan.  You've been
+and cut that big tater right in half.  Mother will be cross.
+
+CLARA.  O dear, I am thoughtless.  One cannot work and talk at the
+same time.
+
+GEORGE.  [Taking basket and knife from her and seating himself on the
+edge of the table.]  Here,--give them all to me.  I understand such
+work, and 'tis clear that you do not.  I'll finish them off in a few
+minutes, and mistress will never be the wiser.
+
+CLARA.  O thank you, George, but am I to go idle?
+
+GEORGE.  You can take up with that there white sewing if you have a
+mind.  'Tis more suited to your hands nor this rough job.
+
+[CLARA puts down her sleeves and takes up her needlework.
+
+JESSIE.  Sing us a song, George, whilst you do the taters.
+
+GEORGE.  No, Miss Jessie.  My mood is not a singing mood this day.
+
+JESSIE.  You ask him, Joan.
+
+CLARA.  Will not you sing one little verse, George?
+
+GEORGE.  Nay--strangers from London town would have no liking for the
+songs we sing down here among the fields.
+
+CLARA.  There was a song I once heard in the country that pleased me
+very well.
+
+JESSIE.  What was it called?
+
+CLARA.  I cannot remember the name--but there was something of bushes
+and of briars in it.
+
+JESSIE.  I know which that is.  'Tis a pretty song.  Sing it,
+Georgie.
+
+GEORGE.  Nay--sing it yourself, Miss Jessie.
+
+JESSIE.  'Tis like this at the beginning.--[she sings or repeats] -
+
+"Through bushes and through briars
+I lately took my way,
+All for to hear the small birds sing
+And the lambs to skip and play."
+
+CLARA.  That is the song I was thinking of, Jessie.
+
+GEORGE.  Can you go on with it, Miss Jessie.
+
+JESSIE.  I can't say any more.
+
+CLARA.  [Gently singing or speaking.]
+
+I overheard my own true love,
+Her voice it was so clear.
+"Long time I have been waiting for
+The coming of my dear."
+
+GEORGE.  [Heaving a sigh.]  That's it.
+
+JESSIE.  Go on, Joan, I do like the sound of it.
+
+CLARA.  Shall I go on with the song, George?
+
+GEORGE.  As you please.
+
+CLARA.
+
+"Sometimes I am uneasy
+And troubled in my mind,
+Sometimes I think I'll go to my love
+And tell to him my mind."
+
+"And if I would go to my love
+My love he will say nay
+If I show to him my boldness
+He'll ne'er love me again."
+
+JESSIE.  When her love was hid a-hind of the bushes and did hear her
+a-singing so pitiful, what did he do then?
+
+CLARA.  I don't know, Jessie.
+
+JESSIE.  I reckon as he did come out to show her as he knowed all
+what she did keep in her mind.
+
+CLARA.  Very likely the briars were so thick between them, Jess, that
+he never got to the other side for her to tell him.
+
+GEORGE.  Yes, that's how 'twas, I count.
+
+JESSIE.  [Running up to ROBIN.]  I'm going to look at your book along
+of you, Robin.
+
+ROBIN.  But I'm the one to turn the leaves, remember.  [The children
+sit side by side looking at the picture book.  CLARA sews.  GEORGE
+goes on with the potatoes.  As the last one is finished and tossed
+into the water, he looks at CLARA for the first time.  A long
+silence.
+
+GEORGE.  Miss Clara and me was good friends once on a time.
+
+CLARA.  Tell me how it was then, George.
+
+GEORGE.  I did used to put her on the horse's back, and we would go
+down to the water trough in the evening time and -
+
+CLARA.  What else did you and Miss Clara do together, George?
+
+GEORGE.  Us would walk in the woods aside of one another--And I would
+lift she to a high branch in a tree--and pretend for to leave her
+there.
+
+CLARA.  And then?
+
+GEORGE.  Her would call upon me pitiful--and I would come back from
+where I was hid.
+
+CLARA.  And did her crying cease?
+
+GEORGE.  She would take and spring as though her was one of they
+little wild squirrels as do dance about in the trees.
+
+CLARA.  Where would she spring to, George?
+
+GEORGE.  I would hold out my two arms wide to her, and catch she.
+
+CLARA.  And did she never fall, whilst springing from the tree,
+George?
+
+GEORGE.  I never let she fall, nor get hurted by naught so long as
+her was in the care of me.
+
+CLARA.  [Slowly, after a short pause.]  I do not think she can have
+forgotten those days, George.
+
+GEORGE.  [Getting up and speaking harshly.]  They're best forgot.
+Put them away.  There be briars and brambles and thorns and sommat of
+all which do hurt the flesh of man atween that time and this'n.
+
+[CLARA turns her head away and furtively presses her handkerchief to
+her eyes.  GEORGE looks gloomily on the floor.  EMILY enters.
+
+EMILY.  George, what are you at sitting at the kitchen table I'd like
+to know?
+
+[GEORGE gets hastily off.  Both children look up from their book.
+
+EMILY.  [Looking freezingly at CLARA.]  'Tis plain as a turnpike what
+you've been after, young person.  If you was my serving wench, 'tis
+neck and crop as you should be thrown from the door.
+
+CLARA.  What for, mistress?
+
+EMILY.  What for?  You have the impudence to ask what for?  I'll soon
+tell you.  For making a fool of George and setting your cap at him
+and scandalising of my innocent children in their own kitchen.
+
+GEORGE.  This be going a bit too far, missis.  I'll not have things
+said like that.
+
+EMILY.  Then you may turn out on to the roads where you were took
+from--a grizzling little roadsters varmint.  You do cost more'n what
+you eats nor what we get of work from out of your body, you great
+hulk.
+
+CLARA.  [Springing up angrily.]  O I'll not hear such things said.
+I'll not.
+
+EMILY.  Who asked you to speak?  Get you upstairs and pull your
+mistress out of bed--and curl the ringlets of her hair and dust the
+flour on to her face.  'Tis about all you be fit for.
+
+CLARA.  [Angrily going to the stair door.]  Very well.  'Tis best
+that I should go.  I might say something you would not like.
+
+GEORGE.  [Advancing towards EMILY.]  Look you here, mistress.  I've
+put up with it going on for fifteen years.  But sometimes 'tis almost
+more nor I can bear.  If 'twasn't for Master Thomas I'd have cleared
+out this long time ago.
+
+EMILY.  Don't flatter yourself as Thomas needs you, my man.
+
+GEORGE.  We has always been good friends, farmer and me.  'Tis not
+for what I gets from he nor for what he do get out of I as we do hold
+together.  But 'tis this--as he and I do understand one another.
+
+EMILY.  We'll see what master has to say when I tell him how you was
+found sitting on the kitchen table and love-making with that saucy
+piece of London trash.
+
+GEORGE.  I'm off.  I've no patience to listen any longer.  You called
+me roadster varmint.  Well, let it be so.  On the road I was born and
+on the road I was picked from my dead mother's side, and I count as
+'tis on the road as I shall breathe my last.  But for all that, I'll
+not have road dirt flung on me by no one.  For, roadsters varmint
+though I be, there be things which I do hold brighter nor silver and
+cleaner nor new opened leaves, and I'll not have defilement throwed
+upon them.
+
+EMILY.  [Seizing the arms of JESSIE and ROBIN.]  The lad's raving.
+'Tis plain as he's been getting at the cider.  Come you off with me
+to the haymaking, Robin and Jess.
+
+ROBIN.  May I take my book along of me?
+
+EMILY.  [Flinging the book down violently.]  I'll book you!  What
+next?
+
+JESSIE.  Poor Georgie.  He was not courting Joan, mother.  He was
+only doing the taters for her.
+
+EMILY.  [As they go out.]  The lazy good-for-nothing cat.  I'll get
+her packed off from here afore another sun has set, see if I don't.
+
+[GEORGE is left alone in the kitchen.  When all sounds of EMILY and
+the children have died away, he sighs.  Then, looking furtively round
+the room, he draws a blue ribbon slowly from his pocket.  He spreads
+it out on one hand and stands looking down on it, sadly and
+longingly.  Then he slowly raises it to his lips and kisses it.  Just
+as he is doing this THOMAS comes into the room.
+
+THOMAS.  Why, George, my lad.
+
+GEORGE.  [Confusedly putting the ribbon back into his pocket.]  Yes,
+Master Thomas.
+
+THOMAS.  [Looking meaningly at GEORGE.]  'Tis a pretty enough young
+maid, George.
+
+GEORGE.  What did you say, Master?
+
+THOMAS.  That one with the bit of blue round the head of her.
+
+GEORGE.  Blue?
+
+THOMAS.  Ah, George.  I was a young man myself once on a time.
+
+GEORGE.  Yes, master.
+
+THOMAS.  'Twasn't a piece of blue ribbon as I did find one day, but
+'twas a blossom dropped from her gown.
+
+GEORGE.  Whose gown, master?  I'll warrant 'twasn't missus's.
+
+THOMAS.  Bless my soul, no.  No, no, George.  'Twasn't the mistress
+then.
+
+GEORGE.  Ah, I count as it could not have been she.
+
+THOMAS.  First love, 'tis best, George.
+
+GEORGE.  Ah, upon my word, that 'tis.
+
+THOMAS.  But my maid went and got her married to another.
+
+GEORGE.  More's the pity, Master Thomas.
+
+THOMAS.  [Sighing.]  Ah, I often thinks of how it might have been--
+with her and me, like.
+
+GEORGE.  Had that one a soft tongue to her mouth, master?
+
+THOMAS.  Soft and sweet as the field lark, George.
+
+GEORGE.  Then that had been the one for you to have wed, Master
+Thomas.
+
+THOMAS.  Ah, George, don't you never run into the trap, no matter
+whether 'tis baited with the choicest thing you ever did dream on.
+Once in, never out.  There 'tis.
+
+GEORGE.  No one would trouble to set a snare for me, master.  I baint
+worth trapping.
+
+THOMAS.  You be a brave, fine country lad, George, what a pretty
+baggage from London town might give a year of her life to catch, so
+be it her had the fortune.
+
+GEORGE.  No, no, Master Thomas.  Nothing of that.  There baint
+nothing.
+
+THOMAS.  There be a piece of blue ribbon, George.
+
+GEORGE.  They be coming down and into the room now, master.  [Steps
+are heard in the staircase.
+
+THOMAS.  We'll off to the meadow then, George.
+
+[GEORGE and THOMAS go out.
+
+[JOAN, dressed as a lady of fashion, and followed by CLARA, comes
+into the kitchen.
+
+CLARA.  Now, Joan, if I were you, I should go out into the garden,
+and let the gentlemen find you in the arbour.  Your ways are more
+easy and natural when you are in the air.
+
+JOAN.  O I'm very nigh dead with fright when I'm within doors.  'Tis
+so hard to move about without knocking myself against sommat.  But at
+table 'tis worst of all.
+
+CLARA.  You've stopped up in your room two breakfasts with the
+headache, and yesterday we took our dinner to the wood.
+
+JOAN.  But to-night 'twill be something cruel, for Farmer Thomas have
+asked them both to supper again.
+
+CLARA.  Luke Jenner and the other man?
+
+JOAN.  I beg you to practise me in my ways, a little, afore the time,
+mistress.
+
+CLARA.  That I will.  We will find out what is to be upon the table,
+and then I will shew you how it is to be eaten.
+
+JOAN.  And other things as well as eating.  When I be sitting in the
+parlour, Miss Clara, and Hooper, he comes up and asks my pleasure,
+what have I got to say to him?
+
+CLARA.  O, I shouldn't trouble about that.  I'd open my fan and take
+no notice if I were you.
+
+JOAN.  I do feel so awkward like in speech with Farmer Thomas,
+mistress.  And with the children, too.
+
+CLARA.  Come, you must take heart and throw yourself into the acting.
+Try to be as a sister would with Thomas.  Be lively, and kind in your
+way with the children.
+
+JOAN.  I tries to be like old Madam Lovel was, when I talks with
+them.
+
+CLARA.  That cross, rough mode of hers sits badly on any one young,
+Joan.  Be more of yourself, but make little changes in your manner
+here and there.
+
+JOAN.  [With a heavy sigh.]  'Tis the here and the there as I finds
+it so hard to manage.
+
+JESSIE.  [Running in breathlessly.]  A letter, a letter for Aunt
+Clara.  [CLARA involuntarily puts out her hand.]  No, Joan.  I was to
+give it to Aunt Clara herself.  I've run all the way.
+
+[JOAN slowly takes the letter, looking confused.
+
+JESSIE.  Will you read it now, Aunt?
+
+JOAN.  Run away, little girl, I don't want no children worriting
+round me now.  [Suddenly recollecting herself and forcing herself to
+speak brightly.]  I mean--no, my dear little girl, I'd rather wait to
+read it till I'm by myself; but thank you very kindly all the same,
+my pet.
+
+JESSIE.  O, but I should like to hear the letter read, so much.
+
+JOAN.  Never mind.  Run along back to mother, there's a sweet little
+maid.
+
+JESSIE.  I'd sooner stop with you now, you look so much kinder, like.
+
+CLARA.  [Taking JESSIE'S hand and leading her to the door.]  Now,
+Miss Jessie, your aunt must read her letter in quiet, but if you will
+come back presently I will have a game with you outside.
+
+JESSIE.  [As she runs off.]  Mother won't let me talk with you any
+more, alone.  She says as you've made a fool of Georgie and you'll do
+the same by us all.
+
+JOAN.  [When JESSIE has run off.]  There now, how did I do that,
+mistress?
+
+CLARA.  Better, much better.
+
+JOAN.  'Tis the feeling of one thing and the speaking of another,
+with you ladies and gentlemen.  So it appears to me.
+
+CLARA.  [After a moment's thought.]  No.  It is not quite like that.
+But 'tis, perhaps, the dressing up of an ugly feeling in better
+garments.
+
+JOAN.  [Handing the letter to CLARA.]  There, mistress, 'tis yours,
+not mine.
+
+CLARA.  [Glancing at it.]  Lord Lovel's writing.  [CLARA opens the
+letter and reads it through.]  He will not wait longer for my answer.
+And he is coming here as fast as horses can bring him.
+
+JOAN.  O, mistress, whatever shall we do?
+
+CLARA.  We had better own to everything at once.  It will save
+trouble in the end.
+
+JOAN.  Own to everything now, and lose all just as my hand was
+closing upon it, like!
+
+CLARA.  Poor Joan, it will not make any difference in the end, if the
+man loves you truly.
+
+JOAN.  Be kind and patient just to the evening, mistress.  Hooper is
+coming up to see me now.  I'd bring him to offer his self, if I was
+but left quiet along of him for a ten minutes or so.
+
+CLARA.  And then, Joan?
+
+JOAN.  And then, when was all fixed up comfortable between us,
+mistress, maybe as you could break it gently to him so as he wouldn't
+think no worse of me.
+
+[CLARA gets up and goes to the window, where she looks out for a few
+minutes in silence.  JOAN cries softly meanwhile.
+
+CLARA.  [Turning towards JOAN.]  As you will, Joan.  Very likely
+'twill be to-morrow morning before my lord reaches this place.
+
+JOAN.  O bless you for your goodness, mistress.  And I do pray as all
+may go as well with you as 'tis with me.
+
+CLARA.  [Sadly.]  That is not likely, Joan.
+
+JOAN.  What is it stands in the way, mistress?
+
+CLARA.  Briars, Joan.  Thorns of pride, and many another sharp and
+hurting thing.
+
+JOAN.  Then take you my counsel, mistress, and have his lordship when
+he do offer next.
+
+CLARA.  I'll think of what you say, Joan.  There comes a moment when
+the heart is tired of being spurned, and it would fain get into
+shelter.  [A slight pause.
+
+JOAN.  [Looking through the window.]  Look up quickly, mistress.
+There's Hooper.
+
+CLARA.  [Getting up.]  Then I'll run away.  May all be well with you,
+dear Joan.  [CLARA goes out.
+
+[JOAN seats herself in a high-backed chair and opens her fan.  MILES
+enters, carrying a small box.
+
+MILES.  Already astir, Miss Clara.  'Tis early hours to be sure for
+one of our London beauties.
+
+[He advances towards her, and she stretches out her hand without
+rising.  He takes it ceremoniously.
+
+JOAN.  You may sit down, if you like, Mister Hooper.
+
+[MILES places a chair in front of JOAN, and sits down on it.
+
+MILES.  [Untying the parcel.]  I've been so bold as to bring you a
+little keepsake from my place in town, Missy.
+
+JOAN.  How kind you are, Mister Miles.
+
+MILES.  You'll be able to fancy yourself in Bond Street when you see
+it, Miss Clara.
+
+JOAN.  Now, you do excite me, Mister Hooper.
+
+MILES.  [Opening the box and taking out a handsome spray of bright
+artificial flowers.]  There, what do you say to that, Miss?  And we
+can do you the same in all the leading tints.
+
+JOAN.  O, 'tis wonderful modish.  I declare I never did see anything
+to beat it up in town.
+
+MILES.  Now I thought as much.  I flatter myself that we can hold our
+own with the best of them in Painswick High Street.
+
+JOAN.  I seem to smell the very scent of the blossoms, Mister Hooper.
+
+[She puts out her hand shyly and takes the spray from MILES,
+pretending to smell it.
+
+MILES.  Well--and what's the next pleasure, Madam?
+
+[JOAN drops the spray and begins to fan herself violently.
+
+MILES.  [Very gently.]  What's Missy's next pleasure?
+
+JOAN.  I'm sure I don't know, Mr. Miles.
+
+MILES.  Miles Hooper would like Missy to ask for all that is his.
+
+JOAN.  O, Mister Hooper, how kind you are.
+
+MILES.  Ladies never like the sound of business, so we'll set that
+aside for a moment and discuss the music of the heart in place of it.
+
+JOAN.  Ah, that's a thing I do well understand, Mister Hooper.
+
+MILES.  I loved you from the first, Miss.  There's the true, high
+born lady for you, says I to myself.  There's beauty and style,
+elegance and refinement.
+
+JOAN.  Now, did you really think all that, Mister Hooper?
+
+MILES.  Do not keep me in suspense, Miss Clara.
+
+JOAN.  What about, sir?
+
+MILES.  The answer to my question, Missy.
+
+JOAN.  And what was that, I wonder?
+
+MILES.  I want my pretty Miss to take the name of Hooper.  Will she
+oblige her Miles?
+
+JOAN.  O that I will.  With all my heart.
+
+MILES.  [Standing up.]  I would not spoil this moment, but by and bye
+my sweet Missy shall tell me all the particulars of her income, and
+such trifles.
+
+JOAN.  [Agitatedly.]  O let us not destroy to-day by thoughts of
+anything but our dear affection one for t'other.
+
+MILES.  Why, my pretty town Miss is already becoming countrified in
+her speech.
+
+JOAN.  'Tis from hearing all the family.  But, dear Miles, promise
+there shan't be nothing but--but love talk between you and me this
+day.  I could not bear it if we was to speak of, of other things,
+like.
+
+MILES.  [Getting up and walking about the room.]  As you will--as you
+will.  Anything to oblige a lady.
+
+[He stops before the table, on which is laid EMILY'S silk dress, and
+begins to finger it.
+
+JOAN.  What's that you're looking at?
+
+MILES.  Ten or fifteen shillings the yard, and not a penny under,
+I'll be bound.
+
+JOAN.  O do come and talk to me again and leave off messing with the
+old silk.
+
+MILES.  No, no, Missy, I'm a man of business habits, and 'tis my duty
+to go straight off to the meadow and seek out brother Thomas.  He and
+I have got to talk things over a bit, you know.
+
+JOAN.  Off so soon!  O you have saddened me.
+
+MILES.  Nay, what is it to lose a few minutes of sweet company, when
+life is in front of us, Miss Clara?
+
+[He raises her hand, kisses it, and leaves her.  As he goes out by
+the door CLARA enters.
+
+JOAN.  O, Mistress--stop him going down to Farmer Thomas at the
+meadow!
+
+CLARA.  Why, Joan, what has happened?
+
+JOAN.  All has happened.  But stop him going to the farmer to talk
+about the--the wedding and the money.
+
+CLARA.  The money?
+
+JOAN.  The income which he thinks I have.
+
+CLARA.  I'll run, but all this time I've been keeping Master Luke
+Jenner quiet in the parlour.
+
+JOAN.  O what does he want now?
+
+CLARA.  Much the same as the other one wanted.
+
+JOAN.  Must I see him?
+
+CLARA.  Yes, indeed he will wait no longer for his answer.  He's at
+boiling point already.
+
+JOAN.  Then send him in.  But do you run quickly, Miss Clara, and
+keep Miles Hooper from the farmer.
+
+CLARA.  I'll run my best, never fear.  [She goes out.
+
+[LUKE JENNER comes in, a bunch of homely flowers in his hand.
+
+JOAN.  [Seating herself.]  You are early this morning, Mister Jenner.
+
+LUKE.  [Sitting opposite to her.]  I have that to say which would not
+bide till sunset, Miss Clara.
+
+JOAN.  Indeed, Mister Jenner.  I wonder what that can be.
+
+LUKE.  'Tis just like this, Miss Clara.  The day I first heard as you
+was coming down here--"I could do with a rich wife if so be as I
+could win her," I did tell myself.
+
+JOAN.  O, Mister Jenner, now did you really?
+
+LUKE.  But when I met you in the wood--saw you sitting there, so
+still and yet so bright, so fine and yet so homely.  "That's the maid
+for me," I says to myself.
+
+JOAN.  [Tearfully.]  O, Mister Jenner!
+
+LUKE.  And if it had been beggar's rags upon her in the place of
+satin, I'd have said the same.
+
+JOAN.  [Very much stirred.]  O, Mister Jenner, and did you really
+think like that?
+
+LUKE.  If all the gold that do lie atween me and you was sunk in the
+deep ocean, 'twould be the best as could happen.  There!
+
+JOAN.  [Faintly.]  O, Mister Jenner, why?
+
+LUKE.  Because, very like 'twould shew to you as 'tis yourself I'm
+after and not the fortune what you've got.
+
+JOAN.  Mister Jenner, I'm mighty sorry.
+
+LUKE.  Don't say I'm come too late, Miss Clara.
+
+JOAN.  You are.  Mister Hooper was before you.  And now, 'tis he and
+I who are like to be wed.
+
+LUKE.  I might have known I had no chance.
+
+JOAN.  [Rising and trying to hide her emotion.]  I wouldn't have had
+it happen so for the world, Mr. Jenner.
+
+LUKE.  [Laying his bunch of flowers on the table, his head bent, and
+his eyes on the ground.]  'Twas none of your doing, Miss Clara.
+You've naught to blame yourself for.  'Tis not your fault as you're
+made so--so beautiful, and yet so homely.
+
+[JOAN looks at him irresolutely for a moment and then precipitately
+leaves the room.
+
+[LUKE folds his arms on the table and rests his head on them in an
+attitude of deepest despondency.  After a few moments CLARA enters.
+
+CLARA.  O, Mister Jenner, what has happened to you?
+
+LUKE.  [Raising his head and pointing to the window.]  There she
+goes, through the garden with her lover.
+
+CLARA.  I wish that you were in his place.
+
+LUKE.  [Bitterly.]  I've no house with golden rails to offer her.
+Nor any horse and chaise.
+
+CLARA.  But you carry a heart within you that is full of true love.
+
+LUKE.  What use is the love which be fastened up in a man's heart and
+can spend itself on naught, I'd like to know.  [He rises as though to
+go and take up the bunch of flowers which has been lying on the
+table.  Brokenly.]  I brought them for her.  But I count as he'll
+have given her something better nor these.
+
+[CLARA takes the flowers gently from his hand, and as she does so,
+EMILY enters.
+
+EMILY.  What now if you please!  First with George and then with
+Luke.  'Twould be Thomas next if he wasn't an old sheep of a man as
+wouldn't know if an eye was cast on him or no.  But I'll soon put a
+stop to all this.  Shame on you, Luke Jenner.  And you, you fine
+piece of London vanity, I wants my kitchen to myself, do you hear, so
+off with you upstairs.
+
+[She begins to move violently about the kitchen as the curtain falls.
+
+
+
+ACT IV.--Scene 1.
+
+
+
+The kitchen is decorated with bunches of flowers.  A long table is
+spread with silver, china and food.  CLARA is setting mugs to each
+place.  MAGGIE comes in from the back kitchen with a large dish of
+salad.
+
+MAGGIE.  When folks do come down to the countryside they likes to
+enjoy themselves among the vegetables.
+
+CLARA.  [Placing the last mug.]  There--Now all is ready for them.
+
+MAGGIE.  [Bending over a place at the end of the table.]  Come you
+and look at this great old bumble-dore, Joan, what have flyed in
+through the window.
+
+CLARA.  [Goes to MAGGIE'S side and bends down over the table.]  O
+what a beautiful thing.  Look at the gold on him, and his legs are
+like feathers.
+
+MAGGIE.  [Taking the bee carefully up in a duster and letting it fly
+through the window.]  The sign of a stranger, so they do say.
+
+CLARA.  A stranger, Maggie?
+
+MAGGIE.  You mind my words, 'tis a stranger as'll sit where yon was
+stuck, afore the eating be finished.
+
+CLARA.  I don't believe in such signs, myself.
+
+MAGGIE.  I never knowed it not come true.
+
+[THOMAS comes in.  He is wearing his best clothes and looks pleased,
+yet nervous.
+
+THOMAS.  Well, maids.  Upon my word 'tis a spread.  Never saw so many
+different vituals brought together all at a time afore in this house.
+
+MAGGIE.  'Tis in honour of Miss Clara's going to be married like,
+master.
+
+THOMAS.  So 'tis, so 'tis.  Well--A single rose upon the bush.  Bound
+to be plucked, you know.  Couldn't be left to fade in the sun, eh,
+girls?
+
+CLARA.  Where shall Maggie and me stop whilst the supper is going on,
+master?  Mistress has not told us yet.
+
+THOMAS.  [Nervously.]  Mistress haven't told you--haven't she?  Well-
+-well--at such a time we must all--all rejoice one with t'other,
+like.  No difference made t'wixt master and man.  Nor t'wixt maid and
+missus.  Down at the far end of the table you can sit yourselves, my
+wenches.  Up against George--How's that?
+
+CLARA.  That will do very well for us, Master.
+
+MAGGIE.  I don't expect as missus will let we bide there long.
+
+THOMAS.  Look here, my wench, I be master in my own house, and at the
+asking in marriage of my only sister like, 'tis me as shall say what
+shall sit down with who.  And there's an end of it.  That's all.
+
+MAGGIE.  I hear them a coming in, master.
+
+[EMILY, holding the hands of JESSIE and ROBIN, comes into the room.
+Her eyes fall on THOMAS who is standing between CLARA and MAGGIE,
+looking suddenly sheepish and nervous.
+
+EMILY.  [In a voice of suppressed anger.]  Thomas! O, if I catch any
+more of these goings on in my kitchen.
+
+[JOAN, very elegantly dressed and hanging on the arm of MILES HOOPER,
+follows EMILY into the room.
+
+EMILY.  I'll not have the food kept back any longer for Luke Jenner.
+If folk can't come to the time when they're asked, they baint worth
+waiting for, so sit you down, all of you.
+
+[She sits down at the head of the table, a child on either side of
+her.  JOAN languidly sinks into a chair and MILES puts himself at her
+right.  A place at her left remains empty.  THOMAS sits opposite.
+Three places at the end of the table are left vacant.  As they sit
+down, GEORGE, wearing a new smock and neck handkerchief, comes in.
+
+EMILY.  [Beginning to help a dish.]  You need not think you're to be
+helped first, Clara, for all that the party is given for you, like.
+The poor little children have been kept waiting a sad time for their
+supper, first because you was such a while a having your head curled
+and puffed out, and then 'twas Luke Jenner as didn't come.
+
+[CLARA sits down at a place at the end of the table.  GEORGE and
+MAGGIE still remain standing.
+
+EMILY.  [Perceiving CLARA'S movement.]  Well, I never did see
+anything so forward.  Who told you to sit yourself down along of your
+betters, if you please, madam serving maid?
+
+[GEORGE comes involuntarily forward and stands behind CLARA'S chair.
+CLARA does not move.
+
+EMILY.  Get you out of that there place this instant, do you hear?
+[Turning to MILES.]  To see the way the young person acts one might
+think as she fancied herself as something uncommon rare and high.
+But you'll not take any fool in, not you, for all that you like to
+play the fine lady.  Us can see through your game very clear, can't
+us, Mr. Hooper?
+
+MILES.  O certainly, to be sure, Missis Spring.  No one who has the
+privilege of being acquainted with a real lady of quality could be
+mistook by any of the games played by this young person.
+
+[CLARA looks him gravely in the face without moving.
+
+EMILY.  Get up, do you hear, and help Maggie pass the dishes!
+
+THOMAS.  [Nervously.]  Nay, nay, 'twas my doing, Emily.  I did tell
+the wenches as they might sit their-selves along of we, just for th'
+occasion like.
+
+EMILY.  And who are you, if you please, giving orders and muddling
+about like a lord in my kitchen?
+
+THOMAS.  [Faintly.]  Come, Emily, I'm the master.
+
+EMILY.  And I, the mistress.  Hear that, you piece of London
+impudence?
+
+GEORGE.  [Comes forward.]  Master Luke be coming up the garden,
+mistress.
+
+[LUKE JENNER enters.  He goes straight up to JOAN and holds out his
+hand to her, and then to MILES.
+
+LUKE.  I do wish you happiness with all my heart, Miss Clara.  Miles,
+my lad, 'tis rare--rare pleased as I be to shake your hand this day.
+
+EMILY.  Come, come, Luke Jenner, you've been and kept us waiting more
+nor half an hour.  Can't you sit yourself down and give other folk a
+chance of eating their victuals quiet?  There's naught to make all
+this giddle-gaddle about as I can see.
+
+LUKE.  [Sitting down in the empty place by JOAN'S side.]  Beg pardon,
+mistress, I know I'm a bit late.  But the victuals as are waited for
+do have a better flavour to them nor those which be ate straight from
+the pot like.
+
+THOMAS.  That's true 'tis.  And 'tis hunger as do make the best
+sauce.
+
+[GEORGE and MAGGIE quietly seat themselves on either side of CLARA.
+EMILY is too busy dispensing the food to take any notice.  GEORGE
+hands plates and dishes to CLARA, and silently cares for her comfort
+throughout the meal.
+
+THOMAS.  Well, Emily; well, Luke.  I didn't think to lose my little
+sister afore she'd stopped a three days in the place.  That I did
+not.  But I don't grudge her to a fine prospering young man like
+friend Hooper, no, I don't.
+
+EMILY.  No one called upon you for a speech, Thomas.  See if you
+can't make yourself of some use in passing the green stuff.  [Turning
+to LUKE.]  We have two serving maids and a man, Mister Jenner, but
+they're to be allowed to act the quality to-day, so we've got to wait
+upon ourselves.
+
+LUKE.  A man is never so well served as by his own two hands,
+mistress.  That's my saying at home.
+
+THOMAS.  And a good one too, Luke, my boy, for most folk, but with me
+'tis otherwise.  I've got another pair of hands in the place as do
+for me as well, nor better than my own.
+
+EMILY.  Yes, Thomas, I often wonders where you'd be without mine.
+
+THOMAS.  I wasn't thinking of yourn, Emily.  'Tis George's hands as I
+was speaking of.
+
+EMILY.  [Contemptuously.]  George!  You'll all find out your mistake
+one day, Thomas.
+
+MILES.  [To JOAN, who has been nervously handling her knife and fork
+and watching CLARA'S movements furtively.]  My sweet Miss is not
+shewing any appetite.
+
+JOAN.  I'm--I'm not used to country fare.
+
+EMILY.  O, I hear you, Clara.  Thomas, this is very fine.  Clara
+can't feed 'cause she's not used to country fare!  What next, I'd
+like to know!
+
+ROBIN.  [Who has been watching JOAN.]  Why does Aunt sometimes put
+her knife in her mouth, Mother?
+
+MILES.  My good boy, 'tis plain you've never mixed among the quality
+or you would know that each London season has its own new fashion of
+acting.  This summer 'tis the stylish thing to put on a countryfied
+mode at table.
+
+JESSIE.  Joan don't eat like that, Mister Hooper.
+
+MILES.  Joan's only a maid servant, Miss Jessie.  You should learn to
+distinguish between such people and fine ladles like your aunt.
+
+JOAN.  [Forcing herself to be more animated.]  Give me some fruit,
+Miles--I have no appetite to-day for heavy food.  'Tis far too warm.
+
+MILES.  As for me, the only food I require is the sweet honey of my
+Missy's voice.
+
+THOMAS.  Ah, 'tis a grand thing to be a young man, Miles Hooper.
+There was a day when such things did come handy to my tongue, like.
+
+EMILY.  [Sharply.]  I don't seem to remember that day, Thomas.
+
+THOMAS.  [Sheepishly, his look falling.]  Ah--'twas afore--afore our
+courting time, Emily.
+
+LUKE.  [Energetically.]  Prime weather for the hay, farmer.  I count
+as this dry will last until the whole of it be carried.  [A knock is
+heard at the door.
+
+THOMAS.  Now who'll that be?  Did you see anyone a-coming up the
+path, Mother?
+
+EMILY.  Do you expect me to be carving of the fowls and a-looking out
+of the window the same time, Thomas?
+
+THOMAS.  George, my lad, do you open the door and see who 'tis.
+
+[JOAN looks anxiously across the table at CLARA.  Then she drops her
+spoon and fork and takes up her fan, using it violently whilst GEORGE
+slowly gets up and opens the door.  LORD LOVEL is seen standing on
+the threshold.
+
+LORD LOVEL.  [To GEORGE.]  Kindly tell me, my man, is this the farm
+they call Ox Lease?
+
+GEORGE.  Ah, that's right enough.
+
+LORD LOVEL.  I'm sorry to break in upon a party like this, but I want
+to see Miss Clara Spring if she is here.
+
+THOMAS.  [Standing up.]  You've come at the very moment, master.
+This be a giving in marriage supper.  And 'tis Miss Clara, what's
+only sister to me, as is to be wed.
+
+LORD LOVEL.  Impossible, my good sir!
+
+THOMAS.  Ah, that's it.  Miles Hooper, he's the happy man.  If you be
+come by Painswick High Street you'll have seen his name up over the
+shop door.
+
+LORD LOVEL.  Miss Clara--Miles Hooper--No, I can't believe it.
+
+THOMAS.  [Pointing towards JOAN and MILES.]  There they be--the both
+of them.  Turtle doves on the same branch.  You're right welcome,
+master, to sit down along of we as one of the family on this
+occasion.
+
+LORD LOVEL.  [Looking at JOAN who has suddenly dropped her fan and is
+leaning back with a look of supplication towards CLARA.]  I must have
+come to the wrong place--that's not the Miss Clara Spring I know.
+
+MILES.  [Bending over JOAN.]  My sweet Missy has no acquaintance with
+this gentleman, I am sure.
+
+[LORD LOVEL suddenly turns round and perceives CLARA seated by MAGGIE
+at the table.  He quickly goes towards her, holding out his hand.
+
+LORD LOVEL.  Miss Clara.  Tell me what is going on.  [Looking at her
+cap and apron.]  Why have you dressed yourself like this?
+
+THOMAS.  Come, come.  There seems to be some sort of a hitch here.
+The young gentleman has very likely stopped a bit too long at the
+Spotted Cow on his way up.
+
+JOAN.  [Very faintly, looking at CLARA.]  O do you stand by me now.
+
+CLARA.  [Lays her hand on LORD LOVEL's arm.]  Come with me, my lord.
+I think I can explain everything if you will only step outside with
+me.  Come--[She leads him swiftly through the door which GEORGE shuts
+behind them.]
+
+[JOAN leans back in her chair as though she were going to faint.
+
+THOMAS.  Well, now--but that's a smartish wench, getting him out so
+quiet, like.  George, you'd best step after them to see as the young
+man don't annoy her in any way.
+
+EMILY.  That young person can take good care of herself.  Sit you
+down, Thomas and George, and get on with your eating, if you can.
+
+JESSIE.  Why did he think Joan was our aunt, mother?
+
+EMILY.  'Cause he was in that state when a man don't know his right
+leg from his left arm.
+
+GEORGE.  [Who has remained standing.]  Look you here, Master Thomas--
+see here mistress.  'Tis time as there was an end of this cursed play
+acting, or whatever 'tis called.
+
+EMILY.  Play acting there never has been in my house, George, I'd
+like for you to know.
+
+GEORGE.  O yes there have been, mistress.  And 'tis time it was
+finished.  [Pointing to JOAN.]  You just take and ask that young
+person what she do mean by tricking herself out in Miss Clara's gowns
+and what not, and by having herself called by Miss Clara's own name.
+
+MILES.  [Taking JOAN'S hand in his.]  My sweet Miss must pay no
+attention to the common fellow.  I dare him to speak like that of my
+little lady bride.
+
+GEORGE.  A jay bird in peacock's feathers, that's what 'tis.  And
+she's took you all in, the every one of you.
+
+JESSIE.  O George, isn't she really our aunt from London?
+
+GEORGE.  No, that she baint, Miss Jessie.
+
+THOMAS.  Come, come, my lad.  I never knew you act so afore.
+
+EMILY.  'Tis clear where he have spent his time this afternoon.
+
+LUKE.  Nay, nay, I never did see George inside of the Spotted Cow in
+all the years I've known of him.  George baint made to that shape.
+
+ROBIN.  Then who is Aunt Clara, George?
+
+GEORGE.  She who be just gone from out of the room, Master Robin, and
+none other.
+
+THOMAS.  Come, George, this talk do sound so foolish.
+
+GEORGE.  I can't help that, master.  Foolish deeds do call for
+foolish words, may be.
+
+MILES.  My pretty Miss is almost fainting, I declare.  [He pours out
+water for JOAN and bends affectionately over her.]  Put the drunken
+fellow outside and let's have an end of this.
+
+GEORGE.  [Advancing.]  Yes, us'll have an end to it very shortly.
+But I be going to put a straight question to the maid first, and 'tis
+a straight answer as her'll have to give me in reply.
+
+MILES.  Not a word, not a word.  Miss is sadly upset by your rude
+manners.
+
+GEORGE.  Do you ask of the young lady but one thing, Master Hooper,
+and then I'll go when you will.
+
+MILES.  Well, my man, what's that?
+
+GEORGE.  Do you get her to speak the name as was given she at
+baptism, Mister Hooper.
+
+MILES.  This is madness.  My pretty Miss shall not be teased by such
+a question.  Thomas, you'll have to get this stupid fellow locked up,
+or something.
+
+GEORGE.  [Angrily.]  Her shall say it, if I stands here all night.
+
+[JOAN suddenly bends forward and hides her face in her hands, her
+form shaken by violent weeping.  The door opens and CLARA enters
+followed by LORD LOVEL.  She has taken off her cap and apron.
+
+JOAN.  [Raising her head and stretching out her hands to CLARA.]  O
+speak for me, mistress.  Speak for me and help.
+
+CLARA.  I am Clara, she is Joan.  Thomas, Emily, I pray you to
+forgive us both for taking you in like this.
+
+THOMAS.  Well, I never did hear tell of such a thing.
+
+EMILY.  I'm not going to believe a word the young person says.
+
+LORD LOVEL.  She has told you but the truth, my good friends.
+
+EMILY.  And who are you, to put your tongue into the basin, I'd like
+to know?
+
+CLARA.  This is the nephew of my dear godmother.  Lord Lovel is his
+name.
+
+EMILY.  If you think I'm going to be took in with such nonsense, the
+more fool you, I says.
+
+LORD LOVEL.  But all that Miss Clara tells you is true, Missis
+Spring.  She and her serving maid, for certain reasons of their own,
+agreed to change parts for a few days.
+
+THOMAS.  [Turning to JOAN.]  Is this really so, my maid?
+
+[JOAN bows her head, her handkerchief still covering her face.
+
+THOMAS.  [To CLARA.]  Who ever would have thought on such a thing?
+
+CLARA.  'Twas a foolish enough thing, but no harm is done.  Look up,
+Joan, and do not cry so pitifully.
+
+JOAN.  [Looking up at MILES.]  You'll never go and change towards me
+now that we're most as good as wed, will you, Mister Hooper?
+
+MILES.  [Rising and speaking with cold deliberation.]  Ladies and
+gentlemen, I have the honour to wish you all a very pleasant evening.
+
+THOMAS.  Come, come Miles, we be all a bit turned in the head, it
+seems.  But things'll settle back to their right places if you gives
+them a chance.  Sit you down and take a drink of sommat.
+
+EMILY.  Don't be so foolish, Thomas.  As if a man what's been stung
+by a wasp would care to sit himself down on a hornet's nest.
+
+MILES.  You are perfectly right, madam.  This is no place for me.  I
+have been sported with.  My good name has been treated as a jest.
+
+JOAN.  O Mister Hooper, 'twas my doing, all of it, but I did it for
+the best, I did.
+
+MILES.  [Going to the door.]  Thank you, my good woman.  Next time
+you want to play a little prank like this, I beg that you will select
+your partner with more care.  The name of Hooper is not a suitable
+one to toy with, let me tell you.
+
+ROBIN.  Aren't you going to marry her then, Mister Hooper?
+
+MILES.  I am not, Master Robin.
+
+JESSIE.  You said as you could tell a real lady by her ways, but you
+couldn't very well, could he, Mother?
+
+[MILES, covering his mortification with sarcastic bows made to the
+right and left, goes out.  JOAN leans back almost fainting in her
+chair.
+
+LUKE.  [Taking her hand.]  This is the finest hearing in all the
+world for me, Miss--Miss Joan.
+
+JOAN.  O Mr. Jenner, how deep you must despise me.
+
+LUKE.  And that I'd never do, though I'm blest if I know why you did
+it.
+
+CLARA.  It was as much my fault as hers, Mister Jenner.  There were
+things that each of us wanted, and that we thought we might get, by
+changing places, one with the other.
+
+THOMAS.  [To CLARA.]  Well, my maid, I'm blessed if I do know what
+you was a hunting about for, dressed up as a serving wench.
+
+CLARA.  [Turning a little towards GEORGE.]  I thought to find
+something which was mine when I was a little child, but which I lost.
+
+JESSIE.  O Georgie do know how to find things which is lost.  'Twas
+he as brought back the yellow pullet when her had strayed off.
+
+ROBIN.  Yes.  And 'twas George as did find your blue hair ribbon Aunt
+Clara, when it was dropped in the hayfield.
+
+JESSIE.  I believe as Georgie knowed which of them was our aunt all
+the time.
+
+ROBIN.  I believe it too.
+
+THOMAS.  Why, George, you sly dog, what put you on the scent, like?
+
+GEORGE.  'Twas not one, but many things.  And if you wants a clear
+proof [Turning to CLARA]--put back the laces of your sleeve, Miss
+Clara.
+
+CLARA.  What for, George?
+
+GEORGE.  Whilst you was a-doing of the taters, this morning, you did
+pull up your sleeves.  'Twas then I held the proof.  Not that 'twas
+needed for me, like.
+
+[CLARA pushes up both her sleeves, and holds out her arms towards
+GEORGE.
+
+GEORGE.  [Pointing to the scar.]  There 'tis--there's where th' old
+gander have left his mark.
+
+THE CHILDREN.  [Getting up.]  Where, where!  O do let us see!
+
+[They run round to where CLARA stands and look eagerly at the mark on
+her arm which she shews to them.
+
+THOMAS.  George, my lad, you baint th' only one as can play fox.
+
+EMILY.  Don't you be so set up as to think as you can, Thomas.  For a
+more foolish figure of a goose never was cut.  A man might tell when
+'twas his own sister, if so be as he had his full senses upon him.
+
+THOMAS.  Never you mind, Emily.  What I says to George is, he baint
+th' only fox.  How now, my lad?
+
+GEORGE.  I don't see what you be driving at, master.
+
+THOMAS.  [Slyly.]  What about that bit of blue ribbon, George?
+
+CLARA.  Yes, Thomas.  Ask Georgie if he will give it back to me.
+
+GEORGE.  [Stepping forward till he is by CLARA'S side.]  No, and that
+I will not do.  'Tis little enough as I holds, but what little, I'll
+keep it.
+
+CLARA.  [To GEORGE.]  Those words are like a frail bridge on which I
+can stand for a moment.  Georgie, do you remember the days when you
+used to lead me by the hand into the deep parts of the wood, lifting
+me over the briars and the brambles so that I should not be hurt by
+their thorns?
+
+GEORGE.  Hark you here, Clara.  This once I'll speak.  I never had
+but one true love, and that was a little maid what would run through
+the woods and over all the meadows, her hand in mine.  I learnt she
+the note of every bird.  And when th' evening was come, us would
+watch together till th' old mother badger did get from out of her
+hole, and start hunting in the long grasses.
+
+CLARA.  [Taking GEORGE'S hand.]  Then, Georgie, there was no need for
+the disguise that I put upon myself.
+
+GEORGE.  Do you think as the moon can hide her light when there baint
+no cloud upon the sky, Clara?
+
+CLARA.  Georgie, I went in fear of what this gold and silver might
+raise up between you and me.
+
+THOMAS.  That's all finished and done with now, my maid.  If I'd a
+hundred sisters, George should have the pick of them, he should.
+
+EMILY.  Thank you.  Thomas.  One of your sisters is about enough.
+
+LUKE.  [Who has been sitting with JOAN'S hand in his.]  Hark you
+here, mistress.  There's many a cloudy morning turns out a sunshiny
+day.  Baint that a true saying, Joan?
+
+JOAN.  [Looking up radiantly.]  O that it is, dear Luke.
+
+LORD LOVEL.  Miss Clara, it seems that there is nothing more to be
+said.
+
+EMILY.  And that's the most sensible thing as has been spoke this
+long while.  Thomas, your sister favours you in being a poor,
+grizzling sort of a muddler.  She might have took up with this young
+man, who has a very respectable appearance.
+
+LORD LOVEL.  [Coming forward to GEORGE and shaking his hand.]  I'm
+proud to make your acquaintance, sir.
+
+EMILY.  [Rising angrily.]  Come Thomas, come Luke, come Clara.  Us
+might be a barn full of broody hens the way we be set around of this
+here table.  'Twill be midnight afore the things is cleared away and
+washed up.
+
+THOMAS.  What if it be, Emily.  'Tisn't very often as I gets the
+chance of minding how 'twas in times gone past.  Ah, I was a young
+man in those days, too, I was.
+
+EMILY.  And 'tis a rare old addle head as you be got now, Thomas.
+
+JESSIE.  [Slipping her hand into THOMAS'S.]  O do let us sit up till
+midnight, Dad.
+
+ROBIN.  I shall eat a smartish lot more if we does.
+
+[Curtain.]
+
+
+
+
+MY MAN JOHN
+
+
+
+
+CHARACTERS
+
+MRS. GARDNER.
+WILLIAM, her son.
+JOHN, his farm hand.
+SUSAN, their maid.
+JULIA, the owner of Luther's Farm.
+LAURA, CHRIS, NAT, TANSIE, gipsies.
+
+
+
+ACT I.--Scene 1.
+
+
+
+The garden of the Road Farm.  To the right an arbour covered with
+roses.  MRS. GARDNER is seated in it, knitting.  WILLIAM is tying up
+flowers and watering them.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  And you have come to a ripe age when 'tis the plain
+duty of a man to turn himself towards matrimony, William.
+
+WILLIAM.  'Tis a bit of quiet that I'm after, Mother.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  Quiet! 'tis a good shaking up as you want, William.
+Why, you have got as set in your ways as last season's jelly.
+
+WILLIAM.  Then let me bide so.  'Tis all I ask.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  No, William.  I'm got to be an old woman now, and 'tis
+time that I had someone at my side to help in the house-keeping and
+to share the work.
+
+WILLIAM.  What's Susan for, if 'tisn't to do that?
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  Susan?  As idle a piece of goods as ever was seen on a
+summer's day!  No.  'Tisn't a serving maid that I was thinking of,
+but someone who should be of more account in the house.  'Tis a
+daughter that I'm wanting, William, and I've picked out the one who
+is to my taste.
+
+WILLIAM.  Then you've done more than I have, Mother.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  'Tis the young person whom Luther Smith has left his
+farm and all his money to.  I've got my eye on her for you, William.
+
+WILLIAM.  Then you'll please to put your eye somewhere else, Mother,
+for I've seen them, and they don't suit me.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  Come, this is news, William.  Pray where did you meet?
+
+WILLIAM.  'Twas when I was in church last Sunday.  In they came, the
+two young maids from Luthers, like a couple of gallinie fowls, the
+way they did step up over the stones and shake the plumes of them
+this way and that.  I don't hold with fancy tricks.  I never could
+abide them.  No foreign wenches for me.  And that's about all.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  'Tis true they are from town, but none the worse for
+that, William.  You have got sadly rude and cumbersome in your ways,
+or you wouldn't feel as you do towards a suitable young person.  'Tis
+from getting about with John so much, I think.
+
+WILLIAM.  Now look you here, Mother, I've got used to my own ways,
+and when a man's got set in his own ways, 'tis best to leave him
+there.  I'm past the age for marrying, and you ought to know this
+better than anyone.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  I know that 'tis a rare lot of foolishness that you do
+talk, William, seeing as you're not a year past thirty yet.  But if
+you can't be got to wed for love of a maid, perhaps you'll do so for
+love of a purse, when 'tis fairly filled.
+
+WILLIAM.  There's always been enough for you and me so far, Mother.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  Ah, but that won't last for ever.  I'm got an old
+woman, and I can't do with the dairy nor the poultry as I was used to
+do.  And things have not the same prices to them as 'twas a few years
+gone by.  And last year's season was the worst that I remember.
+
+WILLIAM.  So 'twas.  But so long as there's a roof over our heads and
+a loaf of bread and a bit of garden for me to work on, where's the
+harm, Mother?
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  O you put me out of all patience, William.  Where's
+the rent to come from if we go on like this?  And the clothing, and
+the food?  And John's wages, and your flower seeds, if it comes to
+that, for you have got terrible wasteful over the flowers.
+
+WILLIAM.  I wish you'd take it quieter, Mother.  Look at you bed of
+musk, 'tis a grand smell that comes up from it all around.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  No, William.  I've no eye for musk, nor nose to smell
+at it either till you've spoken the word that I require.
+
+WILLIAM.  Best let things bide as they are, Mother.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  I'll leave you no rest till you do as I wish, William.
+I'm got an old woman, and 'tis hard I should be denied in aught that
+I've set my heart upon.
+
+WILLIAM.  Please to set it upon something different, Mother, for I'm
+not a marrying man, and John he'll tell you the same thing.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  John!  I'm sick of the very name of him.  I can't
+think how 'tis that you can lower yourself by being so close with a
+common farm hand, William.
+
+WILLIAM.  Ah, 'twould be a rare hard matter to find the equal to
+John, Mother.  'Tis of gold all through, and every bit of him, that
+he is made.  You don't see many like John these days, that's the
+truth.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  Well, then, John, won't be here much longer, for we
+shan't have anything to give him if things go on like this.
+
+WILLIAM.  I'd wed forty wives sooner than lose John--and that I
+would.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  I'm not asking you to wed forty.  'Tis only one.
+
+WILLIAM.  And that one?
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  The young person who's got Luther's farm.  Her name is
+Julia.
+
+WILLIAM.  [Leaving his flower border and walking up and down
+thoughtfully.]  Would she be the one with the cherry colour ribbons
+to her gown?
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  I'm sure I don't know.  I was not at church last
+Sunday.
+
+WILLIAM.  Or t'other one in green?
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  You appear to have used your eyes pretty well,
+William.
+
+WILLIAM.  O, I can see a smartish bit about me when I choose.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  T'other wench is but the housekeeper.
+
+WILLIAM.  Where did you get that from?
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  'Twas Susan who told me.  She got it off someone down
+in the village.
+
+WILLIAM.  Well, which of the maids would have had the cherry-coloured
+ribbons to her, Mother?
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  I'm sure I don't know, but if you go up there courting
+this afternoon, may happen that you'll find out.
+
+WILLIAM.  This afternoon?  O, that's much too sudden like.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  Not a bit of it.  Recollect, your fancy has been set
+on her since Sunday.
+
+WILLIAM.  Come, Mother, you can't expect a man to jump into the river
+all of a sudden like this.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  I expect you to go up there this very day and to
+commence telling her of your feelings.
+
+WILLIAM.  But I've got no feelings that I can tell her of, Mother.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  Then you'll please to find some, William.
+
+WILLIAM.  'Tis a thing that in all my life I've never done as to go
+visiting of a strange wench of an afternoon.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  Then 'tis time you did begin.
+
+WILLIAM.  And what's more, I'll not do it, neither.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  Then I must tell John that we have no further need of
+his services, for where the money to pay him is to come from, I don't
+know.
+
+[She rolls up her knitting and rises.
+
+WILLIAM.  Stop a moment, Mother--stop a moment.  Maybe 'twon't be so
+bad when I've got more used to the idea.  You've pitched it upon me
+so sudden like.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  Rent day has pitched upon me more sudden, William.
+
+WILLIAM.  Look you, Mother, I'll get and turn it about in my mind a
+bit.  And, maybe, I'll talk it over with John.  I can't do more, can
+I now?
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  Talk it over with whom you please, William.  But
+remember 'tis this very afternoon that you have to start courting.
+I've laid your best clothes out all ready on your bed.
+
+WILLIAM.  [Sighing heavily.]  O then I count there's no way out of
+it.  But how am I to bring it off?  'Tis that I'd like to know.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  Maybe your man will be able to give you some suitable
+advice.  Such things are beyond me, I'm afraid.
+
+[She gathers up her work things, and with a contemptuous look at her
+son, she goes slowly out of the garden.
+
+[WILLIAM remains on the path lost in perturbed thought.  Suddenly he
+goes to the gate and calls loudly.
+
+WILLIAM.  John, John!
+
+JOHN.  [From afar.]  Yes, master.
+
+WILLIAM.  [Calling.]  Come you here, John, as quick as you can run.
+
+JOHN.  That I will, master.
+
+[JOHN hurries into the garden.
+
+WILLIAM.  John, I'm powerful upset.
+
+JOHN.  Mistress's fowls bain't got among the flowers again, be they,
+Master William?
+
+WILLIAM.  No, no, John.  'Tisn't so bad as that.  But I'm in a
+smartish fix, I can tell you.
+
+JOHN.  How's that, master?
+
+WILLIAM.  John, did you ever go a'courting?
+
+JOHN.  Well, master, that's a thing to ask a man!
+
+WILLIAM.  'Tis a terrible serious matter, John.  Did you ever go?
+
+JOHN.  Courting?
+
+WILLIAM.  Yes.
+
+JOHN.  Why, I count as I have went a score of times, master.
+
+WILLIAM.  A score of times, John!  But that was before you were got
+to the age you are now?
+
+JOHN.  Before that, and now, master.
+
+WILLIAM.  And now, John?
+
+JOHN.  To be sure, master.
+
+WILLIAM.  Then you know how 'tis done?
+
+JOHN.  Ah, that I does, master.
+
+WILLIAM.  Well, John, you're the man for me.
+
+JOHN.  Lord bless us, master, but what have you to do with courting?
+
+WILLIAM.  You may well ask me, John.  Why, look you here--until this
+very morning, you would say I was a quiet and a peaceable man, with
+the right place for everything and everything in its place.
+
+JOHN.  Ah, and that you was, Master William.  And a time for all
+things too, and a decenter, proper gentleman no man ever served--
+that's truth.
+
+WILLIAM.  Ah, John--the mistress has set her will to change all this.
+
+JOHN.  Now, you'd knock me down with a feather.
+
+WILLIAM.  That she has, John.  I've got to set out courting--a thing
+I've never thought to do in all my living days.
+
+JOHN.  That I'll be bound you have not, Master William, though a
+finer gentleman than yourself is not to be found in all the country
+side.
+
+WILLIAM.  [With shy eagerness.]  Is that how I appear to you, John?
+
+JOHN.  Ah, and that you does, master.  And 'tis the wonder with all
+for miles around as how you've been and kept yourself to yourself
+like this, so many years.
+
+WILLIAM.  Well, John, it appears that I'm to pass out of my own
+keeping.  My Sunday clothes are all laid out upon the bed.
+
+JOHN.  Bless my soul, Master William, and 'tis but Thursday too.
+
+WILLIAM.  Isn't that a proper day for this sort of business, John?
+
+JOHN.  I've always been used to Saturday myself, but with a gentleman
+'tis different like.
+
+WILLIAM.  Well, John, there's nothing in this day or that as far as I
+can see.  A bad job is a bad job, no matter what, and the day of it
+does make but very little difference.
+
+JOHN.  You're right there, master.  But if I may be so bold, where is
+it as you be going off courting this afternoon?
+
+WILLIAM.  Ah--now you and me will have a straight talk one with
+another--for 'tis to you I look, John, for to pull me out of this fix
+where the mistress has gone and put me.
+
+JOHN.  And that I'll do, master--with all the will in the world.
+
+WILLIAM.  Well then, John, 'tis to be one of those maids from strange
+parts who are come to live at old Luther's, up yonder.
+
+JOHN.  Ah, I seed the pair of them in church last Sunday.  Fine
+maids, the both of them, and properly suitable if you was to ask me.
+
+WILLIAM.  'Tis only the one I've got to court, John.
+
+JOHN.  And I reckon that's one too many, Master William.
+
+WILLIAM.  You're right there, John.  'Tis Mistress Julia I've to go
+at.
+
+JOHN.  And which of the pair would that be, Master William?
+
+WILLIAM.  That one with the cherry colour ribbons to her gown, I
+believe.
+
+JOHN.  Ah, t'other was plainer in her dressing, and did keep the head
+of her bent smartish low on her book, so that a man couldn't get a
+fair look upon she.
+
+WILLIAM.  That would be the housekeeper or summat.  'Tis Julia, who
+has the old man's money, I'm to court.
+
+JOHN.  Well, master, I'll come along with you a bit of the road, to
+keep your heart up like.
+
+WILLIAM.  You must do more than that for me, John.  You've got to
+learn me how the courting is done before I set off.
+
+JOHN.  Why, master, courting baint a thing what wants much learning,
+that's the truth.
+
+WILLIAM.  'Tis all new to me, John.  I'm blessed if I know how to
+commence.  Why, the thought of it at once sends me hot all over; and
+then as cold again.
+
+JOHN.  You start and get your clothes on, master.  'Tis half the
+battle--clothes.  What a man cannot bring out of his mouth of a
+Saturday will fall out easy as anything on the Sunday with his best
+coat to his back.
+
+WILLIAM.  No, John.  The clothes won't help me in this fix.  You must
+tell me how to start once I get to the farm and am by the door.
+
+JOHN.  You might take a nosegay with you, master.
+
+WILLIAM.  I might.  And yet, 'tis a pity to cut the blooms for
+naught.
+
+JOHN.  I always takes a nosegay with me, of a Saturday night.
+
+WILLIAM.  Why, John, who is it that you are courting then?
+
+JOHN.  'Tis that wench Susan, since you ask me, master.  But not a
+word of it to th' old mistress.
+
+WILLIAM.  I'll not mention it, John.
+
+JOHN.  Thank you kindly, master.
+
+WILLIAM.  And now, John, when the nosegay's all gathered and the
+flowers bunched, what else should I do?
+
+JOHN.  Well, then you gives it her when you gets to the door.  And
+very like she'll ask you into the parlour, seeing as you be a
+particular fine looking gentleman.
+
+WILLIAM.  I could not stand that, John.  I've no tongue to me within
+a strange house.
+
+JOHN.  Well then, maybe as you and she will sit aside of one another
+in an arbour in the garden, or sommat of the sort.
+
+WILLIAM.  Yes, John.  And what next?
+
+JOHN.  I'm blessed if I do know, master.  You go along and commence.
+
+WILLIAM.  No, John, and that I won't.  Not till I know more about it
+like.
+
+JOHN.  Well, master, I'm fairly puzzled hard to tell you.
+
+WILLIAM.  I have the very thought, John.  Do you bring Susan out
+here.  I'll place myself behind the shrubs, and do you get and court
+her as well as you know how; and maybe that will learn me something.
+
+JOHN.  Susan's a terrible hard wench to court, Master William.
+
+WILLIAM.  'Twill make the better lesson, John.
+
+JOHN.  'Tis a stone in place of a heart what Susan's got.
+
+WILLIAM.  'Twill very likely be the same with Julia.  Go and bring
+her quickly, John.
+
+[WILLIAM places himself behind the arbour.
+
+JOHN.  As you will, master--but Susan have been wonderful nasty in
+her ways with me of late.  'Tis my belief as she have took up with
+one of they low gipsy lads what have been tenting up yonder, against
+the wood.
+
+WILLIAM.  Well, 'twill be your business to win her back to you, John.
+See--am I properly hid, behind the arbour?
+
+JOHN.  Grandly hid, master--I'll go and fetch the wench.  [JOHN
+leaves the garden.
+
+[WILLIAM remains hidden behind the arbour.  After a few minutes JOHN
+returns pulling SUSAN by the hand.
+
+SUSAN.  And what are you about, bringing me into master's flower
+garden at this time of the morning?  I should like for mistress to
+look out of one of the windows--you'd get into fine trouble, and me
+too, John.
+
+JOHN.  Susan, my dear, you be a passing fine wench to look upon, and
+that's the truth.
+
+SUSAN.  And is it to tell me such foolishness that you've brought me
+all the way out of the kitchen?
+
+JOHN.  [Stooping and picking a dandelion.]  And to give you this
+flower, dear Susan.
+
+SUSAN.  [Throwing it down.]  A common thing like that!  I'll have
+none of it.
+
+JOHN.  'Tis prime you looks when you be angered, Susan.  The blue
+fire do fairly leap from your eyes.
+
+SUSAN.  O you're enough to anger a saint, John.  What have you
+brought me here for?
+
+JOHN.  I thought I'd like to tell you as you was such a fine wench,
+Susan.  And that I did never see a finer.
+
+SUSAN.  You do look at me as though I was yonder prize heifer what
+Master William's so powerful set on.
+
+JOHN.  Ah--and 'tis true as you have sommat of the look of she when
+you stands a pawing of the ground as you be now.
+
+SUSAN.  Is it to insult me that you've got me away from the kitchen,
+John?
+
+JOHN.  Nay--'tis to tell you that you be a rare smartish wench--and
+I'll go along to the church with you any day as you will name, my
+dear.
+
+SUSAN.  That you won't, John.  I don't mind taking a nosegay of
+flowers from you now and then, and hearing you speak nice to me over
+the garden gate of an evening, but I'm not a-going any further along
+the road with you.  That's all.  [She moves towards the house.
+
+JOHN.  Now, do you bide a moment longer, Susan--and let me say sommat
+of all they feelings which be stirring like a nest of young birds in
+my heart for you.
+
+SUSAN.  They may stir within you like an old waspes' nest for all I
+care, John.
+
+JOHN.  Come, Susan, put better words to your tongue nor they.  You
+can speak honey sweet when it do please you to.
+
+SUSAN.  'Tis mustard as is the right food for you this morning, John.
+
+JOHN.  I gets enough of that from mistress--I mean--well--I mean--[in
+a loud, clear voice] --O mistress is a wonderful fine woman and no
+mistake.
+
+SUSAN.  You won't say as much when she comes round the corner and
+catches you a wasting of your time like this, John.
+
+JOHN.  Is it a waste of time to stand a-drinking in the sweetness of
+the finest rose what blooms, Susan?
+
+SUSAN.  Is that me, John?
+
+JOHN.  Who else should it be, Susan?
+
+SUSAN.  Well, John--sometimes I think there's not much amiss with
+you.
+
+JOHN.  O Susan, them be grand words.
+
+SUSAN.  But then again--I do think as you be getting too much like
+Master William.
+
+JOHN.  And a grander gentleman than he never went upon the earth.
+
+SUSAN.  Cut and clipped and trimmed and dry as that box tree yonder.
+And you be getting sommat of the same fashion about you, John.
+
+JOHN.  Then make me differenter, Susan, you know the way.
+
+SUSAN.  I'm not so sure as I do, John.
+
+JOHN.  Wed me come Michaelmas, Susan.
+
+SUSAN.  And that I'll not.  And what's more, I'm not a-going to stop
+here talking foolish with you any longer.  I've work to do within.
+[SUSAN goes off.
+
+[JOHN, mopping his face and speaking regretfully as WILLIAM steps
+from behind the arbour.
+
+JOHN.  There, master.  That's courting for you.  That's the sort of
+thing.  And a caddling thing it is too.
+
+WILLIAM.  But 'tis a thing that you do rare finely and well, John.
+And 'tis you and none other who shall do the job for me this
+afternoon, there--that's what I've come to in my thoughts.
+
+JOHN.  Master, master, whatever have you got in your head now?
+
+WILLIAM.  See here, John--we'll cut a nosegay for you to carry--some
+of the best blooms I'll spare.  And you, who know what courting is,
+and who have such fine words to your tongue, shall step up at once
+and do the business for me.
+
+JOHN.  Master, if 'twas an acre of stone as you'd asked me to plough,
+I'd sooner do it nor a job like this.
+
+WILLIAM.  John, you've been a good friend to me all the years that
+you have lived on the farm, you'll not go and fail me now.
+
+JOHN.  Why not court the lady with your own tongue, Master William?
+'Twould have better language to it nor what I can give the likes of
+she.
+
+WILLIAM.  Your words are all right, John.  'Tisn't as though sensible
+speech was needed.  You do know what's wanted with the maids, whilst
+I have never been used to them in any way whatever.  So let's say no
+more about it, but commence gathering the flowers.
+
+JOHN.  [Heavily, but resigned.]  Since you say so, master.  [They
+begin to gather flowers.
+
+WILLIAM.  What blooms do young maids like the best, John?
+
+JOHN.  Put in a sprig of thyme, master.
+
+WILLIAM.  Yes--I can well spare that.
+
+JOHN.  And a rose that's half opened, master.
+
+WILLIAM.  It goes to my heart to have a rose wasted on this business,
+John.
+
+JOHN.  'Tain't likely as you can get through courtship without
+parting with sommat, master.  Lucky if it baint gold as you're called
+upon to spill.
+
+WILLIAM.  That's true, John--I'll gather the rose -
+
+JOHN.  See here, master, the lily and the pink.  Them be brave
+flowers, the both of them, and with a terrible fine scent coming out
+of they.
+
+WILLIAM.  Put them into the nosegay, John--And now--no more--'Tis
+enough waste for one day.
+
+JOHN.  'Tis a smartish lot of blooms as good as done for, says I.
+
+WILLIAM.  A slow sowing and a quick reaping, John.
+
+JOHN.  'Tis to be hoped as 'twill be the same with the lady, master.
+
+WILLIAM.  There, off you go, John.  And mind, 'tis her with the
+cherry ribbon to her gown and bonnet.
+
+JOHN.  Why, master, and her might have a different ribbon to her head
+this day, being that 'tis Thursday?
+
+WILLIAM.  An eye like--like a bullace, John.  And a grand colour to
+the face of her like yon rose.
+
+JOHN.  That's enough, Master William.  I'll not pitch upon the wrong
+maid, never fear.  And now I'll clean myself up a bit at the pump,
+and set off straight away.
+
+WILLIAM.  [Shaking JOHN's hand.]  Good luck to you, my man.  And if
+you can bring it off quiet and decent like without me coming in till
+at the last, why, 'tis a five pound note that you shall have for your
+trouble.
+
+JOHN.  You be a grand gentleman to serve, Master William, and no
+mistake about that.
+
+[Curtain.]
+
+
+
+ACT II.--Scene 1.
+
+
+
+A wood.  To the right a fallen tree (or a bench).  JOHN comes from
+the left, a large bunch of flowers in his hand.
+
+JOHN.  Out, and a taking of the air in the wood, be they?  Well,
+bless my soul, but 'tis a rare caddling business what master's put
+upon I.  'Tis worse nor any job he have set me to in all the years
+I've been along of him, so 'tis.  But I'm the one to bring it off
+slick and straight, and, bless me, if I won't take and hide myself by
+yon great bush till I see the wenches a-coming up.  That'll give me
+time to have a quiet look at the both and pick out she what master's
+going a-courting of.
+
+[JOHN puts himself behind some thick bushes as JULIA and LAURA come
+forward.  JULIA is very simply dressed.  Her head is bare, and she is
+carrying her white cotton sunbonnet.  LAURA wears finer clothes and
+her bonnet is tied by bright ribbons of cherry colour.
+
+LAURA.  [Stopping by the bench.]  We'll sit down--'Tis a warm day,
+and I've had enough of walking.
+
+[She sinks down on the seat.
+
+JULIA.  [Looking all round her.]  'Tis beautiful and quiet here.  O
+this is ever so much better than the farm.
+
+LAURA.  The farm!  What's wrong with that, I should like to know?
+
+JULIA.  Everything.  'Tis more like a prison than a home to me.
+Within the house there's always work crying out to be done--and
+outside I believe 'tis worse--work--nothing else speaking to me.
+
+LAURA.  You're a sad ungrateful girl.  Why, there's many would give
+their eyes to change with you.
+
+JULIA.  But out here 'tis all peace, and freedom.  There's naught
+calling out to be done.  The flowers grow as they like, and the
+breezes move them this way, and that.  The ground is thick with
+leaves and blossoms and no one has got to sweep it, and the hard
+things with great noises to them, like pails and churns, are far away
+and clean forgot.
+
+LAURA.  'Tisn't much use as you'll be on the farm.
+
+JULIA.  I wish I'd never come nigh to it.  I was happier far before.
+
+LAURA.  'Tis a grand life.  You'll see it as I do one of these days.
+
+JULIA.  No, that I shall not.  Every day that I wake and hear the
+cattle lowing beneath my window I turn over on my pillow, and 'tis a
+heart of lead that turns with me.  The smell of the wild flowers in
+the fields calls me, but 'tis to the dairy I must go, to work.  And
+at noonday, when the shade of the woodland makes me thirsty for its
+coolness, 'tis the kitchen I must be in--or picking green stuff for
+the market.  And so on till night, when the limbs of me can do no
+more and the spirit in me is like a bird with the wing of it broken.
+
+LAURA.  You'll harden to it all by winter time right enough.
+
+JULIA.  O I'll never harden to it.  'Tis not that way I am made.
+Some girls can set themselves down with four walls round them, and do
+their task nor ask for anything beyond, but 'tis not so with me.
+
+LAURA.  How is it then with you?
+
+JULIA.  [Pointing.]  There--see that blue thing yonder flying from
+one blossom to another.  That's how 'tis with me.  Shut me up close
+in one place, I perish.  Let me go free, and I can fly and live.
+
+LAURA.  You do talk a powerful lot of foolishness that no one could
+understand.
+
+JULIA.  O, do not let us talk at all.  Let us bide still, and get
+ourselves refreshed by the sweetness and the wildness of the forest.
+
+JULIA turns away and gives herself up to the enjoyment of the wood
+around her.
+
+LAURA arranges her ribbons and smoothes out her gown.  Neither of
+them speak for a few minutes.
+
+LAURA.  [Looking up and pointing.]  See those strange folk over
+there?  What are they?
+
+JULIA.  [Looking in the same direction.]  I know them.  They are
+gipsies from the hill near to us.
+
+LAURA.  They should be driven away then.  I don't like such folk
+roosting around.
+
+JULIA.  But I do.  They are friends to me.  Many's the time I have
+run out at dusk to speak with them as they sit round their fire.
+
+LAURA.  Then you didn't ought to have done so.  Let's get off now,
+before they come up.
+
+JULIA.  No, no.  Let us talk to them all.  [Calling.]  Tansie and
+Chris, come you here and sit down alongside of us.  [CHRIS, NAT, and
+TANSIE come up.
+
+CHRIS.  Good morning to you, mistress.  'Tis a fine brave day, to-
+day.
+
+JULIA.  That it is, Chris.  There never was so fine a day.  And we
+have come to spend all of it in this forest.
+
+TANSIE.  Ah, but 'tis warm upon the high road.
+
+NAT.  We be come right away from the town, mistress.
+
+JULIA.  Then sit down, all of you, and we will talk in the cool
+shade.
+
+LAURA.  Not here, if you please.  I am not used to such company.
+
+JULIA.  Not here?  Very well, my friends, let us go further into the
+wood and you shall stretch yourselves under the green trees and we
+will all rest there together.
+
+LAURA.  Well, what next!  You might stop to consider how 'twill look
+in the parish.
+
+JULIA.  How what will look?
+
+LAURA.  How 'twill look for you to be seen going off in such company
+like this.
+
+JULIA.  The trees have not eyes, nor have the grass, and flowers.
+There's no one to see me but you, and you can turn your head t'other
+way.  Come Tansie, come
+
+Chris.  [She turns towards the three gipsies.
+
+TANSIE.  Nat's in a sorry way, this morning--baint you, Nat?
+
+NAT.  Let I be.  You do torment anyone till they scarce do know if
+they has senses to them or no.
+
+TANSIE.  You're not one to miss what you never had, Nat.
+
+CHRIS.  Let the lad bide in quiet, will you.  'Tis a powerful little
+nagging wench as you be.
+
+JULIA.  Why are you heavy and sad this fine day, Nat?
+
+TANSIE.  'Tis love what's the matter with he, mistress.
+
+JULIA.  Love?  O, that's not a thing that should bring heaviness or
+gloom, but lightness to the heart, and song to the lips.
+
+TANSIE.  Ah, but when there's been no meeting in the dusk since
+Sunday, and no message sent!
+
+CHRIS.  Keep that tongue of your'n where it should be, and give over,
+Tansie.  Susan's not one as would play tricks with her lad.
+
+JULIA.  Now I have a thirst to hear all about this, Nat, so come off
+further into the wood, all of you, where we can speak in quiet.
+
+[She holds out her hand to NAT.
+
+LAURA.  Upon my word, but something must be done to bring these
+goings on to an end.
+
+JULIA.  Come, Nat--you shall tell me all your trouble.  I understand
+the things of the heart better than Tansie, and I shall know how to
+give you comfort in your distress--come
+
+[JULIA and NAT, followed by CHRIS and TANSIE, move off out of sight.
+LAURA is left sitting on the bench alone.  Presently JOHN comes out
+carefully from behind the bushes, holding his bunch of flowers.
+
+JOHN.  A good day to you, mistress.
+
+LAURA.  The same to you, master.
+
+JOHN.  Folks do call me John.
+
+LAURA.  Indeed?  Good morning, John.
+
+JOHN.  A fine brave sun to-day, mistress.
+
+LAURA.  But pleasant enough here in the shade.
+
+JOHN.  Now, begging your pardon, but what you wants over the head of
+you baint one of these great trees full of flies and insects, but an
+arbour trailed all about with bloom, such as my master has down at
+his place yonder.
+
+LAURA.  Indeed?  And who may your master be, John?
+
+JOHN.  'Tis Master William Gardner, what's the talk of the country
+for miles around, mistress.  And that he be.
+
+LAURA.  Master William Gardner!  What, he of Road Farm?
+
+JOHN.  The very same, mistress.  And as grand a gentleman as anyone
+might wish for to see.
+
+LAURA.  Yes--I seem to have heard something told about him, but I
+don't rightly remember what 'twas.
+
+JOHN.  You may have heard tell as the finest field of beans this
+season, that's his.
+
+LAURA.  I don't think 'twas of beans that I did hear.
+
+JOHN.  Or that 'twas his spotted hilt what fetched the highest price
+of any in the market Saturday?
+
+LAURA.  No, 'twasn't that neither.
+
+JOHN.  Or that folks do come as thick as flies on a summer's day from
+all parts of the country for to buy the wheat what he do grow.  Ah,
+and before 'tis cut or like to be, they be a fighting for it, all of
+them, like a pack of dogs with a bone.  So 'tis.
+
+LAURA.  'Twasn't that, I don't think.
+
+JOHN.  Or 'twas that th' old missis--she as is mother to Master
+William--her has a tongue what's sharper nor longer than any vixen's
+going.  But that's between you and I, missis.
+
+LAURA.  Ah--'Twas that I did hear tell of.  Now I remember it.
+
+JOHN.  But Master William--the tongue what he do keep be smooth as
+honey, and a lady might do as she likes with him if one got the
+chance.
+
+LAURA.  Indeed?  He must be a pleasant sort of a gentleman.
+
+JOHN.  For he could be led with kindness same as anything else.  But
+try for to drive him, as old Missis do--and very likely 'tis hoofed
+as you'll get for your pains.
+
+LAURA.  I like a man with some spirit to him, myself.
+
+JOHN.  Ah, Master William has a rare spirit to him, and that he has.
+You should hear him when th' old Missis's fowls be got into his
+flower garden.  'Tis sommat as is not likely to be forgot in a hurry.
+That 'tisn't.
+
+LAURA.  You carry a handsome nosegay of blossoms there, John.  Are
+they from your master's garden?
+
+JOHN.  Ah, there're not amiss.  I helped for to raise they too.
+
+LAURA.  And to whom are you taking them now, John?
+
+JOHN.  To the lady what my master's a-courting of, mistress.
+
+LAURA.  And whom may that be, John?
+
+JOHN.  Why, 'tis yourself, mistress.
+
+LAURA.  Me, John?  Why, I've never clapped eyes on Master William
+Gardner so far as I know of.
+
+JOHN.  But he've clapped eyes on you, mistress--'twas at Church last
+Sunday.  And 'tis not a bit of food, nor a drop of drink, nor an hour
+of sleep, as Master William have taken since.
+
+LAURA.  O, you do surprise me, John?
+
+JOHN.  That's how 'tis with he, mistress.  'Tis many a year as I've
+served Master William--but never have I seen him in the fix where he
+be in to-day.
+
+LAURA.  Why--how is it with him then?
+
+JOHN.  As it might be with the cattle when the flies do buzz about
+they, thick in the sunshine.  A-lashing this way and that, a-
+trampling and a-tossing, and never a minute's rest.
+
+LAURA.  Well, now--to think of such a thing.  Indeed!
+
+JOHN.  I've seen a horse right up to the neck of him in that old quag
+ahind of our place--a-snorting and a-clapping with his teeth and a-
+plunging so as 'twould terrify anyone to harken to it.  And that's
+how 'tis to-day with Master William up at home, so 'tis.
+
+LAURA.  And only saw me once--at Church last Sunday, John?
+
+JOHN.  Ah--and they old maid flies do sting but once, but 'tis a
+terrible big bump as they do raise on the flesh of anyone, that 'tis.
+
+LAURA.  O John--'tis a fine thing to be loved like that.
+
+JOHN.  So I should say--ah, 'tisn't every day that a man like Master
+William goes a-courting.
+
+LAURA.  But he hasn't set out yet, John.
+
+JOHN.  You take and hold the nosegay, mistress, and I'll go straight
+off and fetch him, so being as you're agreeable.
+
+LAURA.  O yes, and that I am, John--You go and fetch him quick.  I'll
+bide here gladly, waiting till he comes.
+
+JOHN.  That's it.  I knowed you for a sensible lady the moment I
+pitched my eyes on to you.  And when master do come up, you take and
+talk to him nicely and meek-like and lead him on from one thing to
+t'other:  and you'll find as he'll go quiet as a sheep after the
+first set off, spite of the great spirit what's at the heart of he.
+
+LAURA.  John, I'll do all as you say, and more than all.  Only, you
+get along and send him quickly to me.  And--yes, you might give him a
+good hint, John--I'm not averse to his attentions.
+
+JOHN.  Ah, and I should think you wasn't, for 'twould be a hard job
+to find a nicer gentleman nor Master William.
+
+LAURA.  That I know it would.  Why, John, my heart's commenced
+beating ever so fast, it has.
+
+JOHN.  Then you may reckon how 'tis with the poor master!  Why, 'tis
+my belief as 'twill be raving madness as'll be the end of he if
+sommat don't come to put a finish to this unrest.
+
+LAURA.  O John, 'twould never do for such a fine gentleman to go
+crazy.  Do you set off quick and send him along to me, and I'll take
+and do my very best for to quiet him, like.
+
+JOHN.  [Rising and about to set off.]  Ah, 'tis a powerful lot of
+calming as Master William do require.  But you be the one for to give
+it him.  You just bide where you do sit now whilst I goes and fetches
+him, mistress.
+
+LAURA.  O that I will, my good, dear John.
+
+[Curtain.]
+
+
+
+ACT II.--Scene 2.
+
+
+
+The same wood.
+
+WILLIAM and JOHN come up.  WILLIAM carries a large market basket
+containing vegetables.
+
+JOHN.  [Looking round and seeing no one.]  Bless my soul, but 'twas
+on the seat as I did leave she.
+
+WILLIAM.  We have kept her waiting a bit too long whilst we were
+cutting the green stuff.  And now 'twill be best to let matters bide
+over till to-morrow.
+
+JOHN.  Why, master 'tis my belief as you be all of a-tremble like.
+
+WILLIAM.  I wish we were well out of this business, John.  'Tis not
+to my liking in any way.
+
+JOHN.  'Tis a fine looking lady, and that 'tis.  You take and court
+her, Master William.
+
+WILLIAM.  How am I to court the wench when she's not here?
+
+JOHN.  [Pointing.]  Look yonder, master, there she comes through them
+dark trees.
+
+WILLIAM.  You've got to bide somewhere nigh me, John.  I could not be
+left alone with a wench who's a stranger to me.
+
+JOHN.  Don't you get flustered, Master William.  See here, I'll hide
+me ahind of yon bushes, and if so be as you should want me, why,
+there I'm close at hand.
+
+WILLIAM.  I'd rather you did stand at my side, John.
+
+[JOHN hides himself behind the bushes.  LAURA comes slowly up.
+WILLIAM stands awkwardly before her, saying nothing.  Presently he
+takes off his hat and salutes her clumsily and she bows to him.  For
+some moments they stand embarrassed, looking at one another.
+
+WILLIAM.  [Suddenly bringing out a bunch of carrots from his basket
+and holding them up.]  See these young carrots, mistress.
+
+LAURA.  Indeed I do, master.
+
+WILLIAM.  'Tisn't everywhere that you do see such fine grown ones for
+the time of year.
+
+LAURA.  You're right there, master.  We have none of them up at our
+place.
+
+WILLIAM.  [Holding them towards her.]  Then be pleased to accept
+these, mistress.
+
+LAURA.  [Taking the carrots.]  Thank you kindly, master.  [There is
+another embarrassed silence.  WILLIAM looks distractedly from LAURA
+to his basket.  Then he takes out a bunch of turnips.
+
+WILLIAM.  You couldn't beat these nowhere, not if you were to try.
+
+LAURA.  I'm sure you could not, master.
+
+WILLIAM.  They do call this sort the Early Snowball.  'Tis a foolish
+name for a table root.
+
+LAURA.  'Tis a beautiful turnip.
+
+WILLIAM.  [Giving her the bunch.]  You may as well have them too.
+
+LAURA.  O you're very kind, master.
+
+[There is another long silence.  WILLIAM shuffles on his feet--LAURA
+bends admiringly over her gifts.
+
+WILLIAM.  There's young beans and peas and a spring cabbage too,
+within the basket.  I do grow a little of most everything.
+
+LAURA.  O shall we sit down and look at the vegetables together?
+
+WILLIAM.  [Visibly relieved.]  We might do worse nor that.  [They sit
+down side by side with the basket between them.
+
+LAURA.  [Lifting the cabbage.]  O, this is quite a little picture!
+See how the leaves do curl backwards--so fresh and green!
+
+WILLIAM.  Ah, and that one has a rare white heart to it, it has.
+
+LAURA.  I do love the taste of a spring cabbage, when it has a slice
+of fat bacon along with it.
+
+WILLIAM.  I might have brought a couple of pounds with me if I'd have
+thought.  Mother do keep some rare mellow jowls a-hanging in the
+pantry.
+
+LAURA.  [Shyly.]  Next time, maybe.
+
+WILLIAM.  [Eagerly.]  'Twouldn't take ten minutes for me to run back.
+
+LAURA.  Not now--O no master--not now.  Do you bide a little longer
+here and tell me about--about t'other things in the basket.
+
+WILLIAM.  [Mopping his face with a handkerchief.]  Well--there's the
+beans--I count that yours haven't come up very smart this year.
+
+LAURA.  That they've not.  The whole place has been let to run
+dreadful wild.
+
+WILLIAM.  I'd--I'd like to show you how 'tis in my garden, one of
+these days.
+
+LAURA.  I'd be very pleased to walk along with you there.
+
+WILLIAM.  [Hurriedly.]  Ah--you should see it later on when the--the-
+-the parsnips are a bit forrarder.
+
+LAURA.  I'd like to see the flower garden now, where this nosegay
+came from.
+
+WILLIAM.  [Looking round uneasily.]  I don't know what the folks
+would say if they were to see you and me a-going on the road in broad
+day--I'm sure I don't.
+
+LAURA.  Why, what should they say, Master Gardner?
+
+WILLIAM.  They might get saying--they might say as--as I'd got a-
+courting, or sommat foolish.
+
+LAURA.  Well--and would that be untrue?
+
+WILLIAM.  [Looking at her very uncomfortably.]  I'm blessed if I do
+know--I mean -
+
+LAURA.  This nosegay--and look, those young carrots--and the turnips
+and beans, why did you bring them for me, master, unless it was that
+you intended something by it?
+
+WILLIAM.  [Very confused.]  That's so.  So 'tis.  That's true.  I
+count you have got hold of the sow by the ear right enough this time.
+And the less said about it the better.  [A slight silence.
+
+LAURA.  [Looking up shyly in WILLIAM's face.]  What was it drew you
+to me first, master?
+
+WILLIAM.  I believe 'twas in Church on Sunday that I chanced to take
+notice of you, like.
+
+LAURA.  Yes, but what was it about me that took your fancy in Church
+on Sunday?
+
+WILLIAM.  I'm blessed if I know, unless 'twas those coloured ribbons
+that you have got to your bonnet.
+
+LAURA.  You are partial to the colour?
+
+WILLIAM.  Ah, 'tis well enough.
+
+LAURA.  See here.  [Taking a flower from her dress.]  This is of the
+same colour.  I will put it in your coat.
+
+[She fastens it in his coat.  WILLIAM looks very uncomfortable and
+nervous.
+
+WILLIAM.  Well, bless my soul, but women folk have got some powerful
+strange tricks to them.
+
+LAURA.  [Pinning the flower in its place.]  There--my gift to you,
+master.
+
+WILLIAM.  You may call me by my name, if you like, 'tis more
+suitable, seeing that we might go along to Church together one of
+these days.
+
+LAURA.  O William, you have made me very happy--I do feel all mazy
+like with my gladness.
+
+WILLIAM.  Well, Julia, we might do worse than to--to--name the day.
+
+LAURA.  Why do you call me Julia?
+
+WILLIAM.  Seeing that I've given you leave to call me William 'tis
+only suitable that I should use your name as well.
+
+LAURA.  But my name is not Julia.
+
+WILLIAM.  What is it then, I should like to know?
+
+LAURA.  'Tis Laura, William.
+
+WILLIAM.  Folks did tell me that you were named Julia.
+
+LAURA.  No--Laura is my name; but I live with Mistress Julia up at
+Luther's Farm, and I help her with the work.  House-keeping, dairy,
+poultry, garden.  O there's nothing I can't turn my hand to, Master
+William.
+
+WILLIAM.  [Starts up from the seat in deepest consternation.]  John,
+John--Come you here, I say!  Come here.
+
+JOHN.  [Emerges from the bushes.]  My dearest master!
+
+WILLIAM.  What's this you've been and done, John?
+
+JOHN.  Why, master--the one with the cherry ribbons, to her you did
+say.
+
+WILLIAM.  [Disgustedly.]  'Tis the wrong one.
+
+LAURA.  What are you two talking about?  William, do you mean to say
+as that man of yours was hid in the bushes all the while?
+
+WILLIAM.  Now, John, you've got to get me out of the fix where I'm
+set.
+
+JOHN.  O my dear master, don't you take on so.  'Tis a little bit of
+misunderstanding to be sure, but one as can be put right very soon.
+
+WILLIAM.  Then you get to work and set it right, John, for 'tis
+beyond the power of me to do so.  I'll be blessed if I'll ever get
+meddling with this sort of job again.
+
+JOHN.  Now don't you get so heated, master, but leave it all to me.
+[Turning to LAURA.]  My good wench, it seems that there has been a
+little bit of misunderstanding between you and my gentleman here.
+
+LAURA.  [Angrily.]  So that's what you call it--misunderstanding 'tis
+a fine long word, but not much of meaning, to it, I'm thinking.
+
+JOHN.  Then you do think wrong.  Suppose you was to go to market for
+to buy a nice spring chicken and when you was got half on the way to
+home you was to see as they had put you up a lean old fowl in place
+of it, what would you do then?
+
+LAURA.  I don't see that chickens or fowls have anything to do with
+the matter.
+
+JOHN.  Then you're not the smart maid I took you for.  'Tis not you
+as would be suitable in my master's home.  And what's more, 'tis not
+you as my master's come a-courting of.
+
+LAURA.  If 'tis not me, who is it then?
+
+[WILLIAM looks at her sheepishly and then turns away.
+
+JOHN.  'Tis your mistress, since you wants to know.
+
+LAURA.  [Indignantly.]  O, I see it all now--How could I have been so
+misled!
+
+JOHN.  However could poor master have been so mistook, I say.
+
+LAURA.  [Turning away passionately.]  O, I've had enough of you and--
+and your master.
+
+JOHN.  Now that's what I do like for to hear.  Because me and master
+have sommat else to do nor to stand giddle-gaddling in this old wood
+the rest of the day.  Us have got a smartish lot of worry ahead of
+we, haven't us, master?
+
+WILLIAM.  You never said a truer word, John.
+
+JOHN.  Come along then Master William.  You can leave the spring
+vegetables to she.  'Tis more nor she deserves, seeing as her might
+have known as 'twas her mistress the both of us was after, all the
+time.
+
+[LAURA throws herself on the seat and begins to cry silently, but
+passionately.
+
+WILLIAM.  O John, this courting, 'tis powerful heavy work.
+
+JOHN.  [Taking WILLIAM'S arm.]  Come you along with me, master, and
+I'll give you a helping hand with it all.
+
+LAURA.  [Looking up and speaking violently.]  I warrant you will, you
+clown.  But let me advise you to look better afore you leap next
+time, or very likely 'tis in sommat worse than a ditchful of nettles
+as you'll find yourself.
+
+JOHN.  [Looking back over his shoulders as he goes off with WILLIAM.]
+I reckon as you've no call to trouble about we, mistress.  Us is they
+what can look after theirselves very well.  Suppose you was to wash
+your face and dry your eyes and set about the boiling of yon spring
+cabbage.  'Twould be sensibler like nor to bide grizzling after one
+as is beyond you in his station, so 'twould.
+
+[JOHN and WILLIAM go out, leaving LAURA weeping on the bench, the
+basket of vegetables by her side.
+
+[Curtain.]
+
+
+
+ACT II.--Scene 3.
+
+
+
+JULIA is sitting at the foot of a tree in the wood.  CHRIS, NAT and
+TANSIE are seated near her on the ground.
+
+JULIA.  I wish this day might last for always.
+
+CHRIS.  Why, when to-morrow's come, 'twill be the same.
+
+JULIA.  That it will not.  To-day is a holiday.  To-morrow's work.
+
+TANSIE.  One day 'tis much the same as t'other with me.
+
+NAT.  'Tis what we gets to eat as do make the change.
+
+TANSIE.  I should have thought as how a grand young mistress like
+yourself might have had the days to your own liking.
+
+JULIA.  Ah, and so I did once.  But that was before Uncle died and
+left me the farm.  Now, 'tis all different with the days.
+
+CHRIS.  How was it with you afore then, mistress?
+
+JULIA.  Much the same as 'tis with that bird flying yonder.  I did so
+as I listed.  If I had a mind to sleep when the sun was up, then I
+did sleep.  And if my limbs would not rest when 'twas dark, why, then
+I did roam.  There was naught to hold me back from my fancy.
+
+TANSIE.  And how is it now with you, mistress?
+
+JULIA.  'Tis all said in one word.
+
+CHRIS.  What's that?
+
+JULIA.  'Tis "work."
+
+NAT.  Work?
+
+CHRIS.  Work?
+
+TANSIE.  Work!  And yet 'tis a fine young lady as you do look in your
+muslin gown with silky ribbons to it and all.
+
+JULIA.  I'm a farmer, Tansie.  And for a farmer 'tis work of one
+sort, or t'other from when the sun is up till the candle has burned
+itself short.  If 'tisn't working with my own hands, 'tis driving of
+the hands of another.
+
+CHRIS.  I've heard tell as a farmer do spin gold all the day same as
+one of they great spiders as go putting out silk from their mouths.
+
+JULIA.  And what is gold to me, Chris, who have no one but myself to
+spend it on
+
+CHRIS.  Folks do say as the laying up of gold be one of the finest
+things in the world.
+
+JULIA.  It will never bring happiness to me, Chris.
+
+CHRIS.  Come, mistress, 'tis a fine thing to have a great stone roof
+above the head of you.
+
+JULIA.  I'd sooner get my shelter from the green leaves.
+
+NAT.  And a grand thing to have your victuals spread afore you each
+time 'stead of having to go lean very often.
+
+JULIA.  O, a handful of berries and a drink of fresh water is enough
+for me.
+
+TANSIE.  And beautiful it must be to stretch the limbs of you upon
+feathers when night do come down, with a fine white sheet drawn up
+over your head.
+
+JULIA.  O, I could rest more sweetly on the grass and moss yonder.
+
+NAT.  I did never sleep within four walls but once, and then 'twas in
+gaol.
+
+JULIA.  O Nat, you were never in gaol, were you?
+
+NAT.  'Twas that they mistook I for another.  And when the morning
+did come, they did let I go again.
+
+CHRIS.  I count 'twas a smartish long night, that!
+
+NAT.  'Twas enough for to shew me how it do feel when anyone has got
+to bide sleeping with the walls all around of he.
+
+JULIA.  And the ceiling above, Nat.  And locked door.  And other folk
+lying breathing in the house, hard by.  All dark and close.
+
+CHRIS.  And where us may lie, the air do run swift over we.  We has
+the smell of the earth and the leaves on us as we do sleep.  There
+baint no darkness for we, for the stars do blink all night through up
+yonder.
+
+TANSIE.  And no sound of other folk breathing but the crying of th'
+owls and the foxes' bark.
+
+JULIA.  Ah, that must be a grand sound, the barking of a fox.  I
+never did hear one.  Never.
+
+CHRIS.  Ah, 'tis a powerful thin sound, that--but one to raise the
+hair on a man's head and to clam the flesh of he, at dead of night.
+
+NAT.  You come and bide along of we one evening, and you shall
+hearken to the fox, and badger too, if you've the mind.
+
+JULIA.  O that would please me more than anything in the world.
+
+TANSIE.  And when 'twas got a little lighter, so that the bushes
+could be seen, and the fields, I'd shew you where the partridge has
+her nest beneath the hedge; where we have gotten eggs, and eaten them
+too.
+
+CHRIS.  And I'll take and lead you to a place what I do know of,
+where the water flows clear as a diamond over the stones.  And if you
+bides there waiting quiet you may take the fish as they come along--
+and there's a dinner such as the Queen might not get every day of the
+week.
+
+JULIA.  O Chris, who is there to say I must bide in one place when
+all in me is thirsting to be in t'other!
+
+CHRIS.  I'm sure I don't know.
+
+NAT.  I should move about where I did like, if 'twas me.
+
+TANSIE.  A fine young lady like you can do as she pleases.
+
+JULIA.  Well then, it pleases me to bide with you in the free air.
+
+CHRIS.  Our life, 'tis a poor life, and wandering.  'Tis food one
+day, and may be going without the next.  'Tis the sun upon the faces
+of us one hour--and then the rain.  But 'tis in freedom that us
+walks, and we be the masters of our own limbs.
+
+JULIA.  Will you be good to me if I journey with you?
+
+CHRIS.  Ah, 'tis not likely as I'll ever fail you, mistress.
+
+JULIA.  Do not call me mistress any longer, Chris, my name is Julia.
+
+CHRIS.  'Tis a well-sounding name, and one as runs easy as clear
+water upon the tongue.
+
+JULIA.  Tansie, how will it be for me to go with you?
+
+TANSIE.  'Twill be well enough with the spirit of you I don't doubt,
+but how'll it be with the fine clothes what you have on?
+
+NAT.  [Suddenly looking up.]  Why, there's Susan coming.
+
+JULIA.  [Looking in the same direction.]  So that is Susan?
+
+TANSIE.  I count as her has had a smartish job to get away from th'
+old missis so early in the day.
+
+CHRIS.  'Tis a rare old she cat, and handy with the claw's of her,
+Susan's missis.
+
+[SUSAN comes shyly forward.
+
+NAT.  Come you here, Susan, and sit along of we.
+
+JULIA.  Yes, sit down with us in this cool shade, Susan.  You look
+warm from running.
+
+SUSAN.  O, I didn't know you was here, Mistress Julia.
+
+JULIA.  Well, Susan, and so you live at Road Farm.  Are you happy
+there?
+
+SUSAN.  I should be if 'twern't for mistress.
+
+JULIA.  No mistress could speak harshly to you, Susan--you are so
+young and pretty.
+
+SUSAN.  Ah, but mistress takes no account of aught but the work you
+does, and the tongue of her be wonderful lashing.
+
+JULIA.  Then how comes it that you have got away to the forest so
+early on a week day?
+
+SUSAN.  'Tis that mistress be powerful took up with sommat else this
+afternoon, and so I was able to run out for a while and her didn't
+notice me.
+
+TANSIE.  Why Su, what's going on up at the farm so particular to-day?
+
+SUSAN.  'Tis courting.
+
+ALL.  Courting?
+
+SUSAN.  Yes.  That 'tis.  'Tis our Master William what's dressed up
+in his Sunday clothes and gone a-courting with a basket of green
+stuff on his arm big enough to fill the market, very nigh.
+
+CHRIS.  Well, well, who'd have thought he had it in him?
+
+NAT.  He's a gentleman what's not cut out for courting, to my mind.
+
+SUSAN.  Indeed he isn't, Nat.  And however the mistress got him
+dressed and set off on that business, I don't know.
+
+JULIA.  But you have not told us who the lady is, Susan.
+
+SUSAN.  [Suddenly very embarrassed.]  I--I--don't think as I do
+rightly know who 'tis, mistress.
+
+CHRIS.  Why, look you, Susan, you'll have to take and hide yourself
+if you don't want for them to know as you be got along of we.
+
+SUSAN.  What's that, Chris?
+
+CHRIS.  [Pointing.]  See there, that man of Master Gardner's be a-
+coming along towards us fast.  Look yonder -
+
+SUSAN.  O whatever shall I do?  'Tis John, and surely he will tell of
+me when he gets back.
+
+SAT.  Come you off with me afore he do perceive you, Susan.  I'll
+take you where you shall bide hid from all the Johns in the world if
+you'll but come along of me.
+
+JULIA.  That's it.  Take her off, Nat; take her, Tansie.  And do you
+go along too, Chris, for I have a fancy to bide alone in the
+stillness of the wood for a while.
+
+[SUSAN, TANSIE and NAT go out.
+
+CHRIS.  Be I to leave you too, Julia?
+
+JULIA.  [Slowly.]  Only for a little moment, Chris; then you can come
+for me again.  I would like to stay with myself in quiet for a while.
+New thoughts have come into my mind and I cannot rightly understand
+what they do say to me, unless I hearken to them alone.
+
+CHRIS.  Then I'll leave you, Julia.  For things be stirring powerful
+in my mind too, and I'd give sommat for to come to an understanding
+with they.  Ah, that I would.
+
+[They look at one another in silence for a moment, then CHRIS slowly
+follows the others, leaving JULIA alone.  JULIA sits alone in the
+wood.  Presently she begins to sing.
+
+JULIA.  [Singing.]
+
+I sowed the seeds of love,
+It was all in the Spring;
+In April, in May, and in June likewise
+When small birds they do sing.
+
+[JOHN with a large basket on his arm comes up to her.
+
+JOHN.  A good day to you, mistress.
+
+JULIA.  Good afternoon.
+
+JOHN.  Now I count as you would like to know who 'tis that's made so
+bold in speaking to you, Mistress.
+
+JULIA.  Why, you're Master Gardner's farm hand, if I'm not mistaken.
+
+JOHN.  Ah, that's right enough.  And there be jobs as I wish Master
+William would get and do for hisself instead of putting them on I.
+
+JULIA.  Well, and how far may you be going this afternoon?
+
+JOHN.  I baint going no further than where I be a-standing now,
+mistress.
+
+JULIA.  It would appear that your business was with me, then?
+
+JOHN.  Ah, you've hit the right nail, mistress.  'Tis with you.  'Tis
+a straight offer as my master have sent me out for to make.
+
+JULIA.  Now I wonder what sort of an offer that might be!
+
+JOHN.  'Tis master's hand in marriage, and a couple of pigs jowls,
+home-cured, within this here basket.
+
+JULIA.  O my good man, you're making game of me.
+
+JOHN.  And that I baint, mistress.  'Twas in the church as Master
+William seed you first.  And 'tis very nigh sick unto death with love
+as he have been since then.
+
+JULIA.  Is he too sick to come and plead his cause himself, John?
+
+JOHN.  Ah, and that he be.  Do go moulting about the place with his
+victuals left upon the dish--a sighing and a grizzling so that any
+maid what's got a heart to th' inside of she would be moved in pity,
+did she catch ear of it, and would lift he out of the torment.
+
+JULIA.  Well, John, I've not seen or heard any of this sad to-do, so
+I can't be moved in pity.
+
+JOHN.  An, do you look within this basket at the jowls what Master
+William have sent you.  Maybe as they'll go to your heart straighter
+nor what any words might.
+
+[JOHN sits down on the bench by JULIA and opens the basket.  JULIA
+looks in.
+
+JULIA.  I have no liking for pigs' meat myself.
+
+JOHN.  Master's pig meat be different to any in the county, mistress.
+"Tell her," says Master William, "'tis a rare fine bit of mellow jowl
+as I be a sending she."
+
+JULIA.  O John, I'm a very poor judge of such things.
+
+JOHN.  And look you here.  I never seed a bit of Master William's
+home-cured sent out beyond the family to no one till this day.  No,
+that I have not, mistress.
+
+JULIA.  [Shutting the basket.]  Well--I have no use for such a gift,
+John, so it may be returned again to the family.  I am sorry you had
+the trouble of bringing it so far.
+
+JOHN.  You may not be partial to pig meat, mistress, but you'll send
+back the key of Master William's heart same as you have done the
+jowls.
+
+JULIA.  I have no use for the key of Master William's heart either,
+John.  And you may tell him so, from me.
+
+JOHN.  Why, mistress.  You don't know what you be a talking of.  A
+man like my master have never had to take a No in place of Yes in all
+the born days of him.
+
+JULIA.  [Rising.]  Then he'll have to take it now, John.  And I'm
+thinking 'tis time you set off home again with your load.
+
+JOHN.  Well, mistress, I don't particular care to go afore you have
+given me a good word or sommat as'll hearten up poor Master William
+in his love sickness.
+
+JULIA.  Truly, John, I don't know what you would have me say.
+
+JOHN.  I warrant there be no lack of words to the inside of you, if
+so be as you'd open you mouth a bit wider.  'Tis not silence as a
+maid is troubled with in general.
+
+JULIA.  O, I have plenty of words ready, John, should you care to
+hear them.
+
+JOHN.  Then out with them, Mistress Julia, and tell the master as how
+you'll take the offer what he have made you.
+
+JULIA.  I've never seen your master, John, but I know quite enough
+about him to say I'll never wed with him.  Please to make that very
+clear when you get back.
+
+JOHN.  'Tis plain as you doesn't know what you be a talking of.  And
+'tis a wonder as how such foolishness can came from the mouth of a
+sensible looking maid like yourself.
+
+JULIA.  I shall not marry Master William Gardner.
+
+JOHN.  I reckon as you'll be glad enough to eat up every one of them
+words the day you claps eyes on Master William, for a more splendid
+gentleman nor he never fetched his breath.
+
+JULIA.  I'll never wed a farmer, John.
+
+JOHN.  And then, look at the gift what Master William's been and sent
+you.  'Tisn't to everyone as master do part with his pig meat.  That
+'tisn't.
+
+JULIA.  [Rising.]  Well, you can tell your master I'm not one that
+can be courted with a jowl, mellow or otherwise.  And that I'll not
+wed until I can give my heart along with my hand.
+
+JOHN.  I'd like to know where you would find a better one nor master
+for to give your heart to, mistress?
+
+JULIA.  May be I have not far to search.
+
+JOHN.  [Taking up the basket.]  You're a rare tricksy maid as ever I
+did see.  Tricksy and tossy too.
+
+JULIA.  There--that's enough, John.  Suppose you set off home and
+tell your master he can hang up his meat again in the larder, for all
+that it concerns me.
+
+JOHN.  I'll be blowed if I do say anything of the sort, mistress.  I
+shall get and tell Master William as you be giving a bit of thought
+to the matter, and that jowls not being to your fancy, 'tis very like
+as a dish of trotters may prove acceptabler.
+
+JULIA.  Say what you like, John.  Only let me bide quiet in this good
+forest now.  I want to be with my thoughts.
+
+JOHN.  [Preparing to go and speaking aloud to himself.]  Her's a
+wonderful contrary bird to be sure.  And bain't a shy one neither,
+what gets timid and flustered and is easily netted.  My word, but me
+and master has a job before us for to catch she.
+
+JULIA.  I hear you, and 'tis very rudely that you talk.  There's an
+old saying that I never could see the meaning of before, but now I
+think 'tis clear, "Like master, like man," they say.  I'll have none
+of Master William, and you can tell him so.
+
+[JOHN goes out angrily.  JULIA sits down again on the bench and
+begins to sing.
+
+JULIA.  [Singing.]
+
+My gardener stood by
+And told me to take great care,
+For in the middle of a red rose-bud
+There grows a sharp thorn there.
+
+[LAURA comes slowly forward, carrying the basket of vegetables on one
+arm.  She holds a handkerchief to her face and is crying.
+
+JULIA.  Why, Laura, what has made you cry so sadly?
+
+LAURA.  O, Julia, 'twas a rare red rose as I held in my hand, and a
+rare cruel thorn that came from it and did prick me.
+
+JULIA.  And a rare basket of green stuff that you have been getting.
+
+LAURA.  [Sinking down on the seat, and weeping violently.]  His dear
+gift to me!
+
+JULIA.  [Looking into the basket.]  O a wonderful fine gift, to be
+sure.  Young carrots and spring cabbage.  I've had a gift offered
+too--but mine was jowls.
+
+LAURA.  Jowls.  O, and did you not take them?
+
+JULIA.  No, I sent them back to the giver, with the dry heart which
+was along with them in the same basket.
+
+LAURA.  O Julia, how could you be so hard and cruel?
+
+JULIA.  Come, wouldn't you have done the same?
+
+LAURA.  [Sobbing vehemently.]  That I should not, Julia.
+
+JULIA.  Perhaps you've seen the gentleman then?
+
+LAURA.  I have.  And O, Julia, he is a beautiful gentleman.  I never
+saw one that was his like.
+
+JULIA.  The rare red rose with its thorn, Laura.
+
+LAURA.  He did lay the heart of him before me--thinking my name was
+Julia.
+
+JULIA.  And did he lay the vegetables too?
+
+LAURA.  'Twas all the doing of a great fool, that man of his.
+
+JULIA.  And you--did you give him what he asked of you--before he
+knew that your name was not Julia?
+
+LAURA.  O, I did--that I did.  [A short silence.
+
+JULIA.  And could you forget the prick of the thorn, did you hold the
+rose again, Laura?
+
+LAURA.  O that I could.  For me there'd be naught but the rose, were
+it laid once more in my hand.  But 'tis not likely to be put there,
+since 'tis you he favours.
+
+JULIA.  But I don't favour him.
+
+LAURA.  You'll favour him powerful well when you see him, Julia.
+
+JULIA.  I've given my heart already, but 'tis not to him.
+
+LAURA.  You've given your heart?
+
+JULIA.  Yes, Chris has all of it, Laura.  There is nothing left for
+anyone else in the world.
+
+LAURA.  O Julia, think of your position.
+
+JULIA.  That I will not do.  I am going to think of yours.
+
+LAURA.  [Beginning to cry.]  I'm no better in my station than a
+serving maid, like Susan.
+
+JULIA.  [Pointing.]  There she comes [calling] Susan, Susan!
+
+[SUSAN comes up.  During the next sentences LAURA takes one bunch of
+vegetables after another from the basket, smoothing each in turn with
+a fond caressing movement.
+
+SUSAN.  Did you call, mistress?
+
+JULIA.  Yes, Susan.  That I did.
+
+SUSAN.  Can I help you in any way, Miss Julia?
+
+JULIA.  Yes, and that you can.  You have got to run quickly back to
+the farm.
+
+SUSAN.  Be it got terrible late, mistress?
+
+JULIA.  'Tis not only that.  You have got to find your master and
+tell him to expect a visit from me in less than an hour's time from
+now.  Do you understand?
+
+SUSAN.  O, yes, mistress, and that I do--to tell master as you be
+coming along after he as fast as you can run.
+
+JULIA.  Well--I should not have put it in that way, but 'tis near
+enough may be.  So off, and make haste, Susan.
+
+SUSAN.  Please, mistress, I could make the words have a more loving
+sound to them if you do wish it.
+
+JULIA.  My goodness, Susan, what are you thinking of?  Say naught,
+but that I'm coming.  Run away now, and run quickly.  [SUSAN goes
+off.
+
+LAURA.  [Looking up, a bunch of carrots in her hands.]  What are you
+going to do now, Julia?
+
+JULIA.  You shall see, when you have done playing with those carrots.
+
+LAURA.  He pulled them, every one, with his own hands, Julia.
+
+JULIA.  My love has gathered something better for me than a carrot.
+See, a spray of elder bloom that was tossing ever so high in the
+wind.
+
+[She takes a branch of elder flower from her dress, and shews it to
+LAURA.
+
+LAURA.  The roots that lie warm in the earth do seem more homely like
+to me.
+
+JULIA.  Well--each one has their own way in love--and mine lies
+through the dark woods, and yours is in the vegetable garden.  And
+'tis your road that we will take this afternoon--so come along
+quickly with me, Laura, for the sun has already begun to change its
+light.
+
+[LAURA replaces the vegetables in her basket and rises from the seat
+as the curtain falls.
+
+
+
+ACT III.--Scene 1.
+
+
+
+The Garden of Road Farm as in Act I.
+
+MRS. GARDNER is knitting in the Arbour.  WILLIAM strolls about
+gloomily, his hands in his pockets.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  And serve you right, William, for sending the man when
+you should have gone yourself.
+
+WILLIAM.  John has a tongue that is better used to this sort of
+business than mine.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  Nonsense, when was one of our family ever known to
+fail in the tongue?
+
+WILLIAM.  If she that was asked first had only been the right one,
+all would have been over and done with now.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  'Tis John that you have got to thank for the blunder.
+
+WILLIAM.  [Sighing.]  That was a rare fine maid, and no mistake.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  And a rare brazen hussy, from all that has reached my
+ears.
+
+WILLIAM.  Well--I've done with courting--now and for all time, that I
+have.  And you may roast me alive if I'll ever go nigh to a maid
+again.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  That you shall, William--and quickly too.  There's no
+time like the present, and your Sunday clothes are upon you still.
+
+WILLIAM.  I was just going up to change, Mother.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  Then you'll please to remain as you are.  You may take
+what gift you like along with you this time, so long as it's none of
+my home-cured meat.
+
+WILLIAM.  I'm blessed if I do stir out again this day.  Why, look at
+the seedlings crying for water, and the nets to lay over the fruit
+and sommat of everything wanting to be done all around of me.  I'll
+not stir.
+
+[JOHN comes towards them.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  Here's John.  Suppose he were to make himself useful
+in the garden for once instead of meddling in things that are none of
+his business.
+
+JOHN.  I'll be blowed if 'tis any more courting as I'll do, neither
+for Master William nor on my own account.
+
+WILLIAM.  Why, John, 'twasn't your fault that the lady wouldn't take
+me, you did your best with her, I know.
+
+JOHN.  An that I did, Master William, but a more contrary coxsy sort
+of a maid I never did see.  "I baint one as fancies pig meat," her
+did say.  And the nose of she did curl away up till it could go no
+higher.  That's not the wench for me, I says to myself.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  Is the jowl hung up in its right place again, John?
+
+JOHN.  That 'tis, mistress.  I put it back myself, and a good job for
+that 'taint went out of the family and off to the mouths of
+strangers, so says I.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  Do you tend to Master William's garden John, instead
+of talking.  We've had enough of your tongue for one day.
+
+JOHN.  Why, be Master William goin' out for to court again, this
+afternoon?
+
+WILLIAM.  No, John--No, I've had enough of that for my life time.
+
+JOHN.  So have I, master, and more nor enough.  I don't care
+particular if I never set eyes on a maid again.
+
+WILLIAM.  [Pointing to a plot of ground.]  That's where I pulled the
+young carrots this morning.
+
+JOHN.  Ah, and so you did, master.
+
+WILLIAM.  And there's from where I took the Early Snowballs.
+
+JOHN.  And a great pity as you did.  There be none too many of that
+sort here.
+
+WILLIAM.  She had a wonderful soft look in her eyes as she did handle
+them and the spring cabbage, John.
+
+JOHN.  Ah, and a wonderful hard tongue when her knowed 'twasn't for
+she as they was pulled.
+
+WILLIAM.  Was t'other maid anything of the same pattern, John?
+
+JOHN.  Upon my word, if t'other wasn't the worst of the two, for she
+did put a powerful lot of venom into the looks as she did give I, and
+the words did fall from she like so many bricks on my head.
+
+WILLIAM.  Pity the first was not the right maid.
+
+JOHN.  Ah, a maid what can treat a prime home-cured jowl as yon did
+baint the sort for to mistress it over we, I'm thinking.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  See here, John--suppose you were to let your tongue
+bide still in its home awhile, and start doing something with your
+hands.
+
+JOHN.  That's right enough, mistress.  What's wanted, Master William?
+
+WILLIAM.  I'm blessed if I can recollect, John.  This courting
+business lies heavy on me, and I don't seem able to get above it,
+like.
+
+JOHN.  I'd let it alone, master, if I was you.  They be all alike,
+the maids.  And 'twouldn't be amiss if we was to serve they as we
+serves the snails when they gets to the young plants.
+
+[SUSAN comes hurriedly into the garden.
+
+SUSAN.  Please master, please mistress.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  What do you mean, Susan, by coming into the garden
+without your cap?  Go and put it on at once.
+
+SUSAN.  The wind must have lifted it from me, mistress, for I was
+running ever so fast.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  Do you expect me to believe that, Susan--and not a
+breath stirring the flowers or trees, or anything?
+
+SUSAN.  'Twas the lady I met as--as--as I was coming across the field
+from feeding the fowls.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  What lady, Susan?
+
+SUSAN.  Her from Luther's, mistress.
+
+JOHN.  And what of she; out with it, wench.
+
+SUSAN.  She did tell I to say as she be coming along as fast as she
+may after Master William.
+
+WILLIAM.  [As though to himself with an accent of despair.]  No.  No.
+
+JOHN.  There, master, didn't I tell you so?
+
+WILLIAM.  [Very nervously.]  What did you tell me, John?
+
+JOHN.  That, let her abide and her'd find the senses of she
+presently.
+
+WILLIAM.  O I'm blessed if I do know what to do.
+
+[JOHN takes his master's arm and draws him aside.
+
+JOHN.  You pluck up your heart, my dearest master, and court she
+hard.  And in less nor a six months 'tis along to church as you'll be
+a-driving she.
+
+WILLIAM.  But John, 'tis t'other with the cherry ribbons that has
+taken all my fancy.
+
+JOHN.  No, no, Master William.  You take and court the mistress.  You
+take and tame the young vixen, and get the gold and silver from she.
+T'other wench is but the serving maid.
+
+SUSAN.  The lady's coming along ever so quickly, master.
+
+[MRS. GARDNER, rising and folding up her knitting.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  You'll please to come indoors with me, William, and
+I'll brush you down and make you look more presentable than you
+appear just now.  Susan, you'll get a cap to you head at once, do you
+hear me!  And John, take and water master's seedlings.  Any one can
+stand with their mouths open and their eyes as big as gooseberries if
+they've a mind.  'Tis not particular sharp to do so.  Come, William.
+
+WILLIAM.  I'd like a word or two with John first, Mother.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  You come along with me this moment, William.  'Tis a
+too many words by far that you've had with John already, and much
+good they've done to you.  Come you in with me.
+
+WILLIAM.  O I'm blessed if I do know whether 'tis on my head or on my
+feet that I'm standing.
+
+[WILLIAM follows his mother slowly and gloomily into the house.
+
+JOHN.  Well--if ever there was a poor, tormented animal 'tis the
+master.
+
+SUSAN.  Ah, mistress should have been born a drover by rights.  'Tis
+a grand nagging one as her'd have made, and sommat what no beast
+would ever have got the better of.
+
+JOHN.  I wouldn't stand in Master William's shoes, not if you was to
+put me knee deep in gold.
+
+SUSAN.  Nor I.
+
+JOHN.  Ah, this courting business, 'tis a rare caddling muddle when
+'tis all done and said.
+
+SUSAN.  'Tis according as some folks do find it, Master John.
+
+JOHN.  'Tis a smartish lot as you'll get of it come Sunday night, my
+wench.  You wait and see.
+
+SUSAN.  That shews how little you do know.  'Twill be better nor ever
+with me then.
+
+JOHN.  'Twill be alone by yourself as you'll go walking, Su.
+
+SUSAN.  We'll see about that when the time comes, John.
+
+JOHN.  All I says is that I baint a-going walking with you.
+
+SUSAN.  I never walk with two, John.
+
+JOHN.  You'll have to learn to go in your own company.
+
+SUSAN.  I shall go by the side of my husband by then, very likely.
+
+JOHN.  Your husband?  What tales be you a-giving out now?
+
+SUSAN.  'Tis to Nat as I'm to be wed come Saturday.
+
+JOHN.  Get along with you, Susan, and put a cap to your head.
+Mistress will be coming out presently, and then you know how 'twill
+be if her catches you so.  Get along in with you.
+
+SUSAN.  Now you don't believe what I'm telling you--but it's true, O
+it's true.
+
+JOHN.  Look here--There's company at the gate, and you a-standing
+there like any rough gipsy wench on the road.  Get you in and make
+yourself a decenter appearance and then go and tell the mistress as
+they be comed.
+
+SUSAN.  [Preparing to go indoors and speaking over her shoulder.]
+'Tis in the parson's gown as you should be clothed, Master John.  Ah,
+'tis a wonderful wordy preacher as you would make, to be sure.  And
+'tis a rare crop as one might raise with the seed as do fall from
+your mouth.
+
+[She goes indoors.  JULIA comes leisurely into the garden.
+
+JULIA.  Well, John, and how are you feeling now?
+
+JOHN.  Nicely, thank you, mistress.  See yon arbour?
+
+JULIA.  And that I do, John.
+
+JOHN.  Well, you may go and sit within it till the master has leisure
+to come and speak with you.
+
+JULIA.  Thank you, John, but I would sooner stop and watch you tend
+the flowers.
+
+JOHN.  'Tis all one to me whether you does or you does not.
+
+JULIA.  Now, John, you are angry with me still.
+
+JOHN.  I likes a wench as do know the mind of she, and not one as can
+blow hot one moment and cold the next.
+
+JULIA.  There was never a moment when I did not know my own mind,
+John.  And that's the truth.
+
+JOHN.  Well, us won't say no more about that.  'Taint fit as there
+should be ill feeling nor quarrelling 'twixt me and you.
+
+JULIA.  You're right, John.  And there was something that I had it in
+my mind to ask you.
+
+JOHN.  You can say your fill.  There baint no one but me in the
+garden.
+
+JULIA.  John, you told me that since Sunday your master has been sick
+with love.
+
+JOHN.  That's right enough, mistress.  I count as we shall bury he if
+sommat don't come to his relief.
+
+JULIA.  Now, John, do you look into my eyes and tell me if 'tis for
+love of Julia or of Laura that your master lies sickening.
+
+JOHN.  You'd best go and ask it of his self, mistress.  'Tis a
+smartish lot of work as I've got to attend to here.
+
+JULIA.  You can go on working, John.  I am not hindering you.
+
+JOHN.  No more than one of they old Juney bettels a-roaring and a-
+buzzin round a man's head.
+
+JULIA.  Now, John--you must tell me which of the two it is.  Is it
+Laura whom your master loves, or Julia?
+
+JOHN.  'Tis Julia, then, since you will have it out of me.
+
+JULIA.  No, John, you're not looking straight at me.  You are looking
+down at the flower bed.  Let your eyes meet mine.
+
+JOHN.  [Looking up crossly.]  I've got my work to think of.  I'm not
+one to stand cackling with a maid.
+
+JULIA.  Could you swear me it is Julia?
+
+JOHN.  'Tis naught to I which of you it be.  There bide over, so as I
+can get the watering finished.
+
+JULIA.  [Seizes the watering can.]  Now, John, you have got to speak
+the truth to me.
+
+JOHN.  Give up yon can, I tell you.  O you do act wonderful unseemly
+for a young lady.
+
+JULIA.  [Withholding the can.]  Not till I have the truth from you.
+
+JOHN.  [Angrily.]  Well then, is it likely that my master would set
+his fancy on such a plaguy, wayward maid?  Why, Master William do
+know better nor to do such a thing, I can tell you.
+
+JULIA.  Then 'tis for Laura that he is love-sick, John.
+
+JOHN.  Give I the watering can.
+
+JULIA.  [Giving him the can.]  Here it is, dear John.  O I had a
+fancy all the time that 'twas to Laura your master had lost his
+heart.  And now I see I made no mistake.
+
+JOHN.  I shouldn't have spoke as I did if you hadn't a buzzed around
+I till I was drove very nigh crazy.  Master William, he'll never
+forgive me this.
+
+JULIA.  That he will, I'm sure, when he has listened to what I have
+got to say to him.
+
+JOHN.  You do set a powerful store on what your tongue might say, but
+I'd take and bide quiet at home if I was you and not come hunting of
+a nice reasonable gentleman like master, out of his very garden.
+
+JULIA.  O John, you're a sad, ill-natured man, and you misjudge me
+very unkindly.  But I'll not bear malice if you will just run in and
+tell your master that I want a word with him.
+
+JOHN.  A word?  Why not say fifty?  When was a maid ever satisfied
+with one word I'd like to know?
+
+JULIA.  Well--I shan't say more than six, very likely, so fetch him
+to me now, John, and I'll wait here in the garden.  [JOHN looks at
+her with exasperated contempt.  Then he slowly walks away towards the
+house.  JULIA goes in the opposite direction to the garden gate.
+
+JULIA.  [Calling.]  Chris!  [CHRIS comes in.
+
+JULIA.  [Pointing.]  O Chris, look at this fine garden--and yon
+arbour--see the fine house, with lace curtains to the windows of it.
+
+CHRIS.  [Sullenly.]  Ah--I sees it all very well.
+
+JULIA.  And all this could be mine for the stretching out of a hand.
+
+CHRIS.  Then stretch it.
+
+JULIA.  'Twould be like putting a wild bird into a gilded cage, to
+set me here in this place.  No, I must go free with you, Chris--and
+we will wander where our spirits lead us--over all the world if we
+have a mind to do so.
+
+CHRIS.  Please God you'll not grieve at your choice.
+
+JULIA.  That I never shall.  Now call to Laura.  Is she in the lane
+outside?
+
+CHRIS.  There, she be come to the gate now.
+
+[LAURA comes in, followed by NAT and TANSIE.
+
+JULIA.  [Pointing to a place on the ground.]  Laura, see, here is the
+place from which your young carrots were pulled.
+
+LAURA.  O look at the flowers, Julia--Lillies, pinks and red roses.
+
+JULIA.  'Tis a fine red rose that shall be gathered for you
+presently, Laura.  [JOHN comes up.
+
+JOHN.  The master's very nigh ready now, mistress.
+
+[SUSAN follows him.
+
+SUSAN.  The mistress says, please to be seated till she do come.
+
+JOHN.  [To CHRIS and NAT.]  Now, my men, we don't want the likes of
+you in here.  You had best get off afore Master William catches sight
+of you.
+
+JULIA.  No, John.  These are my friends, and I wish them to hear all
+that I have to say to your master.
+
+JOHN.  Ah, 'tis in the grave as poor Master William will be landed
+soon if you don't have a care.
+
+LAURA.  [Anxiously.]  O is he so delicate as that, John?
+
+JOHN.  Ah--and that he be.  And these here love matters and courtings
+and foolishness have very nigh done for he.  I don't give him but a
+week longer if things do go on as they be now.
+
+[WILLIAM and MRS. GARDNER come in.  WILLIAM looks nervously round
+him.  MRS. GARDNER perceives the gipsies, and SUSAN talking to NAT.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  Susan, get you to your place in the kitchen, as quick
+as you can.  John, put yon roadsters through the gate, if you please.
+[Turning to JULIA.]  Now young Miss?
+
+JULIA.  A very good evening to you, mistress.  And let me make Chris
+known to you for he and I are to be wed to-morrow.
+
+[She takes CHRIS by the hand and leads him forward.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  What's this?  William, do you understand what the
+young person is telling us?
+
+JULIA.  [Taking LAURA with her other hand.]  And here is Laura to
+whom I have given all my land and all my money.  She is the mistress
+of Luther's now.
+
+JOHN.  [Aside to WILLIAM.]  Now master, hearken to that.  Can't you
+lift your spirits a bit.
+
+JULIA.  [To MRS. GARDNER.]  And I beg you to accept her as a
+daughter.  She will make a better farmer's wife than ever I shall.
+
+JOHN.  [In a loud whisper.]  Start courting, master.
+
+WILLIAM.  O I dare not quite so sudden, John.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  [Sitting down.]  It will take a few moments for me to
+understand this situation.
+
+JULIA.  There is no need for any hurry.  We have all the evening
+before us.
+
+JOHN.  [Hastily gathers a rosebud and puts it into WILLIAM'S hand.]
+Give her a blossom, master.  'Tis an easy start off.
+
+WILLIAM.  [Coming forward shyly with the flower.]  Would you fancy a
+rosebud, mistress?
+
+LAURA.  O that I would, master.
+
+WILLIAM.  Should you care to see--to see where the young celery is
+planted out?
+
+LAURA.  O, I'd dearly love to see the spot.
+
+WILLIAM.  I'll take you along to it then.  [He gives her his arm,
+very awkwardly, and they move away.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  [Sitting down.]  Well--things have changed since I was
+young.
+
+JOHN.  [Looking viciously at NAT and SUSAN.]  Ah, I counts they have,
+mistress, and 'tis all for the worse.
+
+SUSAN.  [Comes forward timidly.]  And me and Nat are to be married
+too, mistress.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  I should have given you notice anyhow to-night, Susan,
+so perhaps it's just as well you have made sure of some sort of a
+roof to your head.
+
+NAT.  'Twill be but the roof of th' old cart, mistress; but I warrant
+as her'll sleep bravely under it, won't you, Su.
+
+SUSAN.  That I shall, dear Nat.
+
+TANSIE.  Well, Master John, have you a fancy to come tenting along of
+we.
+
+JOHN.  Upon my word, but I don't know how 'tis with the young people
+nowadays, they be so bold.
+
+JULIA.  [Who has been standing apart, her hand in that of CHRIS.]
+New days, new ways, John.
+
+JOHN.  Bless my soul, but 'tis hard to keep up with all these goings
+on, and no mistake.
+
+JULIA.  No need for you to try, John.  If you are too old to run with
+us you must abide still and watch us as we go.
+
+CHRIS.  But there, you needn't look downhearted, master, for I knows
+someone as'll give you a rare warm welcome if so be as you should
+change your mind and take your chance in the open, same as we.
+
+TANSIE.  You shall pay for that, Chris.
+
+JOHN.  [Stiffly.]  I hope as I've a properer sense of my duty nor
+many others what I could name.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  Those are the first suitable words that have been
+spoken in my hearing this afternoon.
+
+[WILLIAM, with LAURA on his arm, returns.  LAURA carries a small
+cucumber very lovingly.
+
+LAURA.  Julia, look!  The first one of the season!  O, isn't it a
+picture!
+
+JULIA.  O Laura, 'tis a fine wedding gift to be sure.
+
+WILLIAM.  [Stepping up to JOHN.]  John, my man, here's a five pound
+note to your pocket.  I'd never have won this lady here if it hadn't
+been for you.
+
+JOHN.  [Taking the note.]  Don't name it, dear master.  'Tis a long
+courtship what has no ending to it, so I always says.
+
+MRS. GARDNER.  'Tis one upset after another, but suppose you were to
+make yourself useful for once, Susan, and bring out the tray with the
+cake and glasses on it.
+
+JOHN.  Ah, that's it, and I'll go along of she and help draw the
+cider.  Courtship be powerful drying work.
+
+LAURA.  [Looking into WILLIAM'S eyes.]  O William, 'twas those Early
+Snowballs that did first stir up my heart.
+
+WILLIAM.  'Twas John who thought of them.  Why, John has more
+sensible thoughts to the mind of him than any other man in the world-
+-and when the cider is brought, 'tis to John's health we will all
+drink.
+
+[Curtain.]
+
+
+
+
+PRINCESS ROYAL
+
+
+
+
+CHARACTERS IN THE PLAY
+
+ROSE, MARION, village girls.
+LADY MILLICENT.
+ALICE, her maid.
+LEAH, an old gipsy.
+SUSAN, otherwise Princess Royal, her grand-daughter.
+JOCKIE, a little swine herd.
+LADY CULLEN.
+Her ladies in waiting (or one lady only).
+LORD CULLEN, her only son.
+As many girls as are needed for the dances should be in this Play.
+
+The parts of Lord Cullen and Jockie may be played by girls.
+
+
+
+ACT I.--Scene 1.
+
+
+
+A village green.  Some girls with market baskets come on to it, each
+one carrying a leaflet which she is earnestly reading.
+
+Gradually all the girls approach from different sides reading
+leaflets.
+
+Under a tree at the far end of the green the old gipsy is sitting--
+she lights a pipe and begins to smoke as ROSE, her basket full of
+market produce, comes slowly forward reading her sheet of paper.  She
+is followed by MARION--also reading.
+
+ROSE.  Well, 'tis like to be a fine set out, this May Day.
+
+MARION.  I can make naught of it myself.
+
+ROSE.  Why, 'tis Lord Cullen putting it about as how he be back from
+the war and thinking of getting himself wed, like.
+
+MARION.  I understands that much, I do.
+
+ROSE.  Only he can't find the maid what he's lost his heart to.
+
+MARION.  [Reading.]  The wench what his lordship did see a-dancing
+all by herself in the forest when he was hid one day all among the
+brambles, a-rabbiting or sommat.
+
+ROSE.  And when my lord would have spoke with her, the maid did turn
+and fled away quick as a weasel.
+
+MARION.  And his lordship off to the fighting when 'twas next morn.
+
+ROSE.  So now, each maid of us in the village and all around be to
+dance upon the green come May Day so that my lord may see who 'twas
+that pleased his fancy.
+
+[SUSAN comes up and stands quietly listening.  She is bare foot and
+her skirt is ragged, she wears a shawl over her shoulders and her
+hair is rough and untidy.  On her arm she carries a basket containing
+a few vegetables and other marketings.
+
+MARION.  And when he do pitch upon the one, 'tis her as he will wed.
+
+ROSE.  'Twill be a thing to sharpen the claws of th' old countess
+worse nor ever--that marriage.
+
+MARION.  Ah, I reckon as her be mortal angered with all the giddle-
+gaddle this business have set up among the folk.
+
+ROSE.  [Regretfully.]  I've never danced among the trees myself.
+
+MARION.  [Sadly.]  Nor I, neither, Rose.
+
+ROSE.  I'd dearly like to be a countess, Marion.
+
+MARION.  His lordship might think I was the maid.  I'm spry upon my
+feet you know.
+
+[SUSAN comes still nearer.
+
+MARION.  [Turning to her and speaking rudely.]  Well, Princess Rags,
+'tisn't likely as 'twas you a-dancing one of your Morris dances in
+the wood that day!
+
+ROSE.  [Mockingly.]  'Tisn't likely as his lordship would set his
+thoughts on a wench what could caper about like a Morris man upon the
+high road.  So there.
+
+SUSAN.  [Indifferently.]  I never danced upon the high road, I dances
+only where 'tis dark with gloom and no eyes upon me.  No mortal eyes.
+
+MARION.  [Impudently.]  Get along with you, Princess Royal.  Go off
+to th' old gipsy Gran'ma yonder.  We don't want the likes of you
+along of us.
+
+ROSE.  Go off and dance to your own animals, Miss Goatherd.  All of
+us be a-going to practise our steps against May Day.  Come along
+girls.
+
+[She signs to the other girls who all draw near and arrange
+themselves for a Country Dance.  SUSAN goes slowly towards her
+GRANDMOTHER and sits on the ground by her side, looking sadly and
+wistfully at the dancers.  At the end of the dance, the girls pick up
+their baskets and go off in different directions across the green.
+SUSAN and her GRANDMOTHER remain in their places.  The gipsy
+continues to smoke and SUSAN absently turns over the things in her
+basket.
+
+SUSAN.  They mock me in the name they have fixed to me--Princess
+Royal.
+
+GRANDMOTHER.  Let them mock.  I'll bring the words back to them like
+scorpions upon their tongues.
+
+[There is a little silence and then SUSAN begins to sing as though to
+herself.
+
+SUSAN.  [Singing.]
+
+"As I walked out one May morning,
+So early in the Spring;
+I placed my back against the old garden gate,
+And I heard my true love sing." {1}
+
+GRANDMOTHER.  [At the end of the singing.]  It might be the blackcap
+a-warbling all among of the branches.  So it might.
+
+SUSAN.  Ah, 'twas I that was a-dancing in the shade of the woods that
+day.
+
+GRANDMOTHER.  He'll never look on the likes of you--that's sure
+enough, my little wench.
+
+SUSAN.  I wish he was a goat-herd like myself--O that I do.
+
+GRANDMOTHER.  Then there wouldn't be no use in your wedding yourself
+with him as I can see.
+
+SUSAN.  'Tis himself, not his riches that I want.
+
+GRANDMOTHER.  You be speaking foolishness.  What do you know of him--
+what do us blind worms know about the stars above we?
+
+SUSAN.  I see'd him pass by upon his horse one day.  All there was of
+him did shine like the sun upon the water--I was very near dazed by
+the brightness.  So I was.
+
+[The GRANDMOTHER continues to smoke in silence.
+
+SUSAN.  [Softly.]  And 'twas then I lost the heart within me to him.
+
+[JOCKIE runs up beating his tabor.
+
+SUSAN.  [Springing up.]  Come, Jockie, I have a mind to dance a step
+or two.  [Rubbing her eyes with the back of her hands.]  Tears be for
+them as have idle times and not for poor wenches what mind cattle and
+goats.  Come, play me my own music, Jock.  And play it as I do like
+it best.
+
+[JOCKIE begins to play the tune of "Princess Royal" and SUSAN dances.
+Whilst SUSAN is dancing LADY MILLICENT and her waiting maid come
+slowly by and stand watching.  SUSAN suddenly perceives them and
+throws herself on the ground.  JOCKIE stops playing.
+
+LADY MILLICENT.  [Fanning herself.]  A wondrous bold dance, upon my
+word--could it have been that which captivated my lord, Alice?
+
+ALICE.  O no, mistress.  His lordship has no fancy for boldness in a
+maid.
+
+LADY MILLICENT.  Immodest too.  A Morris dance.  The girl should hide
+her face in shame.
+
+ALICE.  And there she is, looking at your ladyship with her gipsy
+eyes, bold as a brass farthing.
+
+SUSAN.  [Starting up and speaking passionately.]  I'll not be taunted
+for my dancing--I likes to dance wild, and leap with my body when my
+spirit leaps, and fly with my limbs when my heart flies and move in
+the air same as the birds do move when 'tis mating time.
+
+GRANDMOTHER.  Ah, 'tis so with she.  She baint no tame mouse what
+creeps from its hole along of t'others and who do go shuffle shuffle,
+in and out of the ring, mild as milk and naught in the innards of
+they but the squeak.
+
+SUSAN.  [Defiantly.]  'Twas my dance gained his lordship's praise--so
+there, fine madam.
+
+LADY MILLICENT.  Your dance?  Who are you then?
+
+ALICE.  A gipsy wench, mistress, who minds the goats and pigs for one
+of they great farms.
+
+GRANDMOTHER.  Have a care for that tongue of yours, madam waiting
+maid.  For I know how to lay sommat upon it what you won't fancy.
+
+LADY MILLICENT.  [Coming up to SUSAN and laying her hand on her arm.]
+Now tell me your name, my girl.
+
+SUSAN.  They call me Princess Royal.
+
+LADY MILLICENT.  O that must be in jest.  Why, you are clothed in
+rags, poor thing.
+
+SUSAN.  [Shaking herself free.]  I'd sooner wear my own rags nor the
+laces which you have got upon you.
+
+LADY MILLICENT.  Now why do you say such a thing?
+
+SUSAN.  'Twas in these rags as I danced in the wood that day, and
+'tis by these rags as my lord will know me once more.
+
+LADY MILLICENT.  Listen, I will cover you in silk and laces, Princess
+Royal.
+
+ALICE.  Susan is the maid's name.
+
+SUSAN.  I don't want none of your laces or silks.
+
+LADY MILLICENT.  And feed you with poultry and cream and sweetmeats.
+
+SUSAN.  I want naught but my crust of bread.
+
+LADY MILLICENT.  I'll fill your hands with gold pieces.
+
+GRANDMOTHER.  Do you hear that, Sue?
+
+SUSAN.  [Doggedly.]  I hear her well enough, Gran.
+
+LADY MILLICENT.  If you'll teach me your dance against May Day.
+Then, I'll clothe myself much after your fashion and dance upon the
+green with the rest.
+
+SUSAN.  I'll not learn you my dance.  Not for all the gold in the
+world.  You shan't go and take the only thing I have away from me.
+
+LADY MILLICENT.  [Angrily.]  Neither shall a little gipsy wretch like
+you take my love from me.  We were as good as promised to each other
+at our christening.
+
+ALICE.  Don't put yourself out for the baggage, madam.  His lordship
+would never look on her.
+
+GRANDMOTHER.  Gold, did you say, mistress?
+
+LADY MILLICENT.  Gold?  O yes--an apron full of gold, and silver too.
+
+GRANDMOTHER.  Do you hear that, Susan?
+
+SUSAN.  [Doggedly.]  I'll not do it for a King's ransom.
+
+GRANDMOTHER.  You will.  You'll do it for the sake of poor old Gran,
+what's been father and mother to you--and what's gone hungered and
+thirsty so that you might have bread and drink.
+
+SUSAN.  [Distractedly.]  O I can never give him up.
+
+GRANDMOTHER.  He'll never be yourn to give--Dance till your legs is
+off and he'll have naught to say to a gipsy brat when 'tis all
+finished.
+
+ALICE.  Whilst my lady belongs to his lordship's own class, 'tis but
+suitable as she should be the one to wed with him--knowing the
+foreign tongues and all, and playing so sweetly on her instruments.
+There's a lady anyone would be proud to take before the Court in
+London.
+
+[SUSAN turns away with a movement of despair.  The GRANDMOTHER begins
+to smoke again.  LADY MILLICENT fans herself and ALICE arranges her
+own shawl.
+
+GRANDMOTHER.  I could do with a little pig up at our place if I'd the
+silver to take into the market for to buy him with.  [A silence.
+
+GRANDMOTHER.  And I could do with a pair of good shoes to my poor old
+feet come winter time when 'tis snowing.  [Another silence.
+
+GRANDMOTHER.  And 'twould be good not to go to bed with the pain of
+hunger within my lean old body--so 'twould.  [SUSAN turns round
+suddenly.
+
+SUSAN.  I'll do it, Gran.  I'll do it for your sake.  'Tis very
+likely true what you do say, all of you.  I'd but dance my feet off
+for naught.  When he came to look into my gipsy eyes, 'twould all be
+over and done with.
+
+LADY MILLICENT.  Sensible girl.
+
+ALICE.  'Tis time she should see which way her bread was spread.
+
+SUSAN.  Come, Jockie, come ladies--come Gran--we'll be off to the
+quiet of our own place where I can learn her ladyship the steps and
+capers.
+
+GRANDMOTHER.  [Rising and pointing to an advancing figure.]  You'd
+best make haste.  The mice be a-running from their holes once more--
+t'wouldn't do for they to know aught about this.
+
+SUSAN.  Let us go quickly then.
+
+[The GRANDMOTHER, SUSAN, LADY MILLICENT with ALICE and JOCKIE go out
+as a crowd of village girls come on to the green, and laughing and
+talking together, arrange themselves to practise a Country Dance.
+
+End of Act I.
+
+
+
+ACT II.--Scene 1.
+
+
+
+Groups of village girls are sitting or standing about on the green.
+A dais has been put up at one end of it.
+
+MARION.  How slow the time do pass, this May Day.
+
+ROSE.  Let's while it away with a song or two.
+
+[They all join in singing.  At the end of the song the gipsy comes
+slowly and painfully across the green, casting black looks to right
+and to left.  She is followed by SUSAN, who appears weighed down by
+sadness.
+
+ROSE.  Good afternoon, Princess Royal Rags.  Are we to see you
+cutting capers before his lordship this afternoon?
+
+MARION.  Get along and hide your bare feet behind the tree, Royal.
+I'd be ashamed to go without shoes if 'twas me.
+
+SUSAN.  O leave me alone--you be worse nor a nest of waspes--that you
+be.
+
+GRANDMOTHER.  [Turning fiercely round.]  Us'll smoke them out of
+their holes one day--see if us do not.
+
+[They pass over to the tree where the GRANDMOTHER sits down and SUSAN
+crouches by her side.  Presently they are joined by JOCKIE.  The
+girls sing a verse or two of another song, and during this LADY
+MILLICENT, enveloped in a big cloak, goes over to the tree, followed
+by ALICE, also wearing a long cloak and they sit down by the side of
+SUSAN.
+
+MARION.  [Pointing.]  Who are those yonder, Rose?
+
+ROSE.  I'm sure I don't know, Marion--strangers, may be.
+
+MARION.  O my heart goes wild this afternoon.
+
+ROSE.  Mine too.  Look, there they come.
+
+[The Music begins to play and old LADY CULLEN, followed by her lady
+companions, comes slowly towards the dais, on which she seats
+herself.
+
+LADY CULLEN.  Dear me, what a gathering to be sure.
+
+HER LADY.  Indeed it is an unusual sight.
+
+LADY CULLEN.  And O what a sad infatuation on the part of my poor
+boy.
+
+HER LADY.  The war has been known to turn many a brain.
+
+LADY CULLEN.  And yet my son holds his own with the brightest
+intelligences of the day.
+
+HER LADY.  Only one little spot of his lordship's brain seems to be
+affected.
+
+LADY CULLEN.  Just so.  But here he comes, poor misguided youth.
+
+[LORD CULLEN comes slowly over the green, looking to right and to
+left.  He mounts the dais and sits down by his mother, and the music
+plays for a country dance.  "The Twenty Ninth of May."  The girls
+arrange themselves, and during the dance LORD CULLEN scans each face
+very eagerly.  The dance ends and the girls pass in single file
+before the dais.
+
+LORD CULLEN.  No, no--that was not the music of it, that was not the
+dance--not a face among them resembles the image I carry in my heart.
+
+LADY CULLEN.  [Aside.]  Thank goodness.  May that face never be seen
+again.
+
+[A fresh group come up and another dance is formed and danced.
+
+LORD CULLEN.  [At the end of it.]  Worse and worse.  Could I have
+dreamed both the music and the dance and the dancer?
+
+LADY CULLEN.  [Soothingly.]  I am sure this was the case, my dear
+son.
+
+LORD CULLEN.  [Rallying.]  I heard her voice singing in the forest
+before ever she began to dance.  It was the sweetest voice and song I
+ever heard.  [Looking around.]  Can any of these maid, sing to me, I
+wonder?
+
+MARION.  [Steps forward.]  I only know one song, my lord.
+
+[LORD CULLEN signs to her to sing, and she stands before the dais and
+sings a verse of "Bedlam."
+
+LORD CULLEN.  [Impatiently.]  No, no--that is not in the least what I
+remember.  [Turning to ROSE.]  You try now.
+
+ROSE.  I don't sing, my lord--but--[Indicating another girl in the
+group] she has a sweet voice, and she knows a powerful lot of songs.
+
+[A girl steps out from the others and sings a verse of "The Lark in
+the Morn."
+
+LORD CULLEN.  Not that.  Mine was a song to stir the depths of a
+man's heart and bring tears up from the fountains of it.
+
+[He leans back in deep dejection--and at this moment LADY MILLICENT
+and ALICE come forward.
+
+LORD CULLEN.  [Eagerly.]  I seem to know that russet skirt--those
+bare, small feet.  [Standing up quickly.]  Mother, look at that maid
+with the red kerchief on her head.
+
+LADY CULLEN.  Some sort of a gipsy dress, to all appearance.
+
+LORD CULLEN.  [Doubtfully.]  The skirt she wore was torn and ragged--
+that day in the forest.  She had no gold rings to her ears, nor
+silken scarf upon her head--But this might be her dress for holidays.
+
+[JOCKIE advances and begins to play the tune of "Princess Royal."
+
+LORD CULLEN.  [Eagerly.]  That is the right music--O is it possible
+my quest is ended!
+
+[LADY MILLICENT and ALICE, standing opposite one to another begin to
+dance--slowly and clumsily, and in evident doubt as to their steps.
+LORD CULLEN watches them for a moment and then claps his hands
+angrily as a sign for the music to stop.  The dancers pause.
+
+LORD CULLEN.  This is a sad mimicry of my beautiful love.  But there
+lies something behind the masquerade which I shall probe.
+
+[He leaves the dais and goes straight towards LADY MILLICENT, who
+turns from him in confusion.
+
+LORD CULLEN.  From whom did you take the manner and the colour of
+your garments, my maid?
+
+[LADY MILLICENT remains obstinately silent.
+
+LORD CULLEN.  [To ALICE.]  Perhaps you have a tongue in your head.
+From whom did you try to learn those steps?
+
+[ALICE turns sulkily away.  JOCKIE comes forward.
+
+JOCKIE.  I'll tell your lordship all about it, and I'll take your
+lordship straight to the right wench, that I will, if so be as your
+lordship will give a shilling to a poor little swine-herd what goes
+empty and hungered most of the year round.
+
+LORD CULLEN.  A handful of gold, my boy, if you lead me rightly.
+
+[JOCKIE leads the way to the tree where SUSAN is sitting.  She stands
+up as LORD CULLEN approaches, and for a moment they gaze at one
+another in silence.
+
+GRANDMOTHER.  You might curtsey to the gentleman, Susan.
+
+LORD CULLEN.  No--there's no need of that, from her to me.  [Turning
+to JOCKIE and putting his hand in his pocket.]  Here, my boy, is a
+golden pound for you--and more shall follow later.
+
+[He then takes SUSAN'S hand and leads her to the foot of the dais.
+
+LORD CULLEN.  Will you dance for me again, Susan?
+
+SEVERAL OF THE GIRLS.  [Mockingly.]  Princess Royal is her name.
+
+MARION.  [Rudely.]  Or Princess Rags.
+
+SUSAN.  'Tis all took out of my hands now, I can but do as your
+lordship says.  Jockie, play me my music, and play it bravely too.
+
+[JOCKIE places himself near her and begins to play.  SUSAN dances by
+herself.  At the end of her dance LORD CULLEN leads the applause, and
+even the ladies on the dais join faintly in it.  He then takes SUSAN
+by the hand and mounts the dais with her and presents her to his
+mother.
+
+LADY CULLEN.  [Aside, to her companion.]  I wonder if the young
+person understands that my poor boy is a little touched in the brain?
+
+LORD CULLEN.  Here is your daughter, mother.
+
+[LADY CULLEN and SUSAN look at one another in silence.  After a
+moment SUSAN turns to LORD CULLEN.
+
+SUSAN.  I'm a poor ragged thing to be daughter to the likes of she.
+But the heart within of me is grander nor that of any queen, because
+of the love that it holds for you, my lord.
+
+[LORD CULLEN takes her hand and leads her to the front of the dais.
+
+LORD CULLEN.  We will be married to-morrow, my princess.  And all
+these good people shall dance at our wedding.
+
+MARION.  [Springing up.]  And we'll do a bit of dancing now as well.
+Come, Jockie, give us the tune of "Haste to the Wedding."
+
+ROSE.  That's it.  Come girls -
+
+LADY MILLICENT.  [To ALICE.]  I pray he won't find out about me.
+
+[The old GRANDMOTHER has come slowly towards the middle of the green.
+
+GRANDMOTHER.  Ah, and my little wench will know how to pay back some
+of the vipers tongues which slandered her, when she sits on her
+velvet chair as a countess, the diamonds a-trickling from her neck
+and the rubies a-crowning of her head.  Her'll not forget the snakes
+what did lie in the grass.  Her'll have her heel upon they, so that
+their heads be put low and there shan't go no more venom from their
+great jaws to harm she, my pretty lamb--my little turtle.
+
+[The music begins to play and all those on the green form themselves
+for the dance.  LORD CULLEN and SUSAN stand side by side in front of
+the dais, and the GRANDMOTHER lights a pipe and smokes it as she
+watches the dance from below.  At the end of the dance LORD CULLEN,
+leading SUSAN, comes down from the dais and, followed by LADY CULLEN
+and her ladies, passes between two lines of girls and so off the
+stage.  The girls follow in procession, and lastly the GRANDMOTHER
+preceded by JOCKIE, beating his drum.
+
+[Curtain.]
+
+
+
+
+THE SEEDS OF LOVE
+
+
+
+
+CHARACTERS
+
+JOHN DANIEL, aged 30, a Miller.
+ROSE-ANNA his sister.
+KITTY, aged 16, his sister.
+ROBERT PEARCE, aged 26.
+LIZ, JANE elderly cousins of Robert.
+JEREMY, John's servant--of middle age.
+MARY MEADOWS, aged 24, a Herbalist.
+LUBIN.
+ISABEL.
+
+The time is Midsummer.
+
+
+
+ACT I
+
+
+
+A woodland road outside MARY'S cottage.  There are rough seats in the
+porch and in front of the window.  Bunches of leaves and herbs hang
+drying around door and window.  MARY is heard singing within.
+
+MARY.  [Singing.]
+
+I sowed the seeds of Love,
+And I sowed them in the Spring.
+I gathered them up in the morning so soon.
+While the sweet birds so sweetly sing,
+While the sweet birds so sweetly sing. {2}
+
+[MARY comes out of the cottage, a bundle of enchanter's nightshade in
+her arms.  She hangs it by a string to the wall and then goes
+indoors.
+
+MARY.  [Singing.]
+
+The violet I did not like,
+Because it bloomed so soon;
+The lily and the pink I really over think,
+So I vowed I would wait till June,
+So I vowed I would wait till June.
+
+[During the singing LUBIN comes slowly and heavily along the road.
+He wears the dress of a farm labourer and carries a scythe over his
+shoulder.  In front of the cottage he pauses, looks round doubtfully,
+and then sits stiffly and wearily down on the bench beneath the
+window.
+
+MARY.  [Coming to the doorway with more plants and singing.]
+
+"For the grass that has oftentimes been trampled underfoot,
+Give it time, it will rise up again."
+
+LUBIN.  [Looking up gloomily.]  And that it won't, mistress.
+
+MARY.  [Suddenly perceiving him and coming out.]  O you are fair
+spent from journeying.  Can I do anything for you, master?
+
+LUBIN.  [Gazing at her fixedly.]  You speak kindly for a stranger,
+but 'tis beyond the power of you nor anyone to do aught for me.
+
+MARY.  [Sitting down beside him and pointing to the wall of the
+house.]  See those leaves and flowers drying in the sun?  There's
+medicine for every sort of sickness there, sir.
+
+LUBIN.  There's not a root nor yet a herb on the face of the earth
+that could cure the sickness I have within me.
+
+MARY.  That must be a terrible sort of a sickness, master.
+
+LUBIN.  So 'tis.  'Tis love.
+
+MARY.  Love?
+
+LUBIN.  Yes, love; wicked, unhappy love.  Love what played false when
+riches fled.  Love that has given the heart what was all mine to
+another.
+
+[ISABEL has been slowly approaching, she wears a cotton handkerchief
+over her head and carries a small bundle tied up in a cloth on her
+arm.  Her movements are languid and sad.
+
+MARY.  I know of flowers that can heal even the pains of love.
+
+ISABEL.  [Coming forward and speaking earnestly.]  O tell me of them
+quickly, mistress.
+
+MARY.  Why, are you sick of the same complaint?
+
+ISABEL.  [Sinking down on the grass at MARY'S feet.]  So bruised and
+wounded in the heart that the road from Framilode up here might well
+have been a hundred miles or more.
+
+LUBIN.  Framilode?  'Tis there you come from?
+
+ISABEL.  I was servant at the inn down yonder.  Close upon the ferry.
+Do you know the place, master?
+
+LUBIN.  [In deep gloom.]  Ah, the place and the ferry man too.
+
+MARY.  [Leaning forward and clasping her hands.]  Him as is there to-
+day, or him who was?
+
+LUBIN.  He who was there and left for foreign parts a good three year
+ago.
+
+[ISABEL covers her face and is shaken by sobs.  LUBIN leans his elbow
+on his knee, shading his eyes with his hand.
+
+MARY.  I have help for all torments in my flowers.  Such things be
+given us for that.
+
+ISABEL.  [Looking up.]  You be gentle in your voices mistress.  'Tis
+like when a quist do sing, as you speaks.
+
+MARY.  Then do both of you tell your sorrow.  'Twill be strange if I
+do not find sommat that will lighten your burdens for you.
+
+LUBIN.  'Twas at Moat Farm I was born and bred.
+
+MARY.  Close up to Daniels yonder?
+
+LUBIN.  The same.  Rose-Anna of the Mill and I--we courted and was
+like to marry.  But there came misfortune and I lost my all.  She
+would not take a poor man, so I left these parts and got to be what
+you do see me now--just a day labourer.
+
+ISABEL.  Mine, 'tis the same tale, very nigh.  Robert the ferry-man
+and me, we loved and was to have got us wedded, only there came a
+powerful rich gentleman what used to go fishing along of Robert.
+'Twas he that 'ticed my lover off to foreign parts.
+
+LUBIN.  [With a heavy sigh.]  These things are almost more than I can
+bear.
+
+ISABEL.  At first he wrote his letters very often.  Then 'twas seldom
+like.  Then 'twas never.  And then there comed a day--[She is
+interrupted by her weeping.
+
+MARY.  Try to get out your story--you can let the tears run
+afterwards if you have a mind.
+
+ISABEL.  There comed a day when I did meet a fisherman from Bristol.
+He brought me news of Robert back from the seas, clothed in fine
+stuff with money in the pockets of him, horse and carriage, and just
+about to wed.
+
+LUBIN.  Did he name the maid?
+
+ISABEL.  Rose-Anna she was called, of Daniel's mill up yonder.
+
+LUBIN.  Rose-Anna--She with whom I was to have gone to church.
+
+MARY.  Here is a tangle worse nor any briar rose.
+
+ISABEL.  O 'twas such beautiful times as we did have down by the
+riverside, him and me.
+
+LUBIN.  She would sit, her hand in mine by the hour of a Sunday
+afternoon.
+
+[A pause during which LUBIN and ISABEL seem lost in their own sad
+memories.  MARY gets up softly and goes within the cottage.
+
+ISABEL.  And when I heared as 'twas to-morrow they were to wed,
+though 'twas like driving a knife deeper within the heart of me, I up
+and got me upon the road and did travel along by starlight and dawn
+and day just for one look upon his face again.
+
+LUBIN.  'Twas so with me.  From beyond Oxford town I am come to hurt
+myself worse than ever, by one sight of the eyes that have looked so
+cruel false into mine.
+
+ISABEL.  If I was to plead upon my knees to him 'twould do no good--
+poor wench of a serving maid like me.
+
+LUBIN.  [Looking down at himself.]  She'd spurn me from the door were
+I to stand there knocking--in the coat I have upon me now.  No--let
+her go her way and wed her fancy man.
+
+[LUBIN shades his eyes with one hand.  ISABEL bows her head on her
+knees weeping.  MARY comes out of the house carrying two glass bowls
+of water.
+
+MARY.  Leave your sorrowful tears till later, my friends.  This fresh
+water from the spring will revive you from your travelling.
+
+LUBIN.  [Looking up.]  The heart of me is stricken past all remedy,
+mistress.
+
+ISABEL.  I could well lie me down and die.
+
+[MARY giving to each one a bowl from which they begin to drink
+slowly.
+
+MARY.  I spoke as you do, once.  My lover passed me by for another.
+A man may give all his love to the gilly flower, but 'tis the scarlet
+rose as takes his fancy come to-morrow.
+
+ISABEL.  And has your heart recovered from its sickness, mistress?
+
+MARY.  [Slowly.]  After many years.
+
+LUBIN.  And could you wed you to another?
+
+MARY.  [Still more slowly.]  Give the grass that has been trampled
+underfoot a bit of time, 'twill rise again.  There's healing all
+around of us for every ill, did we but know it.
+
+LUBIN.  I'd give sommat to know where 'tis then.
+
+MARY.  There isn't a herb nor a leaf but what carries its message to
+them that are in pain.
+
+ISABEL.  Give me a bloom that'll put me to sleep for always,
+mistress.
+
+MARY.  There's evil plants as well, but 'tisn't a many.  There's hen
+bane which do kill the fowls and fishes if they eat the seed of it.
+And there's water hemlock which lays dumbness upon man.
+
+LUBIN.  I've heard them tell of that, I have.
+
+MARY.  And of the good leaves there is hounds tongue.  Wear it at the
+feet of you against dogs what be savage.  Herb Benet you nail upon
+the door.  No witch nor evil thing can enter to your house.
+
+LUBIN.  And have you naught that can deaden the stab of love upon the
+heart, mistress
+
+ISABEL.  [Speaking in anguish.]  Aught that can turn our faithless
+lovers back again to we?
+
+MARY.  That I have.  See these small packages--you that love Robert,
+take you this--and you who courted Rose-Anna, stretch out your hand.
+
+[She puts a small paper packet into the hands of each.
+
+LUBIN.  [Looking uncertainly at his packet.]  What'll this do for me,
+I'd like to know?
+
+MARY.  'Tis an unfailing charm.  A powder from roses, fine as dust,
+and another seed as well.  You put it in her glass of water--and the
+love comes back to you afore next sun-rise.
+
+ISABEL.  And will it be the same with I?
+
+MARY.  You have the Herb of Robert there.  Be careful of it.  To-
+morrow at this hour, his heart will be all yours again, and you shall
+do what you will with it.
+
+ISABEL.  O I can't believe in this.  'Tis too good to be true, and
+that it be--A fine gentleman as Robert be now and a poor little
+wretch like me!
+
+LUBIN.  [Slowly.]  'Tis but a foolish dream like.  How are folks like
+us to get mixing and messing with the drinks of they?  Time was when
+I did sit and eat along of them at the table, the same as one of
+theirselves.  But now!  Why, they'd take and hound me away from the
+door.
+
+ISABEL.  And me too.
+
+MARY.  [Breaking off a spray of the enchanters nightshade from the
+bunch drying.]  That'll bring luck, may be.
+
+[ISABEL takes it and puts it in her dress and then wraps the packet
+in her bundle.  LUBIN puts his packet away also.  Whilst they are
+doing this, MARY strolls a little way on the road.
+
+MARY.  [Returning.]  The man from Daniels be coming along.
+
+LUBIN.  [Hastily.]  What, old Andrews?
+
+MARY.  No.  This is another.  Folk do marvel how Miller John do have
+the patience to keep in with him.
+
+LUBIN.  How's that?
+
+MARY.  So slow and heavy in his ways.  But he can drink longer at the
+cider than any man in the county afore it do fly to his head, and
+that's why master do put up with him.
+
+[JEREMY comes heavily towards them, a straw in his mouth.  His hat is
+pushed to the back of his head.  His expression is still and
+impassive.  He comes straight towards MARY, then halts.
+
+MARY.  Come, Jeremy, I reckon 'tis not for rue nor tea of marjoram
+you be come here this morning?
+
+JEREMY.  [Looking coldly and critically at the travellers and
+pointing to them.]  Who be they?
+
+MARY.  Travellers on the road, seeking a bit of rest.
+
+[JEREMY continues to look them all over in silence.
+
+MARY.  How be things going at the Mill to-day, Jerry?
+
+JEREMY.  Powerful bad.
+
+MARY.  O I am grieved to hear of it.  What has happened?
+
+[LUBIN and ISABEL lean forward, listening eagerly.
+
+JEREMY.  'Tis a pretty caddle, that's all.
+
+MARY.  The mistress isn't took ill? or Miss Kitty?
+
+JEREMY.  I almost wish they was, for then there wouldn't be none of
+this here marrying to-morrow.
+
+MARY.  What has upset you against the wedding, Jerry?
+
+JEREMY.  One pair of hands baint enough for such goings on.
+
+MARY.  'Tis three you've got up there.
+
+JEREMY.  There you're mistook.  Th' idle wench and the lad be both
+away--off afore dawn to the Fair and took their clothes along of
+they.  I be left with all upon me like, and 'tis too much.
+
+MARY.  What shall you do, Jerry?
+
+JEREMY.  I'll be blowed if I'm agoin' to do anything.  There.
+
+MARY.  But you'll have to stir yourself up and deck the house and set
+the table and wait upon the visitors and look to the traps and horses
+and all, Jerry--seeing as you're the only one.
+
+JEREMY.  I'll not.  I'm not one as steps beyond my own work, and
+master do know it too.
+
+MARY.  Then how are they going to manage?
+
+JEREMY.  I'm out to find them as'll manage for them.  [Turning
+sharply to LUBIN.]  Be you in search of work, young man?
+
+LUBIN.  I--I count as I've nothing particular in view.
+
+JEREMY.  [Turning to ISABEL.]  And you, wench?
+
+ISABEL.  [Faintly.]  I've gone from the place where I was servant.
+
+JEREMY.  Then you'll come along of me--the both of you.
+
+ISABEL.  [Shrinking.]  O no--I couldn't go among--among strangers.
+
+JEREMY.  I never takes no count of a female's vapours.  You'll come
+along of me.  You'll curl the mistress's hair and lace her gown and
+keep her tongue quiet--and you [turning to LUBIN] my man, will set
+the tables and wait upon the quality what we expect from Bristol town
+this dinner-time.
+
+LUBIN.  [Angrily.]  I never waited on man nor woman in my life, and
+I'll not start now.
+
+JEREMY.  You will.  I'm not agoin' a half mile further this warm
+morning.  Back to the Mill you goes along of me, the two of you.
+
+MARY.  [Looking fixedly at ISABEL.]  This is a chance for you, my
+dear.  You'll not find a better.
+
+JEREMY.  Better?  I count as you'll not better this'n.  Good money
+for your pains--victuals to stuff you proper, and cider, all you can
+drink on a summer's day.  I count you'll not better that.
+
+LUBIN.  [As though to himself.]  I could not go.
+
+JEREMY.  Some cattle want a lot of driving.
+
+ISABEL.  [Timidly to LUBIN.]  If I go, could not you try and come
+along with me, master?
+
+LUBIN.  You'll never have the heart to go through with it.
+
+JEREMY.  'Tis a fine fat heart as her has within of she.  Don't you
+go and put fancies into the head of her.
+
+ISABEL.  [To LUBIN.]  I'll go if so be as you'll come along of me
+too.
+
+[LUBIN bends his head and remains thinking deeply.
+
+JEREMY.  'Tis thirsty work this hiring of men and wenches--I'll get
+me a drop of cider down at the Red Bull.  Mayhap you'll be ready time
+I've finished.
+
+MARY.  I'll see that you're not kept waiting, Jeremy.
+
+JEREMY.  [Turning back after he has started.]  What be they called,
+Mary?
+
+[MARY looks doubtfully towards LUBIN and ISABEL.
+
+ISABEL.  My name--they calls me Isabel.
+
+JEREMY.  [Turning to LUBIN.]  And yourn?
+
+LUBIN.  [In confusion.]  I don't rightly recollect.
+
+JEREMY.  [Impassively.]  'Tis of no account, us'll call you William
+like the last one.
+
+ISABEL.  O, and couldn't I be called like the last one too?
+
+JEREMY.  Then us'll call you Lucy.  And a rare bad slut her was, and
+doubtless you'll not prove much worser.
+
+[He goes away.
+
+MARY.  This is your chance.  A good chance too -
+
+LUBIN.  They'll know the both of us.  Love isn't never quite so dead
+but what a sound in the speech or a movement of the hand will bring
+some breath to it again.
+
+ISABEL.  You're right there, master--sommat'll stir in the hearts of
+them when they sees we--and 'tis from the door as us'll be chased for
+masking on them like this.
+
+MARY.  But not before the seeds of love have done their work.  Come,
+Isabel; come, Lubin--I will so dress you that you shall not be
+recognised.
+
+[MARY goes indoors.  ISABEL slowly rises and takes up her bundle.
+LUBIN remains seated, looking gloomily before him.
+
+ISABEL.  Come, think what 'twill feel to be along of our dear loves
+and look upon the forms of them and hear the notes of their voices
+once again.
+
+LUBIN.  That's what I am a-thinking of.  'Twill be hot iron drove
+right into the heart all the while.  Ah, that's about it.
+
+ISABEL.  I'll gladly bear the pain.
+
+LUBIN.  [After a pause.]  Then so will I.  We'll go.
+
+[He raises his eyes to her face and then gets heavily up and follows
+her into the cottage.
+
+
+
+ACT II.--Scene 1.
+
+
+
+The living room at Daniel's Mill.  In the window ROSE-ANNA is seated
+awkwardly sewing some bright ribbons on to a muslin gown.  KITTY is
+moving about rapidly dusting chairs and ornaments which are in
+disorder about the room and JOHN stands with his back to the grate
+gravely surveying them.
+
+ROSE.  [Petulantly.]  Whatever shall we do, John!  Me not dressed,
+everything no how, and them expected in less nor a half hour's time
+
+KITTY.  There!  I've finished a-dusting the chairs.  Now I'll set
+them in their places.
+
+ROSE.  No one is thinking of me!  Who's going to help me on with my
+gown and curl my hair like Robert was used to seeing me wear it at
+Aunt's?
+
+KITTY.  Did you have it different down at Bristol, Rose?
+
+ROSE.  Of course I did.  'Twouldn't do to be countrified in the town.
+
+JOHN.  Your hair's well enough like that.  'Tisn't of hair as
+anyone'll be thinking when they comes in, but of victuals.  And how
+we're a-going to get the table and all fixed up in so short a time do
+fairly puzzle me.
+
+KITTY.  I'll do the table.
+
+ROSE.  No.  You've got to help me with my gown.  O that was a good-
+for-nothing baggage, leaving us in the lurch!
+
+JOHN.  Well, I've done my best to get us out of the fix.
+
+ROSE.  And what would that be, pray?
+
+KITTY.  Why John, you've done nothing but stand with your back to the
+grate this last hour.
+
+JOHN.  I've sent off Jerry.
+
+ROSE.  [Scornfully.]  Much good that'll do.
+
+KITTY.  We know just how far Jerry will have gone.
+
+JOHN.  I told him not to shew hisself unless he could bring a couple
+of servants back along with him.
+
+ROSE.  [Angrily.]  You're more foolish than I took you to be, John.
+Get you off at once and fetch Jerry from his cider at the Red Bull.
+He's not much of a hand about the house, but he's better than no one.
+
+JOHN.  [Sighing heavily.]  Jeremy's not the man to start his drinking
+so early in the day.
+
+ROSE.  I've caught him at the cask soon after dawn.
+
+KITTY.  And so have I, John.  How you put up with his independent
+ways I don't know.
+
+JOHN.  Ah, 'tisn't everyone as has such a powerful strong head as
+Jerry's.  He's one that can be trusted to take his fill, and none the
+worse with him afterwards.
+
+[A knock at the door, which is pushed open by JEREMY.
+
+JEREMY.  [From the doorway.]  Well, Master John--well, mistress?
+
+ROSE.  [Sharply.]  Master was just starting out for to fetch you
+home, Jerry.
+
+JEREMY.  [Ignoring her.]  Well, master, I've brought a couple back
+along of me.
+
+ROSE.  Ducklings or chickens?
+
+JEREMY.  I've gotten them too.
+
+KITTY.  Do you mean that you've found some servants for us, Jerry?
+
+JEREMY.  Two outside.  Female and male.
+
+JOHN.  Didn't I tell you so!  There's naught that Jerry cannot do.
+You'll have a drink for this, my man
+
+ROSE.  You may take my word he's had that already, John.
+
+JEREMY.  I have, mistress.  Whilst they was a packing up the poultry
+in my basket.  Down at the Bull.
+
+ROSE.  What sort of a maid is it?
+
+JEREMY.  Ah, 'tis for you to tell me that, mistress, when you've had
+her along of you a bit.
+
+ROSE.  And the man?
+
+JEREMY.  Much the same as any other male.
+
+ROSE.  [Impatiently.]  Do you step outside, John, and have a look at
+them, and if they're suitable bring them in and we'll set them about
+their work.
+
+[JOHN goes out.  KITTY peers through the window.
+
+JEREMY.  I reckon I can go off and feed the hilts now.  'Tis the
+time.
+
+ROSE.  Feed the hilts!  Indeed you can't do no such thing.  O I'm mad
+with vexation that nothing is well ordered or suitably prepared for
+Mr. Robert and his fine cousins from Bristol town.  Whatever will
+they say to such a house when they do see it?
+
+JEREMY.  I'm sure I don't know.
+
+KITTY.  [From the window.]  I see the new servants.  John is bringing
+them up the walk.  The man's face is hid by his broad hat, but the
+girl looks neat enough in her cotton gown and sun-bonnet.
+
+[JOHN comes into the room, followed by LUBIN and ISABEL.  LUBIN
+shuffles off his hat, but holds it between his face and the people in
+the room.
+
+JEREMY.  [Pointing to them and speaking to ROSE.]  There you are,
+mistress--man-servant and maid.
+
+ROSE.  What do we know about them?  Folk picked up by Jerry at the
+Red Bull.
+
+JEREMY.  No, from the roadside.
+
+ROSE.  Worser far.
+
+JOHN.  No, no, Rose.  These young persons were spoken for by Mary
+Meadows.  And 'tis rare fortunate for we to obtain their services at
+short notice like this.
+
+ROSE.  [To ISABEL.]  What are you called, my girl?
+
+ISABEL.  [Faintly.]  Isabel is my name, but I'd sooner you called me
+Lucy.
+
+ROSE.  And that I will.  My tongue is used to Lucy.  The other is a
+flighty, fanciful name for a servant.
+
+KITTY.  And what is the man called, John?
+
+LUBIN.  [Harshly.]  I am called William.
+
+KITTY.  William and Lucy!  Like the ones that ran away this morning.
+
+ROSE.  O do not let us waste any more time!  Jerry, do you take the
+man and shew him his work in the back kitchen; and Lucy, come to me
+and help me with my gown and my hair dressing.  We have not a minute
+to lose.
+
+KITTY.  They may be upon us any time now.  I'll go out and gather the
+flowers for the parlour, since you don't want me any more within,
+Rose.
+
+JOHN.  And I'll get and finish Jeremy's work in the yard.  'Tis
+upside down and round about and no how to-day.  But we'll come out of
+it some time afore next year I reckon.
+
+JEREMY.  Don't you ever go for to get married, master.  There could
+never come a worser caddle into a man's days nor matrimony, I count.
+
+[JOHN, on his way to the door, pauses--as though momentarily lost in
+thought.
+
+JOHN.  Was Mary Meadows asked to drop in at any time to-day, Rose?
+
+ROSE.  [Who is taking up her gown and ribbons to show to ISABEL, and
+speaking crossly.]  I'm sure I don't know, nor care.  I've enough to
+think about as 'tis.
+
+KITTY.  [Taking JOHN's arm playfully.]  You're terribly took up with
+Mary Meadows, John.
+
+JOHN.  There isn't many like her, Kitty.  She do rear herself above
+t'others as--as a good wheat stalk from out the rubbish.
+
+[JOHN and KITTY go slowly out.
+
+JEREMY.  [As though to himself.]  I sees as how I shall have to keep
+an eye on master--[turning to LUBIN and signing to him.]  But come,
+my man, us has no time for romance, 'tis dish washing as lies afore
+you now.
+
+[LUBIN jerks his head haughtily and makes a protesting gesture.  Then
+he seems to remember himself and follows JEREMY humbly from the room.
+ROSE takes up some ribbons and laces.
+
+ROSE.  [To ISABEL, who is standing near.]  Now, Lucy, we must look
+sharp; Mister Robert and his cousins from Bristol town will soon be
+here.  I have not met with the cousins yet, but I've been told as
+they're very fine ladies--They stood in place of parents to my
+Robert, you know.  'Tis unfortunate we should be in such a sad muddle
+the day they come.
+
+ISABEL.  When I have helped you into your gown, mistress, I shall
+soon have the dinner spread and all in order.  I be used to such
+work, and I'm considered spry upon my feet.
+
+ROSE.  'Tis more serious that you should be able to curl my hair in
+the way that Mr. Robert likes.
+
+ISABEL.  [Sadly.]  I don't doubt but that I shall be able to do that
+too, mistress.
+
+ROSE.  Very well.  Take the gown and come with me up to my room.
+
+[They go out together, ISABEL carrying the gown.
+
+
+
+ACT II.--Scene 2.
+
+
+
+The same room.  The table is laid for dinner and ISABEL is putting
+flowers upon it.  LUBIN wearing his hat, enters with large jugs of
+cider, which he sets upon a side table.
+
+ISABEL.  [Looking up from her work.]  Shall us ever have the heart to
+go on with it, Master Lubin?
+
+LUBIN.  [Bitterly.]  Do not you "Master" me, Isabel.  I'm only a
+common servant in the house where once I was lover and almost
+brother.
+
+ISABEL.  [Coming up to him.]  O do not take it so hard, Lubin--Us can
+do naught at this pass but trust what the young woman did tell me.
+
+LUBIN.  [Gloomily.]  The sight of Rose has stirred up my love so
+powerful that I do hardly know how to hold the tears back from my
+eyes.
+
+ISABEL.  [Pressing her eyes with her apron.]  What'll it be for me
+when Robert comes in?
+
+LUBIN.  We'll have to help one another, Isabel, in the plight where
+we stand.
+
+ISABEL.  That's it.  And perchance as them seeds'll do the rest.
+
+[They spring apart as a sound of voices and laughter is heard
+outside.
+
+KITTY.  [Runs in.]  They've come.  All of them.  And do you know that
+Robert's cousins are no fine ladies at all, as he said, but just two
+common old women dressed grand-like.
+
+ISABEL.  That will be a sad shock to poor mistress.
+
+KITTY.  O, she is too much taken up with Mister Robert to notice yet.
+But quick!  They are all sharp set from the drive.  Fetch in the
+dishes, William and Lucy.
+
+ISABEL.  All shall be ready in a moment, Miss Kitty.
+
+[She goes hurriedly out followed by LUBIN.  KITTY glances round the
+room and then stands at the side of the front door.  JOHN, giving an
+arm to each of ROBERT'S cousins, enters.  The cousins are dressed in
+coloured flowered dresses, and wear bonnets that are heavy with
+bright plumes.  They look cumbered and ill at ease in their clothes,
+and carry their sunshades and gloves awkwardly.
+
+LIZ.  [Looking round her.]  Very comfortable, I'm sure.  But I count
+as that there old-fashioned grate do take a rare bit of elbow grease.
+
+JANE.  Very pleasant indeed.  But I didn't reckon as the room would
+be quite the shape as 'tis.
+
+LIZ.  Come to that, I didn't expect the house to look as it do.
+
+JANE.  Very ancient in appearance, I'm sure.
+
+JOHN.  Ah, the house has done well enough for me and my father and
+grandfather afore me.
+
+[ROSE, very grandly dressed, comes in hanging on ROBERT'S arm.
+ROBERT is clothed in the fashion of the town.
+
+ROSE.  Please to remove your bonnet, Miss Eliza.  Please to remove
+yours, Miss Jane.
+
+JOHN.  [Heartily.]  Ah, that's so--'Twill be more homely like for
+eating.
+
+ROSE.  There's a glass upon the wall.
+
+LIZ.  I prefer to remain as I be.
+
+JANE.  Sister and me have our caps packed up in the tin box.
+
+KITTY.  [Bringing the tin box from the doorway.]  Shall I take you
+upstairs to change?  Dinner's not quite ready yet.
+
+LIZ.  That will suit us best, I'm sure.  Come, sister.
+
+[KITTY leads the way out, followed by both sisters.
+
+JOHN.  I'll just step outside and see that Jerry's tending to the
+horse.
+
+[He hurries out, and ROBERT is left alone with ROSE.
+
+ROSE.  [Coming towards him and holding out her hands.]  O, Robert, is
+it the same between us as it was last time?
+
+ROBERT.  [Looking at her critically.]  You've got your hair different
+or something.
+
+ROSE.  [Putting her hand to her head.]  The new maid.  A stupid
+country wench.
+
+ROBERT.  You've got my meaning wrong.  'Tis that I've never seen you
+look so well before.
+
+ROSE.  O dear Robert!
+
+ROBERT.  You've got my fancy more than ever, Rose.
+
+ROSE.  O, I'm so happy to be going off with you to-morrow, and I love
+it down at Bristol.  Robert, I'm tired and sick of country life.
+
+ROBERT.  We'll make a grand fine lady of you there, Rose.
+
+ROSE.  [A little sharply.]  Am I not one in looks already, Robert?
+
+ROBERT.  You're what I do dote upon.  I can't say no more.
+
+[LUBIN and ISABEL enter carrying dishes, which they set upon the
+table.  ROBERT and ROSE turn their backs to them and look out into
+the garden.  The staircase door is opened, and LIZ, JANE and KITTY
+come into the room.  LIZ and JANE are wearing gaudy caps trimmed with
+violet and green ribbons.
+
+ROSE.  We'll sit down, now.  John won't be a moment before he's here.
+
+[She sits down at one end of the table and signs to ROBERT to place
+himself next to her.  The sisters and KITTY seat themselves.  JOHN
+comes hurriedly in.
+
+JOHN.  That's right.  Everyone in their places?  But no cover laid
+for Mary?
+
+ROSE.  [Carelessly.]  We can soon have one put, should she take it
+into her head to drop in.
+
+JOHN.  That's it.  Now ladies, now Robert--'tis thirsty work a-
+driving upon the Bristol road at midsummer.  We'll lead off with a
+drink of home-made cider.  The eating'll come sweeter afterwards.
+
+ROBERT.  That's it, Miller.
+
+[LUBIN and ISABEL come forward and take the cider mugs from each
+place to the side table, where LUBIN fills them from a large jug.  In
+the mugs of ROSE-ANNA and ROBERT, ISABEL shakes the contents of the
+little packets.  Whilst they are doing this the following talk is
+carried on at the table.
+
+LIZ [Taking up a spoon.]  Real plated, sister.
+
+JANE.  Upon my word, so 'tis.
+
+ROSE.  And not so bright as I should wish to see it neither.  I've
+had a sad trouble with my maids of late.
+
+LIZ.  Sister and I don't keep none of them, thank goodness.
+
+JANE.  We does our work with our own hands.  We'd be ashamed if 'twas
+otherwise.
+
+ROBERT.  [Scowling at them.]  I've been and engaged a house-full of
+servants for Rose-Anna.  She shall know what 'tis to live like a lady
+once she enters our family.
+
+JOHN.  Servants be like green fly on the bush.  They do but spoil th'
+home and everything they do touch.  All save one.
+
+KITTY.  And that one's Jerry, I suppose.
+
+JOHN.  You're right there, Kitty, that you are.  A harder head was
+never given to man than what Jerry do carry twixt his shoulders.
+
+[LUBIN and ISABEL here put round the mugs of cider, and everyone
+drinks thirstily.  ISABEL stands behind the chairs of ROSE and ROBERT
+and LUBIN at JOHN'S side.
+
+ROBERT.  [Setting down his mug.]  There's a drink what can't be got
+in foreign parts.
+
+ROSE.  [Looking fondly at him.]  Let the maid fill your mug again, my
+dear one.
+
+ROBERT.  [Carelessly handing it to ISABEL.]  I don't mind if I do
+have another swill.
+
+[ISABEL fills the mug and puts it by his side.
+
+LIZ.  As good as any I ever tasted.
+
+JANE.  Couldn't better it at the King's Head up our way.
+
+JOHN.  Good drink--plenty of it.  Now we'll start upon the meat I
+reckon.
+
+[He takes up a knife and fork and begins to carve, and LUBIN hands
+round plates.  During this ROBERT'S gaze restlessly wanders about the
+room, finally fixing itself on ISABEL, who presently goes out to the
+back kitchen with plates.
+
+ROBERT.  The new serving maid you've got there, Rose, should wear a
+cap and not her bonnet.
+
+ROSE.  How sharp you are to notice anything.
+
+ROBERT.  A very pretty looking wench, from what I can see.
+
+ROSE.  [Speaking more to the cousins than to ROBERT.]  O she's but a
+rough and untrained girl got in all of a hurry.  Not at all the sort
+I've been used to in this house, I can tell you.
+
+[ISABEL comes back with fresh plates and stands at the side table.
+
+LIZ.  [To JANE.]  A mellower piece of pig meat I never did taste,
+sister.
+
+JANE.  I'm sorry I went and took the poultry.
+
+KITTY.  John will carve you some ham if you'd like to try it, Miss
+Jane.
+
+JANE.  I'm sure I'm much obliged.
+
+[JEREMY comes in.]
+
+JEREMY.  [Coming to the back of JANE'S chair.]  Don't you get mixing
+of your meats is what I says.  Commence with ham and finish with he.
+That's what do suit the inside of a delicate female.
+
+JANE.  [Looking up admiringly.]  Now that's just what old Uncle he
+did used to say.
+
+JEREMY.  Old uncle did know what he was a-talking about then.
+
+LIZ.  [Warming and looking less awkward and ill at ease.]  'Twas the
+gout what kept Uncle so low in his eating, 'twas not th' inclination
+of him.
+
+JEREMY.  Ah 'twouldn't be the gout nor any other disease as would
+keep me from a platter of good food.
+
+JOHN.  Nor from your mug of drink neither, Jerry.
+
+[JEREMY laughs and moves off to the side table.
+
+LIZ.  A very pleasant sort of man.
+
+JANE.  I do like anyone what's homely.
+
+JOHN.  [Calling out heartily.]  Do you listen to that, Jerry!  The
+ladies here do find you pleasant and homely, and I don't know what
+else.
+
+JEREMY.  The mugs want filling once more.
+
+[He stolidly goes round the table refilling the mugs.  ROSE'S gaze
+wanders about her.
+
+ROSE.  [To ROBERT.]  That's not a bad looking figure of a man -
+
+ROBERT.  Who?
+
+ROSE.  Well--the new farm hand.
+
+ROBERT.  A sulky looking brute.  I'd not let him wear his hat to
+table if I was master here.
+
+ROSE.  He puts me in mind of--well--there, I can't recollect who
+'tis.  [A knock is heard at the door.
+
+ROSE.  [Sharply to ISABEL.]  Go and see who 'tis, Lucy.
+
+[ISABEL opens the door, and MARY MEADOWS stands on the threshold, a
+large nosegay of beautiful wild flowers in her hand.
+
+JOHN.  [Rising up in great pleasure.]  You're late, Mary.  But you're
+welcome as the--as the very sunshine.
+
+ROSE.  Set another place, Lucy.
+
+MARY.  Not for me, Rose.  I did not come here to eat or drink, but to
+bring you these few blossoms and my love.
+
+ROSE.  [Rises from the table and takes the nosegay.]  I'm sure you're
+very kind, Mary--Suppose we were all to move into the parlour now we
+have finished dinner, and then we could enjoy a bit of conversation.
+
+LIZ.  Very pleasant, I'm sure.
+
+JANE.  I see no objection.
+
+KITTY.  [Running round to look at the flowers.]  And Mary shall tell
+us how to make charms out of the flowers--and the meanings of the
+blossoms and all the strange things she knows about them.
+
+JOHN.  [Taking a flower from the bunch and putting it into his coat.]
+Yes, and how to brew tea as'll curl up anyone's tongue within the
+mouth for a year--and fancy drinks for sheep with foot rot, and
+powders against the murrain and any other nonsense that you do
+please.
+
+MARY.  Now, John, I'll not have you damage my business like this.
+
+LIZ.  Maybe as the young person's got sommat what'll be handy with
+your complaint, sister.
+
+JANE.  Or for when you be took with th' air in your head so bad,
+Jane.
+
+ROSE.  Yes, I reckon that Mary has a charm for every ill beneath the
+sun.  Let's go off to the parlour along of her.  You're not coming
+with us, John, are you?
+
+JOHN.  I'd not miss the telling of these things for anything in the
+world, foolishness though they be.
+
+ROSE.  Come along then--all of you.
+
+[They all go out.  JEREMY holds the door open for them.  As she
+passes through it LIZ says, looking at him.
+
+LIZ.  We shall hope for your company, too.
+
+JANE.  To be sure, mister.
+
+JEREMY.  [Haughtily.]  I bain't one for parlours, nor charms, ma'am.
+I be here for another purpose.
+
+[They leave the room.
+
+JEREMY.  [Having watched the party out, moves towards the cider jug.]
+Now, my man, now, my wench--us'll see what can be done with the
+victuals and drink they've been and left.  'Tis a fair heavy feed and
+drink as I do need.  Sommat as'll lift me up through all the trials
+of this here foolish matrimony and stuff.
+
+[He raises the jug of cider to his mouth as the Curtain falls.
+
+
+
+ACT III.--Scene 1.
+
+
+
+The next morning.  ROBERT'S cousins are standing by the fire-place of
+the same room.
+
+LIZ.  'Tis powerful unhomely here, Jane.
+
+JANE.  And that 'tis.  I wish as Robert had never brought us along of
+him.
+
+LIZ.  She's a stuck-up jay of a thing what he's about to wed if ever
+I seed one.
+
+JANE.  That her be.  He'll live to wish hisself dead and buried one
+day.
+
+LIZ.  There bain't but one sensible tongue in the whole place to my
+mind.
+
+JANE.  Ah, he's a man to anyone's liking, sister.
+
+LIZ.  'Tis homelike as he do make I to feel among all these
+strangers.
+
+JANE.  Here he comes.
+
+[JEREMY with a yoke and two pails stands at the doorway.
+
+LIZ.  Now do you come in, mister, and have a bit of talk along of we.
+
+JANE.  Set down them pails and do as sister says, Mister Jeremy.
+
+[JEREMY looks them all over and then slowly and deliberately sets
+down his pails.
+
+LIZ.  That's right, sister and me was feeling terribly lonesome here
+this morning.
+
+JANE.  And we was wishing as we'd never left home to come among all
+these stranger folk.
+
+LIZ.  Not that we feels you to be a stranger, dear Mister Jeremy.
+
+JANE.  You be a plain homely man such as me and sister be accustomed
+to.
+
+JEREMY.  Anything more?
+
+LIZ.  I suppose you've put by a tidy bit--seeing as you be of a
+certain age.
+
+JANE.  Although your looks favour you well, don't they, sister?
+
+LIZ.  To be sure they do.
+
+JANE.  And I reckon as you could set up a home of your own any day,
+mister.
+
+JEREMY.  [Pointing through the window.]  See that there roof against
+the mill?
+
+LIZ.  Indeed I do.
+
+JEREMY.  That's where I do live.
+
+[Both sisters move quickly to the window.
+
+JANE.  A very comfortable looking home indeed.
+
+LIZ.  I likes the looks of it better nor this great old house.
+
+JANE.  [Archly.]  Now I daresay there's but one thing wanted over
+there, Mister Jeremy.
+
+JEREMY.  What's that?
+
+JANE.  A good wife to do and manage for you.
+
+JEREMY.  I never was done for nor managed by a female yet, and blowed
+if I will be now.
+
+LIZ.  [Shaking her finger at him.]  Sister an' me knows what comes of
+such words, don't us, sister?  'Tis an old saying in our family as
+one wedding do make a many.
+
+JEREMY.  Give me a woman's tongue for foolishness.  I've heared a
+saying too in my family, which be--get a female on to your hearth and
+'tis Bedlam straight away.
+
+JANE.  Now, sister, did you ever hear the like of that?
+
+LIZ.  Us'll have to change his mind for him, Jane.
+
+JEREMY.  I reckon 'twould take a rare lot of doing to change that,
+mistress.
+
+JANE.  Bain't you a-goin' to get yourself ready for church soon?
+
+JEREMY.  Dashed if I ever heard tell of such foolishness.  Who's to
+mind the place with all the folk gone fiddle-faddling out?
+
+LIZ.  There's the man William.
+
+JEREMY.  I bain't a-goin' to leave the place to a stranger.
+
+JANE.  Why, sister, us'll feel lost and lonesome without mister,
+shan't us, Liz?
+
+LIZ.  That us will.  What if us stayed at home and helped to mind the
+house along of he?
+
+JANE.  [Slowly.]  And did not put our new gowns upon the backs of we
+after all the money spent?
+
+JEREMY.  Ah, there you be.  'Tis the same with all females.
+Creatures of vanity--even if they be got a bit long in the tooth.
+'Tis all the same.
+
+[JANE and LIZ draw themselves up, bridling, but LIZ relaxes.
+
+LIZ.  He must have his little joke, sister, man-like, you know.
+
+[JOHN enters.]
+
+JOHN.  Jerry, and I've been seeking you everywhere.  Come you off to
+the yard.  'Tis as much as we shall do to be ready afore church time.
+I never knew you to idle in the house afore.
+
+JEREMY.  [Taking up his pails, sarcastically.]  'Twas the females as
+tempted I, master, but 'twon't occur again, so there.  [He hurries
+off, followed by JOHN.
+
+LIZ.  [With dignity.]  Us'll go upstairs and dress, sister.
+
+JANE.  'Tis time we did so.  All them new-fashioned things be awkward
+in the fastenings.
+
+[They go upstairs.
+
+[ROBERT and ROSE come in from the garden.  ROBERT carries a little
+card-board box in his hand, which he places on the table.  ROSE sits
+down listlessly on a chair leaning her arms on the table.
+
+ROBERT.  [Undoing the box.]  This is the bouquet what I promised to
+bring from town.
+
+ROSE.  [Her gaze wandering outside.]  Well, we might as well look at
+it afore I go to dress.
+
+[ROBERT uncovers the box and takes out a small bouquet of white
+flowers surrounded by a lace frill.
+
+ROSE.  [Taking it from him carelessly and raising it to her face.]
+Why, they are false ones.
+
+ROBERT.  [Contemptuously.]  My good girl, who ever went to church
+with orange blossom that was real, I'd like to know?
+
+ROSE.  [Languidly dropping the bouquet on the table.]  I'm sure I
+don't care.  I reckon that one thing's about as good as another to be
+married with.
+
+ROBERT.  [Going to the window and looking out.]  Ah--I daresay 'tis
+so.
+
+ROSE.  I feel tired of my wedding day already--that I do.
+
+ROBERT.  There's a plaguey, fanciful kind of feel about the day, what
+a man's hardly used to, so it seems to me.
+
+ROSE.  [Wildly.]  O, I reckon we may get used to it in time afore we
+die.
+
+ROBERT.  Now--if 'twas with the right -
+
+ROSE.  Right what, Robert?
+
+ROBERT.  [Confused.]  I hardly know what I was a-going to say, Rose.
+Suppose you was to take up your flowers and go to dress yourself.  We
+might as well get it all over and finished with.
+
+ROSE.  [Rising slowly.]  Perhaps 'twould be best.  I'll go to my
+room, and you might call the girl Lucy and send her up to help me
+with my things.
+
+ROBERT.  Won't you take the bouquet along of you?
+
+ROSE.  No--let it bide there.  I can have it later.
+
+[She goes slowly from the room.
+
+[Left to himself, ROBERT strolls to the open door and looks gloomily
+out on the garden.  Suddenly his face brightens.
+
+ROBERT.  Lucy, Lucy, come you in here a moment.
+
+LUCY.  [From outside.]  I be busy just now hanging out my cloths,
+master.
+
+ROBERT.  Leave your dish cloths to dry themselves.  Your mistress
+wants you, Lucy.
+
+LUCY.  [Coming to the door.]  Mistress wants me, did you say?
+
+ROBERT.  Yes, you've got to go and dress her for the church.  But you
+can spare me a minute or two first.
+
+ISABEL.  [Going quickly across the room to the staircase door.]
+Indeed, that is what I cannot do, master.  'Tis late already.
+
+ROBERT.  [Catches her hand and pulls her back.]  I've never had a
+good look at your face yet, my girl--you act uncommon coy, and that
+you do.
+
+ISABEL.  [Turning her head away and speaking angrily.]  Let go of my
+hand, I tell you.  I don't want no nonsense of that sort.
+
+ROBERT.  Lucy, your voice do stir me in a very uncommon fashion, and
+there's sommat about the appearance of you -
+
+ISABEL.  Let go of me, master.  Suppose as anyone should look through
+the window.
+
+ROBERT.  Let them look.  I'd give a good bit for all the world to see
+us now.
+
+ISABEL.  O, whatever do you mean by that, Mister Robert?
+
+ROBERT.  What I say.  'Tis with you as I'd be going along to church
+this morning.  Not her what's above.
+
+ISABEL.  But I wouldn't go with you--No, not for all the gold in the
+world.
+
+ROBERT.  Ah, you've changed since yesterday.  When I caught your eye
+at dinner, 'twas gentle as a dove's--and your hand, when it gave me
+my mug of cider did seem--well did seem to put a caress upon me like.
+
+ISABEL.  O there lies a world of time twixt yesterday and to-day,
+Master Robert.
+
+ROBERT.  So it do seem.  For to-day 'tis all thorns and thistles with
+you--But I'm a-goin' to have my look at your pretty face and my kiss
+of it too.
+
+ISABEL.  I shall scream out loud if you touches me--that I shall.
+
+ROBERT.  [Pulling her to him.]  Us'll see about that.
+
+[He tries to get a sight of her face, but she twists and turns.
+Finally he seizes both her hands and covers them with kisses as KITTY
+enters.
+
+KITTY.  O whatever's going on!  Rose, Rose, John--come you in here
+quickly, do.  [To LUCY.]  O you bad, wicked girl.  I knew you
+couldn't be a very nice servant brought in off the road by Jeremy.
+
+[ISABEL, released by ROBERT, goes over to the window arranging her
+disordered sun-bonnet and trying to hide her tears.  ROBERT watches
+her sullenly.
+
+KITTY.  [Goes to the staircase door and calls loudly.]  Rose, Rose--
+come you down as quick as you can run.
+
+ROSE.  [Coming down.]  What's all this, I'd like to know?
+
+KITTY.  It's Lucy, behaving dreadful--O you must send her straight
+away from the house, Rose.
+
+ROSE.  What has she done, then?
+
+KITTY.  Going on with Robert.  Flirting, Rose, and kissing.
+
+ISABEL.  O no, mistress, twasn't so, I do swear to you.
+
+ROBERT.  [Brutally.]  Yes 'twas.  The maid so put me powerful in mind
+of someone who--who -
+
+ROSE.  [Coldly.]  I understand you, Robert.  Well, 'tis lucky that
+all this didn't come off an hour or so later.
+
+KITTY.  [Tearfully.]  O Rose, what do you mean?
+
+ROSE.  I mean that what's not broken don't need no mending.  Robert
+can go to church with someone else to-day, he can.  And no harm done.
+
+[She takes up the bunch of orange flowers and begins pulling it to
+pieces and throwing it all about the room.
+
+KITTY.  O Rose, Rose, don't take it so hard.  'Twasn't Robert's
+fault.  'Twas the girl off the road what led him on.  I know it.
+Tell her to get out of the house.  I'll dress you--I'll do the work.
+Only be just and sensible again; dear Rose.
+
+ROSE.  Let the girl bide.  It makes no difference to me.  There'll be
+no marrying for me to-day.
+
+[JOHN comes in at the door.
+
+KITTY.  [Running to him.]  O John, John--do you quiet down Rose and
+tell her to get upstairs and dress.  She's a-saying that she won't
+marry Robert because of his goings on with the new servant--But, O,
+you'll talk her into reason again, won't you, dear John?
+
+JOHN.  Come, come, what's all this cackle about, Rose?
+
+ROSE.  I'm breaking off with Robert, that's all, John.
+
+JOHN.  Robert, can't you take and explain a bit what 'tis.
+
+ROBERT.  [Sullenly.]  A little bit of play 'twixt me and the wench
+there, and that's about all, I reckon.
+
+JOHN.  Now that's an unsensible sort of thing to get doing on your
+marriage day, to my thinking.
+
+KITTY.  'Twasn't Robert's fault, I know.  'Twas the maid off the road
+who started it.
+
+[Here ISABEL sinks down on a chair by the window, leaning her arms on
+the table and bowing her head, in tears.
+
+JOHN.  [Going to the door.]  Jeremy--Jeremy--come you in here a
+minute.
+
+[Instead of JEREMY, LUBIN comes in.
+
+JOHN.  'Twas Jeremy I did call--not you.
+
+LUBIN.  He's gone off the place for a few minutes.
+
+JOHN.  [Vexedly.]  Ah, 'tis early for the Red Bull.
+
+LUBIN.  Can I--can I do anything for you, master?
+
+JOHN.  Not unless you can account for the sort of serving wench off
+the roadside what Jerry has put upon us.
+
+LUBIN.  What is there to account for in her, master?
+
+ROSE.  [Passionately.]  O I don't particular mind about what's
+happened.  Let her kiss with Robert if she has the mind.  'Tis always
+the man who commences.
+
+JOHN.  'Tis not.  There are some wenches who don't know how to leave
+anyone alone.  Worser than cattle flies, that sort.
+
+ISABEL.  [Going across the room to LUBIN'S side.]  O you shame me by
+them words, I bain't that sort of maid--you'll answer for me--
+William?
+
+[LUBIN silently takes her hand.
+
+ROSE.  [Her eyes fixed on LUBIN.]  I'll tell you what, John; I'll
+tell you, Kitty.  I wish I'd held me to my first lover and I wish
+'twas with Lubin that I was a-going to the church to-day.
+
+ROBERT.  [Sullenly.]  Then I'll say sommat, Rose.  I wish 'twas with
+Isabel that I was getting wed.
+
+JOHN.  Now, now--'Tis like two children a quarrelling over their
+playthings.  Suppose you was to go and get yourself dressed, Rose-
+Anna--And you too, Robert.  Why, the traps will be at the door afore
+you're ready if you don't quicken yourselves up a bit.  Kitty, you go
+and help your sister.
+
+ROSE.  [With a jealous glance at Isabel.]  No, I'll have Lucy with
+me.
+
+JOHN.  That's it, you keep her out of mischief
+
+KITTY.  I've got my own dress to put on.
+
+JOHN.  And Robert, you and me will have a drink after all this
+caddle.  'Tis dry work getting ready for marriage so it appears.
+
+ROBERT.  'Tis fiery dry to my thinking.
+
+ROSE.  [Crossing the room and going up to LUBIN.]  I have no flowers
+to take to church with me, William; go you to the waterside, I have a
+mind to carry some of the blue things what grow there.
+
+KITTY.  Forget-me-nots, you mean!
+
+ROSE.  Forget-me-nots, I mean.  And none but you to gather them for
+me, William.  Because--because--well, you do put me in thoughts of
+someone that I once held and now have lost.  That's all.
+
+[Curtain.
+
+
+
+ACT III.--Scene 2.
+
+
+
+The same room half an hour later.  ISABEL is picking up the scattered
+orange blossom which she ties together and lays on the window sill.
+LUBIN comes in with a large bunch of river forget-me-nots.
+
+LUBIN.  I didn't think to find you here, Isabel.
+
+ISABEL.  O but that is a beautiful blue flower.  I will take the
+bunch upstairs.  She is all dressed and ready for it.
+
+LUBIN.  [Putting it on the table.]  No--do you bide a moment here
+with me.
+
+[ISABEL looks helplessly at LUBIN who takes her hands slowly in his.
+
+LUBIN.  What are we going to do?
+
+ISABEL.  I wish as we had never touched the seeds.
+
+LUBIN.  O cursed seeds of love--Far better to have left all as 'twas
+yesterday in the morning.
+
+ISABEL.  He has followed me like my shadow, courting and courting me
+hard and all the time, Lubin.
+
+LUBIN.  She sought me out in the yard at day-break, and what I'd have
+given twenty years of life for yester eve I could have thrown into
+the stream this morning.
+
+ISABEL [Sadly.]  So 'tis with my feelings.
+
+LUBIN.  She has altered powerful, to my fancy, in these years.
+
+ISABEL.  And Robert be differenter too from what I do remember.  [A
+long silence.
+
+LUBIN.  Have you thought as it might be in us two these changes have
+come about, Isabel?
+
+ISABEL.  I was just the maid as ever I was until -
+
+LUBIN.  And so was I unchanged, until I started travelling up on the
+same road as you, Isabel.
+
+[For a few minutes they look gravely into one another's eyes.
+
+LUBIN.  [Taking ISABEL'S hands.]  So that's how 'tis with you and me.
+
+ISABEL.  O Lubin--a poor serving maid like I am.
+
+LUBIN.  I'll have no one else in the whole world.
+
+ISABEL.  What could I have seen in him, times gone by?
+
+LUBIN.  And was it ever true that I did sit through a long Sunday her
+hand in mine?  [Another silence.
+
+ISABEL.  But how's us ever to get out of the caddle where we be?
+
+LUBIN.  [Gaily.]  We'll just run away off to the Fair as t'other
+servants did.
+
+ISABEL.  And leave them in their hate for one another?  No--'twould
+be too cruel.  Us'll run to the young mistress what knows all about
+them herbs.  I count as there be seeds or sommat which could set the
+hearts of them two back in the right places again.  Come -
+
+LUBIN.  Have it your own way then.  But 'twill have to be done very
+quickly if 'tis done at all.
+
+ISABEL.  Us'll fly over the ground like.
+
+[She puts her hand impetuously in LUBIN'S and they go out together.
+As they do so, ISABEL'S bonnet falls from her head and lies unheeded
+on the floor.
+
+
+
+ACT III.--Scene 3.
+
+
+
+A few minutes later.  LIZ and JANE wearing gay sprigged dresses and
+feathered bonnets, come to the room.  They carry fans and
+handkerchiefs in their hands.  It is seen that their gowns are not
+fastened at the back.
+
+LIZ.  Such a house I never heard tell of.  Ring, ring at the bell and
+no one to come nigh.
+
+JANE.  Being unused to bells, sister, maybe as us did pull them wrong
+or sommat.
+
+LIZ.  I wish we'd had the gowns made different.
+
+JANE.  To do up in the front--sensible like.
+
+[They twist and turn in front of the glass on the wall, absorbed in
+their dress, they do not notice that JEREMY has come in and is
+watching them sarcastically.
+
+JEREMY.  Being as grey as th' old badger don't keep a female back
+from vanity.
+
+LIZ.  O dear, Master Jeremy, what a turn you did give me, to be sure.
+
+JANE.  We can't find no one in this house to attend upon we.
+
+JEREMY.  I count as you can not.  Bain't no one here.
+
+LIZ.  We rang for the wench a many time.
+
+JEREMY.  Ah, and you might ring.
+
+JANE.  We want someone as'll fasten them niggly hooks to our gowns.
+
+JEREMY.  Ah, and you may want.
+
+LIZ.  Our sight bain't clear enough to do one for t'other, the
+eyelets be made so small.
+
+JEREMY.  Count as you'll have to go unfastened then.
+
+JANE.  O now you be a laughing at us.  Call the wench down, or we
+shall never be ready in time.
+
+JEREMY.  Man and maid be both gone off.  Same as t'others, us'll have
+to do without service
+
+LIZ.  Gone off!
+
+JANE.  Runned clean away?
+
+JEREMY.  That's about it.
+
+JANE.  Well now, sister, us'll have to ask the little Miss to help
+we.
+
+JEREMY.  I've harnessed the mare a many time.  Don't see why I
+shouldn't get the both of you fixed into the shafts like.
+
+LIZ and JANE.  [Fanning themselves coyly.]  O Master Jeremy -
+
+JEREMY.  Come now.  Let's have a try.  I count as no one have a
+steadier hand nor me this side of the river, nor a finer eye for
+seeing as everything be in its place.  I'll settle the both of you
+afore I gets out the horse and trap.  Turn round.
+
+[The sisters turn awkwardly, and with very self-conscious airs begin
+to flutter their fans.  JEREMY quickly hooks each gown in succession.
+As he finishes the fastening of JANE'S dress ROSE, followed by KITTY,
+comes into the room.  She is wearing her bridal gown and veil.
+
+ROSE.  [Pausing.]  What's this, Jeremy?
+
+JEREMY.  The servants be runned away same as t'others--that's all,
+mistress.
+
+ROSE.  Run away?
+
+JEREMY.  So I do reckon.  Bain't anywhere about the place.
+
+ROSE.  [Flinging herself down on a chair by the table, in front of
+the bunch of forget-me-nots.]  Let them be found.  Let them be
+brought back at once.
+
+KITTY.  For my part I'm glad they've gone off.  The girl was a wild,
+bad thing.  I saw how she went on with Robert.
+
+ROSE.  [Brokenly to JEREMY.]  You found them.  Bring them back,
+Jerry.
+
+KITTY.  No--wait till you and Robert are made man and wife, Rose.
+Then 'twon't matter quite so much.
+
+ROSE.  I'll never wed me to Robert, I'll only wed me to him who
+gathered these blue flowers here.
+
+KITTY.  Good heavens, Rose, 'twas the man William.
+
+[KITTY looks in consternation from ROSE to the cousins and then to
+JEREMY, who remains impassive and uninterested, sucking a straw.
+ROSE clasps her hands round the forget-me-nots and sits gazing at
+them, desolately unhappy.  ROBERT enters.  He is very grandly dressed
+for the wedding, but as he comes into the room he sees ISABEL'S
+cotton bonnet on the floor.  He stoops, picks it up and laying it
+reverently on the table, sinks into a chair opposite ROSE and raising
+one of its ribbons, kisses this with passion.
+
+ROBERT.  There--I'd not change this for a thousand sacks of gold--I
+swear I'd not.
+
+KITTY.  Now Robert--get up, the two of you.  Are you bewitched or
+sommat--O Jerry, stir them, can't you.
+
+LIZ.  Robert, 'tisn't hardly suitable--with the young miss so sweetly
+pretty in her white gown.
+
+JANE.  And wedding veil and all.  And sister and me hooked up into
+our new sprigs, ready for the ceremony.
+
+JEREMY.  [Looking at them with cold contempt.]  Let them bide.  The
+mush'll swim out of they same as 'twill swim off the cider vat.  Just
+let the young fools bide.
+
+KITTY.  O this'll never do.  Jerry forgetting of his manners and all.
+[Calling at the garden door.]  John, John, come you here quickly,
+there's shocking goings on.  [JOHN, in best clothes comes in.
+
+JOHN.  What's the rattle now, Kitty?  I declare I might be turning
+round on top of my own mill wheel such times as these.
+
+KITTY.  Rose says she won't wed Robert, and Robert's gone off his
+head all along of that naughty servant maid.
+
+[JOHN stands contemplating ROSE and ROBERT.  ROSE seems lost to the
+outside world and is gazing with tears at her forget-me-nots, whilst
+ROBERT, in sullen gloom, keeps his eyes fixed on the sun-bonnet.
+
+JOHN.  Come, Rose, 'tis time you commenced to act a bit different.
+[ROSE does not answer.
+
+JOHN.  Come, Robert, if you play false to my sister at the last
+moment, you know with whom you'll have to reckon like.  [ROBERT pays
+no heed to him.
+
+JOHN.  [To JEREMY.]  Can you do naught to work upon them a bit,
+Jerry?
+
+JEREMY.  I'd have a jug of cider in, master.  'Twill settle them all.
+Folks do get 'sterical and vapourish face to face with matrimony.
+Put some drink afore of them, and see how 'twill act.
+
+LIZ.  O what a wise thought, Master Jerry.
+
+JANE.  Most suitable, I call it.
+
+[Here MARY MEADOWS comes in, JOHN turns eagerly to her.
+
+JOHN.  O Mary--have you come to help us in the fix where we are?  [He
+signs to ROSE and ROBERT.
+
+MARY.  What has happened, John?
+
+JEREMY.  I'll tell you in a couple of words, mistress.
+
+LIZ.  No--do you fetch the cider, dear Mister Jeremy.
+
+JOHN.  'Tis more than I can do with, Mary.  Rose is set against
+Robert, and Robert is set against Rose.  Rose--well I'm fairly
+ashamed to mention it--Rose has lost her senses and would wed the
+servant William--and Robert is a-courting of the maid.
+
+JEREMY.  Ah, let each fool follow their own liking, says I.
+
+LIZ.  And sister and me all dressed in our new gowns for the church.
+
+JANE.  And Jerry had to do the hooking for we, both of the servants
+having runned away.
+
+MARY.  Well, now I'm here I'll lend a hand.  I'll help with the
+dinner time you're at church.  You shall not need to trouble about
+anything, Mr. John.
+
+JOHN.  O once I do get them to the church and the ring fixed and all
+I shan't trouble about nothing, Mary.  But 'tis how to move them from
+where they be!  That's the puzzle.
+
+ROSE.  I'll never move till the hand that gathered these flowers be
+here to raise me.
+
+ROBERT.  I'll sit here to the end of the world sooner nor go along to
+be wed with Miss over there.
+
+MARY.  'Tis midsummer heat have turned their brains.  But I know a
+cooling draught that will heal them of their sickness.  Jeremy, do
+you step into the garden and bring me a handful of fresh violet
+leaves, one blossom from the heartsease and a sprig of rosemary.
+
+JEREMY.  [Sighing.]  What next?
+
+JOHN.  Get gone at once, Jerry.
+
+[JEREMY goes to the door--as he does so LIZ and JANE start up and
+follow him.
+
+LIZ.  Sister and me will come along and help you, dear Mr. Jeremy.
+
+JANE.  And that us will, if our new gowns bain't hooked too tight for
+we to bend.
+
+[They follow JEREMY to the garden.  KITTY silently leaves the room
+also.  ROSE and ROBERT remain lost in their sorrowful reflections.
+JOHN and MARY look at them for a moment and then turn to one another.
+
+JOHN.  Mary, I never thought to see such a thing as this.
+
+MARY.  You take my word for it, John, the storm will soon be blown
+away.
+
+JOHN.  I don't know how I should stand up against the worry of it
+all, wasn't it for you, Mary.
+
+[A short silence.
+
+JOHN.  [Taking MARY'S hand.]  'Twill be a bit lonesome for me here,
+when they've gone off, Mary.
+
+MARY.  You'll have Kitty to do for you then.
+
+JOHN.  Kitty be going to live along of them at Bristol too, after a
+while.
+
+MARY.  [Looking round the room.]  Then I count as it might feel a bit
+desolate like in this great house alone.
+
+JOHN.  [Taking MARY'S hand.]  I cannot face it, Mary.  I've loved you
+many years, you know.
+
+MARY.  I know you have, dear John.
+
+JOHN.  Can't you forget he what was false to you, days gone by, and
+take me as your husband now?
+
+MARY.  [Doubtfully.]  I don't hardly know.
+
+JOHN.  You used to sing sommat--the grass that was trampled under
+foot, give it time, it will rise up again.
+
+MARY.  [Drying her eyes.]  Ah, it has risen, dear John--and I count
+it have covered the wound of those past days--my heart do tell me so,
+this minute.
+
+JOHN.  [Holding both her hands.]  Then 'tis one long midsummer afore
+you and me, Mary.
+
+MARY.  That's how 'twill be, dear John.
+
+[JEREMY, followed by the cousins, enters.  He holds a bunch of leaves
+towards MARY.
+
+JEREMY.  There you be, mistress.  Fools' drink for fools.  A mug of
+good cider would have fetched them to their senses quicker.
+
+[MARY takes the bunch, and still holding JOHN'S hand, leads him to
+the kitchen.  JEREMY watches the pair sarcastically.
+
+JEREMY.  'Tis all finished with the master, then.
+
+[The sisters seat themselves on the couch and mop their faces with
+handkerchiefs.
+
+LIZ.  Dear me, 'tis warm.
+
+JANE.  I hope my face don't show mottled, sister?
+
+JEREMY.  I was saying as how 'twas all finished with the master.
+
+[MARY, followed by JOHN, comes forward carrying two glasses.  She
+gives one to ROSE and the other to ROBERT.
+
+MARY.  Now do you take a good draught of this, the both of you.  With
+violet leaves the fever of the mind is calmed, and heartsease
+lightens every trouble caused by love.  Rosemary do put new life to
+anyone with its sweetness, and cold spring water does the rest.
+
+[She leaves the table and stands far back in the room by JOHN'S side.
+ROSE slowly lifts her glass and begins to drink.  ROBERT does the
+same.  They are watched with anxiety by all in the room.  When they
+have emptied their glasses ROSE dries her tears and pushes the
+flowers a little way from her.  ROBERT shakes himself and moves the
+cotton bonnet so that it falls unheeded to the floor.  Meanwhile
+KITTY has come quietly to the garden door and stands there watching
+the scene intently.
+
+LIZ.  Bain't we going to get a drink too?
+
+JANE.  Seems as though master have been and forgot we.
+
+JEREMY.  [Starting up and going to the kitchen.]  If I've been and
+forgot you two old women, I've remembered myself.  Be blowed if I can
+get through any more of this foolishness without a wet of my mouth.
+
+[He goes out.
+
+ROSE.  [Speaking faintly.]  Does it show upon my face, the crying,
+Robert?
+
+ROBERT.  [Looking at her.]  No, no, Rose, your eyes be brighter nor
+ever they were.
+
+ROSE.  [Pushing the forget-me-nots yet further away.]  Those flowers
+are dying.  My fancy ones were best.
+
+KITTY.  [Coming forward with the orange blossoms.]  Here they are,
+dear Rose.
+
+ROSE.  [Taking them.]  O how beautiful they do look.  I declare I can
+smell the sweetness coming out from them, Robert.
+
+ROBERT.  All the orange blossom in the world bain't so sweet as one
+kiss from your lips, Rose.
+
+ROSE.  Now is that truly so?
+
+ROBERT.  Ah, 'tis heavy work a-waiting for the coach, Rose.
+
+JOHN.  [Coming forward and taking MARY'S hand.]  And yours won't be
+the only marriage Rose-Anna.  Did you never think that me and Mary
+might -
+
+KITTY.  [Running forward.]  But I did--O so many times, John.
+[JEREMY enters with LUBIN and ISABEL.
+
+JEREMY.  Servants be comed back.  Man was to the Red Bull, I count.
+Female a-washing and a-combing of herself in the barn.
+
+ROSE.  [Coldly.]  I don't care whether they be here or not.  Set them
+to work, Jerry, whilst we are to church.
+
+LIZ.  That's it, Master Jeremy.  I was never so put out in my life,
+as when sister did keep on ringing and the wench was not there to
+help us on with our gowns.
+
+[ROSE and ROBERT get up and go towards the door.  They pause before
+LUBIN and ISABEL.
+
+ROSE.  The man puts me in mind of someone whom I knew before, called
+Lubin.  I thought I had a fancy for him once--but 'twasn't really so.
+
+ROBERT.  And the girl do favour a little servant wench from
+Framilode.
+
+ROSE.  [Jealously.]  You never went a-courting with a servant wench,
+now did you, my heart's dearest?
+
+ROBERT.  Never in all my days, Rose.  'Twas but the fanciful thoughts
+of a boy towards she, that I had.
+
+ROSE.  [Putting her arm in ROBERT'S.]  Well, we have nothing to do
+with anything more of it now, dear Robert.
+
+ROBERT.  You're about right, my true love, we'll get us off to the
+church.
+
+JEREMY.  Ah, coach have been waiting a smartish while, I reckon.
+'Tis on master as expense'll fall.
+
+[ROSE and ROBERT with cold glances at LUBIN and ISABEL, pass out of
+the door.
+
+JOHN.  [Giving his arm to MARY.]  Now, Mary--now, Kitty.  [They pass
+out.
+
+LIZ.  Now, Jeremy, sister and me bain't going off all alone.
+
+JEREMY.  [Offering an arm to each.]  No further than the church door,
+I say.  I've better things to do nor a-giving of my arm to females be
+they never so full of wiles.  And you two do beat many what bain't
+near so long in the tusk, ah, that you does.
+
+[JEREMY goes out with the sisters.
+
+LUBIN.  [To ISABEL.]  And shall we go off into the meadows, Isabel,
+seeing that we are quite forgot?
+
+ISABEL.  No--'tis through these faithless ones as us have learnt to
+understand the hearts within of we.  Let's bide and get the marriage
+dinner ready for them first.
+
+[She stretches both her hands towards LUBIN, who takes them
+reverently in his as the Curtain falls.
+
+
+
+
+THE NEW YEAR
+
+
+
+
+CHARACTERS
+
+STEVE BROWNING, a Blacksmith, also Parish Clerk.
+GEORGE DAVIS, a Carpenter.
+HARRY MOSS, a young Tramp.
+MAY BROWNING.
+JANE BROWNING.
+DORRY BROWNING, aged twelve.
+ANNIE SIMS.
+ROSE SIMS.
+VASHTI REED.
+
+
+
+ACT I.--Scene 1.
+
+
+
+A country roadside.  It is late afternoon and already dusk.
+
+MAY BROWNING with HARRY MOSS come slowly forward.  Close to a stile
+which is a little off the road, MAY stops.
+
+MAY.  There, you don't need to come no further with I, Harry Moss.
+You get on quick towards the town afore the night be upon you, and
+the snow, too.
+
+HARRY.  I don't care much about leaving you like this on the
+roadside, May.  And that's the truth, 'tis.
+
+MAY.  Don't you take no more thought for I, Harry.  'Tis a good boy
+as you've been to I since the day when we fell in together.  But now
+there bain't no more need for you to hold back your steps, going slow
+and heavy when you might run spry and light.  For 'tis home as I be
+comed to now, I be.  You go your way.
+
+HARRY.  I see naught of any house afore us or behind.  'Tis very
+likely dusk as is upon us, or may happen 'tis the fog getting up from
+the river.
+
+MAY.  [Coughing.]  Look you across that stile, Harry.  There be a
+field path, bain't there?
+
+HARRY.  [Taking a few steps to the right and peering through the
+gloom.]  Ah, and that there be.
+
+MAY.  And at t'other end of it a house what's got a garden fence all
+round.
+
+HARRY.  Ah--and 'tis so.  And now as I comes to look there be a light
+shining from out the windows of it, too, though 'tis shining dim-like
+in the mist.
+
+MAY.  'Tis that yonder's my home, Harry.  There's the door where I
+must stand and knock.
+
+[For a moment she draws the shawl over her face and is shaken with
+weeping.
+
+HARRY.  I wouldn't take on so, if 'twas me.
+
+MAY.  And did you say as how there was a light in the window?  'Twill
+be but fire light then, for th' old woman she never would bring out
+the lamp afore 'twas night, close-handed old she-cat as her was,
+what'd lick up a drop of oil on to the tongue of her sooner nor it
+should go wasted.
+
+HARRY.  There, 'tis shining better now--or maybe as the fog have
+shifted.
+
+MAY.  'Tis nigh to home as I be, Harry.
+
+HARRY.  Then get and stand up out of the wet grass there, and I'll go
+along of you a bit further.  'Twill not be much out of my way.
+Nothing to take no count of.
+
+MAY.  No, no, Harry.  I bain't going to cross that field, nor yet
+stand at the door knocking till the dark has fallen on me.  Why, is
+it like as I'd let them see me coming over the meadow and going
+through the gate in this?  [Holding up a ragged shawl.]  In these?
+[Pointing to her broken shoes.]  And--as I be to-day.
+
+[Spreading out her arms and then suddenly bending forward in a fit of
+anguished coughing.
+
+HARRY.  There, there, you be one as is too handy with the tongue,
+like.  Don't you go for to waste the breath inside of you when you'll
+be wanting all your words for they as bides up yonder and as doesn't
+know that you be coming back.
+
+MAY.  [Throwing apart her shawl and struggling with her cough.]
+Harry, you take the tin and fill it at the ditch and give I to drink.
+'Tis all live coals within I here, so 'tis.
+
+HARRY.  You get along home, and maybe as them'll find summat better
+nor water from the ditch to give you.
+
+MAY.  No, no, what was I a-saying to you?  The dark must fall and
+cover me, or I won't never go across the field nor a-nigh the house.
+Give I to drink, give I to drink.  And then let me bide in quiet till
+all of the light be gone.
+
+HARRY.  [Taking out a tin mug from the bundle beside her.]  Where be
+I to find drink, and the frost lying stiff upon the ground?
+
+MAY.  [Pointing.]  Up yonder, where the ash tree do stand.  Look you
+there, 'tis a bit of spouting as do come through the hedge, and water
+from it, flowing downwards away to the ditch.
+
+[HARRY goes off with the can.  MAY watches him, drawing her shawl
+again about her and striving to suppress a fit of coughing.
+
+[HARRY returns and holds out the can.
+
+MAY.  'Tis not very quick as you've been, Harry Moss.  Here--give it
+to I fast.  Give!
+
+[HARRY puts the can towards her and she takes it in her hands, which
+shake feverishly, and she drinks with sharp avidity.
+
+MAY.  'Tis the taste as I have thought on these many a year.  Ah, and
+have gotten into my mouth, too, when I did lay sleeping, that I have.
+Water from yonder spout, with the taste of dead leaves sharp in it.
+Drink of it, too, Harry.
+
+HARRY.  'Tis no water as I wants, May.  Give I summat as'll lie more
+warm and comfortable to th' inside like.  I bain't one for much
+water, and that's the truth, 'tis.  [He empties the water on the
+ground.
+
+MAY.  Then go you out upon your way, Harry Moss, for the dark be
+gathering on us fast, and there be many a mile afore you to the town,
+where the lamps do shine and 'tis bright and warm in the places where
+they sells the drink.
+
+HARRY.  Once I sets off running by myself, I'll get there fast
+enough, May.  But I be going to stop along of you a bit more, for I
+don't care much about letting you bide lonesome on the road, like.
+
+MAY.  Then sit you down aside of me, Harry, and the heat in my body,
+which is like flames, shall maybe warm yourn, too.
+
+HARRY.  [Sitting down by her side.]  'Tis a fine thing to have a home
+what you can get in and go to, May, with a bit of fire to heat the
+limbs of you at, and plenty of victuals as you can put inside.  How
+was it as you ever came away from it, like?
+
+MAY.  Ah, and that's what I be asking of myself most of the time,
+Harry!  For, 'tis summat like a twelve or eleven year since I shut
+the door behind me and went out.
+
+[A slight pause.
+
+MAY.  Away from them all, upon the road--so 'twas.
+
+HARRY.  And never see'd no more of them, nor sent to say how 'twas
+with you, nor nothing?
+
+MAY.  Nor nothing, Harry.  Went out and shut the door behind me.  And
+'twas finished.
+
+[A long pause, during which the darkness has gathered.
+
+HARRY.  Whatever worked on you for to do such a thing, May?
+
+MAY.  [Bitterly.]  Ah now, whatever did!
+
+HARRY.  'Tweren't as though you might have been a young wench,
+flighty like, all for the town and for they as goes up and about the
+streets of it.  For, look you here, 'tis an old woman as you be now,
+May, and has been a twenty year or more, I don't doubt.
+
+MAY.  An old woman be I, Harry?  Well, to the likes of you 'tis so, I
+count.  But a twelve year gone by, O, 'twas a fine enough looking
+maid as I was then--Only a wild one, Harry, a wild one, all for the
+free ways of the road and the lights of the fair--And for the sun to
+rise in one place where I was, and for I to be in t'other when her
+should set.
+
+HARRY.  I'd keep my breath for when 'twas wanted, if 'twas me.
+
+MAY.  Come, look I in the face, Harry Moss, and tell I if so be as
+they'll be likely to know I again up at home?
+
+HARRY.  How be I to tell you such a thing, May, seeing that 'tis but
+a ten days or less as I've been along of you on the road?  And seeing
+that when you was a young wench I never knowed the looks of you
+neither?
+
+MAY.  Say how the face of I do seem to you now, Harry, and then I'll
+tell you how 'twas in the days gone by?
+
+HARRY.  'Tis all too dark like for to see clear, May.  The night be
+coming upon we wonderful fast.
+
+MAY.  The hair, 'twas bright upon my head eleven years gone by,
+Harry.  'Twas glancing, as might be the wing of a thrush, so 'twas.
+
+HARRY.  Well, 'tis as the frost might lie on a dead leaf now, May,
+that it be.
+
+MAY.  And the colour on me was as a rose, and my limbs was straight.
+'Twas fleet like a rabbit as I could get about, the days that was
+then, Harry.
+
+HARRY.  'Tis a poor old bent woman as you be now, May.
+
+MAY.  Ah, Death have been tapping on the door of my body this long
+while, but, please God, I can hold me with the best of them yet,
+Harry, and that I can.  Victuals to th' inside of I and a bit of
+clothing to my bones, with summat to quiet this cough as doubles of I
+up.  Why, there, Harry, you won't know as 'tis me when I've been to
+home a day or two--or may be as 'twill take a week.
+
+HARRY.  I count 'twill take a rare lot of victuals afore you be set
+up as you once was, May.
+
+MAY.  Look you in my eyes, Harry.  They may not know me up at home by
+the hair, which is different to what 'twas, or by the form of me,
+which be got poor and nesh like.  But in the eye there don't come
+never no change.  So look you at they, Harry, and tell I how it do
+appear to you.
+
+HARRY.  There be darkness lying atween you and me, May.
+
+MAY.  Then come you close to I, Harry, and look well into they.
+
+HARRY.  Them be set open wonderful wide and 'tis as though a heat
+comed out from they.  'Tis not anyone as might care much for to look
+into the eyes what you've got.
+
+MAY.  [With despondence.]  Maybe then, as them'll not know as 'tis
+me, Harry Moss.
+
+HARRY.  I count as they'll be hard put to, and that's the truth.
+
+MAY.  The note of me be changed, too, with this cold what I have, and
+the breath of me so short, but 'twon't be long, I count, afore they
+sees who 'tis.  Though all be changed to th' eye like, there'll be
+summat in me as'll tell they.  And 'tis not a thing of shape, nor of
+colour as'll speak for I--But 'tis summat what do come straight out
+of the hearts of we and do say better words for we nor what the looks
+nor tongues of us might tell.  You mind me, Harry, there's that which
+will come out of me as'll bring they to know who 'tis.
+
+HARRY.  Ah, I reckon as you'll not let them bide till they does.
+
+MAY.  And when they do know, and when they sees who 'tis, I count as
+they'll be good to me, I count they will.  I did used to think as
+Steve, he was a hard one, and th' old woman what's his mother, hard
+too--And that it did please him for to keep a rein on me like, but I
+sees thing different now.
+
+HARRY.  Ah, 'tis one thing to see by candle and another by day.
+
+MAY.  For 'twas wild as I was in the time gone by.  Wild after
+pleasuring and the noise in the town, and men a-looking at the
+countenance of I, and a-turning back for to look again.  But, hark
+you here, 'tis powerful changed as I be now.
+
+HARRY.  Ah, I count as you be.  Be changed from a young woman into an
+old one.
+
+MAY.  I'm finished with the road journeying and standing about in the
+streets on market days and the talk with men in the drinking places--
+Men what don't want to look more nor once on I now, and what used to
+follow if 'twasn't only a bit of eyelid as I'd lift on them, times
+that is gone.
+
+HARRY.  Ah, 'twould take a lot of looking to see you as you was.
+
+MAY.  Yes, I be finished with all of it now, and willing for to bide
+quiet at the fireside and to stay with the four walls round I and the
+door shut.
+
+HARRY.  I reckon as you be.
+
+MAY.  And I'm thinking as they'll be rare pleased for to have I in
+the house again.  'Twill be another pair of hands to the work like.
+And when I was young, 'twas not on work as I was set much.
+
+HARRY.  Ah, I did guess as much.
+
+MAY.  But when I gets a bit over this here nasty cough, 'tis a strong
+arm as them'll have working for they; Steve, th' old woman what's his
+mother, and little Dorry, too.
+
+HARRY.  Dorry?  I han't heard tell of she.
+
+MAY.  That's my little baby as was, Harry Moss.  I left she crawling
+on the floor, and now I count as she be growed into a rare big girl.
+Bless the innocent heart of her!
+
+HARRY.  Whatever led you to do such a thing, I can't think!  You must
+have been drove to it like, wasn't you?
+
+MAY.  'Twas summat inside of me as drove I, then.  'Twas very likely
+the blood of they gipsies which did leap in I, so that when I was
+tied up to Steve, 'twas as if they had got I shut in a box.  'Twas
+the bridle on my head and the bit in the mouth of I; and to be held
+in where once I had gone free.  [A short pause.
+
+MAY.  And I turned wild, Harry, for the very birds seemed to be
+calling I from the hedges to come out along of they, and the berries
+tossing in the wind, and the leaves blowing away quick from where
+they'd been stuck all summer.  All of it spoke to I, and stirred I
+powerful, so that one morning when the sun was up and the breeze
+running, I comed out into the air, Harry, and shut the door behind I.
+And 'twas done--so 'twas.
+
+HARRY.  And didn't they never try for to stop you, nor for to bring
+you back, May?
+
+MAY.  No, Harry, they did not.
+
+HARRY.  And where was it you did go to, May, once you was out and the
+door shut ahind of you?
+
+MAY.  Ah--where!  To the east, to the south, every part.  'Twas
+morning with I in that time, and the heart of I was warm.  And them
+as went along of I on the road, did cast but one look into the
+countenance of I.  Then 'twas the best as they could give as I might
+take; and 'twas for no lodging as I did want when dark did come
+falling.
+
+HARRY.  And yet, look you here, you be brought down terrible low,
+May.
+
+MAY.  The fine looks of a woman be as grass, Harry, and in the heat
+of the day they do wither and die.  And that what has once been a
+grand flower in the hand of a man is dropped upon the ground and spat
+upon, maybe.  So 'twas with I.
+
+[She bows her head on her knees, and for a moment is shaken with
+sudden grief.
+
+HARRY.  Don't you take on so, May.  Look you here, you be comed to
+the end of your journeying this day, and that you be.
+
+MAY.  [Raising her head.]  Ah, 'tis so, 'tis so.  And 'tis rare glad
+as them'll be to see I once again.  Steve, he's a hard man, but a
+good one--And I'll tell you this, Harry Moss, he'll never take up
+with no woman what's not me--and that he won't--I never knowed him
+much as look on one, times past; and 'twill be the same as ever now,
+I reckon.  And little Dorry, 'twill be fine for her to get her mammy
+back, I warrant--so 'twill.
+
+[A slight pause.
+
+MAY.  Th' old woman--well--I shan't take it amiss if her should be
+dead, like.  Her was always a smartish old vixen to I, that her was,
+and her did rub it in powerful hard as Steve was above I in his
+station and that.  God rest the bones of she, for I count her'll have
+been lying in the churchyard a good few years by now.  But I bain't
+one to bear malice, and if so be as her's above ground, 'tis a rare
+poor old wretch with no poison to the tongue of she, as her'll be
+this day--so 'tis.
+
+HARRY.  Look you here--the snow's begun to fall and 'tis night.  Get
+up and go in to them all yonder.  'Tis thick dark now and there be no
+one on the road to see you as you do go.
+
+MAY.  Help I to get off the ground then, Harry, for the limbs of me
+be powerful weak.
+
+HARRY.  [Lifting her up.]  The feel of your body be as burning wood,
+May.
+
+MAY.  [Standing up.]  Put me against the stile, Harry, and then let I
+bide alone.
+
+HARRY.  Do you let me go over the field along of you, May, just to
+the door.
+
+MAY.  No, no, Harry, get you off to the town and leave me to bide
+here a while in the quiet of my thoughts.  'Tis of little Dorry, and
+of how pleased her'll be to see her mammy once again, as I be
+thinking.  But you, Harry Moss, as han't got no home to go to, nor
+fireside, nor victuals, you set off towards the town.  And go you
+quick.
+
+HARRY.  There's summat in me what doesn't care about leaving you so,
+May.
+
+MAY.  And if ever you should pass this way come spring-time, Harry,
+when the bloom is white on the trees, and the lambs in the meadows,
+come you up to the house yonder, and may be as I'll be able to give
+you summat to keep in remembrance of me.  For to-day, 'tis empty-
+handed as I be.
+
+HARRY.  I don't want nothing from you, May, I don't.
+
+MAY.  [Fumbling in her shawl.]  There, Harry--'tis comed back to my
+mind now.  [She takes out part of a loaf of bread.]  Take you this
+bread.  And to-night, when you eats of it, think on me, and as how I
+be to home with Steve a-holding of my hand and little Dorry close
+against me; and plenty of good victuals, with a bed to lie upon warm.
+There, Harry, take and eat.
+
+[She holds the bread to him
+
+HARRY.  [Taking the bread.]  I count 'twill all be well with you now,
+May?
+
+MAY.  I warrant as 'twill, for I be right to home.  But go you
+towards the town, Harry, for 'tis late.  And God go with you, my
+dear, now and all time.
+
+HARRY.  I'll set off running then.  For the night, 'tis upon us, May,
+and the snow, 'tis thick in the air.
+
+[MAY turns to the stile and leans on it heavily, gazing across the
+field.  HARRY sets off quickly down the road.
+
+
+
+ACT II.--Scene 1.
+
+
+
+The living room in the Brownings' cottage.  The room is divided by a
+curtain which screens the fireside end from the draught of the
+principal door.
+
+To the right of the fireplace is a door leading upstairs.  Chairs are
+grouped round the hearth, and there is a table at which JANE BROWNING
+is ironing a dress by the light of one candle.  DORRY leans against
+the table, watching her.
+
+JANE.  [Putting aside the iron.]  There, you take and lay it on the
+bed upstairs, and mind you does it careful, for I'm not a-going to
+iron it twice.
+
+[She lays the dress carefully across DORRY'S arms.
+
+DORRY.  Don't the lace look nice, Gran'ma?
+
+JANE.  You get along upstairs and do as I says, and then come
+straight down again.
+
+DORRY.  Couldn't I put it on once, Gran'ma, just to see how it do
+look on me?
+
+JANE.  And get it all creased up afore to-morrow!  Whatever next!
+You go and lay it on the bed this minute, do you hear?
+
+DORRY.  [Leaving the room by the door to the right.]  I'd like to put
+it on just once, I would.
+
+[JANE BROWNING blows out the candle and puts away the iron and
+ironing cloth.  She stirs up the fire and then sits down by it as
+DORRY comes back.
+
+DORRY.  Dad's cleaning of himself ever so--I heard the water
+splashing something dreadful as I went by his door.
+
+JANE.  'Tis a-smartening of hisself up for this here dancing as he be
+about, I reckon.
+
+DORRY.  [Sitting down on a stool.]  I'd like to go along, too, and
+see the dancing up at the schools to-night, I would.
+
+JANE.  And what next, I should like to know!
+
+DORRY.  And wear my new frock what's ironed, and the beads what Miss
+Sims gived me.
+
+JANE.  [Looking out at the window.]  I'm thinking as we shall get
+some snow by and bye.  'Tis come over so dark all of a sudden.
+
+DORRY.  Couldn't I go along of they, Gran'ma, and wear my new frock,
+and the beads, too?  I never see'd them dance th' old year out yet, I
+haven't.
+
+JANE.  Get along with you, Dorry.  'Tis many a year afore you'll be
+of an age for such foolishness.  And that's what I calls it, this
+messing about with dancing and music and I don't know what.
+
+DORRY.  Katie Sims be younger nor me and she's let to go, she is.
+
+JANE.  You bain't Katie Sims, nor she you.  And if the wedding what's
+to-morrow isn't enough to stuff you up with nonsense, I don't know
+what is.
+
+DORRY.  I wish it was to-morrow now, Gran'ma, I do.  Shall you put on
+your Sunday gown first thing, or wait till just afore we goes to
+church?
+
+JANE.  How your tongue do go!  Take and bide quiet a bit, if you
+knows how.
+
+DORRY.  I shall ask Dad if I may go along of him and Miss Sims to the
+dance, I shall.  Dad's got that kind to me since last night--he gived
+me a sixpence to buy sweets this morning when I hadn't asked.  And
+won't it be nice when Miss Sims comes here to live, and when you has
+someone to help you in the work, Gran'ma?
+
+JANE.  Well--'tis to be hoped as 'twill be all right this time.
+
+DORRY.  This time, Gran'ma!  Why, wasn't it all right when Dad was
+married afore, then?
+
+JANE.  [Getting the lamp from a shelf.]  I don't light up as a rule
+till 'tis six o'clock, but I count it's a bit of snow coming as have
+darkened the air like.
+
+DORRY.  Gran'ma, isn't Miss Sims nice-looking, don't you think?  I'd
+like to wear my hair like hers and have earrings a-hanging from me
+and a-shaking when I moves my head, I would.
+
+JANE.  [Setting the lamp on the table.]  Here, fetch me the matches,
+do.
+
+DORRY.  [Bringing the matches.]  Was my mammy nice-looking, like Miss
+Sims, Gran'ma?
+
+JANE.  I'm one as goes by other things nor looks--For like as not
+'tis fine looks as is the undoing of most girls as has them--give me
+a plain face and a heart what's pure, I says, and 'tis not far out as
+you'll be.
+
+DORRY.  Was my mammy's heart pure, Gran'ma?  [A moment's silence.
+JANE lights the lamp.  DORRY leans at the table, watching her.
+
+DORRY.  Was my mammy's--[A loud knock on the outside door.
+
+JANE.  Who's that come bothering round!  Run and see, Dorry, there's
+a good child.
+
+DORRY.  It'll be Gran'ma Vashti, I daresay.  She do mostly knock at
+the door loud with her stick.
+
+[DORRY runs to the window and looks out.
+
+DORRY.  'Tis her, and the snow white all upon her.
+
+[DORRY goes to the door to open it.
+
+JANE.  [To herself.]  Of all the meddlesome old women--why can't her
+bide till her's wanted.
+
+[DORRY opens the door wide, and VASHTI Comes slowly in to the room,
+leaning on a big staff.
+
+JANE.  Well, Vashti Reed, and what brings you down from the hill to-
+day?  'Twould have been better had you bid at home, with the dark
+coming on and the snow.
+
+DORRY.  [Who has closed the door.]  Sit down, Granny--there, close
+against the fire, do.
+
+[VASHTI stands in the middle of the room, looking from one to
+another.
+
+DORRY.  Sit down, Granny, by the fire, do.
+
+VASHTI.  'Tis in the house and out of it as I have went.  And down to
+the pool where the ice do lie, and up on the fields where 'tis fog,
+And there be summat in I what drives I onward, as might the wind.
+And no where may the bones of me rest this day.
+
+JANE.  If 'tis to talk your foolishness as you be come, you'd best
+have stopped away.  Here, sit you down, Vashti Reed, and behave
+sensible, and maybe as I'll get you summat warm to drink presently.
+
+DORRY.  Yes, Grannie, sit you down along of we.
+
+[VASHTI sits stiffly down by the hearth, leaning on her stick.  JANE
+resumes her place, and DORRY puts her little stool between them.
+
+VASHTI.  And in the night when I was laid down, against the
+windowpane it fled a three times.  A three time it fled and did beat
+the pane as though 'twould get in.  And I up and did open the window.
+And the air it ran past I, and 'twas black, with naught upon it but
+the smell of a shroud.  So I knowed.
+
+DORRY.  What did you know, Granny?
+
+VASHTI.  [Leaning forward and warming her hands at the fire, speaking
+as though to herself.]  Summat lost--summat lost, and what was trying
+to get safe away.
+
+DORRY.  Safe away?  From what, Granny?
+
+VASHTI.  And there be one what walks abroad in the night time, what
+holds in the hand of him a stick, greater nor this staff what I holds
+here, and the knife to it be as long again by twice.
+
+DORRY.  O, Granny, I'll be a-feared to go across the garden after
+dark, I shall.
+
+JANE.  What do you want to go and put that there into the child's
+head for?  I'd like for Steve to hear you talking of such stuff.
+
+VASHTI.  I sat me down at the table, but the victuals was as sand in
+the mouth, and the drink did put but coldness within I.  And when the
+door was closed, 'twas as if one did come running round the house and
+did beat upon it for to be let in.  Then I did go for to open it, but
+the place outside was full of emptiness, and 'twas they old carrion
+crows what did talk to I out of the storm.
+
+JANE.  How you do go on, to be sure!  Why don't you speak of summat
+what's got some sense to it?  Come, don't you know as Steve, his
+wedding day, 'tis to-morrow as ever is.
+
+DORRY.  'Tis the New Year, too, Granny, as well as Dad's marriage.
+
+VASHTI.  [Suddenly.]  Be this house made ready for a-marrying, then?
+
+DORRY.  Why, of course it be, Granny.  Don't you see how 'tis cleaned
+and the new net curtains in the windows, and the bit of drugget
+'gainst the door where the old one always tripped me up?
+
+VASHTI.  I see naught but what 'tis more like a burial here.  So
+'tis.  And 'tis a burial as I've carried in my heart as I comed down
+from the hills.
+
+DORRY.  [Looking out of the window.]  Granny, you'll be forced to
+bide the night along of we, 'cause the snow be falling thick, and
+'twill be likely as not as you'll lose your way if you start for to
+go home again when 'tis snowing.
+
+JANE.  Th' old thing may as well bide the night now she be come.
+Hark you, Vashti, 'twill save you the journey down to-morrow like, if
+you bides the night, and the chimney corner is all as you ever wants.
+
+VASHTI.  And what should I be journeying down to-morrow for, Jane
+Browning?
+
+DORRY.  Why, Granny, 'tis Dad's wedding day to-morrow, and 'tis a
+white frock with lace to it as I'm going to wear, and beads what Miss
+Sims gived me, and the shoes what was new except for being worn to
+church three times.  Shall I fetch them all and show to you, Granny?
+
+JANE.  Yes, run along and get them, Dorry; very likely 'twill give
+her thoughts a turn, looking at the things, seeing as she be in one
+of her nasty moods to-day when you can't get a word what isn't
+foolishness out of her.  [DORRY runs upstairs.
+
+VASHTI.  [Leaning forward.]  Was her telling of a marriage?
+
+JANE.  Why, yes, Vashti Reed.  And you know all about it, only you
+don't trouble for to recollect nothing but what you dreams of
+yourself in the night.  'Tis our Steve what's going to marry Annie
+Sims to-morrow.
+
+VASHTI.  Steve Browning?
+
+JANE.  I haven't patience with th' old gipsy!  Yes--Steve.  And 'tis
+a twelvemonth or more as you'd knowed of it.
+
+VASHTI.  Our Steve, what's husband to my May?
+
+JANE.  'Tis a fine thing to fetch up May this evening, that 'tis.
+May, what went out trolloping along the roads 'stead of she biding at
+home to mind the house and child!  'Tis how you did breed she up,
+Vashti Reed, what led her to act as her did.  And if you'd have bred
+her different, 'twould have been all the same; for what's in the
+blood is bound to out and show; and when you picks a weed and sets it
+in the room, 'tain't no flower as you must look for.
+
+VASHTI.  'Tis summat like a twelve year since her went.  But in the
+blinking of an eye the latch might be raised, and she come through
+the door again.  God bless the head an feet of she!
+
+JANE.  There you are, Vashti, talking so foolish.  A bad herb like
+she, was bound for to meet her doom.  And 'twas in the river up
+London way where the body of her was catched, floating, and the same
+petticoat to it as I've seed on May a score of times.  Don't you
+recollect how 'twas parson as brought the news to we?
+
+VASHTI.  'Taint with no parsons as I do hold, nor with what may come
+from the mouths of they, neither.
+
+JANE.  And Steve, I knowed what was in his mind when parson was gone
+out.  'Twas not much as he did say, being a man what hasn't many
+words to his tongue.  But he took and fetched down his big coat what
+do hang up yonder, and told I to put a bit of black to the sleeve of
+it.  Leastways, he didn't speak the words, but I seed what he was
+after, and I took and sewed a bit on, and he's wore it ever since
+till yesterday--And that's eleven year ago it be--so there.
+
+VASHTI.  Her be moving about upon the earth, her be.  And I seems to
+feel the tread of she at night time, and by day as well.  Her bain't
+shrouded, nor boxed, nor no churchyard sod above the limbs of she--
+you take my words--and there shall come a day when the latch shall
+rise and her be standing among us and a-calling on her child and
+husband what's forgotten she.
+
+JANE.  For goodness sake, Vashti, have done speaking about such
+things to-night.  If Steve was to hear you, why I shouldn't wonder if
+he was to put you out of the door and into the snow--and 'tis most
+unfitting for to talk so afore the child.
+
+VASHTI.  [Calling out loudly.]  Come back to I, May--you come back to
+I--there bain't no one what thinks on the name of you, or what wants
+you but your old mother.  You come back to I!
+
+JANE.  I'll thank you for to shut your mouth, old Vashti!  'Tain't
+nothing to be proud on as you've got, and 'twould be better if you
+was to be less free in your hollering.  Look, here's Dorry coming.
+
+[DORRY comes into the kitchen; she is wearing her new white frock.
+
+DORRY.  See, Granny, I've been and put it on for to show you better.
+See the lace?  Isn't it nice?  And the beads, too.  I didn't stop for
+to put on my shoes, nor my new stockings.  Nor my hat, what's got a
+great long feather all round of it.
+
+JANE.  You bad, naughty girl, Dorry, you'll crease and tumble that
+frock so as it's not fit to be seen to-morrow!  Whatever did you go
+to put it on for?
+
+DORRY.  So as that Gran should see something pretty, and so as she
+should come out of her trouble.  Gran's always got some trouble in
+her mind, han't you, Granny?
+
+VASHTI.  A twelve year gone by, my child.
+
+JANE.  I'll give it you if you starts off again.
+
+VASHTI.  A twelve year gone by -
+
+DORRY.  A twelve year gone by, what then, Granny?
+
+VASHTI.  'Tis more'n eleven years since her wented out of the door,
+my child--your poor mammy.  Out of the door, out of the door!  And
+likely as not 'twill be feet first as her shall be brought in again.
+
+DORRY.  Granny, was my poor mammy, what's dead, nice looking like
+Miss Sims as is going for to marry Dad, to-morrow?
+
+VASHTI.  'Twas grand as a tree in full leaf and the wind a-moving all
+the green of it as was your mammy, my dear.
+
+DORRY.  And did she have fine things to her, nice gowns and things,
+like Miss Sims, Granny?
+
+JANE.  'Twas the looks of her and the love of finery and pleasuring
+what was her undoing, as 'twill be the undoing of you, too, Dorry, if
+you don't take care.  'Tis she as you favours, and none of your
+father's people, more's the pity, and 'tis more thoughtful and
+serious as you'll have to grow if you don't want to come to harm.
+You take and go right up, and off with that frock, do you hear me?
+
+DORRY.  O, I wanted to be let to go to the dancing now I'd got it on,
+I did.
+
+JANE.  Dancing, there you are!  Dancing and finery, 'tis all as you
+do think on, and 'tis plain to see what's got working in the inside
+of you, Dorry.  'Tis the drop of bad blood as you has got from she
+what bore you.  But I might as well speak to that door for all you
+cares.  Only, hark you here, you'll be sorry one of these days as you
+han't minded me better.  And then 'twill be too late.
+
+[STEVE comes down the stairs, pushes open the door and enters.
+
+STEVE.  Well, Mother, what's up now?  Gran, you here?  Why, Dorry,
+what be you a-crying for?
+
+DORRY.  I wants to be let to go to the dancing, Dad--now that I've
+got my frock on and all.--O, I wants to be let to go.
+
+STEVE.  Well, Mother--what do you say?  'Twouldn't hurt for she to
+look in about half an hour, and Annie and me we could bring her back
+betimes.
+
+DORRY.  O, Dad, I wants to go if 'twas only for a minute.
+
+STEVE.  There, there--you shall go and we'll say no more about it.
+
+JANE.  I never knowed you give in to her so foolish like this afore,
+Steve.
+
+STEVE.  Well, Mother, 'tain't every day as a man's married, that
+'tain't.
+
+VASHTI.  And so you're to be wed come to-morrow, Steve?  They tells
+me as you're to be wed.
+
+STEVE.  That's right enough, Gran.
+
+VASHTI.  [Rising.]  And there be no resting in me to-day, Steve.
+There be summat as burns quick in the bones of my body and that will
+not let me bide.--And 'tis steps as I hears on the roadside and in
+the fields--and 'tis a bad taste as is in my victuals, and I must be
+moving, and peering about, and a-taking cold water into my mouth for
+to do away with the thing on my tongue, which is as the smell of
+death--So 'tis.
+
+JANE.  Now she's off again!  Come, sit you down, Vashti Reed, and
+I'll give you summat as'll very likely warm you and keep you quiet in
+your chair a while.  Just you wait till I gets the water boiling.
+
+[She begins to stir up the fire and sets a kettle on it.
+
+DORRY.  [From the window.]  Here's Miss Sims coming up the path, and
+Rosie too.  O, they're wrapped up all over 'cause 'tis snowing.  I'll
+open, I'll open.
+
+[She runs to the door and unlatches it.  ANNIE and ROSE SIMS come in,
+shaking the snow from them and unbuttoning their cloaks, which STEVE
+takes from them and hangs on the door.
+
+
+
+ACT II.--Scene 2.
+
+
+
+ANNIE.  [As STEVE takes off her cloak.]  'Tis going to be a dreadful
+night.  The snow's coming down something cruel.
+
+ROSE.  There won't be many to the dance if it keeps on like this,
+will there?
+
+STEVE.  Get you to the fire, both of you, and warm yourselves before
+we sets out again.
+
+DORRY.  Miss Sims, Miss Sims--Miss Rosie--I'm going along with you to
+the dance, Dad says as I may.
+
+JANE.  Bless the child!  However her has worked upon her father, and
+he so strict, I don't know.
+
+ANNIE.  Well, you be got up fine and grand, Dorry--I shouldn't hardly
+know 'twas you.  [Turning to VASHTI REED.]  Good evening, Mrs. Reed,
+my eyes was very near blinded when I first got in out of the dark,
+and I didn't see as you was there.
+
+ROSE.  Good evening, Mrs. Reed, and how be you keeping this cold
+weather?
+
+VASHTI.  [Peering into their faces as they stand near her.]  What be
+you a-telling I of?
+
+ANNIE.  We was saying, how be you in this sharp weather, Mrs. Reed?
+
+VASHTI.  How be I?
+
+ROSE.  Yes, Mrs. Reed, how be you a-keeping now 'tis come over such
+nasty weather?
+
+VASHTI.  And how should an old woman be, and her one child out in the
+rain and all the wind, and driv' there too by them as was laid like
+snakes in the grass about the feet of she, ready for to overthrow she
+when her should have gotten to a time of weakness.
+
+JANE.  Take no account of what she do say, girls, but sit you down in
+the warm and bide till I gets the time to take and look on the
+clothes which you have upon you.  [Moving about and putting tea
+things on the table.]  I be but just a-going to make a cup of tea for
+th' old woman, with a drop of summat strong to it as will keep her
+from using of her tongue so free till morning time.
+
+ANNIE.  [Sitting down.]  Poor old woman, 'tis a sad thing when folks
+do come to such a pass as she.
+
+ROSE.  And han't got their proper sense to them, nor nothing.  But
+she's better off nor a poor creature what we saw crouching below the
+hedge as we was coming across the meadow.  "Why," I says to Annie,
+"it must be bad to have no home to bide in such a night as this!"
+Isn't that so, Mrs. Browning?
+
+STEVE.  Ah, you're right there, you're right.
+
+ROSE.  I wouldn't much care to be upon the road to-night, would you,
+Steve?
+
+VASHTI.  And at that hour when th' old year be passing out, and dark
+on all the land, the graves shall open and give up the dead which be
+in they.  And, standing in the churchyard you may read the face to
+each, as the corpses do go by.  There's many a night as I have stood
+and have looked into they when them did draw near to I, but never the
+face I did seek.
+
+[Here JANE, who has been making a cup of tea, and who has poured
+something in it from a bottle, advances to VASHTI.
+
+JANE.  Here, Vashti Reed, here's a nice cup of hot tea for you.  Take
+and drink it up and very likely 'twill warm th' inside of you, for
+I'll lay as you haven't seen a mouthful of naught this day.
+
+STEVE.  Ah, that's it, that's it.  When folks do go leer 'tis a
+powerful lot of fancies as do get from the stomach to the heads of
+they.
+
+[VASHTI takes the cup and slowly drinks.
+
+DORRY.  O, Miss Sims, you do look nice.  Look, Gran'ma, at what Miss
+Sims have got on!
+
+VASHTI.  [Putting down her cup and leaning forward.]  Which of you be
+clothed for marriage?
+
+JANE.  Get along of you, Gran, 'tis for the dance up at the school as
+they be come.
+
+VASHTI.  Come you here--her what's to wed our Steve.  Come you here
+and let I look at you.  My eyes bain't so quick as they was once.
+Many tears have clouded they.  But come you here.
+
+DORRY.  Go along to her, Miss Sims, Granny wants to look at your nice
+things.
+
+ANNIE.  [Steps in front of VASHTI.]  Here I be, Mrs. Reed.
+
+VASHTI.  Be you the one what's going to wed our Steve come New Year.
+
+ANNIE.  That's it, Mrs. Reed, that's it.
+
+VASHTI.  And be these garments which you be clothed in for marriage
+or for burial?
+
+STEVE.  Come, Granny, have another cup of tea.  Annie, don't you take
+no account of she.  'Tis worry and that as have caused the mind of
+she to wander a bit, but she don't mean nothing by it.
+
+ANNIE.  All right, Steve.  She don't trouble me at all.  [To VASHTI.]
+'Tis to be hoped as I shall make a good wife to Steve, Mrs. Reed.
+
+VASHTI.  Steve!  What do Steve want with another wife?  Han't he got
+one already which is as a rose among the sow-thistles.  What do Steve
+want for with a new one then?
+
+STEVE.  Come on, girls.  I can't stand no more of this.  Let's off,
+and call in to George's as we do go by.
+
+ROSE.  We did meet Mr. Davis as we was coming along and he said as
+how 'twouldn't be many minutes afore he joined us here, Steve.
+
+STEVE.  That's right, then we'll bide a bit longer till George do
+call for we, only 'tis more nor I can stand when th' old lady gets
+her tongue moving.
+
+DORRY.  Why, look, Gran's fell asleep!  O, Miss Sims, now that Gran's
+dropped off and can't say none of her foolish things any more, do
+stand so as Dad and Gran'ma can see the frock which you've got for
+the dance.
+
+ANNIE.  O, Dorry, you're a little torment, that's the truth.
+
+[She gets up and turns slowly round so that all can see what she has
+on.
+
+ROSE.  Well, Steve?
+
+STEVE.  Well, Rosie.
+
+ROSE.  Haven't you got nothing as you can say, Steve?
+
+STEVE.  What be I to say, Rose?
+
+ROSE.  Well, something of how you thinks she looks, of course.
+
+STEVE.  O, 'tis all right, I suppose.
+
+ROSE.  All right!  And is that about all as you've seen?  Why, bless
+you, Steve, where have you gone and hid your tongue I should like to
+know!
+
+STEVE.  Well, there bain't nothing wrong, be there?
+
+ROSE.  Of course there isn't.  But I never did see such a man as you,
+Steve.  Why, I don't believe as you'd know whether Annie haves a pair
+of eyes to her face or not, nor if they be the same colour one to
+t'other.
+
+STEVE.  I sees enough for me.  I sees as Annie is the girl as I've
+picked out of the whole world.  And I know that to-morrow she and I
+is to be made man and wife.  And that be pretty nigh enough for me
+this night, I reckon.
+
+DORRY.  O, Miss Sims, do you hear what Dad is saying?  O, I wonder
+what I should feel if 'twas me that was going to be married!
+
+ROSE.  You get and ask Annie how 'tis with her, Dorry.  I could tell
+a fine tale of how as she do lie tossing half the nights, and of the
+candles that's burned right down to the very end of them, I could.
+
+ANNIE.  Don't you go for to listen to her, Dorry, nor Steve, neither.
+She's that flustered herself about the dance to-night that she scarce
+do know what she's a-saying of.  But suppose you was just to ask her
+what she's got wrapped so careful in that there paper in her hand.
+
+DORRY.  O, Rosie, whatever is it?
+
+STEVE.  What's that you've got hold on now, Rosie?
+
+ANNIE.  Come, show them all, Rose.
+
+[ROSE slowly unfolds the paper and shows them all a hothouse
+carnation and a fern.
+
+ROSE.  There 'tis, then.
+
+DORRY.  O my, Rosie--isn't it beautiful.  Be you going to wear it to
+the dance?
+
+ROSE.  No, Dorry, 'tisn't for me.
+
+ANNIE.  You just ask her for whom it is, then, Dorry.
+
+DORRY.  O, who is it for, Rosie--who is it for?
+
+ROSE.  No--I'm not a-going to tell none of you.
+
+[She wraps it up carefully again.
+
+ANNIE.  I'll tell then, for you.
+
+ROSE.  No, you shan't, Annie--that you shan't!
+
+ANNIE.  That I shall, then--come you here, Dorry--I'll whisper it to
+your ear.  [Whispers it to DORRY.
+
+DORRY.  [Excitedly.]  I know who 'tis--I know--'tis for Mr. Davis--
+for Mr. Davis!  Think of that, Dad--the flower 'tis for George Davis.
+
+ROSE.  O, Annie, how you could!
+
+STEVE.  George -
+
+VASHTI.  [Suddenly roused.]  Who named George?  There was but one man
+as was called by that name--and he courted my girl till her was faint
+and weary of the sound and shape of he, and so on a day when he was
+come -
+
+DORRY.  There's Gran gone off on her tales again.
+
+[JANE crosses the hearth and puts a shawl over the head of VASHTI,
+who relapses again into sleep.
+
+STEVE.  [Sitting down by ROSE.]  What's this, Rose?  I han't heard
+tell of this afore.  Be there aught a-going on with you and George,
+then?
+
+ROSE.  No, Steve, there isn't nothing in it much, except that George
+and me we walked out last Sunday in the evening like--and a two or
+three time before.
+
+STEVE.  And is it that you be a-keeping of that flower for to give to
+George, then?
+
+ROSE.  Well--'tis for George as I've saved it out of some what the
+gardener up at Squire's gived me.
+
+STEVE.  [As though to himself.]  'Tis a powerful many years since
+George he went a-courting.  I never knowed him so much as look upon a
+maid, I didn't since -
+
+ROSE.  Well, Steve, I'm sure there's no need for you to be upset over
+it.  'Tis nothing to you who George walks out with, or who he
+doesn't.
+
+STEVE.  Who said as I was upset, Rose?
+
+ROSE.  Look at the long face what you've pulled.  Annie, if 'twas me,
+I shouldn't much care about marrying a man with such a look to him.
+
+ANNIE.  What's up, Steve?  What's come over you like, all of a
+minute?
+
+STEVE.  'Tis naught, Annie, naught.  'Twas summat of past times what
+comed into the thoughts of me.  But 'tis naught.  And, Rose, if so be
+as 'twas you as George is after, I'd wish him to have luck, with all
+my heart, I would, for George and me--well, we too has always stuck
+close one to t'other, as you knows.
+
+JANE.  Ah--that you has, George and you--you and George.
+
+ANNIE.  Hark--there's someone coming up now.
+
+DORRY.  O, let me open the door--let me open it!
+
+[She runs across the room and lifts the latch.  GEORGE stands in the
+doorway shaking the snow from him.  Then he comes into the room.
+
+DORRY.  I'm going to the dance, Mr. Davis.  Look, haven't I got a
+nice frock on?
+
+STEVE.  Good evening, George, and how be you to-night?
+
+GEORGE.  Nicely, Steve, nicely.  Good evening, Mrs. Browning.  Miss
+Sims, good evening--Yes, Steve, I'll off with my coat, for 'tis
+pretty well sprinkled with snow, like.
+
+[STEVE helps GEORGE to take off his overcoat.
+
+ROSE.  A happy New Year to you, Mr. Davis.
+
+JANE.  And that's a thing which han't no luck to it, if 'tis said
+afore the proper time, Rosie.
+
+ROSE.  Well, but 'tis New Year's Eve, isn't it?
+
+GEORGE.  Ah, so 'tis--and a terrible nasty storm as ever I knowed!
+'Twas comed up very nigh to my knees, the snow, as I was a-crossing
+of the meadow.  And there lay some poor thing sheltering below the
+hedge, with a bit of sacking throwed over her.  I count 'tis very
+near buried alive as anyone would be as slept out in such a night.
+
+STEVE.  I reckon 'twould be so--so 'twould.  But come you in and give
+yourself a warm; and Mother, what do you say to getting us a glass of
+cider all round afore we sets out to the dancing.
+
+JANE.  What do you want to be taking drinks here for, when 'tis free
+as you'll get them up at the school?
+
+STEVE.  Just a drop for to warm we through.  Here, I'll fetch it
+right away.
+
+JANE.  No, you don't.  I'll have no one meddling in the pantry save
+it's myself.  Dorry, give me that there jug.
+
+DORRY.  [Taking a jug from the dresser.]  Here 'tis, Gran'ma, shall I
+light the candle?
+
+JANE.  So long as you'll hold the matches careful.
+
+ANNIE.  Well--'tis to be hoped as the weather'll change afore
+morning.
+
+ROSE.  We shall want a bit of sunshine for the bride.
+
+GEORGE.  That us shall, but it don't look much as though we should
+get it.
+
+[JANE BROWNING and DORRY go out of the room.
+
+STEVE.  Sit you down, George, along of we.  'Tis right pleased as I
+be for to see you here to-night.
+
+GEORGE.  Well, Steve, I bain't one for a lot of words but I be
+powerful glad to see you look as you does, and 'tis all joy as I
+wishes you and her what's to be your wife, to-morrow.
+
+ANNIE.  Thank you kindly, Mr. Davis.  I shall do my best for Steve,
+and a girl can't do no more, can she?
+
+ROSE.  And so you're going to church along of Steve, Mr. Davis?
+
+GEORGE.  'Tis as Steve do wish, but I be summat after a cow what has
+broke into the flower gardens, places where there be many folk got
+together and I among they.
+
+ROSE.  O, come, Mr. Davis!
+
+GEORGE.  'Tis with me as though t'were all hoof and horn as I was
+made of.  But Steve, he be more used to mixing up with the quality
+folks and such things, and he do know better nor I how to carry his
+self in parts when the ground be thick on them.
+
+ANNIE.  Very likely 'tis a-shewing of them into their places of a
+Sunday and a-ringing of the bell and a-helping of the vicar along
+with the service, like, as has made Steve so easy.
+
+ROSIE.  But, bless you, Mr. Davis, you sees a good bit of the gentry,
+too, in your way, when you goes in to houses, as it might be the
+Squire's for to put up a shelf, or mend a window, and I don't know
+what.
+
+GEORGE.  Ah, them caddling sort of jobs don't much agree with I, Miss
+Rose.  And when I gets inside one of they great houses, where the
+maids do pad about in boots what you can't hear, and do speak as
+though 'twere church and parson at his sermon, I can't think of
+naught but how 'twill feel for to be out in the open again.  Why,
+bless you, I do scarce fetch my breath in one of they places from
+fear as there should be too much sound to it, and the noise of my own
+hammer do very near scare I into fits.
+
+ROSE.  Well, Mr. Davis, who would ever have thought it?
+
+[MRS. BROWNING and DORRY come back and the cider is put upon the
+table, DORRY and ANNIE getting glasses from the dresser.
+
+GEORGE.  [Drinking.]  Your health, Steve, and yours, too, Miss Sims.
+And many years of happiness to you both.
+
+STEVE.  Thank you kindly, George.
+
+ANNIE.  Thank you, Mr. Davis.
+
+DORRY.  Hasn't Miss Sims got a nice frock on her for the dance, Mr.
+Davis?
+
+GEORGE.  Well, I'm blessed if I'd taken no notice of it, Dorry.
+
+DORRY.  Why, you're worse nor Dad, I do declare!  But you just look
+at Rosie, now, Mr. Davis, and ask her what she's got wrapped up in
+that there paper in her hand.
+
+ROSE.  O, Dorry, you little tease, you!
+
+DORRY.  You just ask her, Mr. Davis.
+
+ROSE.  [Undoing the parcel.]  There, 'tis nothing to make such a
+commotion of!  Just a flower--see, Mr. Davis?  I knowed as it was one
+what you was partial to, and so I just brought it along with me.
+
+GEORGE.  That there bain't for I, be it?
+
+ROSE.  Indeed 'tis--if so as you'll accept of it.
+
+GEORGE.  O, 'tis best saved against to-morrow.  The freshness will be
+most gone from it, if I was to wear it now.
+
+DORRY.  No, no, Mr. Davis, 'tis for now!  To wear at the dance.  Put
+it on him, Rosie, put it on him.
+
+ROSE.  [Tossing the flower across the table to GEORGE.]  He can put
+it on hisself well enough, Dorry.
+
+GEORGE.  [After a moment's hesitation.]  I don't know so well about
+that.
+
+ANNIE.  Go on, Rosie--pin it into his coat.  Come, 'tis getting late.
+
+DORRY.  O, pin it in quick, Rosie--come along--and then we can start
+to the dancing.
+
+ROSE.  Shall I, Mr. Davis?
+
+[GEORGE gets up and crosses the room; ROSE takes the flower and DORRY
+hands her a pin.  She slowly pins the flower in his coat.
+
+STEVE.  [Stretching out his hand to ANNIE.]  You be so quiet like to-
+night, Annie.  There isn't nothing wrong, is there, my dear?
+
+ANNIE.  'Tis only I'm that full of gladness, Steve, as I don't seem
+to find words to my tongue for the things what I can talk on most
+days.
+
+STEVE.  And that's how 'tis with I, too, Annie.  'Tis as though I was
+out in the meadows, like--And as though 'twere Sunday, and such a
+stillness all around that I might think 'twas only me as was upon the
+earth.  But then summat stirs in me sudden and I knows that you be
+there, too, and 'tis my love for you what has put me right away from
+the rest of them.
+
+ANNIE.  Steve, you've had a poor, rough time, I know, but I'll do my
+best for to smooth it like for you, I will.
+
+STEVE.  See here, Annie--I be comed out of the rain and into the sun
+once more.
+
+DORRY.  [Leading GEORGE forward.]  See how fine Mr. Davis do look--
+see, isn't he grand?  O, Miss Sims, see how nice the flower do look
+what Rosie has pinned in his coat!  See, Gran'ma.
+
+JANE.  I've enough to do putting away all these glasses which have
+been messed up.  What I wants to know is when I shall get off to bed
+this night, seeing as 'tis late already and you none of you gone off
+yet.
+
+DORRY.  O, let us be off, let us be off--and what am I to put over my
+dress, Gran'ma, so as the snow shan't get to it?
+
+JANE.  If you go careful and don't drop it in the snow may be as I'll
+wrap my big shawl around of you, Dorry, what's hanging behind the
+door.
+
+ROSE.  Give me my cloak, Steve--O, how I do love a bit of dancing,
+don't you, Mr. Davis?
+
+GEORGE.  I be about as much use in the ball room as one of they great
+drag horses, Miss Rose.
+
+ROSE.  O, get on, Mr. Davis!  I don't believe half what you do say,
+no more does Annie.
+
+ANNIE.  If Mr. Davis don't know how to dance right, you're the one to
+learn him, Rose.  Come, Dorry, you take hold of my hand, and I'll
+look after you on the way.  Good-night, Mrs. Browning.  Good-night,
+Mrs. Reed.
+
+DORRY.  Why, Granny's sound asleep, Miss Sims, you know.
+
+JANE.  And about time, too.  'Tis to be hoped as we shan't have no
+more trouble with her till morning.
+
+DORRY.  [Her eyes raised to the door latch.]  Just look, why the
+latch is up.
+
+ANNIE.  Whoever's that, I wonder?
+
+ROSE.  'Tis very likely someone with a horse what's lost a shoe,
+Steve.
+
+JANE.  I guess as 'tis a coffin wanted sudden, George Davis.
+
+STEVE.  I bain't a-going to shoe no horses this time of night, not if
+'twas the King hisself what stood at the door.
+
+GEORGE.  If 'tis a corpse, I guess her'll have to wait till the
+dancing's finished, then.
+
+[VASHTI groans in her sleep and turns over in the chair, her face to
+the fire.
+
+STEVE.  [Going to the door and speaking loudly.]  Who's there?
+
+GEORGE.  Us'll soon see.
+
+[GEORGE unbolts the door and opens it, first a little way, and then
+wide.  MAY is seen standing in the doorway.  Her shawl is drawn over
+head and the lower part of her face.
+
+GEORGE.  Here's someone what's missed their way, I count.
+
+ROSE.  Why, 'tis like the poor thing we seed beneath the hedge, I do
+believe.
+
+ANNIE Whatever can she want a-coming-in here at this time of night!
+
+JANE.  [Advancing firmly.]  'Tis one of they dirty roadsters what
+there's too many of all about the country.  Here, I'll learn you to
+come to folks' houses this time of night, disturbing of a wedding
+party.  You take and get gone.  We don't want such as you in here, we
+don't.
+
+[MAY looks fixedly into JANE'S face.
+
+GEORGE.  I count 'tis very nigh starved by the cold as she be.
+
+STEVE.  Looks like it, and wetted through to the bone.
+
+JANE.  Put her out and shut the door, George, and that'll learn the
+likes of she to come round begging at folks' houses what's
+respectable.
+
+GEORGE.  'Tis poor work shutting the door on such as her this night.
+
+STEVE.  And that 'tis, George, and what's more, I bain't a-going for
+to do it.  'Tis but a few hours to my wedding, and if a dog was to
+come to me for shelter I'd not be one to put him from the door.
+
+JANE.  'Tain't to be expected as I shall let a dirty tramp bide in my
+kitchen when 'tis all cleaned up against to-morrow, Steve.
+
+STEVE.  To-morrow, 'tis my day, Mother, and I'll have the choosing of
+my guests, like.  [Turning to MAY.]  Come you in out of the cold.
+This night you shall bide fed and warmed, so that, may be, in years
+to come, 'twill please you to think back upon the eve afore my
+wedding.
+
+[STEVE stands back, holding the door wide open.  MAY, from the
+threshold, has been looking first on one face and then on another.
+Suddenly her eyes fall on ANNIE, who has moved to STEVE'S side,
+laying her hand on his arm, and with a sudden defiance, she draws
+herself up and comes boldly into the room as the curtain falls.
+
+
+
+ACT II.--Scene 3.
+
+
+
+The same room, two hours later.  VASHTI REED seems to be sleeping as
+before by the fireside.  On the settle MAY is huddled, her head bent,
+the shawl drawn over her face.  JANE BROWNING moves about, putting
+away work things, cups and plates, seeing that the window is closed,
+winding the clock, etc.  There is a tap at the outer door and JANE
+opens it.  STEVE, ANNIE and DORRY enter.
+
+JANE.  Whatever kept you so late, Steve, and me a-sitting up for to
+let you all in and not able to get away to my bed?
+
+DORRY.  O, Gran'ma, it was beautiful, I could have stopped all night,
+I could.  We comed away early 'cause Miss Sims, she said as the
+dancing gived her the headache, but the New Year han't been danced in
+yet, it han't.
+
+JANE.  You get and dance off to bed, Dorry, that's what you've got to
+do--and quickly.
+
+DORRY.  All right, Gran'ma.  Good-night, Miss Sims; good-night, Dad.
+O, why, there's Granny!  But her's tight asleep so I shan't say
+nothing to her.  O, I do wish as there was dancing, and lamps, and
+music playing every night, I do!
+
+[DORRY goes towards the staircase door.
+
+JANE.  [Calling after her.]  I'm a-coming along directly.  Be careful
+with the candle, Dorry.
+
+[JANE opens the door and DORRY goes upstairs.  STEVE and ANNIE come
+towards the fireplace.
+
+STEVE.  Was there aught as you could do for yonder poor thing?
+
+JANE.  Poor thing, indeed!  A good-for-nothing roadster what's been
+and got herself full of the drink, and that's what's the matter with
+she.  See there, how she do lie, snoring asleep under the shawl of
+her; and not a word nor sound have I got out of she since giving her
+the drop of tea a while back.
+
+STEVE.  Well, well--she won't do us no harm where she do bide.  Leave
+her in the warm till 'tis daylight, then let her go her way.
+
+JANE.  She and Gran' be about right company one for t'other, I'm
+thinking.
+
+STEVE.  Ah, that they be.  Let them sleep it off and you get up to
+bed, Mother.
+
+JANE.  That I will, Steve.  Be you a-going to see Annie safe to home?
+
+ANNIE.  Do you bide here, Steve, and let me run back--'tis but a
+step--and I don't like for you to come out into the snow again.
+
+STEVE.  I'm coming along of you, Annie.  Get off to bed, Mother.
+I'll be back to lock up and all that in less nor ten minutes.
+
+JANE.  All right, Steve, and do you cast an eye around to see as I
+han't left nothing out as might get took away, for 'tis poor work
+leaving the kitchen to roadsters and gipsies and the like.
+
+[JANE lights a candle and goes upstairs.  STEVE takes ANNIE'S hand
+and they go together towards the outer door.  As they pass to the
+other side of the curtain which is drawn across the room, MAY
+suddenly rears herself up on the settle, throwing back her shawl, and
+she leans forward, listening intently.
+
+STEVE.  To-morrow night, Annie!
+
+ANNIE.  There'll be no turning out into the snow for us both, Steve.
+
+STEVE.  You'll bide here, Annie, and 'tis more gladness than I can
+rightly think on, that 'tis.
+
+ANNIE.  Steve!
+
+STEVE.  Well, Annie.
+
+ANNIE.  There's summat what's been clouding you a bit this night.
+You didn't know as how I'd seen it, but 'twas so.
+
+STEVE.  Why, Annie, I didn't think as how you'd take notice as I was
+different from ordinary.
+
+ANNIE.  But I did, Steve.  And at the dancing there was summat in the
+looks of you which put me in mind of a thing what's hurted.  Steve, I
+couldn't abide for to see you stand so sad with the music going on
+and all.  So I told you as I'd the headache.
+
+STEVE.  O Annie, 'twas thoughts as was too heavy for me, and I
+couldn't seem to get them pushed aside, like.
+
+ANNIE.  How'd it be if you was to tell me, Steve.
+
+STEVE.  I don't much care for to, Annie.  But 'twas thoughts what
+comed out of the time gone by, as may be I'd been a bit too hard
+with--with her as was Dorry's mother.
+
+ANNIE.  O, I'm sure, from all I hear, as she had nothing to grumble
+at, Steve.
+
+STEVE.  And there came a fearsome thought, too, Annie, as you might
+go the same way through not getting on comfortable with me, and me
+being so much older nor you, and such-like.  Annie, I couldn't bear
+for it to happen so, I could not.  For I holds to having you aside of
+me always stronger nor I holds to anything else in the world, and I
+could not stand it if 'twas as I should lose you.
+
+ANNIE.  There's nothing in the world as could make you lose me,
+Steve.  For, look you here, I don't think as there's a woman on the
+earth what's got such a feeling as is in my heart this night, of
+quiet, Steve, and of gladness, because that you and me is to be wed
+and to live aside of one another till death do part us.
+
+STEVE.  Them be good words, Annie, and no mistake.
+
+ANNIE.  And what you feels about the days gone by don't count, Steve,
+'cause they bain't true of you.  You was always a kind husband, and
+from what I've hear-ed folks say, she was one as wasn't never suited
+to neither you nor yours.
+
+STEVE.  Poor soul, she be dead and gone now, and what I thinks one
+way or t'other can't do she no good.  Only 'tis upon me as I could
+take you to-morrow more glad-like, Annie, if so be as I had been
+kinder to she, the time her was here.
+
+ANNIE.  Do you go off to bed, Steve, you're regular done up, and
+that's what 'tis.  I never hear-ed you take on like this afore.
+
+STEVE.  All right, my dear, don't you mind what I've been saying.
+Very like 'tis a bit unnerved as I be this night.  But 'tis a good
+thought, bain't it, Annie, that come to-morrow at this time, there
+won't be no more need for us to part?
+
+ANNIE.  [As he opens the door.]  O, 'tis dark outside!
+
+[They both leave the cottage.  MAY throws back her shawl as though
+stifled.  She gets up and first stands bending over VASHTI.  Seeing
+that she is still sleeping heavily, she goes to the door, opens it
+gently and looks out.  After a moment she closes it and walks about
+the kitchen, examining everything with a fierce curiosity.  She takes
+up the shawl DORRY has been wearing, looks at it hesitatingly, and
+then clasps it passionately to her face.  Hearing steps outside she
+flings it down again on the chair and returns to the settle, where
+she sits huddled in the corner, having wrapped herself again in her
+shawl, only her eyes looking out unquietly from it.  STEVE re-enters.
+He bolts the door, then goes up to the table in front of the fire to
+put out the lamp.
+
+STEVE.  Can I get you an old sack or summat for to cover you up a bit
+this cold night?
+
+[MAY looks at him for a moment and then shakes her head.
+
+STEVE.  All right.  You can just bide where you be on the settle.
+'Tis warmer within nor upon the road to-night, and I'll come and let
+you out when 'tis morning.
+
+[MAY raises both her hands in an attitude of supplication.
+
+STEVE.  [Pausing, with his hand on the burner of the lamp.]  Be there
+summat as you wants what I can give to you?
+
+[MAY looks at him for a moment and then speaks in a harsh whisper.
+
+MAY.  Let I bide quiet in the dark, 'tis all I wants now.  [STEVE
+puts out the lamp.
+
+STEVE.  [As though to himself, as he goes towards the door upstairs.]
+Then get off to your drunken sleep again, and your dreams.
+
+[Curtain.
+
+
+
+ACT II.--Scene 4.
+
+
+
+The fire is almost out.  A square of moonlight falls on the floor
+from the window.  VASHTI still sleeps in the chimney corner.  MAY is
+rocking herself to and fro on the settle.
+
+MAY.  Get off to your drunken sleep and to your dreams!  Your dreams-
+-your dreams--Ah, where is it as they have gone, I'd like for to
+know.  The dreams as comed to I when I was laid beneath the hedge.
+Dreams!
+
+[She gets up, feels down the wall in a familiar way for the bellows--
+blows up the fire and puts some coal on it gently.  Then she draws
+forward a chair and sits down before it.
+
+MAY.  [Muttering to herself.]  'Tis my own hearth when 'tis all said
+and done.
+
+[She turns up the front of her skirt and warms herself, looking
+sharply at VASHTI REED now and then.
+
+[Presently VASHTI'S eyes open, resting, at first unseeingly, and then
+with recognition, on MAY'S face.
+
+VASHTI.  So you be comed back, May.  I always knowed as you would.
+
+MAY.  How did you know 'twas me, then?
+
+VASHTI.  'Cause I knowed.  There 'tis.
+
+MAY.  I be that changed from the times when I would sit a-warming of
+myself by this here fire.
+
+VASHTI.  Ah, and be you changed, May?  My eyes don't see nothing of
+it, then.
+
+MAY.  Ah, I be got into an ugly old woman now, mother, and Steve--
+Steve, he looked in the face of I and didn't so much as think who
+'twas.  "Get off to the drunken sleep of you and to your dreams."
+'Twas that what he did say to I.
+
+VASHTI.  Your old mother do know better nor Steve.  Ah, 'tweren't in
+no shroud as I seed you, May, nor yet with the sod upon the face of
+you, but stepping, stepping up and down on the earth, through the
+water what layed on the roads, and on the dry where there be high
+places, and in the grass of the meadows.  That's how 'twas as I did
+see you, May.
+
+MAY.  And I would like to know how 'twas as Steve saw I.
+
+VASHTI.  Ah, and there was they as did buzz around as thick as waspes
+in summer time and as said, "She be under ground and rotting now--
+that her be."  And they seed in I but a poor old woman what was
+sleeping in the chimney corner, with no hearing to I.  "Rotting
+yourself," I says, and I rears up sudden, "She be there as a great
+tree and all the leaves of it full out--and you--snakes in the grass,
+snakes in the grass, all of you!  There 'tis.
+
+MAY.  [Mockingly.]  "It's a good thought, bain't it, Annie, that to-
+morrow this time there won't be no need for us to part?"  And in the
+days when I was a young woman and all the bloom of I upon me,
+'twouldn't have been once as he'd have looked on such as her.
+
+VASHTI.  And 'tis full of bloom and rare fine and handsome as you
+appear now, May, leastways to my old eyes.  And when you goes up to
+Steve and shows yourself, I take it the door'll be shut in the face
+of the mealy one what they've all been so took up with this long
+while.  I count that 'twill and no mistake.  So 'tis.
+
+MAY.  [Fiercely.]  Hark you here, Mother, and 'tis to be wed to-
+morrow as they be!  Wed--the both of them, the both of them!  And me
+in my flesh, and wife to Steve!  "Can I cover you up with a bit of
+old sack or summat?"  Old sack!  When there be a coverlet with
+feathers to it stretched over where he do lie upstairs.  "I'll let
+you out when 'tis morning."  Ah, you will, will you, Steve Browning?
+Us'll see how 'twill be when 'tis morning--Us'll see, just won't us
+then!
+
+VASHTI.  Ah, 'tis in her place as th' old woman will be set come
+morning--And that her'll be--I count as 'tis long enough as her have
+mistressed it over the house.  [Shaking her fist towards the
+ceiling.]  You old she fox, you may gather the pads of you in under
+of you now, and crouch you down t'other side of the fire like any
+other old woman of your years--for my May's comed back, and her'll
+show you your place what you've not known where 'twas in all the days
+of your old wicked life.  So 'tis.
+
+MAY.  Her han't changed a hair of her, th' old stoat!  Soon as I
+heard the note of she, the heat bubbled up in I, though 'twas
+chattering in the cold as I had been but a moment afore.  "One of
+they dirty roadsters--I'll learn you to come disturbing of a wedding
+party, I will."  [Shaking her fist towards the ceiling.]  No, you
+bain't changed, you hardened old sinner--but the words out of the
+cruel old mouth of you don't hurt I any more--not they.  I be passed
+out of the power of such as you.  I knowed I'd have to face you when
+I comed back, but I knowed, too, as I should brush you out of the way
+of me, like I would brush one of they old maid flies.
+
+VASHTI.  Ah, and so I telled she many a time.  "You bide till my May
+be comed home," I says.  "She be already put safe to bed and 'tis in
+the churchyard where her do take her rest," says she.  Ah, what a
+great liar that is, th' old woman what's Steve's mother!  And the
+lies they do grow right out of she tall as rushes, and the wind do
+blow they to the left and to the right.  So 'tis.
+
+MAY.  Ah, she han't any more power for to hurt I in the ugly old body
+of her.  I be got beyond she.  There be but one or two things as can
+touch I now--But one or two.  And I be struck to the heart, I be,
+struck to the heart.
+
+[She bends forwards, rocking herself to and fro and weeping.
+
+MAY.  [As though speaking to herself.]  Back and fro, back and fro--
+On the dark of the earth and where 'twas light.  When 'twas cold and
+no sound but the steps of I on the road, and the fox's bark; when
+'twas hot and the white dust smouldered in the mouth of I, and things
+flying did plague I with the wings of they--But 'twas always the same
+thought as I had--"Some day I shall come back to Steve," I did tell
+me.  And then again--"Some day I shall get and hold Dorry in my
+arms."  And now I be comed.  And Steve--and Steve--Ah, I be struck
+deep to the heart, 'tis so.  Struck deep!
+
+VASHTI.  You get upstairs to Steve, May.  Get you up there and take
+the place what's yours.
+
+MAY.  My place, my place!  Where's that I want to know!  'Tis another
+what's got into the nest now, to lie snug and warm within.  And 'tis
+for I to spread the wings of me and to go out into the storm again.
+So 'tis.
+
+VASHTI.  Get you to Steve, May, and let him but look on the form of
+you and on the bloom, and us'll see what he will do with t'other
+hussy then.  Ah, they sneaking, mealy wenches what have got fattened
+up and licked over by th' old woman till 'tis queens as they fancies
+theirselves, you shall tell they summat about what they be, come
+morning.  And your poor old mother, her'll speak, too, what hasn't
+been let sound her tongue these years gone by.  Ah, hern shall know
+what us do think of they, hern shall squat upon the floor and hear
+the truth.
+
+MAY.  He thought as I was sleeping; but I looked out on her and seed
+the way his eyes was cast upon the girl.  Steve, if you had cast your
+eyes on me like that but once, in days gone by--maybe, maybe I'd not
+have gone out and shut the door behind I.
+
+VASHTI.  Get you to Steve and let him see you with the candle lit.
+Her bain't no match for he, the young weasel!  'Tis you as has the
+blood of me and my people what was grand folk in times gone by, 'tis
+you, May, as is the mate for he, above all them white-jowled things
+what has honey at the mouth of they, but the heart running over with
+poison--Ah, and what throws you the bone and keeps the meat for their
+own bellies.  What sets the skin afore you and laps the cream
+theirselves.  Vipers, all of them, and she-cats.  There 'tis.
+
+MAY.  Sit you down, Mother, and keep the tongue of you quiet.  We
+don't want for to waken they.
+
+VASHTI.  [Sitting down heavily.]  But we've got to waken Steve for he
+to know as how you be comed home again.
+
+MAY.  And where's the good of that, when there bain't so much as a
+board nor a rag, but what's been stole from I?
+
+VASHTI.  You go and say to him as 'tis his wife what have come back
+to her place.  And put th' old woman against the chimney there, and
+let her see you a-cutting of the bread and of the meat, and a-setting
+out of the food so as that they who be at the table can loose the
+garments of them when the eating 'tis finished, if they has a mind
+to, 'stead of drawing they together so not to feel 'tis leer.  Ah,
+'tis time you be comed, May, 'tis time.
+
+MAY.  [Bitterly.]  I'm thinking 'tis time!
+
+VASHTI.  'Tis the lies of they be growed big as wheat stalks and the
+hardness of their hearts be worse nor death.  But 'tis to judgment as
+they shall be led, now you be comed home, May, and the hand of God
+shall catch they when they do crawl like adders upon the earth.  "Ah,
+and do you mind how 'twas you served old Vashti, what never did harm
+to no one all the life of her," I shall call out to th' old woman in
+that hour when her shall be burning in the lake.  And her shall beg
+for a drop of water to lay upon the withered tongue of she, and it
+shall be denied, for other hands nor ours be at work, and 'tis the
+wicked as shall perish--yes, so 'tis.
+
+MAY.  [Who has been bending forward, looking steadily into the fire.]
+Stop that, Mother, I wants to get at my thoughts.
+
+VASHTI.  Be you a-going to set on I, too, May, now that you be comed
+home.  'Tis poor work for an old woman like I.
+
+MAY.  [As though to herself.]  And as I was laid beneath the hedge--
+"'Tis cold as my limbs is, now," I says, "but I shall be warm this
+night."  And the pangs what was in the body of me did fairly quail I-
+-"'Tis my fill of victuals as I shall soon put within," thinks I.
+And they was laid a bit.  The bleakness of the tempest fell on I, but
+"I shan't feel lonesome no longer than this hour," I telled me.  For
+to my thinking, Steve, he was waiting all the time till I should be
+comed back.  And Dorry, too.  There 'tis.  [A long silence.
+
+MAY.  I'd have been content to bide with the door shut--so long as it
+was shut with they two and me inside the room--th' old woman--well, I
+count I shouldn't have took many thought for she--she could have
+bided in her place if she'd had a mind--I'd have set me down, when
+once my clothes was decent and clean, and put my hands to the work
+and made a tidy wife for Steve, as good nor better than that there
+dressed-up thing out yonder--And bred Dorry up the right way, too, I
+would.  But 'tis done with now, so 'tis.
+
+VASHTI.  [As though to herself.]  And when 'tis morning and she gets
+her down--"There, 'tis my girl as is mistress here, I'll say to her--
+and 'tis my girl as shall sit cup end of the table--and you get you
+to the fire corner and bide there, like the poor old woman as you be,
+spite that you do slip about so spry on the wicked old legs of you."
+
+MAY.  And I could set she back in her place, too, that tricked-up,
+flashy thing over the way.  I've but to climb the stairs and clap my
+hand on Steve--"Get you from your dreams," I have got but to say,
+"the woman what's yourn be comed home.  Her have tasted the cup of
+death, very near, and her have been a-thirst and an hungered.  But
+her has carried summat for you in her heart all the way what you
+wouldn't find in the heart of t'other, no, not if you was to cut it
+open and search it through."  And the right belongs to I to shut the
+door on t'other hussey, holding Steve to I till death divides we.
+
+VASHTI.  Going on the road I seed the eyes of they blinking as I did
+pass by.  "And may the light from out the thunder cloud fall upon
+you," I says to them, "for 'tis a poor old woman as I be what has
+lost her child; and what's that to you if so be as the shoes on her
+feet be broken or no?  'Tis naked as the toes of you shall go, that
+hour when the days of this world shall be rolled by.  Ah, 'tis naked
+and set on the lake of burning fire as the hoofs of you shall run!"
+
+MAY.  I could up and screech so that the house should ring with the
+sound of me, "I be your wife, Steve, comed back after these many
+years.  What's this that you've got doing with another?"  I could
+take hold on him and make him look into the eyes of I, yes, and th'
+old woman, too.  "See here, your 'dirty roadster,' look well on to
+her."  "Why, 'tis May."  But the eyes of him would then be cast so
+that I should see no more than a house what has dead within, and the
+blind pulled down.  And I, what was thinking as there might be a
+light in the window!
+
+VASHTI.  "And you may holler," I says to them, "you may holler till
+you be heard over the face of all the earth, but no one won't take no
+account of you."  And the lies of them which have turned into ropes
+of hempen shall come up and strangle they.  But me and my child shall
+pass by all fatted up and clothed, and with the last flick, afore the
+eyelids of they drop, they shall behold we, and, a-clapping of the
+teeth of them shall they repent them of their sins.  Too late, too
+late!  There 'tis.
+
+MAY.  Too late!  There 'tis, I be comed home too late.
+
+[She rises and takes up her shawl, wrapping it about her shoulders,
+and muttering.
+
+MAY.  But I know a dark place full of water--'Tis Simon's pool they
+calls it--And I warrant as any poor wretch might sleep yonder and be
+in quiet.
+
+VASHTI.  Be you a-going up to Steve now?
+
+MAY.  No, I bain't.  'Tis out from here that I be going.  And back on
+to the road.
+
+VASHTI.  May, my pretty May, you're never going for to leave I,
+what's such a poor old woman and wronged cruel.  You step aloft and
+rouse up Steve.  He'll never have you go upon the roads again once he
+do know as you've comed back.
+
+MAY.  Steve!  What's it to Steve whether the like of I do go or bide?
+What be there in I for to quell the love of she which Steve's got in
+him?  Dead leaves for new.  Ditch water for the clear spring.
+
+VASHTI.  Give him to drink of it, May.
+
+MAY.  [Looking upwards to the ceiling.]  No, Steve.  Hark you here.
+I bain't a-going to do it.  I bain't going to knock over the spoonful
+of sweet what you be carrying to your mouth.  You take and eat of it
+in quiet and get you filled with the honey.  'Tain't my way to snatch
+from no one so that the emptiness which I has in me shall be fed.
+There, 'tis finished now, very nigh, and the sharpness done.  And,
+don't you fear, Steve, as ever I'll trouble you no more.
+
+VASHTI.  [Rising.]  I be a-going to fetch him down, and that's what
+I'm a-going for to do.
+
+MAY.  [Pushing her back into her chair.]  Harken you, Steve, he's
+never got to know as I've been here.
+
+VASHTI.  I tell you, May, I'll screech till he do come!
+
+MAY.  [Sitting down by VASHTI and laying her hand on her.]  I'll put
+summat in your mouth as'll stop you if you start screeching, mother.
+Why, hark you here.  'Tis enough of this old place as I've had this
+night, and 'tis out upon the roads as I be going.  Th' old woman--
+there's naught much changed in she--And Steve--well, Steve be
+wonderful hard in the soul of him.  "Can I get you an old sack," says
+he--and never so much as seed 'twas I--Ah--'tis more than enough to
+turn the stomach in anyone--that it is.  [A slight pause.
+
+MAY.  I was never a meek one as could bide at the fireside for long.
+The four walls of this here room have very near done for me now, so
+they have.  And 'tis the air blowing free upon the road as I craves--
+Ah, and the wind which hollers, so that the cries of we be less nor
+they of lambs new born.
+
+VASHTI.  God bless you, May, and if you goes beyond the door 'tis the
+mealy-faced jade will get in come morning, for Steve to wed.
+
+MAY.  So 'tis.  And if I stopped 'twould be the same, her'd be
+between us always, the pretty cage bird--For look you here on I,
+Mother, and here--[pointing to her feet]--and here--and here--See
+what's been done to I what's knocked about in the world along the
+roads, and then think if I be such a one as might hold the love of
+Steve.
+
+VASHTI.  [Beginning to whine desolately.]  O, do not you go for to
+leave your old mammy again what has mourned you as if you was dead
+all the years.  Do not you go for to leave I and the wicked around of
+I as might be the venomous beasts in the grass.  Stop with I, my
+pretty child--Stop along of your old mother, for the days of I be few
+and numbered, and the enemies be thick upon the land.
+
+MAY.  Hark you here, Mother, and keep your screeching till another
+time.  I wants to slip out quiet so as Steve and th' old woman won't
+never know as I've been nigh.  And if you keeps your mouth shut,
+maybe I'll drop in at our own place on the hill one of these days and
+bide comfortable along of you, only now--I'm off, do you hear?
+
+VASHTI.  I can't abide for you to go.  'Tis more nor I can stand.
+Why, if you goes, May, 'tis t'other wench and th' old woman what'll
+get mistressing it here again in your place.  [Rising up.]  No--you
+shan't go.  I'll holler till I've waked them every one--you shan't!
+My only child, my pretty May!  Ah, 'tis not likely as you shall slip
+off again.  'Tis not.
+
+MAY.  Look you here, Mother--bide still, I say.  [Looking round the
+room distractedly.]  See here--'tis rare dry as I be.  You bide quiet
+and us'll have a drink together, that us will.  Look, th' old woman's
+forgot to put away the bottle, us'll wet our mouths nice and quiet,
+mother--she won't hear I taking out the cork, nor nothing.  See!
+
+[MAY gets up and crosses the room; she takes the bottle off the shelf
+where she has just perceived it, and also two glasses; she fills one
+and hands it to her mother.
+
+VASHTI.  [Stretching out her hand.]  'Tis rare dry and parched as I
+be, now I comes to think on it, May.
+
+MAY.  That's right--drink your fill, Mother.
+
+VASHTI.  'Tis pleasant for I to see you mistressing it here again,
+May.
+
+MAY.  Ah, 'tis my own drink and all, come to that.
+
+VASHTI.  So 'tis.  And the tea what she gived me was but ditch water.
+I seed her spoon it in the pot, and 'twas not above a half spoon as
+her did put in for I, th' old badger.  My eye was on she, though, and
+her'll have it cast up at she when the last day shall come and the
+trumpet sound and all flesh stand quailing, and me and mine looking
+on at her as is brought to judgment.  How will it be then, you old
+sinner, says I.
+
+MAY.  [Re-filling the glass.]  Take and drink this little drop more,
+mother.
+
+[VASHTI drinks and then leans back in her chair again with half
+closed eyes.
+
+MAY.  [Putting away the bottle and glasses.]  Her'll sleep very like,
+now.  And when her wakes, I take it 'twill appear as though she'd
+been and dreamt summat.
+
+VASHTI.  Do you sit a-nigh me, May.  The night be a wild one.  I
+would not have you be on the roads.
+
+MAY.  [Sitting down beside her.]  O, the roads be fine on nights when
+the tempest moves in the trees above and the rain falls into the
+mouth of you and lies with a good taste on your tongue.  And you goes
+quick on through it till you comes to where the lights do blink, and
+'tis a large town and there be folk moving this way and that and the
+music playing, and great fowls and horses what's got clocks to the
+inside of they, a-stirring them up for to run, and girls and men a-
+riding on them--And the booths with red sugar and white, all lit and
+animals that's wild a-roaring and a-biting in the tents--And girls
+what's dancing, standing there in satin gowns all over gold and
+silver--And you walks to and fro in it all and 'tis good to be there
+and free--And 'tis better to be in such places and to come and to go
+where you have a mind than to be cooped in here, with th' old woman
+and all--'Tis a fine life as you lives on the roads--and 'tis a
+better one nor this, I can tell you, Mother.
+
+VASHTI.  [Who has gradually been falling into sleep.]  I count 'tis
+so.  'Tis prime in the freshening of the day.  I count I'll go along
+of you, come morning.
+
+MAY.  That's it, Mother, that's it.  Us'll take a bit of sleep afore
+we sets off, won't us?  And when morning comes, us'll open the door
+and go out.
+
+VASHTI.  That's it, when 'tis day.
+
+[Her head falls to one side of the chair and she is presently asleep.
+
+[MAY watches her for some moments.  Then she gets up softly and wraps
+her shawl round her.  The window shews signs of a gray light outside,
+MAY goes quietly towards the outer door.  As she reaches it, DORRY
+comes into the room from the staircase.
+
+DORRY.  [Going up to VASHTI.]  Granny, 'tis the New Year!  I'm come
+down to see to the fire and to get breakfast for Dad and Gran'ma.
+Why, Granny, you're sleeping still.  And where's that poor tramp gone
+off to?  [She looks round the room and then sees MAY by the door.
+
+DORRY.  O, there you are.  Are you going out on the road afore 'tis
+got light?
+
+MAY.  [In a hoarse whisper.]  And that I be.  'Tis very nigh to
+daybreak, so 'tis.
+
+DORRY.  Stop a moment.  [Calling up the stairs.]  Daddy, the tramp
+woman, she's moving off already.
+
+STEVE.  [From upstairs.]  Then give her a bit of bread to take along
+of she.  I don't care that anyone should go an-hungered this day.
+
+DORRY.  [Turning to MAY.]  There--you bide a minute whilst I cuts the
+loaf.  My Dad's going to get married this day, and he don't care that
+anyone should go hungry.
+
+[MAY comes slowly back into the room and stands watching DORRY, who
+fetches a loaf from the pantry and cuts it at the table.  Then she
+pulls aside the curtain and a dim light comes in.
+
+DORRY.  The snow's very nigh gone, and 'tis like as not as the sun
+may come out presently.  Here's a piece of bread to take along of
+you.  There, it's a good big piece, take and eat it.
+
+[MAY hesitates an instant, then she stretches out her hand and takes
+the bread and puts it beneath her shawl.
+
+MAY.  And so there's going to be a wedding here to-day?
+
+DORRY.  'Tis my Dad as is to be married.
+
+MAY.  'Tis poor work, is twice marrying.
+
+DORRY.  My Dad's ever so pleased, I han't seen him so pleased as I
+can remember.  I han't.
+
+MAY.  Then maybe the second choosing be the best.
+
+DORRY.  Yes, 'tis--Gran'ma says as 'tis--and Dad, he be ever so fond
+of Miss Sims--and I be, too.
+
+MAY.  Then you've no call to wish as her who's gone should come back
+to you, like?
+
+DORRY.  What's that you're saying?
+
+MAY.  You don't never want as your mammy what you've lost should be
+amongst you as afore?
+
+DORRY.  I never knowed my mammy.  Gran'ma says she had got summat bad
+in her blood.  And Granny's got the same.  But Miss Sims, she's ever
+so nice to Dad and me, and I'm real pleased as she's coming to stop
+along of us always after that they're married, like.
+
+MAY.  And th' old woman what's your gran'ma, Dorry?
+
+DORRY.  However did you know as I was called "Dorry"?
+
+MAY.  I heard them call you so last night.
+
+DORRY.  And whatever do you want to know about Gran'ma?
+
+MAY.  What have her got to say 'bout the--the--wench what's going to
+marry your dad?
+
+DORRY.  O, Gran'ma, she thinks ever such a lot of Miss Sims, and she
+says as how poor Dad, what's been served so bad, will find out soon
+what 'tis to have a real decent wife, what'll help with the work and
+all, and what won't lower him by her ways, nor nothing.
+
+MAY.  Look you here--'tis growing day.  I must be getting off and on
+to the road.
+
+DORRY.  [Moving to the door.]  I'll unbolt the door, then.  O, 'tis
+fine and daylight now.
+
+MAY.  [Turning back at the doorway and looking at the room.]  I
+suppose you wouldn't like to touch me, for good luck, Dorry?
+
+DORRY.  No, I shouldn't.  Gran'ma, she don't let me go nigh road
+people as a rule.  She's a-feared as I should take summat from them,
+I suppose.
+
+MAY.  [Hoarsely, her hand on the door.]  Then just say as you wishes
+me well, Dorry.
+
+DORRY.  I'll wish you a good New Year, then, and Gran'ma said as I
+was to watch as you cleared off the place.  [MAY goes out softly and
+quickly.  DORRY watches her until she is out of sight, and then she
+shuts the door.
+
+
+
+ACT III.--Scene 1.
+
+
+
+The same room.  It is nearly mid-day, and the room is full of
+sunshine.  JANE BROWNING, in her best dress, is fastening DORRY'S
+frock, close to the window.
+
+DORRY.  Dad's been a rare long time a-cleaning of his self up, Gran.
+
+JANE.  Will you bide still!  However's this frock to get fastened and
+you moving this way and that like some live eel--and just see what a
+mark you've made on the elbow last night, putting your arm down
+somewhere where you didn't ought to--I might just as well have never
+washed the thing.
+
+DORRY.  Granny's sound asleep still--she'll have to be waked time we
+goes along to the church.
+
+JANE.  That her shan't be.  Her shall just bide and sleep the drink
+out of her, her shall.  Do you think as I didn't find out who 'twas
+what had got at the bottle as Dad left on the dresser last night.
+
+DORRY.  Poor Gran, she do take a drop now and then.
+
+JANE.  Shame on th' old gipsy.  Her shall be left to bide till she
+have slept off some of the nonsense which is in her.
+
+DORRY.  Granny do say a lot of funny things sometimes, don't she,
+now?
+
+JANE.  You get and put on your hat and button your gloves, and let
+the old gipsy be.  We can send her off home when 'tis afternoon, and
+us back from church.  Now, where did I lay that bonnet?  Here 'tis.
+
+[She begins to tie the strings before a small mirror in the wall.
+STEVE comes downstairs in his shirt sleeves, carrying his coat.
+
+DORRY.  Why, Dad, you do look rare pleased at summat.
+
+STEVE.  And when's a man to look pleased if 'tis not on his wedding
+morn, Dorry?
+
+DORRY.  The tramp what was here did say as how 'twas poor work twice
+marrying, but you don't find it be so, Dad, do you now?
+
+STEVE.  And that I don't, my little wench.  'Tis as nigh heaven as I
+be like to touch--and that's how 'tis with me.
+
+JANE.  [Taking STEVE'S coat from him.]  Ah, 'tis a different set out
+altogether this time.  That 'tis.  'Tis a-marrying into your own
+rank, like, and no mixing up with they trolloping gipsies.
+
+DORRY.  Was my own mammy a trolloping gipsy, Gran?
+
+JANE.  [Beginning to brush STEVE'S coat.]  Ah, much in the same
+pattern as th' old woman what's drunk asleep against the fireside.
+Here, button up them gloves, 'tis time we was off.
+
+DORRY.  I do like Miss Sims.  She do have nice things on her.  When I
+grows up I'd like to look as she do, so I would.
+
+STEVE.  [To JANE.]  There, Mother, that'll do.  I'd best put him on
+now.
+
+JANE.  [Holding out the coat for him.]  Well, and you be got yourself
+up rare smart, Steve.
+
+STEVE.  'Tis rare smart as I be feeling, Mother.  I'm all a kind of a
+dazzle within of me, same as 'tis with the sun upon the snow out
+yonder.
+
+JANE.  Why, look you, there's George a-coming up the path already.
+
+DORRY.  He's wearing of the flower what Rosie gived him last night.
+
+STEVE.  [Opening the door.]  Good morning, George.  A first class New
+Year to you.  You're welcome, if ever a man was.
+
+JANE.  You bide where you do stand, George, till your feet is dry.
+My floor was fresh wiped over this morning.
+
+GEORGE.  [Standing on the door mat.]  All right, Mrs. Browning.
+Don't you fluster.  Good morning, Dorry.  How be you to-day, Steve?
+
+JANE.  Dorry, come you upstairs along with me and get your coat put
+on, so as your frock bain't crushed.
+
+DORRY.  O, I wish I could go so that my nice frock was seen and no
+coat.
+
+[They go upstairs.  GEORGE rubs his feet on the mat and comes into
+the room, walking up and down once or twice restlessly and in evident
+distress of mind.
+
+STEVE.  [Who has lit a pipe and is smoking.]  Why, George, be you out
+of sorts this morning?  You don't look up to much, and that's the
+truth.
+
+GEORGE.  [Stopping before STEVE.]  Hark you, Steve.  'Tis on my mind
+to ask summat of you.  Did you have much speech with the poor thing
+what you took in from the snow last night?
+
+STEVE.  No, George, and that I didn't.  Her was mostly in a kind of
+drunken sleep all the time, and naught to be got out from she.
+Mother, her tried.  But 'twas like trying to get water from the pump
+yonder, when 'tis froze.
+
+GEORGE.  Your mother's a poor one at melting ice, Steve, and 'tis
+what we all knows.
+
+STEVE.  Ah, 'twasn't much as we could do for the likes of she--what
+was a regular roadster.  Bad herbs, all of them.  And if it hadn't
+been so as 'twas my wedding eve, this one shouldn't have set foot
+inside of the house.  But 'tis a season when a man's took a bit soft
+and foolish, like, the night afore his marriage.  Bain't that so,
+George?
+
+GEORGE.  And when was it, Steve, as she went off from here?
+
+STEVE.  That I couldn't rightly say, George, but I counts 'twas just
+upon daybreak.  And 'twas Dorry what seed her off the place and gived
+her a piece of bread to take along of her.
+
+GEORGE.  And do you think as she got talking a lot to Dorry, Steve?
+
+STEVE.  I'm blest if I do know, George.  I never gived another
+thought to she.  What's up?
+
+GEORGE.  They was getting the body of her from out of Simon's Pool as
+I did come by.  That's all.
+
+STEVE.  From Simon's Pool, George?
+
+GEORGE.  I count her must have went across the plank afore 'twas
+fairly daylight.  And, being slippery, like, from the snow, and her--
+her--as you did say.
+
+STEVE.  In liquor.
+
+GEORGE.  I reckon as her missed her footing, like.
+
+STEVE.  Well, upon my word, George, who'd have thought on such a
+thing!
+
+GEORGE.  I count as her had been in the water and below the ice a
+smartish while afore they catched sight of she.
+
+STEVE.  Well, 'tis a cold finish to a hot life.
+
+GEORGE.  They took and laid her on the grass, Steve, as I comed by.
+
+STEVE.  If it had been me, I'd have turned the head of me t'other
+side.
+
+GEORGE.  There was summat in the fashion her was laid, Steve, as
+drawed I near for to get a sight of the face of she.
+
+STEVE.  Well, I shouldn't have much cared for that, George.
+
+GEORGE.  Steve--did you get a look into the eyes of yon poor thing
+last night?
+
+STEVE.  No, nor wanted for to, neither.
+
+GEORGE.  There was naught to make you think of -
+
+STEVE.  Of what, George?
+
+GEORGE.  There--Steve, I can't get it out, I can't.
+
+STEVE.  Then let it bide in.
+
+GEORGE.  'Twas the way her was laid, and the long arms of she, and
+the hands which was clapped one on t'other, as it might be in church.
+
+STEVE.  [Looking through the window.]  You shut up, George.  Here's
+Annie with Rose a-coming up to the door.  Don't you get saying
+another word about yon poor wretch nor the end of her.  I wouldn't
+have my Annie upset for all the world to-day.  'Tis a thing as must
+not be spoke of afore they, nor Dorry neither, do you hear?
+
+[He moves towards the door and puts his hand to the latch.
+
+GEORGE.  Hold back, Steve, a minute.  There's summat more as I've got
+to say.
+
+STEVE.  You take and shut your mouth up, old George, afore I opens
+the door to the girls.
+
+GEORGE.  'Tis bound for to come from me afore you goes along to
+church, Steve.
+
+STEVE.  I warrant 'twill keep till us do come home again, George.
+
+[He throws the door wide open with a joyous movement.  ANNIE and ROSE
+in white dresses stand outside.
+
+STEVE.  Well, Annie, this is a rare surprise, and that's the truth.
+[ANNIE and ROSE come into the room.
+
+ROSE.  Father, he's outside, and Jim and Bill and Katie, and all the
+rest.  We said as 'twould be pleasanter if we was all to go up
+together along to the church.
+
+STEVE.  So 'twould be--so 'twould be--'Twas a grand thought of yourn,
+Rosie.
+
+ANNIE.  Steve -
+
+STEVE.  [Taking her hand.]  Annie, I'm fair beside myself this day.
+
+ANNIE.  O, Steve, there was never a day in my life like this one.
+[DORRY and JANE come down.
+
+DORRY.  O, Miss Sims, you do look nice!  Gran'ma, don't Miss Sims
+look nice?  And Rosie, too.  O, they have nice gowns and hats on,
+haven't they, Dad?
+
+STEVE.  I don't see no gowns nor hats, and that's the truth.  But I
+sees summat what's like--what's like a meadow of grass in springtime
+afore the sun's got on to it.
+
+DORRY.  Why, Dad, 'tis white, not green, as Miss Sims is wearing.
+
+STEVE.  'Tis in the eyes of her as I finds my meadow.
+
+DORRY.  O, let me see, Dad, let me look, too!
+
+ROSE.  [Going up to GEORGE, who has been standing aloof and moody in
+the background.]  Come, Mr. Davis, we must have a look, too.
+
+JANE.  'Get along, get along.  We han't time for such foolishness.
+It be close on twelve already.
+
+ANNIE.  O, let me be, all of you!  I declare, I don't know which way
+to look, I don't.
+
+STEVE.  I'll show you, Annie, then.
+
+ROSE.  [To GEORGE.]  Well, Mr. Davis, you don't seem over bright this
+morning.
+
+STEVE.  'Tis with the nerves as he be took!
+
+DORRY.  Look at what he's wearing in his buttonhole, Rosie.
+
+ROSE.  'Tis kept beautiful and fresh.
+
+STEVE.  Come on, come on, all of you.  'Tis time we was at the
+church.
+
+ROSE.  Hark to him!  He's in a rare hurry for to get out of the house
+to-day.
+
+GEORGE.  Bain't the old lady a-coming?
+
+JANE.  That she bain't, the old drinking gipsy--'tis at the spirits
+as her got in the night--and put away very near the best part of a
+bottle.  Now she's best left to sleep it off, she be.
+
+STEVE.  Come on, George.  Come, Dorry.
+
+DORRY.  O, isn't it a pity as Granny will get at the drink, Mr.
+Davis?  And isn't Miss Sims nice in her white dress?  And don't Dad
+look smiling and pleased?  I never did know Dad smile like this
+afore.
+
+GEORGE.  [Heavily.]  Come on, Dorry--you take hold of me.  You and
+me, we'll keep nigh one to t'other this day, won't us?
+
+ROSE.  [Calling from outside.]  Come on, Mr. Davis.
+
+[They all go out.
+
+
+
+ACT III.--Scene 2.
+
+
+
+Nearly an hour later.  The cottage room is full of sunlight.
+
+VASHTI REED is awake and gazing vacantly about her from the same
+chair by the fire.  Someone knocks repeatedly at the door from
+outside.
+
+VASHTI.  And 'tis no bit of rest as I gets for my bones, but they
+must come and hustle I and call I from the dreams which was soft.
+[The knocking is heard again.
+
+VASHTI.  And I up and says to they, "Ah, and you would hustle a poor
+old woman what's never harmed so much as a hair out of the ugly heads
+of you.  You would hunt and drive of her till she be very nigh done
+to death.  But there shall come a day when you shall be laid down and
+a-taking of your bit of rest, and the thing what you knows of shall
+get up upon you and smite you till you do go screeching from the
+house, and fleeing to the uttermost part of the land--whilst me and
+mine -
+
+[The door opens and HARRY MOSS enters.
+
+HARRY.  Beg pardon, old Missis, but I couldn't make no one hear me.
+
+VASHTI.  Seeing as them be sick of the abomination which was inside
+of they.  [Perceiving HARRY.]  Well, and what be you as is comed into
+this room?
+
+HARRY.  'Tis Moss as I be called, old Missis.  And as I was a-going
+by this place, I thought as I'd look in a moment, just for to ask how
+'twas with May.
+
+VASHTI.  They be all gone out from the house.  All of them.  They be
+in clothes what do lie in boxes most of the time with lumps of white
+among they.  Them be set out in the best as they has, and in grand
+things of many colours.  There 'tis.
+
+HARRY.  And be you th' old lady what's Steve's mother?
+
+VASHTI.  I be not, sir.  'Tis mother to May as I be.  May, what's
+comed back, and what'll set t'other old vixen in her place soon as
+they get home.
+
+HARRY.  Then May, she be gone out, too, have her?
+
+VASHTI.  [Looking round vaguely.]  Ah, I counts as her be gone to
+church along of t'other.
+
+HARRY.  To church, Missis?
+
+VASHTI.  There's marrying being done down here to-day.
+
+HARRY.  Marrying, be there?  Well, but I was 'most feared as how it
+might have been t'other thing.
+
+VASHTI.  Ah, that there be--marrying.  But there bain't no more
+victuals got into the house as I knows of.  Th' old woman's seen to
+that.
+
+HARRY.  And be May gone out, too, along of them to see the marrying?
+
+VASHTI.  Ah, I counts as her be.  But her's a-coming back in a little
+while, and you may sit down and bide till she does.
+
+HARRY.  I'd sooner be about and on my way, Missis, if 'tis all the
+same to you.  But I thanks you kindly.  And you get and tell May when
+she do come home, that 'tis particular glad I be for to know as her
+bain't took worse, nor nothing.  And should I happen in these parts
+again, 'tis very likely as I'll take a look in on she some day.
+
+VASHTI.  Ah, her'll have got t'other old baggage set in the right
+place by then.
+
+HARRY.  [Looking round him.]  Well, I be rare pleased to think of May
+so comfortable, like, for her was got down terrible low.
+
+VASHTI.  T'other'll be broughted lower.
+
+HARRY.  Look you here, old Missis, 'tis a stomach full of naught as I
+carries.  If so be as you has a crust to spare -
+
+VASHTI.  [Pointing to a door.]  There be a plate of meat inside of
+that cupboard.  You take and fill your belly with it.
+
+HARRY.  Thank you kindly, Missis, but I counts I han't the time for
+heavy feeding this morning.
+
+VASHTI.  'Twould serve she right, th' old sinner, for the place to be
+licked up clean, against the time when her was come'd back, so
+'twould.
+
+HARRY.  Well, Missis, you can tell May 'tis a brave New Year as I do
+wish she.
+
+VASHTI.  [Listening to bells which are heard suddenly ringing.]
+There, there they be!  Harken to them!  'Tis with bells as they be
+coming out.  Bells what's ringing.  I count 'tis fine as May do look
+now in her marriage gown.  Harken, 'tis the bells a-shaking of the
+window pane.  I be an old woman, but the hearing of me bain't
+spoiled.
+
+HARRY.  I warrant it bain't, Missis.  Why, they're ringing wonderful
+smart.  'Tis enough, upon my word, for to fetch down every stone of
+the old place.
+
+VASHTI.  Get you out upon the garden path and tell I if you sees them
+a-coming.
+
+HARRY.  That's it, old Missis, and so I will.
+
+[He goes outside the house.
+
+VASHTI.  [Sitting upright and looking with fixed vacancy before her.]
+And when they was all laid low and the heads of them bowed.  "You
+would, would you," I says, for they was lifting the ends of their
+ugly mouths at I.  And I passed among they and them did quail and
+crouch, being with fear.  And me and mine did reach the place what
+was on the top.  "See now yourselves," I says, "if so be that you do
+not go in blindness and in dark."  'Twas May what stood there aside
+of I.  And "Look you," I says, "over the bended necks of you my child
+shall pass.  For you be done to death by the lies which growed within
+you and waxed till the bodies of you was fed with them and the poison
+did gush out from your lips."  But my little child stood in the
+light, and the hands of her was about the stars.
+
+HARRY.  [Coming in.]  Look, they be all a-coming over the meadow, old
+Missis.  But May han't comed with they--May han't come too.
+
+[The wedding party enters the room as the curtain falls.]
+
+
+Footnotes:
+
+{1}  "As I walked Out."  From Folk Songs from Essex collected by R.
+Vaughan Williams.   The whole, or two verses can be sung.
+
+{2}  "The Seeds of Love," "Folk Songs from Somerset," edited by Cecil
+J. Sharp and Charles L. Marsden.
+
+
+
+
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+<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01//EN">
+<html>
+<head>
+<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII">
+<title>Six Plays</title>
+</head>
+<body>
+<h2>
+<a href="#startoftext">Six Plays, by Florence Henrietta Darwin</a>
+</h2>
+<pre>
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Six Plays, by Florence Henrietta Darwin
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+*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****
+
+
+Title: Six Plays
+
+Author: Florence Henrietta Darwin
+
+Release Date: May, 2004  [EBook #5618]
+[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
+[This file was first posted on July 23, 2002]
+
+Edition: 10
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+</pre>
+<p>
+<a name="startoftext"></a>
+Transcribed from the 1921 W. Heffer &amp; Sons edition by David Price,
+email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+SIX PLAYS BY FLORENCE HENRIETTA DARWIN<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+Contents:<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The Lovers&rsquo; Tasks<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Bushes and Briars<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;My man John<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Princess Royal<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The Seeds of Love<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The New Year<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+THE LOVERS&rsquo; TASKS<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHARACTERS<br>
+<br>
+FARMER DANIEL,<br>
+ELIZABETH, <i>his wife.<br>
+</i>MILLIE, <i>her daughter.<br>
+</i>ANNET, <i>his niece.<br>
+</i>MAY, <i>Annet</i>&rsquo;<i>s sister</i>,<i> aged ten.<br>
+</i>GILES, <i>their brother.<br>
+</i>ANDREW, <i>a rich young farmer.<br>
+</i>GEORGE, JOHN <i>servants to Giles.<br>
+<br>
+</i>AN OLD MAN.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+ACT I. - Scene 1.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<i>The parlour at Camel Farm.<br>
+<br>
+Time</i>:<i> An afternoon in May.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ELIZABETH <i>is sewing by the table with </i>ANNET.&nbsp; <i>At
+the open doorway </i>MAY <i>is polishing a bright mug.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ELIZABETH.&nbsp; [<i>Looking up</i>.]&nbsp; There&rsquo;s Uncle,
+back from the Fair.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; [<i>Looking out of the door</i>.]&nbsp; O Uncle&rsquo;s got
+some rare big packets in his arms, he has.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; Put down that mug afore you damage it, May; and, Annet,
+do you go and help your uncle in.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; [<i>Setting down the mug</i>.]&nbsp; O let me go along of
+her too - [ANNET <i>rises and goes to the door followed by </i>MAY,
+<i>who has dropped her polishing leather upon the ground.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ELIZABETH.&nbsp; [<i>Picking it up and speaking to herself in exasperation</i>.]&nbsp;
+If ever there was a careless little wench, &rsquo;tis she.&nbsp; I never
+did hold with the bringing up of other folks children and if I&rsquo;d
+had my way, &rsquo;tis to the poor-house they&rsquo;d have went, instead
+of coming here where I&rsquo;ve enough to do with my own.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>The </i>FARMER <i>comes in followed by </i>ANNET <i>and </i>MAY
+<i>carrying large parcels.<br>
+<br>
+</i>DANIEL.&nbsp; Well Mother, I count I&rsquo;m back a smartish bit
+sooner nor what you did expect.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m not one that can be taken by surprise, Dan.&nbsp;
+May, lay that parcel on the table at once, and put away your uncle&rsquo;s
+hat and overcoat.<br>
+<br>
+DAN.&nbsp; Nay, the overcoat&rsquo;s too heavy for the little maid -
+I&rsquo;ll hang it up myself.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>He takes off his coat and goes out into the passage to hang it up</i>.&nbsp;
+<i>May runs after him with his hat.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ANNET.&nbsp; I do want to know what&rsquo;s in all those great packets,
+Aunt.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; I daresay you&rsquo;ll be told all in good season.&nbsp;
+Here, take up and get on with that sewing, I dislike to see young people
+idling away their time.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>The </i>FARMER <i>and </i>MAY <i>come back.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MAY.&nbsp; And now, untie the packets quickly, uncle.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; [<i>Sinking into a big chair</i>.]&nbsp; Not so fast,
+my little maid, not so fast - &rsquo;tis a powerful long distance as
+I have journeyed this day, and &rsquo;tis wonderful warm for the time
+of year.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t hold with drinking nor with taking bites
+atween meals, but as your uncle has come a good distance, and the day
+is warm, you make take the key of the pantry, Annet, and draw a glass
+of cider for him.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She takes the key from her pocket and hands it to </i>ANNET, <i>who
+goes out.<br>
+<br>
+</i>DANIEL.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s it, Mother - that&rsquo;s it.&nbsp; And
+when I&rsquo;ve wetted my mouth a bit I&rsquo;ll be able the better
+to tell you all about how &rsquo;twas over there.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; O I&rsquo;d dearly like to go to a Fair, I would.&nbsp; You
+always said that you&rsquo;d take me the next time you went, Uncle.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Ah and so I did, but when I comed to think it over, Fairs
+baint the place for little maids, I says to mother here - and no, that
+they baint, she answers back.&nbsp; But we&rsquo;ll see how &rsquo;tis
+when you be growed a bit older, like.&nbsp; Us&rsquo;ll see how &rsquo;twill
+be then, won&rsquo;t us Mother?<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; I wouldn&rsquo;t encourage the child in her nonsense,
+if I was you, Dan.&nbsp; She&rsquo;s old enough to know better than
+to ask to be taken to such places.&nbsp; Why in all my days I never
+set my foot within a fair, pleasure or business, nor wanted to, either.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; And never rode on the pretty wood horses, Aunt, all spotted
+and with scarlet bridles to them?<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; Certainly not.&nbsp; I wonder at your asking such a
+question, May.&nbsp; But you do say some very unsuitable things for
+a little child of your age.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; And did you get astride of the pretty horses at the Fair,
+Uncle?<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Nay, nay, - they horses be set in the pleasure part of
+the Fair, and where I goes &rsquo;tis all for doing business like.<br>
+<br>
+[ANNET <i>comes back with the glass of cider</i>.&nbsp; DANIEL <i>takes
+it from her.<br>
+<br>
+</i>DANIEL.&nbsp; [<i>Drinking</i>.]&nbsp; You might as well have brought
+the jug, my girl.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; No, Father, &rsquo;twill spoil your next meal as it
+is.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>The girls sit down at the table</i>,<i> taking up their work.<br>
+<br>
+</i>DANIEL.&nbsp; [<i>Putting down his glass</i>.]&nbsp; But, bless
+my soul, yon was a Fair in a hundred.&nbsp; That her was.<br>
+<br>
+BOTH GIRLS.&nbsp; O do tell us of all that you did see there, Uncle.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; There was a cow - well, &rsquo;tis a smartish lot of cows
+as I&rsquo;ve seen in my time, but this one, why, the King haven&rsquo;t
+got the match to she in all his great palace, and that&rsquo;s the truth,
+so &rsquo;tis.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; O don &rsquo;t tell us about the cows, Uncle, we want to
+know about all the other things.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; The shows of acting folk, and the wild animals, and the nice
+sweets.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; They don&rsquo;t want to hear about anything sensible,
+Dan.&nbsp; They&rsquo;re like all the maids now, with their thoughts
+set on pleasuring and foolishness.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Ah, the maids was different in our day, wasn&rsquo;t they
+Mother?<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; And that they were.&nbsp; Why, when I was your age,
+Annet, I should have been ashamed if I couldn&rsquo;t have held my own
+in any proper or suitable conversation.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Ah, you was a rare sensible maid in your day, Mother.&nbsp;
+Do you mind when you comed along of me to Kingham sale?&nbsp; &ldquo;You&rsquo;re
+never going to buy an animal with all that white to it, Dan, you says
+to me.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; Ah - I recollect.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; &ldquo;&rsquo;Tis true her has a whitish leg,&rdquo; I
+says, &ldquo;but so have I, and so have you, Mother - and who&rsquo;s
+to think the worse on we for that?&rdquo;&nbsp; Ah, I could always bring
+you round to look at things quiet and reasonable in those days - that
+I could.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; And a good thing if there were others of the same pattern
+now, I&rsquo;m thinking.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; So &rsquo;twould be - so &rsquo;twould be.&nbsp; But times
+do bring changes in the forms of the cattle and I count &rsquo;tis the
+same with the womenfolk.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis one thing this year and &rsquo;tis
+t&rsquo;other in the next.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; Do tell us more of what you did see at the Fair, Uncle.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; There was a ram.&nbsp; My word! but the four feet of he
+did cover a good two yards of ground; just as it might be, standing.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; Come, Father.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; And the horns upon the head of he did reach out very nigh
+as far as might do the sails of one of they old wind-mills.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; O Uncle, and how was it with the wool of him?<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; The wool, my wench, did stand a good three foot from all
+around of the animal.&nbsp; You might have set a hen with her eggs on
+top of it - and that you might.&nbsp; And now I comes to recollect how
+&rsquo;twas, you could have set a hen one side of the wool and a turkey
+t&rsquo;other.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; O Uncle, that must have been a beautiful animal!&nbsp; And
+what was the tail of it?<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; The tail, my little maid?&nbsp; Why &rsquo;twas longer
+nor my arm and as thick again - &rsquo;twould have served as a bell
+rope to the great bell yonder in Gloucester church - and so &rsquo;twould.&nbsp;
+Ah, &rsquo;twas sommat like a tail, I reckon, yon.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; Come, Father, such talk is hardly suited to little
+girls, who should know better than to ask so many teasing questions.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tisn&rsquo;t only May, Aunt, I do love to hear what
+uncle tells, when he has been out for a day or two.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; And did you have company on the way home, Father?<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; That I did.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas along of young Andrew as
+I did come back.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; Along of Andrew?&nbsp; Girls, you may now go outside
+into the garden for a while.&nbsp; Yes, put aside your work.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; Can&rsquo;t we stop till the packets are opened?<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; You heard what I said?&nbsp; Go off into the garden,
+and stop there till I send for you.&nbsp; And take uncle&rsquo;s glass
+and wash it at the spout as you go.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; [<i>Taking the glass</i>.]&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll wash it, Aunt.&nbsp;
+Come May, you see aunt doesn&rsquo;t want us any longer.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; Now they&rsquo;re going to talk secrets together.&nbsp; O
+I should dearly love to hear the secrets of grown-up people.&nbsp; [ANNET
+<i>and </i>MAY <i>go out together.<br>
+<br>
+</i>DANIEL.&nbsp; Annet be got a fine big wench, upon my word.&nbsp;
+Now haven&rsquo;t her, Mother?<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; She&rsquo;s got old enough to be put to service, and
+if I&rsquo;d have had my way, &rsquo;tis to service she&rsquo;d have
+gone this long time since, and that it is.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twould be poor work putting one of dead sister&rsquo;s
+wenches out to service, so long as us have a roof over the heads of
+we and plenty to eat on the table.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; Well, you must please yourself about it Father, as
+you do most times.&nbsp; But &rsquo;tis uncertain work taking up with
+other folks children as I told you from the first.&nbsp; See what a
+lot of trouble you and me have had along of Giles.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Giles be safe enough in them foreign parts where I did
+send him.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ve no need to trouble your head about he,
+Mother - unless &rsquo;tis a letter as he may have got sending to Mill.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; No, Father, Giles has never sent a letter since the
+day he left home.&nbsp; But very often there is no need for letters
+to keep remembrance green.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis a plant what thrives best
+on a soil that is bare.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Well, Mother, and what be you a-driving at?&nbsp; I warrant
+as Mill have got over them notions as she did have once.&nbsp; And,
+look you here, &rsquo;twas with young Andrew as I did journey back from
+the Fair.&nbsp; And he be a-coming up presently for to get his answer.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; All I say is that I hope he may get it then.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Ah, I reckon as &rsquo;tis rare put about as he have been
+all this long while, and never a downright &ldquo;yes&rdquo; to what
+he do ask.<br>
+<br>
+[MAY <i>comes softly in and hides behind the door</i>.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; Well, that&rsquo;s not my fault, Father.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; But her&rsquo;ll have to change her note this day, that
+her&rsquo;ll have.&nbsp; For I&rsquo;ve spoke for she, and &rsquo;tis
+for next month as I&rsquo;ve pitched the wedding day.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; And you may pitch, Father.&nbsp; You may lead the mare
+down to the pond, but she&rsquo;ll not drink if she hasn&rsquo;t the
+mind to.&nbsp; You know what Millie is.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tisn&rsquo;t from
+my side that she gets it either.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; And &rsquo;tain&rsquo;t from me.&nbsp; I be all for easy
+going and each one to his self like.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; Yes, there you are, Father.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; But I reckon as the little maid will hearken to what I
+says.&nbsp; Her was always a wonderful good little maid to her dad.&nbsp;
+And her did always know, that when her dad did set his foot down, well,
+there &rsquo;twas.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas down.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; Well, if you think you can shew her that, Father, &rsquo;tis
+a fortunate job on all sides.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>They suddenly see </i>MAY <i>who has been quiet behind the door.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ELIZABETH.&nbsp; May, what are you a-doing here I should like to
+know?&nbsp; Didn&rsquo;t I send you out into the garden along of your
+sister?<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; Yes, Auntie, but I&rsquo;ve comed back.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; Then you can be off again, and shut the door this time,
+do your hear?<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s it, my little maid.&nbsp; Run along - and
+look you, May, just you tell Cousin Millie as we wants her in here straight
+away.&nbsp; And who knows bye and bye whether there won&rsquo;t be sommat
+in yon great parcel for a good little wench.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; O Uncle - I&rsquo;d like to see it now.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Nay, nay - this is not a suitable time - Aunt and me has
+business what&rsquo;s got to be settled like.&nbsp; Nay - &rsquo;tis
+later on as the packets is to be opened.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; Get along off, you tiresome child. - One word might
+do for some, but it takes twenty to get you to move. - Run along now,
+do you hear me?<br>
+<br>
+[MAY <i>goes.<br>
+<br>
+</i>Well, Father, I&rsquo;ve done my share with Millie and she don&rsquo;t
+take a bit of notice of what I say.&nbsp; So now it&rsquo;s your turn.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Ah, I count &rsquo;tis more man&rsquo;s work, this here,
+so &rsquo;tis.&nbsp; There be things which belongs to females and there
+be others which do not.&nbsp; You get and leave it all to me.&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;ll bring it off.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; All right, Father, just you try your way - I&rsquo;ll
+have nothing more to do with it.&nbsp; [MILLIE <i>comes in.</i>]<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; Why, Father, you&rsquo;re back early from the Fair.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s so, my wench.&nbsp; See that package over
+yonder?<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; O, that I do, Father.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Yon great one&rsquo;s for you, Mill.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; O Father, what&rsquo;s inside it?<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis a new, smart bonnet, my wench.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; For me, Father?<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Ah - who else should it be for, Mill?<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; O Father, you are good to me.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; And a silk cloak as well.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; A silken cloak, and a bonnet - O Father, &rsquo;tis too
+much for you to give me all at once, like.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Young Andrew did help me with the choice, and &rsquo;tis
+all to be worn on this day month, my girl.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; Why, Father, what&rsquo;s to happen then?<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis for you to go along to church in, Mill.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; To church, Father?<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Ah, that &rsquo;tis - you in the cloak and bonnet, and
+upon the arm of young Andrew, my wench.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; O no, Father.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; But &rsquo;tis &ldquo;yes&rdquo; as you have got to learn,
+my wench.&nbsp; And quickly too.&nbsp; For &rsquo;tis this very evening
+as Andrew be coming for his answer.&nbsp; And &rsquo;tis to be &ldquo;yes&rdquo;
+this time.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; O no, Father.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ve an hour before you, my wench, in which to
+get another word to your tongue.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; I can&rsquo;t learn any word that isn&rsquo;t &ldquo;no,&rdquo;
+Father.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Look at me, my wench.&nbsp; My foot be down.&nbsp; I means
+what I says - <br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; And I mean what I say, too, Father.&nbsp; And I say, No!<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Millie, I&rsquo;ve set down my foot.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; And so have I, Father.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; And &rsquo;tis &ldquo;yes&rdquo; as you must say to young
+Andrew when he do come a-courting of you this night.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; That I&rsquo;ll never say, Father.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t
+want cloaks nor bonnets, nor my heart moved by gifts, or tears brought
+to my eyes by fair words.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll not wed unless I can give
+my love along with my hand.&nbsp; And &rsquo;tis not to Andrew I can
+give that, as you know.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; And to whom should a maid give her heart if &rsquo;twasn&rsquo;t
+to Andrew?&nbsp; A finer lad never trod in a pair of shoes.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll
+be blest if I do know what the wenches be a-coming to.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; There, Father, I told you what to expect.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; But &rsquo;tis master as I&rsquo;ll be, hark you, Mother,
+hark you, Mill.&nbsp; And &rsquo;tis &ldquo;Yes&rdquo; as you have got
+to fit your tongue out with my girl, afore &rsquo;tis dark.&nbsp; [<i>Rising</i>.]&nbsp;
+I be a&rsquo;going off to the yard, but, Mother, her&rsquo;ll know what
+to say to you, her will.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; Dad, do you stop and shew me the inside of my packet.&nbsp;
+Let us put Andrew aside and be happy - do!<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Ah, I&rsquo;ve got other things as is waiting to be done
+nor breaking in a tricksome filly to run atween the shafts.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis
+fitter work for females, and so &rsquo;tis.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; And so I told you, Father, from the start.&nbsp; <br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; And &rsquo;tis &ldquo;No&rdquo; that I shall say.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>Curtain</i>.]<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+ACT I. - Scene 2.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<i>It is dusk on the same evening.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MILLIE <i>is standing by the table folding up the silken cloak</i>.&nbsp;
+ANNET <i>sits watching her, on her knees lies a open parcel disclosing
+a woollen shawl.&nbsp; In a far corner of the room </i>MAY <i>is seated
+on a stool making a daisy chain.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ANNET.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas very good of Uncle to bring me this nice
+shawl, Millie.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; You should have had a cloak like mine, Annet, by rights.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m not going to get married, Millie.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; [<i>Sitting down with a sudden movement of despondence
+and stretching her arms across the table</i>.]&nbsp; O don&rsquo;t you
+speak to me of that, Annet.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis more than I can bear to-night.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; But, Millie, he&rsquo;s coming for your answer now.&nbsp;
+You musn&rsquo;t let him find you looking so.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; My face shall look as my heart feels.&nbsp; And that is
+all sorrow, Annet.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; Can&rsquo;t you bring yourself round to fancy Andrew, Millie?<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; No, that I cannot, Annet, I&rsquo;ve tried a score of
+times, I have - but there it is - I cannot.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; Is it that you&rsquo;ve not forgotten Giles, then?<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; I never shall forget him, Annet.&nbsp; Why, &rsquo;tis
+a five year this day since father sent him off to foreign parts, and
+never a moment of all that time has my heart not remembered him.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; I feared &rsquo;twas so with you, Millie.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; O I&rsquo;ve laid awake of nights and my tears have wetted
+the pillow all over so that I&rsquo;ve had to turn it t&rsquo;other
+side up.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; And Giles has never written to you, nor sent a sign nor
+nothing?<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; Your brother Giles was never very grand with the pen,
+Annet.&nbsp; But, O, he&rsquo;s none the worse for that.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; Millie, I never cared for to question you, but how was
+it when you and he did part, one with t&rsquo;other?<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; I did give him my ring, Annet - secret like - when we
+were walking in the wood.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; What, the one with the white stones to it?<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; Yes, grandmother&rsquo;s ring, that she left me.&nbsp;
+And I did say to him - if ever I do turn false to you and am like to
+wed another, Giles - look you at these white stones.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; Seven of them, there were, Millie.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; And the day that I am like to wed another, Giles, I said
+to him, the stones shall darken.&nbsp; But you&rsquo;ll never see that
+day.&nbsp; [<i>She begins to cry.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ANNET.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t you give way, Millie, for, look you, &rsquo;tis
+very likely that Giles has forgotten you for all his fine words, and
+Andrew, - well, Andrew he&rsquo;s as grand a suitor as ever maid had.&nbsp;
+And &rsquo;tis Andrew you have got to wed, you know.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; Andrew, Andrew - I&rsquo;m sick at the very name of him.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; See the fine house you&rsquo;ll live in.&nbsp; Think on
+the grand parlour that you&rsquo;ll sit in all the day with a servant
+to wait on you and naught but Sunday clothes on your back.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d sooner go in rags with Giles at the side of
+me.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; Come, you must hearten up.&nbsp; Andrew will soon be here.&nbsp;
+And Uncle says that you have got to give him his answer to-night for
+good and all.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; O I cannot see him - I&rsquo;m wearied to death of Andrew,
+and that&rsquo;s the very truth it is.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; O Millie - I wonder how &rsquo;twould feel to be you for
+half-an-hour and to have such a fine suitor coming to me and asking
+for me to say Yes.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; O I wish &rsquo;twas you and not me that he was after,
+Annet.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tisn&rsquo;t likely that anyone such as Master Andrew
+will ever come courting a poor girl like me, Millie.&nbsp; But I&rsquo;d
+dearly love to know how &rsquo;twould feel.<br>
+<br>
+[MILLIE <i>raises her head and looks at her cousin for a few minutes
+in silence</i>,<i> then her face brightens.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MILLIE.&nbsp; Then you shall, Annet.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; Shall what, Mill?<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; Know how it feels.&nbsp; Look here - &rsquo;Tis sick to
+death I am with courting, when &rsquo;tis from the wrong quarter, and
+if I&rsquo;m to wed Andrew come next month, I&rsquo;ll not be tormented
+with him before that time, - so &rsquo;tis you that shall stop and talk
+with him this evening, Annet, and I&rsquo;ll slip out to the woods and
+gather flowers.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; How wild and unlikely you do talk, Mill.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; In the dusk he&rsquo;ll never know that &rsquo;tisn&rsquo;t
+me.&nbsp; Being cousins, we speak after the same fashion, and in the
+shape of us there&rsquo;s not much that&rsquo;s amiss.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; But in the clothing of us, Mill - why, &rsquo;tis a grand
+young lady that you look - whilst I -<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; [<i>Taking up the silken cloak</i>.]&nbsp; Here - put
+this over your gown, Annet.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; [<i>Standing up</i>.]&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t mind just trying
+it on, like.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; [<i>Fastening it</i>.]&nbsp; There - and now the bonnet,
+with the veil pulled over the face.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She ties the bonnet and arranges the veil on </i>ANNET.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; [<i>Standing back and surveying her cousin</i>.]&nbsp;
+There, Annet, there May, who is to tell which of us &rsquo;tis?<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; [<i>Coming forward</i>.]&nbsp; O I should never know that
+&rsquo;twasn&rsquo;t you, Cousin Mill.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; And I could well mistake her for myself too, so listen,
+Annet.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis you that shall talk with Master Andrew when
+he comes to-night.&nbsp; And &rsquo;tis you that shall give him my answer.&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;ll not burn my lips by speaking the word he asks of me.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; O Mill - I cannot - no I cannot.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t let him have it very easily, Annet.&nbsp;
+Set him a ditch or two to jump before he gets there.&nbsp; And let the
+thorns prick him a bit before he gathers the flower.&nbsp; You know
+my way with him.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; And I know it too, Millie - Why, your tongue, &rsquo;tis
+very near as sharp as when Aunt do speak.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; O Millie, take off these things - I cannot do it, that&rsquo;s
+the truth.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; [<i>Looking out through the door</i>.]&nbsp; There&rsquo;s
+Andrew a-coming over the mill yard.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; Here, sit down, Annet, with the back of you to the light.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She pushes </i>ANNET <i>into a chair beneath the window.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MAY.&nbsp; Can I get into the cupboard and listen to it, Cousin
+Mill?<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; If you promise to bide quiet and to say naught of it afterwards.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; O I promise, I promise - I&rsquo;ll just leave a crack of
+the door open for to hear well.<br>
+<br>
+[MAY <i>gets into the cupboard</i>.&nbsp; MILLIE <i>takes up </i>ANNET&rsquo;S
+<i>new shawl and puts it all over her.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MILLIE.&nbsp; No one will think that &rsquo;tisn&rsquo;t you, in
+the dusk.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; O Millie, what is it that you&rsquo;ve got me to do?<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; Never you mind, Annet - you shall see what &rsquo;tis
+to have a grand suitor and I shall get a little while of quiet out yonder,
+where I can think on Giles.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She runs out of the door just as </i>ANDREW <i>comes up</i>.&nbsp;
+ANDREW <i>knocks and then enters the open door.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ANDREW.&nbsp; Where&rsquo;s Annet off to in such a hurry?<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; [<i>Very faintly</i>.]&nbsp; I&rsquo;m sure I don&rsquo;t
+know.&nbsp; [ANDREW <i>lays aside his hat and comes up to the window</i>.&nbsp;
+<i>He stands before </i>ANNET <i>looking down on her</i>.&nbsp; <i>She
+becomes restless under his gaze</i>,<i> and at last signs to him to
+sit down.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ANDREW.&nbsp; [<i>Sitting down on a chair a little way from her</i>.]&nbsp;
+The Master said that I might come along to-night, Millie - Otherwise
+- [ANNET <i>is still silent.<br>
+<br>
+</i>Otherwise I shouldn&rsquo;t have dared do so.<br>
+<br>
+[ANNET <i>sits nervously twisting the ribbons of her cloak.<br>
+<br>
+</i>The Master said, as how may be, your feeling for me, Millie, might
+be changed like.&nbsp; [ANNET <i>is still silent.<br>
+<br>
+</i>And that if I was to ask you once more, very likely &rsquo;twould
+be something different as you might say.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>A long silence.<br>
+<br>
+</i>Was I wrong in coming, Millie?<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; [<i>Faintly</i>.]&nbsp; &rsquo;Twould have been better
+had you stayed away like.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; Then there isn&rsquo;t any change in your feelings towards
+me, Millie?<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; O, there&rsquo;s a sort of a change, Andrew.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; [<i>Slowly</i>.]&nbsp; O Mill, that&rsquo;s good hearing.&nbsp;
+What sort of a change is it then?<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis very hard to say, Andrew.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; Look you, Mill, &rsquo;tis more than a five year that
+I&rsquo;ve been a-courting of you faithful.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; [<i>Sighing</i>.]&nbsp; Indeed it is, Andrew.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; And I&rsquo;ve never got naught but blows for my pains.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; [<i>Beginning to speak in a gentle voice and ending sharply</i>.]&nbsp;
+O I&rsquo;m so sorry - No - I mean - &rsquo;Tis your own fault, Andrew.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; But I would sooner take blows from you than sweet words
+from another, Millie.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; I could never find it in my heart to - I mean, &rsquo;tis
+as well that you should get used to blows, seeing we&rsquo;re to be
+wed, Andrew.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; Then &rsquo;tis to be!&nbsp; O Millie, this is brave news
+- Why, I do scarcely know whether I be awake or dreaming.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; [<i>Very sadly</i>.]&nbsp; Very likely you&rsquo;ll be
+glad enough to be dreaming a month from now, poor Andrew.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; [<i>Drawing nearer</i>.]&nbsp; I am brave, Millie, now
+that you speak to me so kind and gentle, and I&rsquo;ll ask you to name
+the day.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; [<i>Shrinking back</i>.]&nbsp; O &rsquo;twill be a very
+long distance from now, Andrew.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; Millie, it seems to be your pleasure to take up my heart
+and play with it same as a cat does with the mouse.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; [<i>Becoming gay and hard in her manner</i>.]&nbsp; Your
+heart, Andrew?&nbsp; &rsquo;Twill go all the better afterwards if &rsquo;tis
+tossed about a bit first.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; Put an end to this foolishness, Mill, and say when you&rsquo;ll
+wed me.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; [<i>Warding him off with her hand</i>.]&nbsp; You shall
+have my answer in a new song Andrew, which I have been learning.<br>
+<br>
+[ANDREW <i>sits down despondently and prepares to listen.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ANNET.&nbsp; Now hark you to this, Andrew, and turn it well over
+in your mind.&nbsp; [<i>She begins to sing</i>:<br>
+<br>
+Say can you plough me an acre of land<br>
+Sing Ivy leaf, Sweet William and Thyme.<br>
+Between the sea and the salt sea strand<br>
+And you shall be a true lover of mine?<br>
+<br>
+[<i>A slight pause</i>.&nbsp; ANNET <i>looks questioningly at </i>ANDREW,
+<i>who turns away with a heavy sigh.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ANNET.&nbsp; [<i>Singing.</i>]<br>
+<br>
+Yes, if you plough it with one ram&rsquo;s horn<br>
+Sing Ivy Leaf, Sweet William and Thyme<br>
+And sow it all over with one peppercorn<br>
+And you shall be a true lover of mine.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis all foolishness.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; [<i>Singing.</i>]<br>
+<br>
+Say can you reap with a sickle of leather<br>
+Sing Ivy Leaf, Sweet William and Thyme<br>
+And tie it all up with a Tom-tit&rsquo;s feather<br>
+And you shall be a true lover of mine.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; [<i>Rises up impatiently</i>.]&nbsp; I can stand no more.&nbsp;
+You&rsquo;ve danced upon my heart till &rsquo;tis fairly brittle, and
+ready to be broke by a feather.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; [<i>Very gently</i>.]&nbsp; O Andrew, I&rsquo;ll mend your
+heart one day.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; Millie, the sound of those words has mended it already.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; [<i>In a harder voice</i>.]&nbsp; But very likely there&rsquo;ll
+be a crack left to it always.<br>
+<br>
+[FARMER DANIEL <i>and </i>ELIZABETH <i>come into the room.<br>
+<br>
+</i>DANIEL.&nbsp; Well my boy, well Millie?<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; [<i>Boldly</i>.]&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis for a month from now.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Bless my soul.&nbsp; Hear that, Mother?&nbsp; Hear that?<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m not deaf, Father.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; [<i>Shaking </i>ANDREW&rsquo;S <i>hand</i>.]&nbsp; Ah
+my boy, I knowed as you&rsquo;d bring the little maid to the senses
+of she.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; Millie has not shown any backwardness in clothing herself
+as though for church.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis with the maids as &rsquo;tis with the fowls
+when they be come out from moult.&nbsp; They be bound to pick about
+this way and that in their new feathers.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; Well, &rsquo;tis to be hoped the young people have
+fixed it up for good and all this time.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Come Mill, my wench, you be wonderful quiet.&nbsp; Where&rsquo;s
+your tongue?<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; I think we&rsquo;ve all had quite enough of Millie&rsquo;s
+tongue, Father.&nbsp; Let her give it a rest if she&rsquo;ve a mind.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; I warrant she be gone as shy as a May bettel when &rsquo;tis
+daylight.&nbsp; But us&rsquo;ll take it as she have fixed it up in her
+own mind like.&nbsp; Come, Mother, such a time as this, you won&rsquo;t
+take no objection to the drawing of a jug of cider.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; And supper just about to be served?&nbsp; I&rsquo;m
+surprised at you, Father.&nbsp; No, I can&rsquo;t hear of cider being
+drawn so needless like.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Well, well, - have it your own way - but I always says,
+and my father used to say it afore I, a fine deed do call for a fine
+drink, and that&rsquo;s how &rsquo;twas in my time.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; Millie, do you call your cousins in to supper.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Ah, and where be the maids gone off to this time of night,
+Mother?<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; Annet did pass me as I came through the yard, Master<br>
+<br>
+[MAY, <i>quietly opens the cupboard door and comes out.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ELIZABETH.&nbsp; So that&rsquo;s where you&rsquo;ve been, you deceitful
+little wench.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; Well, to think of that, Millie.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; And how long may you have bid there, I should like
+to know?<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Come, come, my little maid, &rsquo;tis early days for
+you to be getting a lesson in courtship.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; O there wasn&rsquo;t any courtship, Uncle, and I didn&rsquo;t
+hear nothing at all to speak of.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; There, run along quick and find your sister.&nbsp;
+Supper&rsquo;s late already, and that it is.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll go with her.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She starts forward and hurriedly moves towards the door.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ELIZABETH.&nbsp; Stop a moment, Millie.&nbsp; What are you thinking
+of to go trailing out in the dew with that beautiful cloak and bonnet.&nbsp;
+Take and lay them in the box at once, do you hear?<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s it, Mill.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twouldn&rsquo;t do
+for to mess them up afore the day.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas a fair price as
+I gived for they, and that I can tell you, my girl.<br>
+<br>
+[ANNET <i>stops irresolutely</i>.&nbsp; MAY <i>seizes her hand.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MAY.&nbsp; Come off, come off, &ldquo;Cousin Millie&rdquo;; &rsquo;tis
+not damp outside, and O I&rsquo;m afeared to cross the rickyard by myself.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She pulls </i>ANNET <i>violently by the hand and draws her out of
+the door.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ELIZABETH.&nbsp; Off with the cloak this minute, Millie.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; [<i>Calling back</i>.]&nbsp; She&rsquo;s a-taking of it off,
+Aunt, she is.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t know what&rsquo;s come to the maid.&nbsp;
+She don&rsquo;t act like herself to-day.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Ah, that be asking too much of a maid, to act like herself,
+and the wedding day close ahead of she.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d be content with a suitable behaviour, Father.&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;m not hard to please.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Ah, you take and let her go quiet, same as I lets th&rsquo;
+old mare when her first comes up from grass.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis all very well for you to talk, Father but
+&rsquo;tis I who have got to do.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Come Mother, come Andrew, I be sharp set.&nbsp; And &rsquo;tis
+the feel of victuals and no words as I wants in my mouth.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; Well, Father, I&rsquo;m not detaining you.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s
+the door, and the food has been cooling on the table this great while.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Come you, Andrew, come you, Mother.&nbsp; Us&rsquo;ll
+make a bit of a marriage feast this night.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>He leads the way and the others follow him out.<br>
+<br>
+</i>[<i>Curtain.</i>]<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+ACT II. - Scene 1.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<i>A woodland path</i>.&nbsp; GILES <i>comes forward with his two servants</i>,<i>
+</i>GEORGE <i>and </i>JOHN, <i>who are carrying heavy packets.<br>
+<br>
+</i>GILES.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis powerful warm to-day.&nbsp; We will take
+a bit of rest before we go further.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; [<i>Setting down his packet</i>.]&nbsp; That&rsquo;s it,
+master.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis a rare weight as I&rsquo;ve been carrying across
+my back since dawn.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; [<i>Also setting down his burden</i>.]&nbsp; Ah, I be pleased
+for to lay aside yon.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis wonderful heavy work, this journeying
+to and fro with gold and silver.<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; Our travelling is very nigh finished.&nbsp; There lies
+the road which goes to Camel Farm.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Oh, I count as that must be a rare sort of a place, master.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Seeing as us haven&rsquo;t stopped scarce an hour since
+us landed off the sea.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; But have come running all the while same as the fox may
+run in th&rsquo; early morning towards the poultry yard.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Nor broke bread, nor scarce got a drop of drink to wet th&rsquo;
+insides of we.<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis very little further that you have got to journey,
+my good lads.&nbsp; We are nigh to the end of our wayfaring.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; And what sort of a place be we a-coming to, master?<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis the place out of all the world to me.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; I count &rsquo;tis sommat rare and fine in that case, seeing
+as we be come from brave foreign parts, master.<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis rarer, and finer than all the foreign lands
+that lie beneath the sun, my lads.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s good hearing, master.&nbsp; And is the victuals
+like to be as fine as the place?<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; O, you&rsquo;ll fare well enough yonder.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; I was never one for foreign victuals, nor for the drink
+that was over there neither.<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; Well, the both of you shall rest this night beneath the
+grandest roof that ever sheltered a man&rsquo;s head.&nbsp; And you
+shall sit at a table spread as you&rsquo;ve not seen this many a year.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; That&rsquo;ll be sommat to think on, master, when us gets
+upon our legs again.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; I be thinking of it ahead as I lies here, and that&rsquo;s
+the truth.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>The two servants stretch themselves comfortably beneath the trees</i>.&nbsp;
+<i>GILES</i> <i>walks restlessly backwards and forwards as though impatient
+at any delay</i>.&nbsp; <i>From time to time he glances at a ring which
+he wears</i>,<i> sighing heavily as he does so.<br>
+<br>
+</i>[<i>An old man comes up</i>,<i> leaning on his staff.<br>
+<br>
+</i>OLD MAN.&nbsp; Good-morning to you, my fine gentlemen.<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; Good-morning, master.<br>
+<br>
+OLD MAN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis a wonderful warm sun to-day.<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; You&rsquo;re right there, master.<br>
+<br>
+OLD MAN.&nbsp; I warrant as you be journeying towards the same place
+where I be going, my lord.<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; And where is that, old master?<br>
+<br>
+OLD MAN.&nbsp; Towards Camel Farm.<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; You&rsquo;re right.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis there and nowhere
+else that we are going.<br>
+<br>
+OLD MAN.&nbsp; Ah, us&rsquo;ll have to go smartish if us is to be there
+in time.<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; In time for what, my good man?<br>
+<br>
+OLD MAN.&nbsp; In time for to see the marrying, my lord.<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; The marrying?&nbsp; What&rsquo;s that you&rsquo;re telling
+me?<br>
+<br>
+OLD MAN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis at noon this day that she&rsquo;s to be wed.<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; Who are you speaking of, old man?<br>
+<br>
+OLD MAN.&nbsp; And where is your lordship journeying this day if &rsquo;tis
+not to the marrying?<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; Who&rsquo;s getting wed up yonder, tell me quickly?<br>
+<br>
+OLD MAN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis th&rsquo; old farmer&rsquo;s daughter what&rsquo;s
+to wed come noon-tide.<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; [<i>Starting</i>.]&nbsp; Millie!&nbsp; O that is heavy
+news.&nbsp; [<i>Looking at his hand</i>.]&nbsp; Then &rsquo;tis as I
+feared, for since daybreak yesterday the brightness has all gone from
+out of the seven stones.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s how &rsquo;twould be, she
+told me once.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>He turns away from the others in deep distress of mind.<br>
+<br>
+</i>GEORGE.&nbsp; Us&rsquo;ll see no Camel Farm this day.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; And th&rsquo; inside of I be crying out for victuals.<br>
+<br>
+OLD MAN.&nbsp; Then you be not of these parts, masters?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; No, us be comed from right over the seas, along of master.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Ah, &rsquo;tis a fine gentleman, master.&nbsp; But powerful
+misfortunate in things of the heart.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Ah, he&rsquo;d best have stopped where he was.&nbsp; Camel
+Farm baint no place for the like of he to go courting at.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Ah, master be used to them great palaces, all over gold
+and marble with windows as you might drive a waggon through, and that
+you might.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; All painted glass.&nbsp; And each chair with golden legs
+to him, and a sight of silver vessels on the table as never you did
+dream of after a night&rsquo;s drinking, old man.&nbsp; [GILES <i>comes
+slowly towards them.<br>
+<br>
+</i>GILES.&nbsp; And who is she to wed, old man?<br>
+<br>
+OLD MAN.&nbsp; Be you a-speaking of the young mistress up at Camel Farm,
+my lord?<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; Yes.&nbsp; With whom does she go to church to-day?<br>
+<br>
+OLD MAN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis along of Master Andrew that her do go.&nbsp;
+What lives up Cranham way.<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; Ah, th&rsquo; old farmer was always wonderful set on him.&nbsp;
+[<i>A pause.<br>
+<br>
+</i>OLD MAN.&nbsp; I be a poor old wretch what journeys upon the roads,
+master, and maybe I picks a crust here and gets a drink of water there,
+and the shelter of the pig-stye wall to rest the bones of me at night
+time.<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; What matters it if you be old and poor, master, so that
+the heart of you be whole and unbroken?<br>
+<br>
+OLD MAN.&nbsp; Us poor old wretches don&rsquo;t carry no hearts to th&rsquo;
+insides of we.&nbsp; The pains of us do come from the having of no victuals
+and from the winter&rsquo;s cold when snow do lie on the ground and
+the wind do moan over the fields, and when the fox do bark.<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; What is the pang of hunger and the cold bite of winter
+set against the cruel torment of a disappointed love?<br>
+<br>
+OLD MAN.&nbsp; I baint one as can judge of that, my lord, seeing that
+I be got a poor old badger of a man, and the days when I was young and
+did carry a heart what could beat with love, be ahind of I, and the
+feel of them clean forgot.<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; Then what do you up yonder at the marrying this morning?<br>
+<br>
+OLD MAN.&nbsp; Oh, I do take me to those places where there be burying
+or marriage, for the hearts of folk at these seasons be warmed and kinder,
+like.&nbsp; And &rsquo;tis bread and meat as I gets then.&nbsp; Food
+be thrown out to the poor old dog what waits patient at the door.<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; [<i>Looks intently at him for a moment</i>.]&nbsp; See
+here, old master.&nbsp; I would fain strike a bargain with you.&nbsp;
+And &rsquo;tis with a handful of golden pieces that I will pay your
+service.<br>
+<br>
+OLD MAN.&nbsp; Anything to oblige you, my young lord.<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; [<i>To </i>GEORGE.]&nbsp; Take out a handful from the bag
+of gold.&nbsp; And you, John, give him some of the silver.<br>
+<br>
+[GEORGE <i>and </i>JOHN <i>untie their bags and take out gold and silver</i>.&nbsp;
+<i>They twist it up in a handkerchief which they give to the old man.</i>]<br>
+<br>
+OLD MAN.&nbsp; May all the blessings of heaven rest on you, my lord,
+for &rsquo;tis plain to see that you be one of the greatest and finest
+gentlemen ever born to the land.<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; My good friend, you&rsquo;re wrong there, I was a poor
+country lad, but I had the greatest treasure that a man could hold on
+this earth.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas the love of my cousin Millie.&nbsp; And
+being poor, I was put from out the home, and sent to seek my fortune
+in parts beyond the sea.<br>
+<br>
+OLD MAN.&nbsp; Now, who&rsquo;d have thought &rsquo;twas so, for the
+looks of you be gentle born all over.<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; &ldquo;Come back with a bushel of gold in one hand and
+one of silver in t&rsquo;other&rdquo; the old farmer said to me, &ldquo;and
+then maybe I&rsquo;ll let you wed my daughter.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+OLD MAN.&nbsp; And here you be comed back, and there lie the gold and
+the silver bags.<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; And yonder is Millie given in marriage to another.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Taint done yet, master.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tisn&rsquo;t too late, by a long way, master.<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; [<i>To </i>OLD MAN.]&nbsp; And so I would crave something
+of you, old friend.&nbsp; Lend me your smock, and your big hat and your
+staff.&nbsp; In that disguise I will go to the farm and look upon my
+poor false love once more.&nbsp; If I find that her heart is already
+given to another, I shall not make myself known to her.&nbsp; But if
+she still holds to her love for me, then -<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Go in the fine clothes what you have upon you, master.&nbsp;
+And even should the maid&rsquo;s heart, be given to another, the sight
+of so grand a cloth and such laces will soon turn it the right way again.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Ah, that&rsquo;s so, it is.&nbsp; You go as you be clothed
+now, master.&nbsp; I know what maids be, and &rsquo;tis finery and good
+coats which do work more on the hearts of they nor anything else in
+the wide world.<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; No, no, my lads.&nbsp; I will return as I did go from yonder.&nbsp;
+Poor, and in mean clothing.&nbsp; Nor shall a glint of all my wealth
+speak one word for me.&nbsp; But if so be as her heart is true in spite
+of everything, my sorrowful garments will not hide my love away from
+her.<br>
+<br>
+OLD MAN.&nbsp; [<i>Taking off his hat</i>.]&nbsp; Here you are master.<br>
+<br>
+[GILES <i>hands his own hat to </i>GEORGE.&nbsp; <i>He then takes off
+his coat and gives it to </i>JOHN.&nbsp; <i>The </i>OLD MAN <i>takes
+off his smock</i>,<i> GILES puts it on.<br>
+<br>
+</i>OLD MAN.&nbsp; Pull the hat well down about the face of you, master,
+so as the smooth skin of you be hid.<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; [<i>Turning round in his disguise</i>.]&nbsp; How&rsquo;s
+that, my friends?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; You be a sight too straight in the back, master.<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; [<i>Stooping</i>.]&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll soon better that.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Be you a-going in them fine buckled shoes, master?<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; I had forgot the shoes.&nbsp; When I get near to the house
+&rsquo;tis barefoot that I will go.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Then let us be off, master, for the&rsquo; time be running
+short.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Ah, that &rsquo;tis.&nbsp; I count it be close on noon-day
+now by the look of the sun.<br>
+<br>
+OLD MAN.&nbsp; And heaven be with you, my young gentleman.<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; My good friends, you shall go with me a little further.&nbsp;
+And when we have come close upon the farm, you shall stop in the shelter
+of a wood that I know of and await the signal I shall give you.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; And what&rsquo;ll that be, master?<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; I shall blow three times, and loudly from my whistle, here.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; And be we to come up to the farm when we hears you?<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; As quickly as you can run.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twill be the sign
+that I need all of you with me.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE <i>and </i>JOHN.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s it, master.&nbsp; Us do understand
+what &rsquo;tis as we have got to do.<br>
+<br>
+OLD MAR.&nbsp; Ah, &rsquo;tis best to be finished with hearts that beat
+to the tune of a maid&rsquo;s tongue, and to creep quiet along the roads
+with naught but them pains as hunger and thirst do bring to th&rsquo;
+inside.&nbsp; So &rsquo;tis.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>Curtain.</i>]<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+ACT III. - Scene 1.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<i>The parlour at Camel Farm</i>.&nbsp; ELIZABETH, <i>in her best dress</i>,<i>
+is moving about the room putting chairs in their places and arranging
+ornaments on the dresser</i>,<i> etc</i>.&nbsp; MAY <i>stands at the
+door with a large bunch of flowers in her hands.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ELIZABETH.&nbsp; And what do you want to run about in the garden
+for when I&rsquo;ve just smoothed your hair and got you all ready to
+go to church?<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve only been helping Annet gather some flowers to
+put upon the table.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; You should know better then.&nbsp; Didn&rsquo;t I tell
+you to sit still in that chair with your hands folded nicely till we
+were ready to start.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; Why, I couldn&rsquo;t be sitting there all the while, now
+could I, Aunt?<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; This&rsquo;ll be the last time as I tie your ribbon,
+mind.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She smoothes </i>MAY&rsquo;s <i>hair and ties it up for her</i>.&nbsp;
+ANNET <i>comes into the room with more flowers.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ELIZABETH.&nbsp; What&rsquo;s your cousin doing now, Annet?<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; The door of her room is still locked, Aunt.&nbsp; And what
+she says is that she do want to bide alone there<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; In all my days I never did hear tell of such a thing,
+I don&rsquo;t know what&rsquo;s coming to the world, I don&rsquo;t.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; I count that Millie do like to be all to herself whilst she
+is a-dressing up grand in her white gown, and the silken cloak and bonnet.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; Millie&rsquo;s not a-dressing of herself up.&nbsp; I heard
+her crying pitiful as I was gathering flowers in the garden.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; Crying?&nbsp; She&rsquo;ll have something to cry about
+if she doesn&rsquo;t look out, when her father comes in, and hears how
+she&rsquo;s a-going on.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; I wonder why Cousin Millie&rsquo;s taking on like this.&nbsp;
+I shouldn&rsquo;t, if &rsquo;twas me getting married.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; Look you, May, you get and run up, and knock at the
+door and tell her that &rsquo;twill soon be time for us to set off to
+church and that she have got to make haste in her dressing.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll run, Aunt, only &rsquo;tis very likely as she&rsquo;ll
+not listen to anything that I say.&nbsp; [MAY <i>goes out.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ELIZABETH.&nbsp; Now Annet, no idling here, if you please.&nbsp;
+Set the nosegay in water, and when you&rsquo;ve given a look round to
+see that everything is in its place, upstairs with you, and on with
+your bonnet, do you hear?&nbsp; Uncle won&rsquo;t wish to be kept waiting
+for you, remember.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m all ready dressed, except for my bonnet, Aunt.&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Tis Millie that&rsquo;s like to keep Uncle waiting this morning.&nbsp;
+[<i>She goes out.<br>
+<br>
+</i>[DANIEL <i>comes in.<br>
+<br>
+</i>DANIEL.&nbsp; Well, Mother - well, girls - but, bless my soul, where&rsquo;s
+Millie got to?<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; Millie has not seen fit to shew herself this morning,
+Father.&nbsp; She&rsquo;s biding up in her room with the door locked,
+and nothing that I&rsquo;ve been able to say has been attended to, so
+perhaps you&rsquo;ll kindly have your try.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Bless my soul - where&rsquo;s May?&nbsp; Where&rsquo;s
+Annet?&nbsp; Send one of the little maids up to her, and tell her &rsquo;tis
+very nigh time for us to be off.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m fairly tired of sending up to her, Father.&nbsp;
+You&rsquo;d best go yourself.<br>
+<br>
+[MAY <i>comes into the room.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MAY.&nbsp; Please Aunt, the door, &rsquo;tis still locked, and Millie
+is crying ever so sadly within, and she won&rsquo;t open to me, nor
+speak, nor nothing.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; There, Father, - perhaps you&rsquo;ll believe what
+I tell you another time.&nbsp; Millie has got that hardened and wayward,
+there&rsquo;s no managing of her, there&rsquo;s not.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Ah, &rsquo;twon&rsquo;t be very long as us&rsquo;ll have
+the managing of she.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twill be young Andrew as&rsquo;ll
+take she in hand after this day.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis all very well to talk of young Andrew, but
+who&rsquo;s a-going to get her to church with him I&rsquo;d like to
+know.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Why, &rsquo;tis me as&rsquo;ll do it, to be sure.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; Very well, Father, and we shall all be much obliged
+to you.<br>
+<br>
+[DANIEL <i>goes to the door and shouts up the stairs</i>.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Well, Millie, my wench.&nbsp; Come you down here.&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Tis time we did set out.&nbsp; Do you hear me, Mill.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis
+time we was off.<br>
+<br>
+[ELIZABETH <i>waits listening</i>.&nbsp; <i>No answer comes</i>.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t you hear what I be saying, Mill?&nbsp; Come
+you down at once.&nbsp; [<i>There is no answer</i>.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Millie, there be Andrew a-waiting for to take you to church.&nbsp;
+Come you down this minute.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; You&rsquo;d best take sommat and go and break open
+the door, Father.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis the sensiblest thing as you can do,
+only you&rsquo;d never think of anything like that by yourself.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; I likes doing things my own way, Mother.&nbsp; Women-folk,
+they be so buzzing.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis like a lot of insects around of
+anyone on a summer&rsquo;s day.&nbsp; A-saying this way and that - whilst
+a man do go at anything quiet and calm-like.&nbsp; [ANNET <i>comes in.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ANNET.&nbsp; Please, Uncle, Millie says that she isn&rsquo;t coming
+down for no one.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; [<i>Roaring in fury</i>.]&nbsp; What!&nbsp; What&rsquo;s
+that, my wench - isn&rsquo;t a-coming down for no one?&nbsp; Hear that,
+Mother, hear that?&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll have sommat to say to that, I will.&nbsp;
+[<i>Going to the door.<br>
+<br>
+</i>DANIEL.&nbsp; [<i>Roaring up the stairs</i>.]&nbsp; Hark you, Mill,
+down you comes this moment else I&rsquo;ll smash the door right in,
+and that I will.<br>
+<br>
+[DANIEL <i>comes back into the room</i>,<i> storming violently.<br>
+<br>
+</i>DANIEL.&nbsp; Ah, &rsquo;tis a badly bred up wench is Millie, and
+her&rsquo;d have growed up very different if I&rsquo;d a-had the bringing
+up of she.&nbsp; But spoiled she is and spoiled her&rsquo;ve always
+been, and what could anyone look for from a filly what&rsquo;s been
+broke in by women folk!<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; There, there, Father - there&rsquo;s no need to bluster
+in this fashion.&nbsp; Take up the poker and go and break into the door
+quiet and decent, like anyone else would do.&nbsp; And girls - off for
+your bonnets this moment I tell you.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She takes up a poker and hands it to </i>DANIEL, <i>who mops his
+face and goes slowly out and upstairs</i>.&nbsp; ANNET <i>and </i>MAY
+<i>leave the room</i>.&nbsp; <i>The farmer is heard banging at the door
+of Millie</i>&rsquo;<i>s bedroom.<br>
+<br>
+</i>[ELIZABETH <i>moves about the room setting it in order</i>.&nbsp;
+ANDREW <i>comes in at the door</i>.&nbsp; <i>He carries a bunch of flowers</i>,<i>
+which he lays on the table.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ANDREW.&nbsp; Good-morning to you, mistress.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; Good-morning, Andrew.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; What&rsquo;s going on upstairs?<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis Father at a little bit of carpentering.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m come too soon, I reckon.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; We know what young men be upon their wedding morn!&nbsp;
+I warrant as the clock can&rsquo;t run too fast for them at such a time.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; You&rsquo;re right there, mistress.&nbsp; But the clock
+have moved powerful slow all these last few weeks - for look you here,
+&rsquo;tis a month this day since I last set eyes on Mill or had a word
+from her lips - so &rsquo;tis.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ll have enough words presently.&nbsp; Hark,
+she&rsquo;s coming down with Father now.<br>
+<br>
+[ANDREW <i>turns eagerly towards the door</i>.&nbsp; <i>The farmer enters
+with </i>MILLIE <i>clinging to his arm</i>,<i> she wears her ordinary
+dress</i>.&nbsp; <i>Her hair is ruffled and in disorder</i>,<i> and
+she has been crying.<br>
+<br>
+</i>DANIEL.&nbsp; Andrew, my lad, good morning to you.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; Good morning, master.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; You mustn&rsquo;t mind a bit of an April shower, my boy.&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Tis the way with all maids on their wedding morn.&nbsp; Isn&rsquo;t
+that so, Mother?<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; I wouldn&rsquo;t make such a show of myself if I was
+you, Mill.&nbsp; Go upstairs this minute and wash your face and smooth
+your hair and put yourself ready for church.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Nay, she be but just come from upstairs, Mother.&nbsp;
+Let her bide quiet a while with young Andrew here; whilst do you come
+along with me and get me out my Sunday coat.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis time I
+was dressed for church too, I&rsquo;m thinking.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t know what&rsquo;s come to the house this
+morning, and that&rsquo;s the truth.&nbsp; Andrew, I&rsquo;ll not have
+you keep Millie beyond a five minutes.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis enough of one
+another as you&rsquo;ll get later on, like.&nbsp; Father, go you off
+upstairs for your coat.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis hard work for me, getting you
+all to act respectable, that &rsquo;tis.<br>
+<br>
+[DANIEL <i>and </i>ELIZABETH <i>leave the room</i>.&nbsp; ANDREW <i>moves
+near </i>MILLIE <i>and holds out both his hands</i>.&nbsp; <i>She draws
+herself haughtily away.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ANDREW.&nbsp; Millie - &rsquo;tis our wedding day.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; And what if it is, Andrew.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; Millie, it cuts me to the heart to see your face all wet
+with tears.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; Did you think to see it otherwise, Andrew?<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; No smile upon your lips, Millie.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; Have I anything to smile about, Andrew?<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; No love coming from your eyes, Mill.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; That you have never seen, Andrew.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; And all changed in the voice of you too.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; What do you mean by that, Andrew?<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; Listen, Millie - &rsquo;tis a month since I last spoke
+with you.&nbsp; Do you recollect?&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas the evening of the
+great Fair.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE And what if it was?<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; Millie, you were kinder to me that night than ever you
+had been before.&nbsp; I seemed to see such a gentle look in your eyes
+then.&nbsp; And when you spoke, &rsquo;twas as though - as though -
+well - &rsquo;twas one of they quists a-cooing up in the trees as I
+was put in mind of.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; Well, there&rsquo;s nothing more to be said about that
+now, Andrew.&nbsp; That night&rsquo;s over and done with.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve carried the thought of it in my heart all this
+time, Millie.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; I never asked you to, Andrew.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve brought you a nosegay of flowers, Mill.&nbsp;
+They be rare blossoms with grand names what I can&rsquo;t recollect
+to all of them.<br>
+<br>
+[MILLIE <i>takes the nosegay</i>,<i> looks at it for an instant</i>,<i>
+and then lets it fall.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MILLIE.&nbsp; I have no liking for flowers this day, Andrew.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; O Millie, and is it so as you and me are going to our
+marriage?<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; Yes, Andrew.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis so.&nbsp; I never said it
+could be different.&nbsp; I have no heart to give you.&nbsp; My love
+was given long ago to another.&nbsp; And that other has forgotten me
+by now.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; O Millie, you shall forget him too when once you are wed
+to me, I promise you.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis beyond the power of you or any man to make
+me do that, Andrew.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; Millie, what&rsquo;s the good of we two going on to church
+one with t&rsquo;other?<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s no good at all, Andrew.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; Millie, I could have sworn that you had begun to care
+sommat more than ordinary for me that last time we were together.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; Then you could have sworn wrong.&nbsp; I care nothing
+for you, Andrew, no, nothing.&nbsp; But I gave my word I&rsquo;d go
+to church with you and be wed.&nbsp; And - I&rsquo;ll not break my word,
+I&rsquo;ll not.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; And is this all that you can say to me to-day, Mill?<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; Yes, Andrew, &rsquo;tis all.&nbsp; And now, &rsquo;tis
+very late, and I have got to dress myself.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; [<i>Calling loudly from above</i>.]&nbsp; Millie, what
+are you stopping for?&nbsp; Come you up here and get your gown on, do.<br>
+<br>
+[MILLIE <i>looks haughtily at </i>ANDREW <i>as she passes him</i>.&nbsp;
+<i>She goes slowly out of the room.<br>
+<br>
+</i>[ANDREW <i>picks up the flowers and stands holding them</i>,<i>
+looking disconsolately down upon them</i>.&nbsp; MAY <i>comes in</i>,<i>
+furtively.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MAY.&nbsp; All alone, Andrew?&nbsp; Has Millie gone to put her fine
+gown on?<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; Yes, Millie&rsquo;s gone to dress herself.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; O that&rsquo;s a beautiful nosegay, Andrew.&nbsp; Was it
+brought for Mill?<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; Yes, May, but she won&rsquo;t have it.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; Millie don&rsquo;t like you very much, Andrew, do she?<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; Millie&rsquo;s got quite changed towards me since last
+time.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; And when was that, Andrew?<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; Why, last time was the evening of the Fair, May.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; When I was hid in the cupboard yonder, Andrew?<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; So you were, May.&nbsp; Well, can&rsquo;t you recollect
+how &rsquo;twas that she spoke to me then?<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; O yes, Andrew, and that I can.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas a quist
+a-cooing in the tree one time - and then - she did recollect herself
+and did sharpen up her tongue and &rsquo;twas another sort of bird what
+could drive its beak into the flesh of anyone - so &rsquo;twas.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; O May - you say she did recollect herself - what do you
+mean by those words?<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; You see, she did give her word that she would speak sharp
+and rough to you.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; What are you talking about, May?&nbsp; Do you mean that
+the tongue of her was not speaking as the heart of her did feel?<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; I guess &rsquo;twas sommat like that, Andrew.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; O May, you have gladdened me powerful by these words.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; But, O you must not tell of me, Andrew.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; I will never do so, May - only I shall know better how
+to be patient, and to keep the spirit of me up next time that she do
+strike out against me.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m not a-talking of Mill, Andrew.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; Who are you talking of then, I&rsquo;d like to know?<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas Annet.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; What was?<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; Annet who was dressed up in the cloak and bonnet of Millie
+that night and who did speak with you so gentle and nice.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; Annet!<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; [<i>Is heard calling</i>.]&nbsp; There, father, come
+along down and give your face a wash at the pump.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; Let&rsquo;s go quick together into the garden, Andrew, and
+I&rsquo;ll tell you all about it and how &rsquo;twas that Annet acted
+so.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She seizes </i>ANDREW&rsquo;S <i>hand and pulls him out of the room
+with her.<br>
+<br>
+</i>[<i>Curtain.</i>]<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+ACT III. - Scene 2.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<i>A few minutes later.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ELIZABETH <i>stands tying her bonnet strings before a small mirror
+on the wall</i>.&nbsp; DANIEL <i>is mopping his face with a big</i>,<i>
+bright handkerchief</i>.&nbsp; ANNET, <i>dressed for church</i>,<i>
+is by the table</i>.&nbsp; <i>She sadly takes up the nosegay of flowers
+which </i>ANDREW <i>brought for </i>MILLIE, <i>and moves her hand caressingly
+over it.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ELIZABETH.&nbsp; If you think that your neckerchief is put on right
+&rsquo;tis time you should know different, Father.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; What&rsquo;s wrong with it then, I&rsquo;d like to know?<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis altogether wrong.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis like
+the two ears of a heifer sticking out more than anything else that I
+can think on.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Have it your own way, Mother - and fix it as you like.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>He stands before her and she rearranges it.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ANNET.&nbsp; These flowers were lying on the ground.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; Thrown there in a fine fit of temper, I warrant.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Her was as quiet as a new born lamb once the door was
+broke open and she did see as my word, well, &rsquo;twas my word.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; We all hear a great deal about your word, Father, but
+&rsquo;twould be better for there to be more do and less say about you.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; [<i>Going over to Annet and looking at her intently</i>.]&nbsp;
+Why, my wench - what be you a-dropping tears for this day?<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; [<i>Drying her eyes</i>.]&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas - &rsquo;twas
+the scent out of one of the flowers as got to my eyes, Uncle.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Well, that&rsquo;s a likely tale it is.&nbsp; Hear that,
+Mother?&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis with her eyes that this little wench do snuff
+at a flower.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s good, bain&rsquo;t it?<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; I haven&rsquo;t patience with the wenches now-a-days.&nbsp;
+Lay down that nosegay at once, Annet, and call your cousin from her
+room.&nbsp; I warrant she has finished tricking of herself up by now.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Ah, I warrant as her&rsquo;ll need a smartish bit of time
+for to take the creases out of the face of she.<br>
+<br>
+[ANDREW <i>and </i>MAY <i>come in.</i>]<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Well, Andrew, my lad, &rsquo;tis about time as we was
+on the way to church I reckon.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; I count as &rsquo;tis full early yet, master.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>He takes up the nosegay from the table and crosses the room to the
+window where </i>ANNET <i>is standing</i>,<i> and trying to control
+her tears.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ANDREW.&nbsp; Annet, Millie will have none of my blossoms.&nbsp;
+I should like it well if you would carry them in your hand to church
+this day.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; [<i>Looking wonderingly at him</i>.]&nbsp; Me, Andrew?<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; Yes, you, Annet.&nbsp; For, look you, they become you
+well.&nbsp; They have sommat of the sweetness of you in them.&nbsp;
+And the touch of them is soft and gentle.&nbsp; And - I would like you
+to keep them in your hands this day, Annet.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; O Andrew, I never was given anything like this before.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; [<i>Slowly</i>.]&nbsp; I should like to give you a great
+deal more, Annet - only I cannot.&nbsp; And &rsquo;tis got too late.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; Too late - I should think it was.&nbsp; What&rsquo;s
+come to the maid!&nbsp; In my time girls didn&rsquo;t use to spend a
+quarter of the while afore the glass as they do now.&nbsp; Suppose you
+was to holler for her again, Father.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Anything to please you, Mother -<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; I hear her coming, Uncle.&nbsp; I hear the noise of the silk.<br>
+<br>
+[MILLIE <i>comes slowly into the room in her wedding clothes</i>.&nbsp;
+<i>She holds herself very upright and looks from one to another quietly
+and coldly.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MAY.&nbsp; Andrew&rsquo;s gived your nosegay to Annet, Millie.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twould have been a pity to have wasted the fresh
+blossoms.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; But they were gathered for you, Mill.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; Annet seems to like them better than I did.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Well, my wench - you be tricked out as though you was
+off to the horse show.&nbsp; Mother, there bain&rsquo;t no one as can
+beat our wench in looks anywhere this side of the country.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; She&rsquo;s right enough in the clothing of her, but
+&rsquo;twould be better if her looks did match the garments more.&nbsp;
+Come, Millie, can&rsquo;t you appear pleasanter like on your wedding
+day?<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m very thirsty, Mother.&nbsp; Could I have a drink
+of water before we set out?<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; And what next, I should like to know?<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis only a drink of water that I&rsquo;m asking
+for.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Well, that&rsquo;s reasonable, Mother, bain&rsquo;t it?<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; Run along and get some for your cousin, May.&nbsp;
+[MAY <i>runs out of the room.<br>
+<br>
+</i>DANIEL.&nbsp; Come you here, Andrew, did you ever see a wench to
+beat ourn in looks, I say?<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; [<i>Who has remained near </i>ANNET <i>without moving</i>.]&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Tis very fine that Millie&rsquo;s looking.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Fine, I should think &rsquo;twas.&nbsp; You was a fine
+looking wench, Mother, the day I took you to church, but &rsquo;tis
+my belief that Millie have beat you in the appearance of her same as
+the roan heifer did beat th&rsquo; old cow when the both was took along
+to market.&nbsp; Ah, and did fetch very near the double of what I gived
+for the dam.<br>
+<br>
+[MAY <i>returns carrying a glass bowl full of water.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MAY.&nbsp; Here&rsquo;s a drink of cold water, Millie.&nbsp; I took
+it from the spring.<br>
+<br>
+[MILLIE <i>takes the bowl</i>.&nbsp; <i>At the same moment a loud knocking
+is heard at the outside door.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ELIZABETH.&nbsp; Who&rsquo;s that, I should like to know?<br>
+<br>
+[MILLIE <i>sets down the bowl on the table</i>.&nbsp; <i>She listens
+with a sudden intent</i>,<i> anxiety on her face as the knock is repeated.<br>
+<br>
+</i>DANIEL.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll learn anyone to come meddling with me on
+a day when &rsquo;tis marrying going on.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>The knocking is again heard.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MILLIE.&nbsp; [<i>To </i>MAY, <i>who would have opened the door</i>.]&nbsp;
+No, no.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis I who will open the door.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She raises the latch and flings the door wide open</i>.&nbsp; GILES
+<i>disguised as a poor and bent old man</i>,<i> comes painfully into
+the room.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ELIZABETH.&nbsp; We don&rsquo;t want no beggars nor roadsters here
+to-day, if you please.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Ah, and that us don&rsquo;t.&nbsp; Us be a wedding party
+here, and &rsquo;tis for you to get moving on, old man.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; He is poor and old.&nbsp; And he has wandered far, in
+the heat of the morning.&nbsp; Look at his sad clothing.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; [<i>To </i>ANNET.]&nbsp; I never heard her put so much
+gentleness to her words afore.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; And &rsquo;tis my wedding day.&nbsp; He shall not go uncomforted
+from here.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; I never knowed you so careful of a poor wretch afore,
+Millie.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis quite a new set out, this.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; I am in mind of another, who may be wandering, and hungered,
+and in poor clothing this day.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; Give him something quick, Aunt, and let him get off so that
+we can start for the wedding.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; [<i>Coming close to </i>GILES.]&nbsp; What is it I can
+do for you, master?<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis only a drink of water that I ask, mistress.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; [<i>Taking up the glass bowl</i>.]&nbsp; Only a drink
+of water, master?&nbsp; Then take, and be comforted.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She holds the bowl before him for him to drink</i>.&nbsp; <i>As
+he takes it</i>,<i> he drops a ring into the water</i>.&nbsp; <i>He
+then drinks and hands the bowl back to </i>MILLIE<i>.&nbsp; For a moment
+she gazes speechless at the bottom of the bowl</i>.&nbsp; <i>Then she
+lifts the ring from it and would drop the bowl but for </i>MAY, <i>who
+takes it from her.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MILLIE.&nbsp; Master, from whom did you get this?<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; Look well at the stones of it, mistress, for they are clouded
+and dim.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; And not more clouded than the heart which is in me, master.&nbsp;
+O do you bring me news?<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; Is it not all too late for news, mistress?<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; Not if it be the news for which my heart craves, master.<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; And what would that be, mistress?<br>
+<br>
+[MILLIE <i>goes to </i>GILES, <i>and with both hands slowly pushes back
+his big hat and gazes at him.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MILLIE.&nbsp; O Giles, my true love.&nbsp; You are come just in
+time.&nbsp; Another hour and I should have been wed.<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; And so you knew me, Mill?<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; O Giles, no change of any sort could hide you from the
+eyes of my love.<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; Your love, Millie.&nbsp; And is that still mine?<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; It always has been yours, Giles.&nbsp; O I will go with
+you so gladly in poor clothing and in hunger all over the face of the
+earth.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She goes to him and clasps his arm</i>;<i> and</i>,<i> standing
+by his side</i>,<i> faces all those in the room.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ELIZABETH.&nbsp; [<i>Angrily</i>.]&nbsp; Please to come to your
+right senses, Millie.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Come, Andrew, set your foot down as I&rsquo;ve set mine.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; Nay, master.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s naught left for me to
+say.&nbsp; The heart does shew us better nor all words which way we
+have to travel.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; And are you going to marry a beggar man instead of Andrew,
+who looks so brave and fine in his wedding clothes, Millie?<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; I am going to marry him I have always loved, May - and
+- O Andrew, I never bore you malice, though I did say cruel and hard
+words to you sometimes. - But you&rsquo;ll not remember me always -
+you will find gladness too, some day.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; I count as I shall, Millie.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Come, come, I&rsquo;ll have none of this - my daughter
+wed to a beggar off the highway!&nbsp; Mother, &rsquo;tis time you had
+a word here.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; No, Father, I&rsquo;ll leave you to manage this affair.&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Tis you who have spoiled Mill and brought her up so wayward and
+unruly, and &rsquo;tis to you I look for to get us out of this unpleasant
+position.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; Dear Millie - don&rsquo;t wed my brother Giles.&nbsp; Why,
+look at his ragged smock and his bare feet.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; I shall be proud to go bare too, so long as I am by his
+side, May.<br>
+<br>
+[GILES <i>goes to the door and blows his whistle three times and loudly.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MAY.&nbsp; What&rsquo;s that for, Giles?<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; You shall soon see, little May.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll be hanged if I&rsquo;ll stand any more of this
+caddling nonsense.&nbsp; Here, Mill - the trap&rsquo;s come to the door.&nbsp;
+Into it with you, I say.<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; I beg you to wait a moment, master.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Wait! - &rsquo;Tis a sight too long as we have waited
+this day.&nbsp; If all had been as I&rsquo;d planned, we should have
+been to church by now.&nbsp; But womenfolk, there be no depending on
+they.&nbsp; No, and that there bain&rsquo;t.<br>
+<br>
+[GEORGE, JOHN <i>and the </i>OLD MAN <i>come up</i>.&nbsp; GEORGE <i>and
+</i>JOHN <i>carry their packets and the </i>OLD MAN <i>has </i>GILES&rsquo;
+<i>coat and hat over his arm.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ELIZABETH.&nbsp; And who are these persons, Giles?<br>
+<br>
+[GEORGE <i>and </i>JOHN <i>set down their burdens on the floor and begin
+to mop their faces</i>.&nbsp; <i>The </i>OLD MAN <i>stretches out his
+fine coat and hat and buckled shoes to </i>GILES.<br>
+<br>
+OLD MAN.&nbsp; Here they be, my lord, and I warrant as you&rsquo;ll
+feel more homely like in they, nor what you&rsquo;ve got upon you now.&nbsp;
+[GILES <i>takes the things from him.<br>
+<br>
+</i>GILES.&nbsp; Thank you, old master.&nbsp; [<i>He turns to </i>MILLIE.]&nbsp;
+Let me go into the other room, Millie.&nbsp; I will not keep you waiting
+longer than a few moments.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>He goes out.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ELIZABETH.&nbsp; [<i>To </i>GEORGE.]&nbsp; And who may you be, I
+should like to know?&nbsp; You appear to be making very free with my
+parlour.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; We be the servants what wait upon Master Giles, old Missis.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; Old Missis, indeed.&nbsp; Father, you shall speak to
+these persons.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Well, my men.&nbsp; I scarce do know whether I be a-standing
+on my head or upon my heels, and that&rsquo;s the truth &rsquo;tis.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Ah, and that I can well understand, master, for I&rsquo;m
+a married man myself, and my woman has a tongue to her head very similar
+to that of th&rsquo; old missis yonder - so I know what &rsquo;tis.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; Put them both out of the door, Father, do you hear
+me?&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis to the cider as they&rsquo;ve been getting.&nbsp;
+That&rsquo;s clear.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; My good friends, what is it that you carry in those bundles
+there?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis gold in mine.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; And silver here.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; Depend upon it &rsquo;tis two wicked thieves we have
+got among us, flying from justice.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; No, no - did not you hear them say, their master is Giles.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; And a better master never trod the earth.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; And a finer or a richer gentleman I never want to see.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; Do you hear that, Father?&nbsp; O you shocking liars
+- &rsquo;tis stolen goods that you&rsquo;ve been and brought to our
+innocent house this day.&nbsp; But, Father, do you up and fetch in the
+constable, do you hear?<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; O I&rsquo;ll run.&nbsp; I shall love to see them going off
+to gaol.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; Be quiet, May.&nbsp; Can&rsquo;t you all see how &rsquo;tis.&nbsp;
+Giles has done the cruel hard task set him by Father - and is back again
+with the bushel of silver and that of gold to claim my hand.&nbsp; [GILES
+<i>enters</i>.]&nbsp; But Giles - I&rsquo;d have given it to you had
+you come to me poor and forlorn and ragged, for my love has never wandered
+from you in all this long time.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; No, Giles - and that it has not.&nbsp; Millie has never
+given me one kind word nor one gentle look all the years that I&rsquo;ve
+been courting of her, and that&rsquo;s the truth.&nbsp; And you can
+call witness to it if you care.<br>
+<br>
+GILES.&nbsp; Uncle, Aunt, I&rsquo;ve done the task you set me years
+ago - and now I claim my reward.&nbsp; I went from this house a poor
+wretch, with nothing but the hopeless love in my heart to feed and sustain
+me.&nbsp; I have returned with all that the world can give me of riches
+and prosperity.&nbsp; Will you now let me be the husband of your daughter?<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; O say ye, Uncle, for look how fine and grand he is in
+his coat - and the bags are stuffed full to the brim and &rsquo;tis
+with gold and silver.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; Well - &rsquo;tis a respectabler end than I thought
+as you&rsquo;d come to, Giles.&nbsp; And different nor what you deserved.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Come, come, Mother. - The fewer words to this, the better.&nbsp;
+Giles, my boy - get you into the trap and take her along to the church
+and drive smart.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; Annet - will you come there with me too?<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; O Andrew - what are you saying?<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Come, come.&nbsp; Where&rsquo;s the wind blowing from
+now?&nbsp; Here, Mother, do you listen to this.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; I shall be deaf before I&rsquo;ve done, but it appears
+to me that Annet&rsquo;s not lost any time in making the most of her
+chances.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Ah, and she be none the worse for that.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis
+what we all likes to do.&nbsp; Where&rsquo;d I be in the market if I
+did let my chances blow by me?&nbsp; Hear that, Andrew?<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m a rare lucky man this day, farmer.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; Ah, and &rsquo;tis a rare good little wench, Annet - though
+she bain&rsquo;t so showy as our&rsquo;n.&nbsp; A rare good little maid.&nbsp;
+And now &rsquo;tis time we was all off to church, seeing as this is
+to be a case of double harness like.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; O Annet, you can&rsquo;t be wed in that plain gown.<br>
+<br>
+ANNET.&nbsp; May, I&rsquo;m so happy that I feel as though I were clothed
+all over with jewels.<br>
+<br>
+ANDREW.&nbsp; Give me your hand, Annet.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; [<i>Mockingly</i>.]&nbsp; Millie - don&rsquo;t you want to
+give a drink of water to yon poor old man?<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; That I will, May?&nbsp; Here - fetch me something that&rsquo;s
+better than water for him.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll have no cider drinking out of meal times
+here.<br>
+<br>
+MILLIE.&nbsp; Then &rsquo;twill I have to be when we come back from
+church.<br>
+<br>
+OLD MAN.&nbsp; Bless you, my pretty lady, but I be used to waiting.&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;ll just sit me down outside in the sun till you be man and wife.<br>
+<br>
+ELIZABETH.&nbsp; And that&rsquo;ll not be till this day next year if
+this sort of thing goes on any longer.<br>
+<br>
+DANIEL.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s right, Mother.&nbsp; You take and lead the
+way.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis the womenfolk as do keep we back from everything.&nbsp;
+But I knows how to settle with they - [<i>roaring</i>] - come Mill,
+come Giles, Andrew, Annet, May.&nbsp; Come Mother, out of th&rsquo;
+house with all of you and to church, I say.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>He gets behind them all and drives them before him and out of the
+room</i>.&nbsp; <i>When they have gone</i>,<i> the </i>OLD MAN <i>sinks
+on a bench in the door-way.<br>
+<br>
+</i>OLD MAN.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m done with all the foolishness of life and
+I can sit me down and sleep till it be time to eat.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>Curtain.</i>]<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+BUSHES AND BRIARS<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHARACTERS<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS SPRING, <i>a farmer</i>,<i> aged </i>35.<br>
+EMILY, <i>his wife</i>,<i> the same age.<br>
+</i>CLARA, <i>his sister</i>,<i> aged </i>21.<br>
+JESSIE AND ROBIN, <i>the children of Thomas and Emily</i>,<i> aged </i>10
+<i>and </i>8.<br>
+JOAN, <i>maid to Clara.<br>
+</i>MILES HOOPER, <i>a rich draper.<br>
+</i>LUKE JENNER, <i>a farmer.<br>
+</i>LORD LOVEL.<br>
+GEORGE, <i>aged </i>28.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+ACT I. - Scene 1.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<i>A wood</i>.&nbsp; <i>It is a morning in June.<br>
+<br>
+</i>GEORGE, <i>carrying an empty basket</i>,<i> comes slowly through
+the wood</i>.&nbsp; <i>On reaching a fallen tree he sits down on it</i>,<i>
+placing his basket on the ground</i>.&nbsp; <i>With his stick he absently
+moves the grass and leaves that lie before him</i>,<i> and is so deeply
+lost in his own thoughts that he does not hear the approach of </i>MILES
+<i>and </i>LUKE <i>until they are by his side.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MILES.&nbsp; Here&rsquo;s the very man to tell us all we want to
+know.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; Why, if &rsquo;tisn&rsquo;t George from Ox Lease.<br>
+<br>
+[GEORGE <i>half rises.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MILES.&nbsp; No, sit you down again, my lad, and we&rsquo;ll rest
+awhile by the side of you.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s it, Miles.&nbsp; Nothing couldn&rsquo;t have
+fallen out better for us, I&rsquo;m thinking.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; You&rsquo;re about right, Luke.&nbsp; Now, George, my man,
+we should very much appreciate a few words with you.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; [<i>Taking up his basket</i>.]&nbsp; Morning baint the
+time for words, masters.&nbsp; I count as words will keep till the set
+of sun.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis otherwise with work.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; Work, why, George, &rsquo;tis clear you are come out but
+to gather flowers this morning.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis the very first time as ever I caught George an
+idling away of his time like this.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis over to Brook as I be going, masters, to fetch
+back a couple of young chicken.&nbsp; Ourn be mostly old fowls, or pullets
+what do lay.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; I never heard tell of young chicken being ate up at Ox Lease
+afore July was in.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Nor me neither, master.&nbsp; Never heared nor seed such
+a thing.&nbsp; But mistress, her says, you can&rsquo;t sit a maid from
+town at table unless there be poultry afore of she.&nbsp; They be rare
+nesh in their feeding, maids from town, so mistress do say.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; That just brings us to our little matter, George.&nbsp;
+When is it that you expect the young lady?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; The boxes of they be stacked mountains high in the bedroom
+since yesterday.&nbsp; And I count as the maids will presently come
+on their own feet from where the morning coach do set them down.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; Nay, but there&rsquo;s only one maid what&rsquo;s expected.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Miss Clara, what&rsquo;s master&rsquo;s sister; and the
+serving wench of she.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; Well, George, &rsquo;twas a great day for your master when
+old Madam Lovel took little Miss Clara to be bred up as one of the quality.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; A water plant do grow best by the stream, and a blossom,
+from the meadows, midst the grass.&nbsp; Let each sort bide in the place
+where &rsquo;twas seeded.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; No, no, George, you don&rsquo;t know what you&rsquo;re
+talking about.&nbsp; A little country wench may bloom into something
+very modish and elegant, once taken from her humble home and set amongst
+carpets of velvet and curtains of satin.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ll see.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twould be a poor thing for any one to be so worked
+upon by curtains, nor yet carpets, master.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; Take my word for it, George, Ox Lease will have to smarten
+up a bit for this young lady.&nbsp; I know the circles she has been
+moving in, and &rsquo;tis to the best of everything that she has been
+used.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; [<i>Rising</i>.]&nbsp; That&rsquo;s what mistress do say.&nbsp;
+And that&rsquo;s why I be sent along down to Brook with haymaking going
+on and all.&nbsp; Spring chicken with sparrow grass be the right feeding
+for such as they.&nbsp; So mistress do count.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; Stop a moment, George.&nbsp; You have perhaps heard the
+letters from Miss Clara discussed in the family from time to time.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Miss Clara did never send but two letters home in all
+the while she was gone.&nbsp; The first of them did tell as how th&rsquo;
+old lady was dead and had left all of her fortune to Miss Clara.&nbsp;
+And the second was to say as how her was coming back to the farm this
+morning.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; And hark you here, George, was naught mentioned about Miss
+Clara&rsquo;s fine suitors in neither of them letters?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; That I cannot say, Master Jenner.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; Nothing of their swarming thick around her up in London,
+George?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; They may be swarming by the thousand for aught as I do
+know.&nbsp; They smells gold as honey bees do smell the blossom.&nbsp;
+Us&rsquo;ll have a good few of them a-buzzing round the farm afore we&rsquo;re
+many hours older, so I counts.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; Well, George, that&rsquo;ll liven up the place a bit, I
+don&rsquo;t doubt.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis a bit of quiet and no livening as Ox Lease do
+want.&nbsp; Isn&rsquo;t that so, George, my lad?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; [<i>Preparing to set off</i>.]&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll say good
+morning to you, masters.&nbsp; I count I&rsquo;ve been and wasted a
+smartish time already on the road.&nbsp; We be a bit hard pressed up
+at the farm this day.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; But George, my man, we have a good many questions to ask
+of you before you set off.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Them questions will have to bide till another time, I
+reckon.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m got late already, master.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>He hurries off.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MILES.&nbsp; Arriving by the morning coach!&nbsp; I shall certainly
+make my call to the farm before sunset.&nbsp; What do you say, Jenner?<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; You&rsquo;re a rich man, Miles, and I am poor.&nbsp; But
+we have always been friends.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; And our fathers before us, Luke.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; And the courting of the same maid shall not come between
+us.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; [<i>Slowly</i>.]&nbsp; That&rsquo;ll be all right, Luke.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; What I do say is, let&rsquo;s start fair.&nbsp; Neck to
+neck, like.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; As you please, my good Luke.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; Then, do you tell me honest, shall I do in the clothes I&rsquo;m
+a-wearing of now, Miles?<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; [<i>Regarding him critically</i>.]&nbsp; That neckerchief
+is not quite the thing, Luke.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis my Sunday best.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; Step over to the High Street with me, my lad.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve
+got something in the shop that will be the very thing.&nbsp; You shall
+have it half price for &rsquo;tis only a bit damaged in one of the corners.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m sure I&rsquo;m very much obliged to you, Miles.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s all right, Luke.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; George would look better to my thinking if there was a new
+coat to the back of him.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; Ah, poor beggar, he would, and no mistake.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; I warrant as Emily do keep it afore him as how he was took
+in from off the road by th&rsquo; old farmer in his day.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; I flatter myself that I have a certain way with the ladies.&nbsp;
+They come to me confidential like and I tell them what&rsquo;s what,
+and how that, this or t&rsquo;other is worn about town.&nbsp; But with
+Missis Spring &rsquo;tis different.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s a woman I could
+never get the right side of no how.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; Ah, poor Thomas!&nbsp; There&rsquo;s a man who goes down
+trod and hen scratched if you like.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis altogether a very poor place up at Ox Lease,
+for young Miss.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; [<i>Pulling out his watch</i>.]&nbsp; Time&rsquo;s slipping
+on.&nbsp; What if we were to stroll on to the shop and see about my
+neckerchief, Miles?<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m sure I&rsquo;m quite agreeable, Luke.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twill
+help to pass away the morning.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>He puts his arm in </i>LUKE&rsquo;S <i>and they go briskly off in
+the direction of the village.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+</i>ACT I. - Scene 2.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CLARA, <i>followed by </i>JOAN, <i>comes through the wood</i>.&nbsp;
+CLARA <i>is dressed in a long</i>,<i> rich cloak and wears a bonnet
+that is brightly trimmed with feathers and ribbons</i>.&nbsp; JOAN <i>wears
+a cotton bonnet and small shawl</i>.&nbsp; <i>She carries her mistress</i>&rsquo;<i>s
+silken bag over her arm.<br>
+<br>
+</i>CLARA.&nbsp; [<i>Pointing to the fallen tree</i>.]&nbsp; There is
+the very resting place for us.&nbsp; We will sit down under the trees
+for a while.&nbsp; [<i>She seats herself.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Dusting the tree with her handkerchief before she
+sits on it</i>.]&nbsp; Have we much further to go, mistress?<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Only a mile or two, so far as I can remember.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis rough work for the feet, down in these parts,
+mistress.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; If London roads were paved with diamonds I&rsquo;d sooner
+have my feet treading this rugged way that leads to home.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; What sort of a place shall we find it when we gets there,
+mistress.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; I was but seven when I left them all, Joan.&nbsp; And that
+is fourteen years ago to-day.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; So many years may bring about some powerful big changes,
+mistress.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; But I dream that I shall find all just as it was when I
+went away.&nbsp; Only that Gran&rsquo;ma won&rsquo;t be there.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>There is a short silence during which </i>CLARA <i>seems lost in
+thought</i>.&nbsp; JOAN <i>flicks the dust off her shoes with a branch
+of leaves.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOAN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis the coaches I do miss down in these parts.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; I would not have driven one step of the way this morning,
+Joan.&nbsp; In my fancy I have been walking up from the village and
+through the wood and over the meadows since many a day.&nbsp; I have
+not forgotten one turn of the path.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; The road has not changed then, mistress?<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; No.&nbsp; But it does not seem quite so broad or so fine
+as I remembered it to be.&nbsp; That is all.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; And very likely the house won&rsquo;t seem so fine neither,
+mistress, after the grand rooms which you have been used to.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; What company shall we see there, mistress?<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Well, there&rsquo;s Thomas, he is my brother, and Emily
+his wife.&nbsp; Then the two children.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; [<i>After a short silence</i>,<i> and as though to herself</i>.]&nbsp;
+And there was George.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; Yes, mistress<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Georgie seemed so big and tall to me in those days.&nbsp;
+I wonder how old he really was, when I was seven.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; Would that be a younger brother of yours, like, mistress<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; No, George minded the horses and looked after the cows
+and poultry.&nbsp; Sometimes he would drive me into market with him
+on a Saturday.&nbsp; And in the evenings I would follow him down to
+the pool to see the cattle watered.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m mortal afeared of cows, mistress.&nbsp; I could
+never abide the sight nor the sound of those animals.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ll soon get over that, Joan.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; And I don&rsquo;t care for poultry neither, very much.&nbsp;
+I goes full of fear when I hears one of they old turkey cocks stamping
+about.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; [<i>Pulling up the sleeve of her left arm</i>.]&nbsp; There,
+do you see this little scar?&nbsp; I was helping George to feed the
+ducks and geese when the fierce gander ran after me and knocked me down
+and took a piece right out of my arm.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Looking intently on the scar</i>.]&nbsp; I have often
+seen that there mark, mistress.&nbsp; And do you think as that old gander
+will be living along of the poultry still?<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; I wish he might be, Joan.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; What with the cows and the horses and the ganders, we shall
+go with our lives in our hands, as you might say.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; [<i>As though to herself</i>.]&nbsp; When the days got
+colder, we would sit under the straw rick, George and I.&nbsp; And he
+would sing to me.&nbsp; Some of his songs, I could say off by heart
+this day.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Looking nervously upward</i>.]&nbsp; O do look at that
+nasty little thing dropping down upon us from a piece of thread silk.&nbsp;
+Who ever put such a thing up in the tree I&rsquo;d like to know.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; [<i>Brushing it gently aside</i>.]&nbsp; That won&rsquo;t
+hurt you - a tiny caterpillar.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>After a moment</i>.]&nbsp; What more could the farm
+hand do, mistress?<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; He would clasp on his bells and dance in the Morris on
+certain days, Joan.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis to be hoped as there&rsquo;ll be some dancing
+or something to liven us all up a bit down here.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Why, Joan, I believe you&rsquo;re tired already of the
+country.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis so powerful quiet and heavy like, mistress.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis full of sounds.&nbsp; Listen to the doves in
+the trees and the lambs calling from the meadow.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d sooner have the wheels of the coaches and the
+cries upon the street, and the door bell a ringing every moment and
+fine gentlemen and ladies being shewn up into the parlour.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; [<i>Stretching out her arms</i>.]&nbsp; O how glad I am
+to be free of all that.&nbsp; And most of all, how glad to be ridded
+of one person.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; His lordship will perhaps follow us down here, mistress.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; No, I have forbidden it.&nbsp; I must have a month of quiet,
+and he is to wait that time for his answer.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; O mistress, you&rsquo;ll never disappoint so fine a gentleman.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; You forget that Lord Lovel and I have played together as
+children.&nbsp; It is as a brother that I look upon him.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; His lordship don&rsquo;t look upon you as a sister, mistress.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; [<i>Rising</i>.]&nbsp; That is a pity, Joan.&nbsp; But
+see, it is getting late and we must be moving onwards.<br>
+<br>
+[JOAN <i>rises and smoothes and shakes out her skirt.<br>
+<br>
+</i>CLARA.&nbsp; Here, loosen my cloak, Joan, and untie the ribbons
+of my bonnet.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; O mistress, keep the pretty clothes upon you till you have
+got to the house.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; No, no - such town garments are not suited to the woods
+and meadows.&nbsp; I want to feel the country breeze upon my head, and
+my limbs must be free from the weight of the cloak.&nbsp; I had these
+things upon me during the coach journey.&nbsp; They are filled with
+road dust and I dislike them now.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Unfastening the cloak and untying the bonnet</i>.]&nbsp;
+They are fresh and bright for I brushed and shook them myself this morning.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; [<i>Retying a blue ribbon which she wears in her hair</i>.]&nbsp;
+I have taken a dislike to them.&nbsp; See here, Joan, since you admire
+them, they shall be yours.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; Mine?&nbsp; The French bonnet and the satin cloak?<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; To comfort you for the pains of the country, Joan.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; O mistress, let us stop a moment longer in this quiet place
+so that I may slip them on and see how they become me.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; As you will.&nbsp; Listen, that is the cuckoo singing.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Throwing off her cotton bonnet and shawl and dressing
+herself hastily in the bonnet and cloak</i>.]&nbsp; O what must it feel
+like to be a grand lady and wear such things from dawn to bed time.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; I am very glad to be without them for a while.&nbsp; How
+good the air feels on my head.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; There, mistress, how do I look?<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Very nicely, Joan.&nbsp; So nicely that if you like, you
+may keep them upon you for the remainder of the way.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; O mistress, may I really do so?<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Yes.&nbsp; And Joan, do you go onwards to the farm by the
+quickest path which is through this wood and across the high road.&nbsp;
+Anyone will shew you where the place is.&nbsp; I have a mind to wander
+about in some of the meadows which I remember.&nbsp; But I will join
+you all in good time.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; Very well, mistress.&nbsp; If I set off in a few moments
+it will do, I suppose?&nbsp; I should just like to take a peep at myself
+as I am now, in the little glass which you carry in your silk bag.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; [<i>Going off</i>.]&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t spend too much time
+looking at what will be shewn you, Joan.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; Never fear, mistress.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll be there afore you,
+if I have to run all the way.&nbsp; [CLARA <i>wanders off.<br>
+<br>
+</i>[JOAN <i>sits down again on the trunk of the fallen tree</i>.&nbsp;
+<i>She opens the silken bag</i>,<i> draws out a small hand glass and
+looks long and steadily at her own reflection</i>.&nbsp; <i>Then she
+glances furtively around and</i>,<i> seeing that she is quite alone</i>,<i>
+she takes a small powder box from the bag and hastily opening it</i>,<i>
+she gives her face several hurried touches with the powder puff.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Surveying the effect in the glass</i>.]&nbsp; Just
+to take off the brown of my freckles.&nbsp; Now if any one was to come
+upon me sitting here they wouldn&rsquo;t know as I was other than a
+real, high lady.&nbsp; All covered with this nice cloak as I be, the
+French bonnet on my head, and powder to my face, who&rsquo;s to tell
+the difference?&nbsp; But O - these must be hid first.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She perceives her cotton bonnet and little shawl on the ground</i>.&nbsp;
+<i>She hastily rolls them up in a small bundle and stuffs them into
+the silken bag</i>.&nbsp; <i>Then she takes up the glass and surveys
+herself again.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOAN.&nbsp; How should I act now if some grand gentleman was to
+come up and commence talking to me?&nbsp; Perhaps he might even take
+me for a lady of title in these fine clothes, and &rsquo;twould be a
+pity to have to undeceive him.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She arranges her hair a little under the bonnet and then lowers
+the lace veil over her face.<br>
+<br>
+</i>[MILES <i>and </i>LUKE <i>come slowly up behind her</i>.&nbsp; MILES
+<i>nudges </i>LUKE <i>with his elbow</i>,<i> signing to him to remain
+where he is whilst he steps forward in front of </i>JOAN.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; Pardon me, madam, but you appear to have mistook the way.&nbsp;
+Allow me to set you on the right path for Ox Lease.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Letting the mirror fall on her lap and speaking very
+low</i>.]&nbsp; How do you know I am going to Ox Lease, sir?<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; You see, madam, I happen to know that a stylish young miss
+from town is expected there to-day.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; [<i>Coming forward and speaking in a loud whisper</i>.]&nbsp;
+Now Miles.&nbsp; I count as you made one of the biggest blunders of
+the time.&nbsp; Our young lady be journeying along of her servant wench.&nbsp;
+This one baint she.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; If we have made a small error, madam, allow me to beg your
+pardon.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t mention it, sir.&nbsp; Everyone is mistaken
+sometimes.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; Well, I&rsquo;m powerful sorry if we have given any offence,
+mam.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Looking up at </i>LUKE <i>with sudden boldness and speaking
+in a slow</i>,<i> affected voice</i>.]&nbsp; There&rsquo;s nothing to
+make so much trouble about, sir.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; Can we be of any assistance to you, madam?&nbsp; The wood
+may appear rather dense at this point.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; That it does.&nbsp; Dense and dark - and the pathway!&nbsp;
+My goodness, but my feet have never travelled over such rough ground
+before.<br>
+<br>
+Muss.&nbsp; That I am sure of, madam.&nbsp; I have no doubt that the
+delicate texture of your shoes has been sadly treated by our stones
+and ruts.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Insensibly pulling her skirts over her thick walking
+shoes</i>.]&nbsp; Well, it&rsquo;s vastly different to London streets,
+where I generally take exercise - at least when I&rsquo;m not a-riding
+in the coach.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; The country is but a sad place at the best, Miss Clara
+Spring.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Looking round furtively and speaking in a whisper</i>.]&nbsp;
+O, how did you guess my - my name?<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; Come, &rsquo;twasn&rsquo;t a hard matter, that.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; Missey can command my services.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Rallying</i>,<i> and standing up</i>.]&nbsp; Then gentlemen,
+do you walk a bit of the road with me and we could enjoy some conversation
+as we go along.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; [<i>Offering his arm</i>.]&nbsp; You take my arm, Miss Clara
+- do - .<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; [<i>Also offering his arm</i>.]&nbsp; I shall also give
+myself the pleasure of supporting Miss.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Taking an arm of each</i>.]&nbsp; O thank you, kindly
+gentlemen.&nbsp; Now we shall journey very comfortably, I am sure.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>They all set out walking in the direction of the farm.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+</i>ACT II. - Scene 1.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<i>The kitchen of Ox Lease Farm</i>.&nbsp; <i>There are three doors</i>.&nbsp;
+<i>One opens to the staircase</i>,<i> one to the garden and a third
+into the back kitchen</i>.&nbsp; <i>At a table in the middle of the
+room </i>EMILY <i>stands ironing some net window curtains</i>.&nbsp;
+JESSIE <i>and </i>ROBIN <i>lean against the table watching her</i>.&nbsp;
+<i>By the open doorway</i>,<i> looking out on the garden</i>,<i> stands
+</i>THOMAS, <i>a mug of cider in one hand and a large slice of bread
+in the other</i>.&nbsp; <i>As he talks</i>,<i> he takes alternate drinks
+and bites.<br>
+<br>
+</i>EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>Speaking in a shrill</i>,<i> angry voice</i>.]&nbsp;
+Now Thomas, suppose you was to take that there bread a step further
+away and eat it in the garden, if eat it you must, instead of crumbling
+it all over my clean floor.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t you be so testy, Emily.&nbsp; The dogs&rsquo;ll
+lick the crumbs up as clean as you like presently.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; Dogs?&nbsp; I&rsquo;d like to see the dog as&rsquo;ll shew
+its nose in here to-day when I&rsquo;ve got it all cleaned up against
+the coming of fine young madam.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; [<i>Finishing his bread and looking wistfully at his empty
+hand</i>.]&nbsp; The little maid&rsquo;ll take a brush and sweep up
+her daddy&rsquo;s crumbs, now, won&rsquo;t her?<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll give it to any one who goes meddling in my brush
+cupboard now that I&rsquo;ve just put all in order against the prying
+and nozzling of the good-for-nothing baggage what&rsquo;s coming along
+with your sister.<br>
+<br>
+ROBIN.&nbsp; What&rsquo;s baggage, Mother?<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>Sharply</i>.]&nbsp; Never you mind.&nbsp; Get and take
+your elbow off my ironing sheet.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; [<i>Looking at her father</i>.]&nbsp; I count as you&rsquo;d
+like a piece more bread, Dad?<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; Well, I don&rsquo;t say but &rsquo;twouldn&rsquo;t come
+amiss.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis hungry work in th&rsquo; hayfield.&nbsp; And
+us be to go without our dinners this day, isn&rsquo;t that so, Emily?<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>Slamming down her iron on the stand</i>.]&nbsp; If
+I&rsquo;ve told you once, I&rsquo;ve told you twenty times, &rsquo;twas
+but the one pair of hands as I was gived at birth.&nbsp; Now, what have
+you got to say against that, Thomas?<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; [<i>Sheepishly</i>.]&nbsp; I&rsquo;m sure I don&rsquo;t
+know.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; And if so be as I&rsquo;m to clean and wash and cook, and
+run, and wait, and scour, and mend, for them lazy London minxes, other
+folk must go without hot cooking at mid-day.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; [<i>Faintly</i>.]&nbsp; &rsquo;Twasn&rsquo;t nothing cooked,
+like.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas a bit of bread as I did ask for.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; [<i>Getting up</i>.]&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll get it for you,
+Dad.&nbsp; I know where the loaf bides and the knife too.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll
+cut you, O such a large piece.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>Seizing her roughly by the hand</i>.]&nbsp; You&rsquo;ll
+do nothing of the sort.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ll take this here cold iron
+into Maggie and you&rsquo;ll bring back one that is hot.&nbsp; How am
+I to get these curtains finished and hung and all, by the time the dressed
+up parrots come sailing in, I&rsquo;d like to know.<br>
+<br>
+[JESSIE <i>runs away with the iron.<br>
+<br>
+</i>THOMAS.&nbsp; [<i>Setting down his mug and coming to the table</i>.]&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;d leave the windows bare if it was me, Emily.&nbsp; The creeping
+rose do form the suitablest shade for they, to my thinking.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; That shews how much you know about it, Thomas.&nbsp; No,
+take your hands from off my table.&nbsp; Do you think as I wants dirty
+thumbs shewing all over the clean net what I&rsquo;ve washed and dried
+and ironed, and been a-messing about with since &rsquo;twas light?<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; Now that&rsquo;s what I be trying for to say.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s
+no need for you to go and work yourself into the fidgets, Emily, because
+of little Clara coming back.&nbsp; Home&rsquo;s home.&nbsp; And &rsquo;twon&rsquo;t
+be neither the curtains nor the hot dinner as Clara will be thinking
+of when her steps into th&rsquo; old place once more.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; [<i>Running back with the hot iron which she sets down
+on the table</i>.]&nbsp; What will Aunt Clara be thinking of then, Dad?<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; [<i>Shy and abashed under a withering glance from </i>EMILY
+<i>who has taken up the iron and is slamming it down on the net</i>.]&nbsp;
+Her&rsquo;ll remember, very like, how &rsquo;twas when her left - some
+fourteen year ago.&nbsp; And her&rsquo;ll have her eyes on Gran&rsquo;ma&rsquo;s
+chair, what&rsquo;s empty.<br>
+<br>
+ROBIN.&nbsp; I should be thinking of the hot fowl and sparrow grass
+what&rsquo;s for dinner.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; And her&rsquo;ll look up to th&rsquo; old clock, and different
+things what&rsquo;s still in their places.&nbsp; The grand parts where
+she have been bred up will be forgot.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twill be only home
+as her&rsquo;ll think on.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; I haven&rsquo;t patience to listen to such stuff.&nbsp;
+<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; [<i>After a pause</i>.]&nbsp; I count that &rsquo;tisn&rsquo;t
+likely as a young woman what&rsquo;s been left riches as Clara have,
+would choose to make her home along of such as we for always, like.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; We have perches and plenty of them for barn door poultry,
+but when it comes to roosting spangled plumes and fancy fowls, no thank
+you, Thomas, I&rsquo;m not going to do it.<br>
+<br>
+ROBIN.&nbsp; Do let us get and roost some fancy fowls, Mother.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; What are spangled plumes, Mother?&nbsp; <br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>Viciously</i>.]&nbsp; You&rsquo;ll see plenty of them
+presently.<br>
+<br>
+ROBIN.&nbsp; Will Aunt Clara bring the fowls along of she?<br>
+<br>
+[<i>A slight pause during which </i>EMILY <i>irons vigorously.<br>
+<br>
+</i>EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>As she irons</i>.]&nbsp; Some folk have all the
+honey.&nbsp; It do trickle from the mouths of them and down to the ground.<br>
+<br>
+ROBIN.&nbsp; Has Aunt Clara got her mouth very sticky, then?<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; And there be others what are born to naught but crusts
+and the vinegar.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; Like you, Mother - Least, that&rsquo;s what Maggie said
+this morning.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; What&rsquo;s that?<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; That &rsquo;twas in the vinegar jar as your tongue had
+growed, Mother.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll learn that wench to keep her thoughts to herself
+if she can&rsquo;t fetch them out respectful like.&nbsp; [<i>Shouting</i>.]&nbsp;
+Mag, come you here this minute - what are you after now, I&rsquo;d like
+to know, you ugly, idle piece of mischief?<br>
+<br>
+[MAGGIE, <i>wiping a plate comes from the back kitchen.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MAGGIE.&nbsp; Was you calling, mistress?<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; What&rsquo;s this you&rsquo;ve got saying to Miss Jessie,
+I should like to know.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; [<i>Running to </i>MAGGIE <i>and laying her hand on her
+arm</i>.]&nbsp; Dear Maggie, &rsquo;tis only what you did tell about
+poor mother&rsquo;s tongue being in the vinegar jar.<br>
+<br>
+MAGGIE.&nbsp; O Miss Jessie.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; Hark you here, my girl - if &rsquo;twasn&rsquo;t hay time
+you should bundle up your rags and off with you this minute.&nbsp; But
+as &rsquo;tis awkward being short of a pair of hands just now, you&rsquo;ll
+bide a week or two and then you&rsquo;ll get outside of my door with
+no more character to you nor what I took you with.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; Come, come Emily.&nbsp; The girl&rsquo;s a good one for
+to work, and that she is.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; Be quiet, Thomas.&nbsp; This is my business, and you&rsquo;ll
+please to keep your words till they&rsquo;re wanted.<br>
+<br>
+MAGGIE.&nbsp; O mistress, I didn&rsquo;t mean no harm, I didn&rsquo;t.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t want no words nor no tears neither.&nbsp;
+<br>
+<br>
+MAGGIE.&nbsp; [<i>Beginning to cry loudly</i>.]&nbsp; I be the only
+girl as have stopped with you more nor a month, I be.&nbsp; T&rsquo;others
+wouldn&rsquo;t bide a day, some of them.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; Be quiet.&nbsp; Back to your work with you.&nbsp; And when
+the hay is all carried, off with you, ungrateful minx, to where you
+came from.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; O let us keep her always, Mother, she&rsquo;s kind.&nbsp;
+<br>
+<br>
+ROBIN.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t you cry, Mag.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll marry you when
+I&rsquo;m a big man like Daddy.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; Harken to them, Emily!&nbsp; She&rsquo;s been a good maid
+to the children.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d not part with any one so hasty, if
+&rsquo;twas me.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>Very angrily</i>.]&nbsp; When I want your opinion,
+Thomas, I&rsquo;ll ask for it.&nbsp; Suppose you was to go out and see
+after something which you do understand.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; O I&rsquo;ll go down to the field fast enough, I can tell
+you.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas only being hungered as drove me into the hornets&rsquo;
+nest, as you might say.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>Ironing fiercely</i>.]&nbsp; What&rsquo;s that?<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; Nothing.&nbsp; I did only say as I was a-going back to
+the field when George do come home.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; There again.&nbsp; Did you ever know the man to be so slow
+before.&nbsp; I warrant as he have gone drinking or mischiefing down
+at the Spotted Cow instead of coming straight home with they chicken.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; Nay, nay.&nbsp; George is not the lad to do a thing like
+that.&nbsp; A quieter more well bred up lad nor George never trod in
+shoes.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY [<i>Glancing at </i>MAGGIE.]&nbsp; What are you tossing your head
+like that for, Maggie?&nbsp; Please to recollect as you&rsquo;re a lazy,
+good-for-nothing little slut of a maid servant, and not a circus pony
+all decked out for the show.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; Maggie&rsquo;s fond of Georgie.&nbsp; And Georgie&rsquo;s
+kind to Mag.<br>
+<br>
+MAGGIE.&nbsp; [<i>Fearfully</i>.]&nbsp; O don&rsquo;t, Miss Jessie,
+for goodness sake.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>Viciously</i>.]&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll soon put an end to
+anything in that quarter.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; Now, Emily - take it quiet.&nbsp; Why, we shall have Clara
+upon us before us knows where we are.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>Folding the curtains</i>.]&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll settle
+her too, if she comes before I&rsquo;m ready for her.<br>
+<br>
+ROBIN.&nbsp; [<i>Pointing through the open</i>.]&nbsp; There&rsquo;s
+George, coming with the basket.<br>
+<br>
+[GEORGE <i>comes into the room</i>.&nbsp; <i>He carefully rubs his feet
+on the mat as he enters</i>.&nbsp; <i>Then he advances to the table</i>.&nbsp;
+MAGGIE <i>dries her eyes with the back of her hand</i>.&nbsp; JESSIE
+<i>is standing with her arm in </i>MAGGIE&rsquo;S.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; Well, and where have you been all this while, I&rsquo;d
+like to know?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; To Brook Farm, mam, and home.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ve been up to some mischief on the way, I warrant.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; Come, Emily.<br>
+<br>
+[GEORGE <i>looks calmly into </i>EMILY&rsquo;S <i>face</i>.&nbsp; <i>Then
+his gaze travels leisurely round the room.<br>
+<br>
+</i>GEORGE.&nbsp; I was kept waiting while they did pluck and dress
+the chicken.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>Lifting the cloth covering the basket</i>,<i> and looking
+within it</i>.]&nbsp; I&rsquo;d best have gone myself.&nbsp; Of all
+the thick-headed men I ever did see, you&rsquo;re the thickest.&nbsp;
+Upon my word you are.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; What&rsquo;s wrong now, mistress?<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; &rsquo;Taint chicken at all what you&rsquo;ve been and
+fetched me.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll be blowed if I do know what &rsquo;tis then.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; If I&rsquo;d been given a four arms and legs at birth same
+as th&rsquo; horses, I&rsquo;d have left a pair of them at home and
+gone and done the job myself, I would.&nbsp; And then you should see
+what I&rsquo;d have brought back.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; You can&rsquo;t better what I&rsquo;ve got here.&nbsp;
+From the weight it might be two fat capons.&nbsp; So it might.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>Seizing the basket roughly</i>.]&nbsp; Here, Mag, off
+into the pantry with them.&nbsp; A couple of skinny frogs from out the
+road ditch would have done as well.&nbsp; And you, Jess, upstairs with
+these clean curtains and lay them careful on the bed.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll
+put them to the windows later.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; George, my boy, did you meet with any one on the way,
+like?<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; You&rsquo;d best ask no questions if you don&rsquo;t want
+to be served with lies, Thomas.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; [<i>Throwing a glance of disdain at </i>EMILY.]&nbsp;
+Miles Hooper and Farmer Jenner was taking the air &rsquo;long of one
+another in the wood, master.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; Miles Hooper and Luke a-taking of the air, and of a weekday
+morning!<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; That they was, master.&nbsp; And they did stop I -<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; Ah, now you&rsquo;ve got it, Thomas.&nbsp; Now we shall
+know why George was upon the road the best part of the day and me kept
+waiting for the chicken.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; [<i>Steadily</i>.]&nbsp; Sunday clothes to the back of
+both of them.&nbsp; And, when was Miss Clara expected up at home.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; Ah, &rsquo;tis a fair commotion all over these parts already,
+I warrant.&nbsp; There wasn&rsquo;t nothing else spoke of in market
+last time, but how as sister Clara with all her money was to come home.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; [<i>Coming back</i>.]&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve laid the curtains
+on the bed, shall I gather some flowers and set them on the table, mother?<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d like to see you!&nbsp; Flowers in the bedroom?&nbsp;
+I never heard tell of such senseless goings on.&nbsp; What next, I&rsquo;d
+like to know?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Miss Clara always did fill a mug of clover blooms and
+set it aside of her bed when her was a little thing - so high.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; Do you remember our fine aunt, then, Georgie?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; I remembers Miss Clara right enough.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t you flatter yourself, George, as such a coxsy
+piece of town goods will trouble herself to remember you.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; The little maid had a good enough heart to her afore she
+was took away from us.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; Do you think our aunt Clara has growed into a coxsy town
+lady, George?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; No, I do not, Miss Jessie.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>Beginning to stir about noisily as she sets the kitchen
+in order</i>.]&nbsp; Get off with you to the field, Thomas, can&rsquo;t
+you.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve had enough to do as &rsquo;tis without a great
+hulking man standing about and taking up all the room.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; Come, George, us&rsquo;ll clear out down to th&rsquo;
+hay field, and snatch a bite as we do go.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s it, master.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>Calling angrily after them</i>.]&nbsp; There&rsquo;s
+no dinner for no one to-day, I tell you.<br>
+<br>
+[THOMAS <i>and </i>GEORGE <i>go out of the back kitchen door</i>.&nbsp;
+EMILY <i>begins putting the irons away</i>,<i> folding up the ironing
+sheet and setting the chairs back against the wall.<br>
+<br>
+</i>[JESSIE <i>and </i>ROBIN, <i>from their places at the table</i>,<i>
+watch her intently.<br>
+<br>
+</i>EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>As she moves about</i>.]&nbsp; &rsquo;Twouldn&rsquo;t
+be half the upset if the wench was coming by herself, but to have a
+hussy of a serving maid sticking about in the rooms along of us, is
+more nor I can stand.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She begins violently to sweep up the hearth</i>.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>Steps are heard outside.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JESSIE.&nbsp; Hark, what&rsquo;s that, mother?<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll give it to any one who wants to come in here.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; [<i>Running to the open door</i>.]&nbsp; They&rsquo;re
+coming up the path.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis our fine auntie and two grand gentlemen
+either side of she.<br>
+<br>
+ROBIN.&nbsp; [<i>Running also to the door</i>.]&nbsp; O I want to look
+on her too.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>Putting the broom in a corner</i>.]&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis
+no end to the vexation.&nbsp; But she&rsquo;ll have to wait on herself.&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;ve no time to play the dancing bear.&nbsp; And that I&rsquo;ve
+not.<br>
+<br>
+[JOAN, <i>between </i>MILES HOOPER <i>and </i>LUKE JENNER, <i>comes
+up to the open door.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MILES.&nbsp; [<i>To Jessie</i>.]&nbsp; See here, my little maid,
+what&rsquo;ll you give Mister Hooper for bringing this pretty lady safe
+up to the farm?<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; I know who &rsquo;tis you&rsquo;ve brought.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis
+my Aunt Clara.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; You&rsquo;re a smart little wench, if ever there was one.<br>
+<br>
+ROBIN.&nbsp; I know who &rsquo;tis, too, &rsquo;cause of the spangled
+plumes in the bonnet of she.&nbsp; Mother said as there&rsquo;d be some.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>Coming forward</i>.]&nbsp; Well, Clara, if &rsquo;twas
+by the morning coach as you did come, you&rsquo;re late.&nbsp; If &rsquo;twas
+by th&rsquo; evening one, you&rsquo;re too soon by a good few hours.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; Having come by the morning coach, Miss Clara had the pleasant
+fancy to stroll here through the woodlands, Missis Spring.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; Ah, and &rsquo;twas lost on the way as we did find her,
+like a strayed sheep.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; And ours has been the privilege to bring the fair wanderer
+safely home.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>Scornfully looking </i>JOAN <i>over from head to foot</i>.]&nbsp;
+Where&rsquo;s that serving wench of yours got to, Clara?<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; Our young missy had a wish for solitude.&nbsp; She sent
+her maid on by another road.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; The good-for-nothing hussy.&nbsp; I warrant as she have
+found something of mischief for her idle hands to do.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; If I may venture to say so, our Miss Clara is somewhat
+fatigued by her long stroll.&nbsp; London young ladies are very delicately
+framed, Missis Spring.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>Pointing ungraciously</i>.]&nbsp; There&rsquo;s chairs
+right in front of you.<br>
+<br>
+[MILES <i>and </i>LUKE <i>lead </i>JOAN <i>forward</i>,<i> placing her
+in an armchair with every attention</i>.&nbsp; JOAN <i>sinks into it</i>,<i>
+and</i>,<i> taking a little fan from the silken bag on her arm</i>,<i>
+begins to fan herself violently.<br>
+<br>
+</i>EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>Watching her with fierce contempt</i>.]&nbsp; Maybe
+as you&rsquo;d like my kitchen wench to come and do that for you, Clara,
+seeing as your fine maid is gadding about the high roads instead of
+minding what it concerns her to attend to.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Faintly</i>.]&nbsp; O no, thank you.&nbsp; The day is
+rather warm - that&rsquo;s all.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; Warm, I should think it was warm in under of that great
+white curtain.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; Aunt Clara, I&rsquo;m Jessie.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; Are you, my dear?<br>
+<br>
+ROBIN.&nbsp; And I&rsquo;m Robin.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; Now, I wager, if you are both good little children, this
+pretty lady will give you each a kiss.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Faintly</i>.]&nbsp; To be sure I will.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; Then you&rsquo;ll have to take off that white thing from
+your face.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis like what mother do spread over the currant
+bushes to keep the birds from the fruit.<br>
+<br>
+[JOAN <i>slowly raises her veil</i>,<i> showing her face</i>.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; Shall I give you a kiss, Aunt?<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d be careful if I was you, Jess.&nbsp; Fine ladies
+be brittle as fine china.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; O I&rsquo;ll kiss her very lightly, Mother.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She goes up to </i>JOAN <i>and kisses her</i>.&nbsp; ROBIN <i>then
+reaches up his face and </i>JOAN <i>kisses him.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ROBIN.&nbsp; [<i>Rubbing his mouth</i>.]&nbsp; The flour do come
+from Aunt same as it does from a new loaf.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; [<i>To </i>JOAN.]&nbsp; You must pardon these ignorant
+little country brats, Miss Clara.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; O there&rsquo;s nothing amiss, thank you.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; Amiss, who said as there was?&nbsp; When folks what can
+afford to lodge at the inn do come down and fasten theirselves on the
+top of poor people, they must take things as they do find them and not
+start grumbling at the first set off.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; There, there, Missis Spring.&nbsp; There wasn&rsquo;t naught
+said about grumbling.&nbsp; But Miss Clara have come a smartish long
+distance, and it behoves us all as she should find summat of a welcome
+at the end of her journey, like.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; [<i>Aside to </i>JOAN.]&nbsp; How strange this country
+tongue must fall on your ears, Miss Clara!<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t understand about half of what they say.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>Overhearing her</i>.]&nbsp; O, you don&rsquo;t, don&rsquo;t
+you.&nbsp; Well, Clara, I was always one for plain words, and I say
+&rsquo;tis a pity when folks do get above the position to which they
+was bred, and for all the fine satins and plumes upon you, the body
+what&rsquo;s covered by them belongs to Clara Spring, what&rsquo;s sister
+to Thomas.&nbsp; And all the world knows what Thomas is - A poor, mean
+spirited, humble born man with but two coats to the back of him, and
+with not a thought to the mind of him which is not foolishness.&nbsp;
+And I judge from by what they be in birth, and not by the bags of gold
+what have been left them by any old madams in their dotage.&nbsp; So
+now you see how I takes it all and you and me can start fair, like.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>To </i>LUKE.]&nbsp; O Mister - Mister Jenner, I feel
+so faint.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; [<i>Taking her fan</i>.]&nbsp; Allow me.&nbsp; [<i>He begins
+to fan her</i>.]&nbsp; I assure you she means nothing by it.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s
+her way.&nbsp; You see, she knows no better.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d fetch out summat for her to eat if I was you,
+missis.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis famished as the poor young maid must be.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; She should have come when &rsquo;twas meal time then.&nbsp;
+I don&rsquo;t hold with bites nor drinks in between whiles.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; O I&rsquo;m dying for a glass of milk - or water would do
+as well.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; My dear young lady - anything to oblige.&nbsp; [<i>Turning
+to Jessie</i>.]&nbsp; Come, my little maid, see if you can&rsquo;t make
+yourself useful in bringing a tray of refreshment for your auntie.&nbsp;
+And you [<i>turning to Robin</i>]<i> </i>trot off and help sister.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; Not if I know it.&nbsp; Stop where you are, Jess.&nbsp;
+Robin, you dare to move.&nbsp; If Clara wants to eat and drink I&rsquo;m
+afeared she must wait till supper time.<br>
+<br>
+ROBIN.&nbsp; There be chicken and sparrow grass for supper, Aunt.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; And a great pie of gooseberries.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Faintly</i>.]&nbsp; O I couldn&rsquo;t touch a mouthful
+of food, don&rsquo;t speak to me about it.<br>
+<br>
+ROBIN.&nbsp; I likes talking of dinner.&nbsp; After I&rsquo;ve done
+eating of it, I likes next best to talk about it.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; See here, missis.&nbsp; Let&rsquo;s have a glass of summat
+cool for Miss Clara.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>Calling angrily</i>.]&nbsp; Maggie, Maggie, where are
+you, you great lazy-boned donkey?<br>
+<br>
+MAGGIE.&nbsp; [<i>Comes in from the back kitchen</i>,<i> her apron held
+to her eyes</i>.]&nbsp; Did you call me, mistress?<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; Get up a bucket of water from the well.&nbsp; Master&rsquo;s
+sister wants a drink.<br>
+<br>
+MAGGIE.&nbsp; [<i>Between sobs</i>.]&nbsp; Shall I bring it in the bucket,
+or would the young lady like it in a jug?<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>With exasperation</i>.]&nbsp; There&rsquo;s no end
+to the worriting that other folks do make.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; Let me go and help poor Maggie, mother.<br>
+<br>
+ROBIN.&nbsp; [<i>To </i>JOAN.]&nbsp; Do you know what Maggie&rsquo;s
+crying for, Aunt Clara?<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m sure I don&rsquo;t, little boy.<br>
+<br>
+ROBIN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis because she&rsquo;s got to go.&nbsp; Mother&rsquo;s
+sent her off.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas what she said of mother&rsquo;s tongue.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>Roughly taking hold of </i>ROBIN <i>and </i>JESSIE.]&nbsp;
+Come you along with me, you ill-behaved little varmints.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis
+the back kitchen and the serving maid as is the properest place for
+such as you.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll not have you bide &rsquo;mongst the company
+no longer.&nbsp; [<i>She goes out with the children and followed by
+</i>MAGGIE.]<br>
+<br>
+[<i>Directly they have left the room </i>JOAN, <i>whose manner has been
+nervously shrinking</i>,<i> seems to recover herself and she assumes
+a languid</i>,<i> artificial air</i>,<i> badly imitating the ways of
+a lady of fashion.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Fanning herself with her handkerchief and her fan</i>.]&nbsp;
+Well, I never did meet with such goings on before.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; You and I know how people conduct themselves in London,
+Miss Clara.&nbsp; We must not expect to find the same polite ways down
+here.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; Come now, &rsquo;tisn&rsquo;t so bad as all that with we.&nbsp;
+There baint many what has the tongue of mistress yonder.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m quite unused to such people.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; And yet, Miss Clara, &rsquo;tisn&rsquo;t as though they
+were exactly strangers to you like.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; They feel as good as strangers to me, any way.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; Ah, how well I understand that, Miss.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tisn&rsquo;t
+very often as we lay a length of fine silken by the side of unbleached
+woollen at my counters.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; I could go through with it better perhaps, if I didn&rsquo;t
+feel so terrible faint and sinking.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; [<i>Going to the back kitchen door</i>.]&nbsp; Here, Maggie,
+stir yourself up a bit.&nbsp; The lady is near fainting, I do count.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; [<i>Runs in with a tray on which is a jug of water and
+a glass</i>.]&nbsp; I&rsquo;m bringing the drink for Aunt, Mr. Jenner.&nbsp;
+Maggie&rsquo;s crying ever so badly, and Mother&rsquo;s sent her upstairs
+to wash her face and put her hair tidy.<br>
+<br>
+[JESSIE <i>puts the tray on the table near to where </i>JOAN <i>is sitting</i>.&nbsp;
+MILES HOOFER <i>busies himself in pouring out a glass of water and in
+handing it with a great deal of exaggerated deference to </i>JOAN.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Drinking</i>.]&nbsp; Such a coarse glass!<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; Ah, you must let me send you up one from my place during
+your stay here.&nbsp; Who could expect a lady to drink from such a thing
+as that?<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Laying aside the glass</i>.]&nbsp; There&rsquo;s a taste
+of mould in the water too.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s fresh.&nbsp; Mother drawed it up from the well,
+she did.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Looking disdainfully round on the room</i>.]&nbsp; Such
+a strange room.&nbsp; So very common.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; Nay, you mustn&rsquo;t judge of the house by this.&nbsp;
+Don&rsquo;t you recollect the parlour yonder, with the stuffed birds
+and the chiney cupboard?<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Looking round again</i>.]&nbsp; Such an old-fashioned
+place as this I never did see.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis a low sort of room too,
+no carpet on the boards nor cloth to the table, nor nothing elegant.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; Ah, we find the mansions in town very different to a country
+farm house, don&rsquo;t we Miss?<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; I should think we did, Mister Hooper.&nbsp; Why, look at
+that great old wooden chair by the hearth?&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t it look
+un-stylish, upon my word, with no cushions to it nor nothing.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; [<i>Coming quite close to </i>JOAN <i>and looking straight
+into her face</i>.]&nbsp; That&rsquo;s great gran&rsquo;ma&rsquo;s chair,
+what Dad said you&rsquo;d be best pleased for to see.<br>
+<br>
+[JOAN <i>looks very confused and begins to fan herself hastily.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JESSIE.&nbsp; And th&rsquo; old clock&rsquo;s another thing what
+Dad did say as you&rsquo;d look upon.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; O the old clock&rsquo;s well enough, to be sure.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; I did want to gather a nosegay of flowers to set in your
+bedroom, Aunt, but Mother, she said, no.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Languidly</i>.]&nbsp; I must say I don&rsquo;t see any
+flowers blooming here that I should particular care about having in
+my apartment.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; And Father said as how you&rsquo;d like to smell the blossoms
+in the garden.&nbsp; And Georgie told as how you did use to gather the
+clover blooms when you was a little girl and set them by you where you
+did sleep.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Crossly</i>.]&nbsp; O run away, child, I&rsquo;m tired
+to death with all this chatter.&nbsp; How would you like to be so pestered
+after such a travel over the rough country roads as I have had?<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; Now, my little maid, off you go.&nbsp; Take back the tray
+to Mother, and be careful as you don&rsquo;t break the glasses on it.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; [<i>Taking up the tray</i>.]&nbsp; I&rsquo;m off to play
+in the hayfield along of Robin, then.<br>
+<br>
+[LUKE <i>opens the back kitchen door for her and she goes out</i>.&nbsp;
+<i>Meanwhile </i>MILES <i>has taken up the fan and is fanning </i>JOAN,
+<i>who leans back in her chair with closed eyes and exhausted look.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LUKE.&nbsp; [<i>Coming to her side and sitting down</i>.]&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Twill seem more homelike when Thomas do come up from the field.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Raising herself and looking at him</i>.]&nbsp; You mustn&rsquo;t
+trouble about me, Mister Jenner.&nbsp; I shall be quite comfortable
+presently.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>The back door opens and </i>MAGGIE <i>comes hurriedly in.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MAGGIE.&nbsp; Please, mistress, there be a young person a-coming
+through the rick yard.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Nervously</i>.]&nbsp; A young person?<br>
+<br>
+MAGGIE.&nbsp; Mistress be at the gooseberries a-gathering of them, and
+the children be gone off to th&rsquo; hay field.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis very likely your serving maid, dear Miss.&nbsp;
+Shall I fetch the young woman in to you?<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; My maid, did you say?&nbsp; My maid?<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; Ah, depend on it, &rsquo;tis she.<br>
+<br>
+MAGGIE.&nbsp; The young person do have all the looks of a serving wench,
+mistress.&nbsp; She be tramping over the yard with naught but a white
+handkerchief over the head of she and a poking into most of the styes
+and a-calling of the geese and poultry.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s her, right enough.&nbsp; Bring her in, Mag.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Agitatedly</i>.]&nbsp; No, no - I mean - I want to see
+her particular - and alone.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll go to meet her.&nbsp; You
+- gentlemen - [MAGGIE <i>goes slowly into the back kitchen.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MILES.&nbsp; [<i>Placing a chair for </i>JOAN.]&nbsp; Delicate ladies
+should not venture out into the heat at this time of day.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>With sudden resolution ignoring the chair and going
+to the window</i>.]&nbsp; Then, do you two kind gentlemen take a stroll
+in the garden.&nbsp; I have need of the services of my - my young woman.&nbsp;
+But when she has put me in order after the dusty journey, I shall ask
+you to be good enough to come back and while away an hour for me in
+this sad place.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; [<i>Fervently</i>.]&nbsp; Anything to oblige a lady, miss.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s right.&nbsp; Us&rsquo;ll wait while you do
+lay aside your bonnet.<br>
+<br>
+[MILES <i>and </i>LUKE <i>go out through the garden door</i>.&nbsp;
+MILES, <i>turning to bow low before he disappears</i>.&nbsp; JOAN <i>stands
+as though distraught in the middle of the room</i>.&nbsp; <i>Through
+the open door of the back kitchen the voices of </i>CLARA <i>and </i>MAGGIE
+<i>are distinctly heard.<br>
+<br>
+</i>CLARA.&nbsp; Is no one at home then?<br>
+<br>
+MAGGIE.&nbsp; Ah, go you straight on into the kitchen, you&rsquo;ll
+find whom you be searching for in there.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d take and shew
+you in myself only I&rsquo;m wanted down to th&rsquo; hayfield now.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t put yourself to any trouble about me.&nbsp;
+I know my way.<br>
+<br>
+[CLARA <i>comes into the kitchen</i>.&nbsp; <i>She has tied a white
+handkerchief over her head</i>,<i> and carries a bunch of wildflowers
+in her hands.<br>
+<br>
+</i>CLARA.&nbsp; Still in your cloak and bonnet!&nbsp; Why, I thought
+by now you would have unpacked our things and made yourself at home.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Joining her hands supplicatingly and coming towards
+</i>CLARA, <i>speaking almost in a whisper</i>.]&nbsp; O mistress, you&rsquo;ll
+never guess what I&rsquo;ve been and done.&nbsp; But &rsquo;twasn&rsquo;t
+all my fault at the commencement.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; [<i>Looking her over searchingly</i>.]&nbsp; You do look
+very disturbed, Joan, what has happened?<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas the fine bonnet and cloak, mam.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas
+they as did it.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Did what?<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; Put the thought into my head, like.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; What thought?<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; As how &rsquo;twould feel to be a real grand lady, like
+you, mistress.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; What then, Joan?<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; So I began to pretend all to myself as how that I was one,
+mistress.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Come, tell me all.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; And whilst I was sat down upon that fallen tree, and sort
+of pretending to myself, the two gentlemen came along.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; What gentlemen?<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; Gentlemen as was after courting you, mistress.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Courting me?<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; Yes, and they commenced speaking so nice and respectful
+like.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Go on, Joan, don&rsquo;t be afraid.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; It did seem to fall in with the game I was a-playing with
+myself.&nbsp; And then, before I did know how, &rsquo;twas they was
+both of them a-taking me for you, mam.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; And did you not un-deceive them, Joan?<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Very ashamedly</i>.]&nbsp; No, mam.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; You should have told them the truth about yourself at once.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; O I know I should have, mistress.&nbsp; But there was something
+as held me back when I would have spoke the words.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; I wonder what that could have been?<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas them being such very nice and kind gentlemen.&nbsp;
+And, O mistress, you&rsquo;ll not understand it, because you&rsquo;ve
+told me many times as the heart within you have never been touched by
+love.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; [<i>Suddenly sitting down</i>.]&nbsp; And has yours been
+touched to-day, Joan, by love?<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; That it have, mistress.&nbsp; Love have struck at it heavily.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Through which of the gentlemen did it strike, Joan?<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; Through both.&nbsp; Leastways, &rsquo;tis Mister Jenner
+that my feelings do go out most quickly to, mistress.&nbsp; But &rsquo;tis
+Mister Hooper who do court the hardest and who has the greatest riches
+like.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Well, and what do you want me to do or to say now, Joan?<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; See here, mistress, I want you to give me a chance.&nbsp;
+They&rsquo;ll never stoop to wed me if they knows as I&rsquo;m but a
+poor serving maid.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Your dressing up as a fine lady won&rsquo;t make you other
+than what you are, Joan.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; Once let me get the fish in my net, mistress.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Are you proposing to catch the two, Joan?<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; I shall take the one as do offer first, mistress.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; That&rsquo;ll be Mister Hooper, I should think.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; I should go riding in my own chaise, mistress, if &rsquo;twas
+him.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; But, Joan, either of these men would have to know the truth
+before there could be any marriage.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; I knows that full well, mistress.&nbsp; But let one of them
+just offer hisself.&nbsp; By that time my heart and his would be so
+closely twined together like, &rsquo;twould take more nor such a little
+thing as my station being low to part us.<br>
+<br>
+[CLARA <i>sits very still for a few moments</i>,<i> looking straight
+before her</i>,<i> lost in thought</i>.&nbsp; JOAN <i>sinks on to a
+chair by the table as though suddenly tired out</i>,<i> and she begins
+to cry gently.<br>
+<br>
+</i>CLARA.&nbsp; Listen, Joan.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m one for the straight
+paths.&nbsp; I like to walk in open fields and over the bare heath.&nbsp;
+Only times come when one is driven to take to the ways which are set
+with bushes and with briars.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Lifting her head and drying her eyes</i>.]&nbsp; O mistress,
+I feel to be asking summat as is too heavy for you to give.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; But for a certain thing, I could never have lent myself
+to this acting game of yours, Joan.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; No, mistress?<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Only that, to-day, my heart too has gone from my own keeping.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; O mistress, you don&rsquo;t mean to say as his lordship
+have followed us down already.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; [<i>Scornfully</i>.]&nbsp; His lordship!&nbsp; As if I
+should be stirred by him!<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Humbly</i>.]&nbsp; Who might it be, mistress, if I may
+ask?<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis one who would never look upon me with thoughts
+of love if I went to him as I am now, Joan.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; I can&rsquo;t rightly understand you, mam.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; My case is just the same as yours, Joan.&nbsp; You say
+that your fine gentlemen would not look upon a serving maid.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m certain of it, mistress.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; And the man I - I love will never let his heart go out
+to mine with the heaviness of all these riches lying between us.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; I count that gold do pave the way for most of us, mistress.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; So for this once, I will leave the clear high road, Joan.&nbsp;
+And you and I will take a path that is set with thorns.&nbsp; Pray God
+they do not wound us past healing at the end of our travel.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; O mistress, &rsquo;twill be a lightsome journey for me.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; But the moment that you reach happiness, Joan, remember
+to confess.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; There won&rsquo;t be nothing to fear then, mistress.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Make him love you for yourself, Joan.&nbsp; O we must each
+tie the heart of our true love so tightly to our own that naught shall
+ever be able to cut the bonds.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; Yes, mistress, and I&rsquo;m sure I&rsquo;m very much obliged
+to you.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Ah, I am lending myself to all this, because I, too, have
+something to win or lose.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; Where did you meet him, mistress?<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; I did not meet him.&nbsp; I stood on the high ground, and
+he passed below.&nbsp; His face was raised to the light, and I saw its
+look.&nbsp; I think my love for him has always lain asleep in my heart,
+Joan.&nbsp; But when he passed beneath me in the meadow, it awoke.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; O mistress, what sort of an appearance has the gentleman?<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t know how to answer you, Joan.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; I count as it would take a rare, grand looking man for to
+put his lordship into the shadow, like.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; You are right there, Joan.&nbsp; But now we must talk of
+your affairs.&nbsp; Your fine courtiers will be coming in presently
+and you must know how to receive them in a good way.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s what do hamper me dreadful, my speech and other
+things.&nbsp; How would it be if you was to help me a little bit, like?<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; With all my heart.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; How should I act so not to be found out, mistress?<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; You must speak little, and low.&nbsp; Do not show haste
+in your goings and comings.&nbsp; Put great care into your way of eating
+and drinking.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; O that will be a fearsome hard task.&nbsp; What else?<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; You must be sisterly with Thomas.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d clean forgot him.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t doubt but
+what he&rsquo;ll ferret out the truth in no time.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t think so.&nbsp; I was but a little child
+when I left him.&nbsp; He will not remember how I looked.&nbsp; And
+our colouring is alike, Joan.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis the eating and drinking as do play most heavily
+upon my mind, mistress.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Then think of these words as you sit at table.&nbsp; Eat
+as though you were not hungry and drink as though there were no such
+thing as thirst.&nbsp; Let your hands move about your plate as if they
+were too tired to lift the knife and fork.<br>
+<br>
+[JOAN, <i>darts to the dresser - seizes up a plate with a knife and
+fork</i>,<i> places them on the table and sits down before them</i>,<i>
+pretending to cut up meat</i>.&nbsp; CLARA <i>watches her smilingly.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Absently</i>,<i> raising the knife to her mouth</i>.]&nbsp;
+How&rsquo;s that, mistress?<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Not so, not so, Joan.&nbsp; That might betray you.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; What, mistress?<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis the fork which journeys to the mouth, and the
+knife stops at home on the plate.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Dispiritedly</i>.]&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis almost more than
+I did reckon for when I started.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Well, we mustn&rsquo;t think of that now.&nbsp; We must
+hold up our spirits, you and I.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Getting up and putting away the crockery</i>.]&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;d best take off the bonnet and the cloak, mistress, hadn&rsquo;t
+I?<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Yes, that you had.&nbsp; We will go upstairs together and
+I will help you change into another gown.&nbsp; Come quickly so that
+we may have plenty of time.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>They go towards the staircase door</i>,<i> </i>CLARA <i>leading
+the way</i>.&nbsp; <i>With her hand on the latch of the door she gives
+one look round the kitchen</i>.&nbsp; <i>Then with a sudden movement
+she goes up to the wooden armchair at the hearth and bends her head
+till her lips touch it</i>,<i> she then runs upstairs</i>,<i> followed
+by </i>JOAN.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+ACT II. - Scene 2.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<i>After a few moments </i>MILES HOOPER <i>and </i>LUKE JENNER <i>come
+into the kitchen</i>.&nbsp; <i>They both look round the room enquiringly.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LUKE.&nbsp; Ah, she be still up above with that there serving wench
+what&rsquo;s come.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; My good man, you didn&rsquo;t expect our fair miss to have
+finished her toilet under an hour, did you?<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t see what there was to begin on myself, let
+alone finish.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis clear you know little of the ways of our town
+beauties, Luke.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; Still, I mean to have my try with her, Miles Hooper.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; [<i>Sarcastically</i>.]&nbsp; I&rsquo;m quite agreeable,
+Mister Jenner.<br>
+<br>
+[THOMAS <i>and </i>GEORGE <i>come in</i>.&nbsp; GEORGE <i>carries a
+bucket of water.<br>
+<br>
+</i>THOMAS.&nbsp; Where&rsquo;s the little maid got to?&nbsp; George
+and me be come up from the field on purpose for to bid her welcome home.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; Miss is still at her toilet, farmer.<br>
+<br>
+[JOAN, <i>in a flowered silk gown</i>,<i> comes slowly and carefully
+into the room</i>,<i> followed by </i>CLARA, <i>who carries a lace shawl
+over one arm</i>.&nbsp; <i>She has put on a large white apron</i>,<i>
+but wears nothing on her head but the narrow blue ribbon</i>.&nbsp;
+<i>During the following scene she stands quietly</i>,<i> half hidden
+by the door.<br>
+<br>
+</i>[JOAN <i>looks nervously round the room</i>,<i> then she draws herself
+up very haughtily</i>.&nbsp; MILES <i>comes forward and bows low.<br>
+<br>
+</i>THOMAS.&nbsp; [<i>Looking </i>JOAN <i>up and down</i>.]&nbsp; Well,
+bless my soul, who&rsquo;d have guessed at the change it do make in
+a wench?<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Holding out her hand</i>,<i> very coldly</i>.]&nbsp;
+A good afternoon to you, sir.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; [<i>Taking her hand slowly</i>.]&nbsp; Upon my word, but
+you might knock me over.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; Miss has grown into a very superb young lady, Thomas.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; [<i>Still looking at her</i>.]&nbsp; That may be so, yet
+&rsquo;twasn&rsquo;t as such I had figured she in the eye of my mind,
+like.&nbsp; [<i>There is a moment</i>&rsquo;<i>s silence.<br>
+<br>
+</i>THOMAS.&nbsp; George, my boy, you and sister Clara used to be up
+to rare games one with t&rsquo;other once on a time.&nbsp; [<i>Turning
+to </i>JOAN.]&nbsp; There, my wench, I count you&rsquo;ve not forgotten
+Georgie?<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m afeared I&rsquo;ve not much of a memory.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; Shake hands, my maid, and very like as the memory will
+come back to roost same as the fowls do.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Bowing coldly</i>.]&nbsp; Good afternoon, George.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; [<i>Aside to Luke</i>.]&nbsp; Now that&rsquo;s what I call
+a bit of stylish breeding.<br>
+<br>
+[GEORGE <i>has made no answer to </i>JOAN&rsquo;s <i>bow</i>.&nbsp;
+<i>He quietly ignores it</i>,<i> and takes up his pail of water</i>.&nbsp;
+<i>As he does so he catches sight of </i>CLARA, <i>who has been watching
+the whole scene from the corner where she is partly concealed</i>.&nbsp;
+<i>He looks at her for one moment</i>,<i> and then sets the bucket down
+again.<br>
+<br>
+</i>THOMAS.&nbsp; Why, George - I guess as it&rsquo;s took you as it
+took me, us didn&rsquo;t think how &rsquo;twould appear when Miss Clara
+was growed up.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; [<i>Quietly</i>.]&nbsp; No, us did not, master.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>He carries his pail into the back kitchen as </i>EMILY <i>and the
+children come in.<br>
+<br>
+</i>EMILY.&nbsp; What&rsquo;s all this to-do in my kitchen, I should
+like to know?<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; Us did but come up for to - to give a handshake to sister
+Clara, like.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; Well, now you can go off back to work again.&nbsp; And
+you -<i> </i>[<i>turning to </i>JOAN] - now that you&rsquo;ve finished
+curling of your hair and dressing of yourself up, you can go and sit
+down in the best parlour along with your fancy gentlemen.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; [<i>Offering his arm to </i>JOAN.]&nbsp; It will be my
+sweet pleasure to conduct Missy to the parlour.<br>
+<br>
+[LUKE <i>offers his arm on the other side</i>,<i> and </i>JOAN <i>moves
+off with both the young men.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>As she goes</i>.]&nbsp; Indeed, I shall be glad
+to rest on a comfortable couch.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m dead tired of the country
+air already.<br>
+<br>
+ROBIN.&nbsp; [<i>Calling after her</i>.]&nbsp; You&rsquo;ll not go off
+to sleep afore the chicken and sparrow grass is ate, will you, Aunt?<br>
+<br>
+[MILES, LUKE <i>and </i>JOAN <i>having gone out</i>,<i> </i>EMILY <i>begins
+to bang the chairs back in their places and to arrange the room</i>,<i>
+watched by the two children</i>.&nbsp; CLARA, <i>who has remained half
+hidden by the door</i>,<i> now goes quietly upstairs.<br>
+<br>
+</i>EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>Calling</i>.]&nbsp; Here, George, Mag.<br>
+<br>
+[GEORGE <i>comes in.<br>
+<br>
+</i>EMILY.&nbsp; Well, George, &rsquo;tisn&rsquo;t much worse nor I
+expected.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t like Aunt Clara.<br>
+<br>
+ROBIN.&nbsp; I hates her very much.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; [<i>Slowly</i>.]&nbsp; And I don&rsquo;t seem to fancy
+her neither.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>Curtain.</i>]<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+ACT III. - Scene 1.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<i>Two days have passed by.<br>
+<br>
+It is morning</i>.&nbsp; CLARA, <i>wearing an apron and a muslin cap
+on her head</i>,<i> sits by the kitchen table mending a lace handkerchief</i>.&nbsp;
+MAGGIE, <i>who is dusting the plates on the dressers</i>,<i> pauses
+to watch her.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MAGGIE.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d sooner sweep the cow sheds out and that
+I would, nor have to set at such a niggly piece of sewing work as you.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; I cannot do it quickly, it is so fine.<br>
+<br>
+MAGGIE.&nbsp; I count &rsquo;tis very nigh as bad as the treadmills,
+serving a young miss such as yourn be.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; What makes you say that, Maggie?<br>
+<br>
+MAGGIE.&nbsp; Missis be very high in her ways and powerful sharp in
+the tongue, but I declare as your young lady will be worser nor missis
+when she do come to that age.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Why do you think this, Mag?<br>
+<br>
+MAGGIE.&nbsp; O she do look at any one as though they was lower nor
+the very worms in the ground.&nbsp; And her speaks as though each word
+did cost she more nor a shilling to bring it out.&nbsp; And see how
+destructive she be with her fine clothing.&nbsp; A laced petticoat tore
+to ribbons last night, and to-day yon handkerchief.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; These things are soon mended.<br>
+<br>
+[MAGGIE <i>continues to dust for a few moments.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MAGGIE.&nbsp; The day you comed here, &rsquo;twas a bit of ribbon
+as you did have around of your hair.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; [<i>After a moment</i>&rsquo;<i>s hesitation</i>.]&nbsp;
+I put it on to keep my hair neat on the journeying.<br>
+<br>
+MAGGIE.&nbsp; [<i>Coming nearer</i>.]&nbsp; I count as you&rsquo;ve
+not missed it, have you?<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Indeed I have, and I think I must have lost it in the hayfield.<br>
+<br>
+MAGGIE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tain&rsquo;t lost.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Where is it then?<br>
+<br>
+MAGGIE.&nbsp; Look here, I could tell you, but I shan&rsquo;t.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; If you have found it, Maggie, you may keep it.<br>
+<br>
+MAGGIE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twould be a fine thing to be a grand serving maid
+as you be, and to give away ribbons, so &rsquo;twould.<br>
+<br>
+[CLARA <i>takes no notice of her and goes on sewing.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MAGGIE.&nbsp; [<i>More insistently</i>.]&nbsp; &rsquo;Twasn&rsquo;t
+me as found the ribbon.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Who was it then?<br>
+<br>
+MAGGIE.&nbsp; I daresay you&rsquo;d like for to know, but I&rsquo;m
+not going to say nothing more about it.<br>
+<br>
+[MAGGIE <i>leans against the table watching </i>CLARA <i>as she sews.<br>
+<br>
+</i>[EMILY <i>with both the children now come in</i>.&nbsp; EMILY <i>carries
+a basket of potatoes</i>,<i> and </i>JESSIE <i>a large bowl.<br>
+<br>
+</i>EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>Setting down the basket</i>.]&nbsp; Maggie, you
+idle, bad girl, whatever are you doing here when master expects you
+down in the meadow to help with the raking?<br>
+<br>
+MAGGIE.&nbsp; I be just a-going off yonder, mistress.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d thank other folk not to bring dressed up fine
+young serving minxes down here - you was bad enough afore, Maggie, but
+you&rsquo;ll be a hundred times worser now.<br>
+<br>
+MAGGIE.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll be off and help master.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve been
+and put the meat on to boil as you said, missis.<br>
+<br>
+[MAGGIE <i>goes off.<br>
+<br>
+</i>[CLARA <i>continues to sew</i>,<i> quietly</i>.&nbsp; JESSIE <i>has
+put her bowl down on the table</i>,<i> and now comes to her side</i>.&nbsp;
+ROBIN <i>also comes close to her</i>.&nbsp; EMILY <i>flings herself
+into a chair for a moment and contemptuously watches them.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JESSIE.&nbsp; We don&rsquo;t care much about our new aunt, Joan.<br>
+<br>
+ROBIN.&nbsp; Dad said as how Aunt would be sure to bring us sommat good
+from London town in them great boxes.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; And Aunt has been here two days and more, and she hasn&rsquo;t
+brought us nothing.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; Your fine aunt have been too much took up with her fancy
+gentlemen to think of what would be suitable behaviour towards you children.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; Will Aunt Clara get married soon?<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis to be hoped as she will be.&nbsp; Such a set
+out in the house I have never seen afore in all my days.&nbsp; Young
+women as is hale and hearty having their victuals took up to their rooms
+and a-lying in bed till &rsquo;tis noon or later.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis only one of them as lies in bed.<br>
+<br>
+ROBIN.&nbsp; [<i>To </i>CLARA.]&nbsp; Do you think Aunt has got sommat
+for us upstairs, Joan?<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; [<i>Rising and putting down her work</i>.]&nbsp; I know
+she has, Robin.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t let me catch you speaking to Master Spring
+as though you and he was of the same station, young person.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Master Robin, and Miss Jessie, I will go upstairs and fetch
+the gifts that your aunt has brought for you.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She goes leisurely towards the staircase door</i>,<i> smiling at
+the children.<br>
+<br>
+</i>EMILY.&nbsp; Ah, and you may tell your young madam that &rsquo;tis
+high time as she was out of bed and abroad.&nbsp; Hear that?&nbsp; [CLARA
+<i>goes out.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JESSIE.&nbsp; I like her.&nbsp; She speaks so gentle.&nbsp; Not
+like Aunt.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; She&rsquo;s a stuck up sort of fine lady herself like.&nbsp;
+Look at the hands of her, &rsquo;tis not a day&rsquo;s hard work as
+they have done in her life, I&rsquo;ll warrant.<br>
+<br>
+ROBIN.&nbsp; What will she bring us from out of the great boxes, do
+you think?<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; Sommat what you don&rsquo;t need, I warrant.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis
+always so.&nbsp; When folks take it into their heads to give you aught,
+&rsquo;tis very nigh always sommat which you could do better without.<br>
+<br>
+[EMILY <i>gets up and begins settling the pots on the fire</i>,<i> and
+fetching a jug of cold water from the back kitchen and a knife which
+she lays on the table.<br>
+<br>
+</i>[CLARA <i>enters carrying some parcels</i>.&nbsp; <i>She brings
+them to the table</i>.&nbsp; <i>Both the children run to her.<br>
+<br>
+</i>CLARA.&nbsp; [<i>Holding out a long parcel to </i>EMILY <i>and speaking
+to the children</i>.]&nbsp; The first is for your mother, children.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>With an angry exclamation</i>.]&nbsp; Now, you mark
+my words, &rsquo;twill be sommat as I shall want to fling over the hedge
+for all the use &rsquo;twill be.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She comes near</i>,<i> opens the parcel and perceives it to be a
+length of rich black silk.<br>
+<br>
+</i>CLARA.&nbsp; My mistress thought it might be suitable.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; Suitable?&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll suitable her.&nbsp; When shall
+my two hands find time to sew me a gown out of it, I&rsquo;d like to
+know?&nbsp; And if &rsquo;twas sewn, when would my limbs find time to
+sit down within of it?&nbsp; [<i>Flinging it down on the table</i>.]&nbsp;
+Suitable?&nbsp; You can tell your mistress from me as she can keep her
+gifts to herself if she can&rsquo;t do better nor this.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; [<i>Stroking the silk</i>.]&nbsp; O Mother, the feel of
+it be softer nor a dove&rsquo;s feather.<br>
+<br>
+ROBIN.&nbsp; [<i>Feeling it too</i>.]&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis better nor the
+new kittens&rsquo; fur.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; Let us see if your aunt have done more handsomely towards
+you children.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; I am afraid not.&nbsp; These coral beads are for Miss Jessie,
+with her aunt&rsquo;s dear love.&nbsp; And this book of pictures is
+for Master Robin.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; [<i>Seizing the beads with delight</i>.]&nbsp; I love
+a string of beads.&nbsp; [<i>Putting them on</i>.]&nbsp; How do they
+look on me?<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; Off with them this moment.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll learn her to
+give strings of rubbish to my child.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; [<i>Beginning to cry</i>.]&nbsp; O do let me wear it just
+a little while, just till dinner, Mother.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; Have done with that noise.&nbsp; Off with it at once, do
+you hear.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; [<i>Taking the necklace off</i>.]&nbsp; I love the feel
+of it - might I keep it in my hand then?<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>Seizing it</i>.]&nbsp; &rsquo;Twill be put by with
+the silk dress.&nbsp; So there.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis not a suitable thing
+for a little girl like you.<br>
+<br>
+ROBIN.&nbsp; [<i>Looking up from the pages of his book</i>.]&nbsp; No
+one shan&rsquo;t take my book from me.&nbsp; There be pictures of great
+horses and sheep and cows in it - and no one shan&rsquo;t hide it from
+me.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>Putting the silk dress and necklace on another table</i>.]&nbsp;
+Next time your aunt wants to throw her money into the gutter I hope
+as she&rsquo;ll ask me to come and see her a-doing of it.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; [<i>Coming up to </i>CLARA <i>very tearfully</i>.]&nbsp;
+And was there naught for Dad in the great box?<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Perhaps there may be.<br>
+<br>
+ROBIN.&nbsp; And did Aunt Clara bring naught for Georgie?<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t know.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; Poor Georgie.&nbsp; He never has nothing gived him.<br>
+<br>
+ROBIN.&nbsp; And Mother puts the worst of the bits on his plate at dinner.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>Sharply</i>.]&nbsp; Look you here, young woman.&nbsp;
+Suppose you was to take and do something useful with that idle pair
+of hands as you&rsquo;ve got.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Yes, mistress, I should like to help you in something.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; Us knows what fine promises lead to.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; But I mean it.&nbsp; Do let me help a little.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; See them taters?<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Yes.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; Take and peel and wash them and get them ready against
+when I wants to cook them.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; [<i>A little doubtfully</i>.]&nbsp; Yes - I&rsquo;ll -
+I&rsquo;ll try -<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; Ah, &rsquo;tis just as I thought.&nbsp; You&rsquo;re one
+of them who would stir the fire with a silver spoon rather nor black
+their hands with the poker.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; [<i>Eagerly</i>.]&nbsp; No, no - it isn&rsquo;t that.&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;ll gladly do them.&nbsp; Come, Miss Jessie, you will shew me
+if I do them wrongly, won&rsquo;t you?<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; O yes, I&rsquo;ll help you because I like you, Joan.<br>
+<br>
+ROBIN.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll help too, when I have finished looking at my
+book.<br>
+<br>
+[EMILY <i>goes out</i>.&nbsp; CLARA <i>sits down by the table and takes
+up a potato and the knife and slowly and awkwardly sets to work</i>.&nbsp;
+JESSIE <i>stands by her watching.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JESSIE.&nbsp; You mustn&rsquo;t take no account of Mother when she
+speaks so sharp.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis only her way.<br>
+<br>
+ROBIN.&nbsp; Could you come and be our serving maid when Maggie&rsquo;s
+sent off?<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; O I should be too slow and awkward at the work, I think.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; Yes, you don&rsquo;t do them taters very nice.<br>
+<br>
+ROBIN.&nbsp; That don&rsquo;t matter, I like you, and you can tell me
+fine things about other parts.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; Georgie can tell of fine things too.&nbsp; See, there
+he comes with the vegetables from the garden.<br>
+<br>
+[GEORGE <i>comes in with a large basket of vegetables</i>,<i> which
+he sets down in the back kitchen</i>.&nbsp; <i>Then he stands at the
+door</i>,<i> silently watching the group near the table.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JESSIE.&nbsp; Come here, Georgie, and let Joan hear some of the
+tales out of what you do sing.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; What would mistress say if she was to catch me at my songs
+this time of day?<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; Mother&rsquo;s gone upstairs, she won&rsquo;t know nothing.<br>
+<br>
+ROBIN.&nbsp; Come you here, George, and look at my fine book what Aunt
+have brought me.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; [<i>Slowly approaching the table</i>.]&nbsp; That be a
+brave, fine book of pictures, Master Robin.<br>
+<br>
+ROBIN.&nbsp; [<i>Holding up the open book</i>.]&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t
+fancy Aunt Clara much, but I likes her better nor I did because of this
+book.<br>
+<br>
+[GEORGE&rsquo;S <i>eyes wander from the book to </i>CLARA <i>as she
+bends over her work.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JESSIE.&nbsp; Joan doesn&rsquo;t know how to do them very nicely,
+does she George!<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis the first time you&rsquo;ve been set down to
+such work, may be, mistress.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; You mustn&rsquo;t say &ldquo;mistress&rdquo; to Joan,
+you know.&nbsp; Why, Mother would be ever so angry if she was to hear
+you.&nbsp; Joan&rsquo;s only a servant.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; [<i>Looking up</i>.]&nbsp; Like you, George.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; [<i>Steadily</i>.]&nbsp; What I was saying is - &rsquo;Tis
+the first time as you have been set afore a bowl of taters like this.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; You are right, George.&nbsp; It is the first time since
+- since I was quite a little child.&nbsp; And I think I&rsquo;m very
+clumsy at my work.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; No one could work with them laces a-falling down all over
+their fingers.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; You should turn back your sleeves for kitchen work, Joan,
+same as Maggie does.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Yes, you should turn back your sleeves, Miss Joan.<br>
+<br>
+[JOAN <i>puts aside the knife and basket</i>,<i> turns back her sleeves</i>,<i>
+and then resumes her work</i>.&nbsp; GEORGE&rsquo;S <i>eyes are rivetted
+on her hands and arms for a moment</i>.&nbsp; <i>Then he turns as though
+to go away.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JESSIE.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t go away, Georgie.&nbsp; Come and tell
+us how you like Aunt Clara now that she&rsquo;s growed into such a grand
+lady.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; [<i>Coming back to the table</i>.]&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t
+like nothing about her, Miss Jessie.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; Is Aunt very much changed from when she did use to ride
+the big horses to the trough, Georgie?<br>
+<br>
+ROBIN.&nbsp; And from the time when th&rsquo; old gander did take a
+big piece right out of her arm, Georgie?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; [<i>His eyes on </i>CLARA&rsquo;S <i>bent head</i>.]&nbsp;
+I count her be wonderful changed, like.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; So that you would scarce know her?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; So that I should scarce know she.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; She have brought Mother a silken gown and me a string
+of coral beads.&nbsp; But naught for you, Georgie.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; I reckon as Miss Clara have not kept me in her remembrance
+like.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; [<i>With sudden earnestness</i>.]&nbsp; O that she has,
+George.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; She didn&rsquo;t seem to know him by her looks.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Looks often speak but poorly for the heart.<br>
+<br>
+ROBIN.&nbsp; [<i>Who has been watching </i>CLARA.]&nbsp; See there,
+Joan.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ve been and cut that big tater right in half.&nbsp;
+Mother will be cross.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; O dear, I am thoughtless.&nbsp; One cannot work and talk
+at the same time.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; [<i>Taking basket and knife from her and seating himself
+on the edge of the table</i>.]&nbsp; Here, - give them all to me.&nbsp;
+I understand such work, and &rsquo;tis clear that you do not.&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;ll finish them off in a few minutes, and mistress will never
+be the wiser.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; O thank you, George, but am I to go idle?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; You can take up with that there white sewing if you have
+a mind.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis more suited to your hands nor this rough job.<br>
+<br>
+[CLARA <i>puts down her sleeves and takes up her needlework.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JESSIE.&nbsp; Sing us a song, George, whilst you do the taters.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; No, Miss Jessie.&nbsp; My mood is not a singing mood this
+day.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; You ask him, Joan.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Will not you sing one little verse, George?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Nay - strangers from London town would have no liking
+for the songs we sing down here among the fields.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; There was a song I once heard in the country that pleased
+me very well.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; What was it called?<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; I cannot remember the name - but there was something of
+bushes and of briars in it.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; I know which that is.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis a pretty song.&nbsp;
+Sing it, Georgie.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Nay - sing it yourself, Miss Jessie.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis like this at the beginning. - [<i>she</i> <i>sings
+or repeats</i>]<i> -<br>
+<br>
+</i>&ldquo;Through bushes and through briars<br>
+I lately took my way,<br>
+All for to hear the small birds sing<br>
+And the lambs to skip and play.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; That is the song I was thinking of, Jessie.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Can you go on with it, Miss Jessie.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; I can&rsquo;t say any more.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; [<i>Gently singing or speaking.</i>]<br>
+<br>
+I overheard my own true love,<br>
+Her voice it was so clear.<br>
+&ldquo;Long time I have been waiting for<br>
+The coming of my dear.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; [<i>Heaving a sigh</i>.]&nbsp; That&rsquo;s it.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; Go on, Joan, I do like the sound of it.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Shall I go on with the song, George?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; As you please.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;Sometimes I am uneasy<br>
+And troubled in my mind,<br>
+Sometimes I think I&rsquo;ll go to my love<br>
+And tell to him my mind.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;And if I would go to my love<br>
+My love he will say nay<br>
+If I show to him my boldness<br>
+He&rsquo;ll ne&rsquo;er love me again.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; When her love was hid a-hind of the bushes and did hear
+her a-singing so pitiful, what did he do then?<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t know, Jessie.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; I reckon as he did come out to show her as he knowed all
+what she did keep in her mind.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Very likely the briars were so thick between them, Jess,
+that he never got to the other side for her to tell him.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Yes, that&rsquo;s how &rsquo;twas, I count.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; [<i>Running up to </i>ROBIN.]&nbsp; I&rsquo;m going to
+look at your book along of you, Robin.<br>
+<br>
+ROBIN.&nbsp; But I&rsquo;m the one to turn the leaves, remember.&nbsp;
+[<i>The children sit side by side looking at the picture book</i>.&nbsp;
+CLARA <i>sews</i>.&nbsp; GEORGE <i>goes on with the potatoes</i>.&nbsp;
+<i>As the last one is finished and tossed into the water</i>,<i> he
+looks at </i>CLARA <i>for the first time</i>.&nbsp; <i>A long silence.<br>
+<br>
+</i>GEORGE.&nbsp; Miss Clara and me was good friends once on a time.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Tell me how it was then, George.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; I did used to put her on the horse&rsquo;s back, and we
+would go down to the water trough in the evening time and -<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; What else did you and Miss Clara do together, George?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Us would walk in the woods aside of one another - And
+I would lift she to a high branch in a tree - and pretend for to leave
+her there.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; And then?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Her would call upon me pitiful - and I would come back
+from where I was hid.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; And did her crying cease?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; She would take and spring as though her was one of they
+little wild squirrels as do dance about in the trees.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Where would she spring to, George?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; I would hold out my two arms wide to her, and catch she.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; And did she never fall, whilst springing from the tree,
+George?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; I never let she fall, nor get hurted by naught so long
+as her was in the care of me.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; [<i>Slowly</i>,<i> after a short pause</i>.]&nbsp; I do
+not think she can have forgotten those days, George.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; [<i>Getting up and speaking harshly</i>.]&nbsp; They&rsquo;re
+best forgot.&nbsp; Put them away.&nbsp; There be briars and brambles
+and thorns and sommat of all which do hurt the flesh of man atween that
+time and this&rsquo;n.<br>
+<br>
+[CLARA <i>turns her head away and furtively presses her handkerchief
+to her eyes</i>.&nbsp; GEORGE <i>looks gloomily on the floor</i>.&nbsp;
+EMILY <i>enters.<br>
+<br>
+</i>EMILY.&nbsp; George, what are you at sitting at the kitchen table
+I&rsquo;d like to know?<br>
+<br>
+[GEORGE <i>gets hastily off</i>.&nbsp; <i>Both children look up from
+their book.<br>
+<br>
+</i>EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>Looking freezingly at </i>CLARA.]&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis
+plain as a turnpike what you&rsquo;ve been after, young person.&nbsp;
+If you was my serving wench, &rsquo;tis neck and crop as you should
+be thrown from the door.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; What for, mistress?<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; What for?&nbsp; You have the impudence to ask what for?&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;ll soon tell you.&nbsp; For making a fool of George and setting
+your cap at him and scandalising of my innocent children in their own
+kitchen.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; This be going a bit too far, missis.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll
+not have things said like that.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; Then you may turn out on to the roads where you were took
+from - a grizzling little roadsters varmint.&nbsp; You do cost more&rsquo;n
+what you eats nor what we get of work from out of your body, you great
+hulk.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; [<i>Springing up angrily</i>.]&nbsp; O I&rsquo;ll not hear
+such things said.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll not.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; Who asked you to speak?&nbsp; Get you upstairs and pull
+your mistress out of bed - and curl the ringlets of her hair and dust
+the flour on to her face.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis about all you be fit for.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; [<i>Angrily going to the stair door</i>.]&nbsp; Very well.&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Tis best that I should go.&nbsp; I might say something you would
+not like.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; [<i>Advancing towards </i>EMILY.]&nbsp; Look you here,
+mistress.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve put up with it going on for fifteen years.&nbsp;
+But sometimes &rsquo;tis almost more nor I can bear.&nbsp; If &rsquo;twasn&rsquo;t
+for Master Thomas I&rsquo;d have cleared out this long time ago.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t flatter yourself as Thomas needs you, my man.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; We has always been good friends, farmer and me.&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Tis not for what I gets from he nor for what he do get out of
+I as we do hold together.&nbsp; But &rsquo;tis this - as he and I do
+understand one another.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; We&rsquo;ll see what master has to say when I tell him
+how you was found sitting on the kitchen table and love-making with
+that saucy piece of London trash.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m off.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve no patience to listen
+any longer.&nbsp; You called me roadster varmint.&nbsp; Well, let it
+be so.&nbsp; On the road I was born and on the road I was picked from
+my dead mother&rsquo;s side, and I count as &rsquo;tis on the road as
+I shall breathe my last.&nbsp; But for all that, I&rsquo;ll not have
+road dirt flung on me by no one.&nbsp; For, roadsters varmint though
+I be, there be things which I do hold brighter nor silver and cleaner
+nor new opened leaves, and I&rsquo;ll not have defilement throwed upon
+them.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>Seizing the arms of </i>JESSIE <i>and </i>ROBIN.]&nbsp;
+The lad&rsquo;s raving.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis plain as he&rsquo;s been getting
+at the cider.&nbsp; Come you off with me to the haymaking, Robin and
+Jess.<br>
+<br>
+ROBIN.&nbsp; May I take my book along of me?<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>Flinging the book down violently</i>.]&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll
+book you!&nbsp; What next?<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; Poor Georgie.&nbsp; He was not courting Joan, mother.&nbsp;
+He was only doing the taters for her.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>As they go out</i>.]&nbsp; The lazy good-for-nothing
+cat.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll get her packed off from here afore another sun
+has set, see if I don&rsquo;t.<br>
+<br>
+[GEORGE <i>is left alone in the kitchen</i>.&nbsp; <i>When all sounds
+of </i>EMILY <i>and the children have died away</i>,<i> he sighs</i>.&nbsp;
+<i>Then</i>,<i> looking furtively round the room</i>,<i> he draws a
+blue ribbon slowly from his pocket</i>.&nbsp; <i>He spreads it out on
+one hand and stands looking down on it</i>,<i> sadly and longingly</i>.&nbsp;
+<i>Then he slowly raises it to his lips and kisses it</i>.&nbsp; <i>Just
+as he is doing this </i>THOMAS <i>comes into the room.<br>
+<br>
+</i>THOMAS.&nbsp; Why, George, my lad.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; [<i>Confusedly putting the ribbon back into his pocket</i>.]&nbsp;
+Yes, Master Thomas.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; [<i>Looking meaningly at </i>GEORGE.]&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis
+a pretty enough young maid, George.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; What did you say, Master?<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; That one with the bit of blue round the head of her.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Blue?<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; Ah, George.&nbsp; I was a young man myself once on a time.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Yes, master.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twasn&rsquo;t a piece of blue ribbon as I did find
+one day, but &rsquo;twas a blossom dropped from her gown.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Whose gown, master?&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll warrant &rsquo;twasn&rsquo;t
+missus&rsquo;s.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; Bless my soul, no.&nbsp; No, no, George.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twasn&rsquo;t
+the mistress then.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Ah, I count as it could not have been she.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; First love, &rsquo;tis best, George.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Ah, upon my word, that &rsquo;tis.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; But my maid went and got her married to another.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; More&rsquo;s the pity, Master Thomas.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; [<i>Sighing</i>.]&nbsp; Ah, I often thinks of how it might
+have been - with her and me, like.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Had that one a soft tongue to her mouth, master?<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; Soft and sweet as the field lark, George.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Then that had been the one for you to have wed, Master
+Thomas.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; Ah, George, don&rsquo;t you never run into the trap, no
+matter whether &rsquo;tis baited with the choicest thing you ever did
+dream on.&nbsp; Once in, never out.&nbsp; There &rsquo;tis.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; No one would trouble to set a snare for me, master.&nbsp;
+I baint worth trapping.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; You be a brave, fine country lad, George, what a pretty
+baggage from London town might give a year of her life to catch, so
+be it her had the fortune.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; No, no, Master Thomas.&nbsp; Nothing of that.&nbsp; There
+baint nothing.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; There be a piece of blue ribbon, George.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; They be coming down and into the room now, master.&nbsp;
+[<i>Steps are heard in the staircase</i>.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; We&rsquo;ll off to the meadow then, George.<br>
+<br>
+[GEORGE <i>and </i>THOMAS <i>go out.<br>
+<br>
+</i>[JOAN, <i>dressed as a lady of fashion</i>,<i> and followed by </i>CLARA,
+<i>comes into the kitchen.<br>
+<br>
+</i>CLARA.&nbsp; Now, Joan, if I were you, I should go out into the
+garden, and let the gentlemen find you in the arbour.&nbsp; Your ways
+are more easy and natural when you are in the air.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; O I&rsquo;m very nigh dead with fright when I&rsquo;m within
+doors.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis so hard to move about without knocking myself
+against sommat.&nbsp; But at table &rsquo;tis worst of all.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ve stopped up in your room two breakfasts with
+the headache, and yesterday we took our dinner to the wood.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; But to-night &rsquo;twill be something cruel, for Farmer
+Thomas have asked them both to supper again.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Luke Jenner and the other man?<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; I beg you to practise me in my ways, a little, afore the
+time, mistress.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; That I will.&nbsp; We will find out what is to be upon
+the table, and then I will shew you how it is to be eaten.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; And other things as well as eating.&nbsp; When I be sitting
+in the parlour, Miss Clara, and Hooper, he comes up and asks my pleasure,
+what have I got to say to him?<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; O, I shouldn&rsquo;t trouble about that.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d
+open my fan and take no notice if I were you.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; I do feel so awkward like in speech with Farmer Thomas,
+mistress.&nbsp; And with the children, too.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Come, you must take heart and throw yourself into the acting.&nbsp;
+Try to be as a sister would with Thomas.&nbsp; Be lively, and kind in
+your way with the children.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; I tries to be like old Madam Lovel was, when I talks with
+them.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; That cross, rough mode of hers sits badly on any one young,
+Joan.&nbsp; Be more of yourself, but make little changes in your manner
+here and there.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>With a heavy sigh</i>.]&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis the here and
+the there as I finds it so hard to manage.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; [<i>Running in breathlessly</i>.]&nbsp; A letter, a letter
+for Aunt Clara.&nbsp; [CLARA <i>involuntarily puts out her hand</i>.]&nbsp;
+No, Joan.&nbsp; I was to give it to Aunt Clara herself.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve
+run all the way.<br>
+<br>
+[JOAN <i>slowly takes the letter</i>,<i> looking confused</i>.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; Will you read it now, Aunt?<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; Run away, little girl, I don&rsquo;t want no children worriting
+round me now.&nbsp; [<i>Suddenly recollecting herself and forcing herself
+to speak brightly</i>.]&nbsp; I mean - no, my dear little girl, I&rsquo;d
+rather wait to read it till I&rsquo;m by myself; but thank you very
+kindly all the same, my pet.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; O, but I should like to hear the letter read, so much.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; Never mind.&nbsp; Run along back to mother, there&rsquo;s
+a sweet little maid.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d sooner stop with you now, you look so much kinder,
+like.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; [<i>Taking </i>JESSIE&rsquo;S <i>hand and leading her to
+the door</i>.]&nbsp; Now, Miss Jessie, your aunt must read her letter
+in quiet, but if you will come back presently I will have a game with
+you outside.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; [<i>As she runs off</i>.]&nbsp; Mother won&rsquo;t let
+me talk with you any more, alone.&nbsp; She says as you&rsquo;ve made
+a fool of Georgie and you&rsquo;ll do the same by us all.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>When </i>JESSIE <i>has run off</i>.]&nbsp; There now,
+how did I do that, mistress?<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Better, much better.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis the feeling of one thing and the speaking of
+another, with you ladies and gentlemen.&nbsp; So it appears to me.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; [<i>After a moment</i>&rsquo;<i>s thought</i>.]&nbsp; No.&nbsp;
+It is not quite like that.&nbsp; But &rsquo;tis, perhaps, the dressing
+up of an ugly feeling in better garments.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Handing the letter to </i>CLARA.]&nbsp; There, mistress,
+&rsquo;tis yours, not mine.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; [<i>Glancing at it</i>.]&nbsp; Lord Lovel&rsquo;s writing.&nbsp;
+[CLARA <i>opens the letter and reads it through</i>.]&nbsp; He will
+not wait longer for my answer.&nbsp; And he is coming here as fast as
+horses can bring him.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; O, mistress, whatever shall we do?<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; We had better own to everything at once.&nbsp; It will
+save trouble in the end.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; Own to everything now, and lose all just as my hand was
+closing upon it, like!<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Poor Joan, it will not make any difference in the end,
+if the man loves you truly.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; Be kind and patient just to the evening, mistress.&nbsp;
+Hooper is coming up to see me now.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d bring him to offer
+his self, if I was but left quiet along of him for a ten minutes or
+so.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; And then, Joan?<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; And then, when was all fixed up comfortable between us,
+mistress, maybe as you could break it gently to him so as he wouldn&rsquo;t
+think no worse of me.<br>
+<br>
+[CLARA <i>gets up and goes to the window</i>,<i> where she looks out
+for a few minutes in silence</i>.&nbsp; JOAN <i>cries softly meanwhile.<br>
+<br>
+</i>CLARA.&nbsp; [<i>Turning towards </i>JOAN.]&nbsp; As you will, Joan.&nbsp;
+Very likely &rsquo;twill be to-morrow morning before my lord reaches
+this place.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; O bless you for your goodness, mistress.&nbsp; And I do
+pray as all may go as well with you as &rsquo;tis with me.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; [<i>Sadly</i>.]&nbsp; That is not likely, Joan.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; What is it stands in the way, mistress?<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Briars, Joan.&nbsp; Thorns of pride, and many another sharp
+and hurting thing.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; Then take you my counsel, mistress, and have his lordship
+when he do offer next.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll think of what you say, Joan.&nbsp; There comes
+a moment when the heart is tired of being spurned, and it would fain
+get into shelter.&nbsp; [<i>A slight pause.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Looking through the window</i>.]&nbsp; Look up quickly,
+mistress.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s Hooper.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; [<i>Getting up</i>.]&nbsp; Then I&rsquo;ll run away.&nbsp;
+May all be well with you, dear Joan.&nbsp; [CLARA <i>goes out.<br>
+<br>
+</i>[JOAN <i>seats herself in a high-backed chair and opens her fan</i>.&nbsp;
+MILES <i>enters</i>,<i> carrying a small box.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MILES.&nbsp; Already astir, Miss Clara.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis early hours
+to be sure for one of our London beauties.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>He advances towards her</i>,<i> and she stretches out her hand without
+rising</i>.&nbsp; <i>He takes it ceremoniously.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOAN.&nbsp; You may sit down, if you like, Mister Hooper.<br>
+<br>
+[MILES <i>places a chair in front of </i>JOAN, <i>and sits down on it.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MILES.&nbsp; [<i>Untying the parcel</i>.]&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve been
+so bold as to bring you a little keepsake from my place in town, Missy.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; How kind you are, Mister Miles.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ll be able to fancy yourself in Bond Street when
+you see it, Miss Clara.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; Now, you do excite me, Mister Hooper.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; [<i>Opening the box and taking out a handsome spray of
+bright artificial flowers</i>.]&nbsp; There, what do you say to that,
+Miss?&nbsp; And we can do you the same in all the leading tints.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; O, &rsquo;tis wonderful modish.&nbsp; I declare I never
+did see anything to beat it up in town.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; Now I thought as much.&nbsp; I flatter myself that we can
+hold our own with the best of them in Painswick High Street.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; I seem to smell the very scent of the blossoms, Mister Hooper.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She puts out her hand shyly and takes the spray from </i>MILES,
+<i>pretending to smell it.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MILES.&nbsp; Well - and what&rsquo;s the next pleasure, Madam?<br>
+<br>
+[JOAN <i>drops the spray and begins to fan herself violently.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MILES.&nbsp; [<i>Very gently</i>.]&nbsp; What&rsquo;s Missy&rsquo;s
+next pleasure?<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m sure I don&rsquo;t know, Mr. Miles.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; Miles Hooper would like Missy to ask for all that is his.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; O, Mister Hooper, how kind you are.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; Ladies never like the sound of business, so we&rsquo;ll
+set that aside for a moment and discuss the music of the heart in place
+of it.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; Ah, that&rsquo;s a thing I do well understand, Mister Hooper.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; I loved you from the first, Miss.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s the
+true, high born lady for you, says I to myself.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s
+beauty and style, elegance and refinement.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; Now, did you really think all that, Mister Hooper?<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; Do not keep me in suspense, Miss Clara.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; What about, sir?<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; The answer to my question, Missy.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; And what was that, I wonder?<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; I want my pretty Miss to take the name of Hooper.&nbsp;
+Will she oblige her Miles?<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; O that I will.&nbsp; With all my heart.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; [<i>Standing up</i>.]&nbsp; I would not spoil this moment,
+but by and bye my sweet Missy shall tell me all the particulars of her
+income, and such trifles.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Agitatedly</i>.]&nbsp; O let us not destroy to-day by
+thoughts of anything but our dear affection one for t&rsquo;other.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; Why, my pretty town Miss is already becoming countrified
+in her speech.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis from hearing all the family.&nbsp; But, dear
+Miles, promise there shan&rsquo;t be nothing but - but love talk between
+you and me this day.&nbsp; I could not bear it if we was to speak of,
+of other things, like.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; [<i>Getting up and walking about the room</i>.]&nbsp; As
+you will - as you will.&nbsp; Anything to oblige a lady.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>He stops before the table</i>,<i> on which is laid </i>EMILY&rsquo;S
+<i>silk dress</i>,<i> and begins to finger it.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOAN.&nbsp; What&rsquo;s that you&rsquo;re looking at?<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; Ten or fifteen shillings the yard, and not a penny under,
+I&rsquo;ll be bound.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; O do come and talk to me again and leave off messing with
+the old silk.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; No, no, Missy, I&rsquo;m a man of business habits, and
+&rsquo;tis my duty to go straight off to the meadow and seek out brother
+Thomas.&nbsp; He and I have got to talk things over a bit, you know.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; Off so soon!&nbsp; O you have saddened me.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; Nay, what is it to lose a few minutes of sweet company,
+when life is in front of us, Miss Clara?<br>
+<br>
+[<i>He raises her hand</i>,<i> kisses it</i>,<i> and leaves her</i>.&nbsp;
+<i>As he goes out by the door </i>CLARA <i>enters.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOAN.&nbsp; O, Mistress - stop him going down to Farmer Thomas at
+the meadow!<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Why, Joan, what has happened?<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; All has happened.&nbsp; But stop him going to the farmer
+to talk about the - the wedding and the money.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; The money?<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; The income which he thinks I have.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll run, but all this time I&rsquo;ve been keeping
+Master Luke Jenner quiet in the parlour.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; O what does he want now?<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Much the same as the other one wanted.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; Must I see him?<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Yes, indeed he will wait no longer for his answer.&nbsp;
+He&rsquo;s at boiling point already.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; Then send him in.&nbsp; But do you run quickly, Miss Clara,
+and keep Miles Hooper from the farmer.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll run my best, never fear.&nbsp; [<i>She goes
+out.<br>
+<br>
+</i>[LUKE JENNER <i>comes in</i>,<i> a bunch of homely flowers in his
+hand.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Seating herself</i>.]&nbsp; You are early this morning,
+Mister Jenner.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; [<i>Sitting opposite to her</i>.]&nbsp; I have that to say
+which would not bide till sunset, Miss Clara.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; Indeed, Mister Jenner.&nbsp; I wonder what that can be.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis just like this, Miss Clara.&nbsp; The day I first
+heard as you was coming down here - &ldquo;I could do with a rich wife
+if so be as I could win her,&rdquo; I did tell myself.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; O, Mister Jenner, now did you really?<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; But when I met you in the wood - saw you sitting there,
+so still and yet so bright, so fine and yet so homely.&nbsp; &ldquo;That&rsquo;s
+the maid for me,&rdquo; I says to myself.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Tearfully</i>.]&nbsp; O, Mister Jenner!<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; And if it had been beggar&rsquo;s rags upon her in the place
+of satin, I&rsquo;d have said the same.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Very much stirred</i>.]&nbsp; O, Mister Jenner, and
+did you really think like that?<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; If all the gold that do lie atween me and you was sunk in
+the deep ocean, &rsquo;twould be the best as could happen.&nbsp; There!<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Faintly</i>.]&nbsp; O, Mister Jenner, why?<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; Because, very like &rsquo;twould shew to you as &rsquo;tis
+yourself I&rsquo;m after and not the fortune what you&rsquo;ve got.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; Mister Jenner, I&rsquo;m mighty sorry.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t say I&rsquo;m come too late, Miss Clara.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; You are.&nbsp; Mister Hooper was before you.&nbsp; And now,
+&rsquo;tis he and I who are like to be wed.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; I might have known I had no chance.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Rising and trying to hide her emotion</i>.]&nbsp; I
+wouldn&rsquo;t have had it happen so for the world, Mr. Jenner.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; [<i>Laying his bunch of flowers on the table</i>,<i> his
+head bent</i>,<i> and his eyes on the ground</i>.]&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas
+none of your doing, Miss Clara.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ve naught to blame yourself
+for.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis not your fault as you&rsquo;re made so - so beautiful,
+and yet so homely.<br>
+<br>
+[JOAN <i>looks at him irresolutely for a moment and then precipitately
+leaves the room.<br>
+<br>
+</i>[LUKE <i>folds his arms on the table and rests his head on them
+in an attitude of deepest despondency</i>.&nbsp; <i>After a few moments
+</i>CLARA <i>enters.<br>
+<br>
+</i>CLARA.&nbsp; O, Mister Jenner, what has happened to you?<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; [<i>Raising his head and pointing to the window</i>.]&nbsp;
+There she goes, through the garden with her lover.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; I wish that you were in his place.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; [<i>Bitterly</i>.]&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve no house with golden
+rails to offer her.&nbsp; Nor any horse and chaise.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; But you carry a heart within you that is full of true love.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; What use is the love which be fastened up in a man&rsquo;s
+heart and can spend itself on naught, I&rsquo;d like to know.&nbsp;
+[<i>He rises as though to go and take up the bunch of flowers which
+has been lying on the table</i>.&nbsp; <i>Brokenly.</i>]&nbsp; I brought
+them for her.&nbsp; But I count as he&rsquo;ll have given her something
+better nor these.<br>
+<br>
+[CLARA <i>takes the flowers gently from his hand</i>,<i> and as she
+does so</i>,<i> </i>EMILY <i>enters.<br>
+<br>
+</i>EMILY.&nbsp; What now if you please!&nbsp; First with George and
+then with Luke.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twould be Thomas next if he wasn&rsquo;t
+an old sheep of a man as wouldn&rsquo;t know if an eye was cast on him
+or no.&nbsp; But I&rsquo;ll soon put a stop to all this.&nbsp; Shame
+on you, Luke Jenner.&nbsp; And you, you fine piece of London vanity,
+I wants my kitchen to myself, do you hear, so off with you upstairs.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She begins to move violently about the kitchen as the curtain falls.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+</i>ACT IV. - Scene 1.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<i>The kitchen is decorated with bunches of flowers</i>.&nbsp; <i>A
+long table is spread with silver</i>,<i> china and food</i>.&nbsp; CLARA
+<i>is setting mugs to each place</i>.&nbsp; MAGGIE <i>comes in from
+the back kitchen with a large dish of salad.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MAGGIE.&nbsp; When folks do come down to the countryside they likes
+to enjoy themselves among the vegetables.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; [<i>Placing the last mug</i>.]&nbsp; There - Now all is
+ready for them.<br>
+<br>
+MAGGIE.&nbsp; [<i>Bending over a place at the end of the table</i>.]&nbsp;
+Come you and look at this great old bumble-dore, Joan, what have flyed
+in through the window.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; [<i>Goes to </i>MAGGIE&rsquo;S <i>side and bends down over
+the table</i>.]&nbsp; O what a beautiful thing.&nbsp; Look at the gold
+on him, and his legs are like feathers.<br>
+<br>
+MAGGIE.&nbsp; [<i>Taking the bee carefully up in a duster and letting
+it fly through the window</i>.]&nbsp; The sign of a stranger, so they
+do say.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; A stranger, Maggie?<br>
+<br>
+MAGGIE.&nbsp; You mind my words, &rsquo;tis a stranger as&rsquo;ll sit
+where yon was stuck, afore the eating be finished.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t believe in such signs, myself.<br>
+<br>
+MAGGIE.&nbsp; I never knowed it not come true.<br>
+<br>
+[THOMAS <i>comes in</i>.&nbsp; <i>He is wearing his best clothes and
+looks pleased</i>,<i> yet nervous.<br>
+<br>
+</i>THOMAS.&nbsp; Well, maids.&nbsp; Upon my word &rsquo;tis a spread.&nbsp;
+Never saw so many different vituals brought together all at a time afore
+in this house.<br>
+<br>
+MAGGIE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis in honour of Miss Clara&rsquo;s going to be
+married like, master.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; So &rsquo;tis, so &rsquo;tis.&nbsp; Well - A single rose
+upon the bush.&nbsp; Bound to be plucked, you know.&nbsp; Couldn&rsquo;t
+be left to fade in the sun, eh, girls?<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Where shall Maggie and me stop whilst the supper is going
+on, master?&nbsp; Mistress has not told us yet.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; [<i>Nervously</i>.]&nbsp; Mistress haven&rsquo;t told
+you - haven&rsquo;t she?&nbsp; Well - well - at such a time we must
+all - all rejoice one with t&rsquo;other, like.&nbsp; No difference
+made t&rsquo;wixt master and man.&nbsp; Nor t&rsquo;wixt maid and missus.&nbsp;
+Down at the far end of the table you can sit yourselves, my wenches.&nbsp;
+Up against George - How&rsquo;s that?<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; That will do very well for us, Master.<br>
+<br>
+MAGGIE.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t expect as missus will let we bide there
+long.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; Look here, my wench, I be master in my own house, and
+at the asking in marriage of my only sister like, &rsquo;tis me as shall
+say what shall sit down with who.&nbsp; And there&rsquo;s an end of
+it.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s all.<br>
+<br>
+MAGGIE.&nbsp; I hear them a coming in, master.<br>
+<br>
+[EMILY, <i>holding the hands of </i>JESSIE <i>and </i>ROBIN, <i>comes
+into the room</i>.&nbsp; <i>Her eyes fall on </i>THOMAS <i>who is standing
+between </i>CLARA <i>and </i>MAGGIE, <i>looking suddenly sheepish and
+nervous.<br>
+<br>
+</i>EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>In a voice of suppressed anger</i>.]&nbsp; Thomas!
+O, if I catch any more of these goings on in my kitchen.<br>
+<br>
+[JOAN, <i>very elegantly dressed and hanging on the arm of </i>MILES
+HOOPER, <i>follows </i>EMILY <i>into the room.<br>
+<br>
+</i>EMILY.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll not have the food kept back any longer for
+Luke Jenner.&nbsp; If folk can&rsquo;t come to the time when they&rsquo;re
+asked, they baint worth waiting for, so sit you down, all of you.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She sits down at the head of the table</i>,<i> a child on either
+side of her</i>.&nbsp; JOAN <i>languidly sinks into a chair and </i>MILES
+<i>puts himself at her right</i>.&nbsp; <i>A place at her left remains
+empty</i>.&nbsp; THOMAS <i>sits opposite</i>.&nbsp; <i>Three places
+at the end of the table are left vacant</i>.&nbsp; <i>As they sit down</i>,<i>
+</i>GEORGE, <i>wearing a new smock and neck handkerchief</i>,<i> comes
+in.<br>
+<br>
+</i>EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>Beginning to help a dish</i>.]&nbsp; You need not
+think you&rsquo;re to be helped first, Clara, for all that the party
+is given for you, like.&nbsp; The poor little children have been kept
+waiting a sad time for their supper, first because you was such a while
+a having your head curled and puffed out, and then &rsquo;twas Luke
+Jenner as didn&rsquo;t come.<br>
+<br>
+[CLARA <i>sits down at a place at the end of the table</i>.&nbsp; GEORGE
+<i>and </i>MAGGIE <i>still remain standing.<br>
+<br>
+</i>EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>Perceiving </i>CLARA&rsquo;S <i>movement</i>.]&nbsp;
+Well, I never did see anything so forward.&nbsp; Who told you to sit
+yourself down along of your betters, if you please, madam serving maid?<br>
+<br>
+[GEORGE <i>comes involuntarily forward and stands behind </i>CLARA&rsquo;S
+<i>chair</i>.&nbsp; CLARA <i>does not move.<br>
+<br>
+</i>EMILY.&nbsp; Get you out of that there place this instant, do you
+hear? [<i>Turning to </i>MILES.]&nbsp; To see the way the young person
+acts one might think as she fancied herself as something uncommon rare
+and high.&nbsp; But you&rsquo;ll not take any fool in, not you, for
+all that you like to play the fine lady.&nbsp; Us can see through your
+game very clear, can&rsquo;t us, Mr. Hooper?<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; O certainly, to be sure, Missis Spring.&nbsp; No one who
+has the privilege of being acquainted with a real lady of quality could
+be mistook by any of the games played by this young person.<br>
+<br>
+[CLARA <i>looks him gravely in the face without moving.<br>
+<br>
+</i>EMILY.&nbsp; Get up, do you hear, and help Maggie pass the dishes!<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; [<i>Nervously</i>.]&nbsp; Nay, nay, &rsquo;twas my doing,
+Emily.&nbsp; I did tell the wenches as they might sit their-selves along
+of we, just for th&rsquo; occasion like.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; And who are you, if you please, giving orders and muddling
+about like a lord in my kitchen?<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; [<i>Faintly</i>.]&nbsp; Come, Emily, I&rsquo;m the master.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; And I, the mistress.&nbsp; Hear that, you piece of London
+impudence?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; [<i>Comes forward</i>.]&nbsp; Master Luke be coming up
+the garden, mistress.<br>
+<br>
+[LUKE JENNER <i>enters</i>.&nbsp; <i>He goes straight up to </i>JOAN
+<i>and holds out his hand to her</i>,<i> and then to </i>MILES.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; I do wish you happiness with all my heart, Miss Clara.&nbsp;
+Miles, my lad, &rsquo;tis rare - rare pleased as I be to shake your
+hand this day.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; Come, come, Luke Jenner, you&rsquo;ve been and kept us
+waiting more nor half an hour.&nbsp; Can&rsquo;t you sit yourself down
+and give other folk a chance of eating their victuals quiet?&nbsp; There&rsquo;s
+naught to make all this giddle-gaddle about as I can see.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; [<i>Sitting down in the empty place by </i>JOAN&rsquo;S
+<i>side</i>.]&nbsp; Beg pardon, mistress, I know I&rsquo;m a bit late.&nbsp;
+But the victuals as are waited for do have a better flavour to them
+nor those which be ate straight from the pot like.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s true &rsquo;tis.&nbsp; And &rsquo;tis hunger
+as do make the best sauce.<br>
+<br>
+[GEORGE <i>and </i>MAGGIE <i>quietly seat themselves on either side
+of </i>CLARA.&nbsp; EMILY <i>is too busy dispensing the food to take
+any notice</i>.&nbsp; GEORGE <i>hands plates and dishes to </i>CLARA,
+<i>and silently cares for her comfort throughout the meal.<br>
+<br>
+</i>THOMAS.&nbsp; Well, Emily; well, Luke.&nbsp; I didn&rsquo;t think
+to lose my little sister afore she&rsquo;d stopped a three days in the
+place.&nbsp; That I did not.&nbsp; But I don&rsquo;t grudge her to a
+fine prospering young man like friend Hooper, no, I don&rsquo;t.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; No one called upon you for a speech, Thomas.&nbsp; See
+if you can&rsquo;t make yourself of some use in passing the green stuff.&nbsp;
+[<i>Turning to </i>LUKE.]&nbsp; We have two serving maids and a man,
+Mister Jenner, but they&rsquo;re to be allowed to act the quality to-day,
+so we&rsquo;ve got to wait upon ourselves.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; A man is never so well served as by his own two hands, mistress.&nbsp;
+That&rsquo;s my saying at home.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; And a good one too, Luke, my boy, for most folk, but with
+me &rsquo;tis otherwise.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve got another pair of hands
+in the place as do for me as well, nor better than my own.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; Yes, Thomas, I often wonders where you&rsquo;d be without
+mine.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; I wasn&rsquo;t thinking of yourn, Emily.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis
+George&rsquo;s hands as I was speaking of.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>Contemptuously</i>.]&nbsp; George!&nbsp; You&rsquo;ll
+all find out your mistake one day, Thomas.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; [<i>To </i>JOAN, <i>who has been nervously handling her
+knife and fork and watching </i>CLARA&rsquo;S <i>movements furtively</i>.]&nbsp;
+My sweet Miss is not shewing any appetite.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m - I&rsquo;m not used to country fare.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; O, I hear you, Clara.&nbsp; Thomas, this is very fine.&nbsp;
+Clara can&rsquo;t feed &rsquo;cause she&rsquo;s not used to country
+fare!&nbsp; What next, I&rsquo;d like to know!<br>
+<br>
+ROBIN.&nbsp; [<i>Who has been watching </i>JOAN.]&nbsp; Why does Aunt
+sometimes put her knife in her mouth, Mother?<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; My good boy, &rsquo;tis plain you&rsquo;ve never mixed
+among the quality or you would know that each London season has its
+own new fashion of acting.&nbsp; This summer &rsquo;tis the stylish
+thing to put on a countryfied mode at table.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; Joan don&rsquo;t eat like that, Mister Hooper.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; Joan&rsquo;s only a maid servant, Miss Jessie.&nbsp; You
+should learn to distinguish between such people and fine ladles like
+your aunt.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Forcing herself to be more animated</i>.]&nbsp; Give
+me some fruit, Miles - I have no appetite to-day for heavy food.&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Tis far too warm.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; As for me, the only food I require is the sweet honey of
+my Missy&rsquo;s voice.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; Ah, &rsquo;tis a grand thing to be a young man, Miles
+Hooper.&nbsp; There was a day when such things did come handy to my
+tongue, like.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>Sharply</i>.]&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t seem to remember
+that day, Thomas.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; [<i>Sheepishly</i>,<i> his look falling</i>.]&nbsp; Ah
+- &rsquo;twas afore - afore our courting time, Emily.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; [<i>Energetically</i>.]&nbsp; Prime weather for the hay,
+farmer.&nbsp; I count as this dry will last until the whole of it be
+carried.&nbsp; [<i>A knock is heard at the door.<br>
+<br>
+</i>THOMAS.&nbsp; Now who&rsquo;ll that be?&nbsp; Did you see anyone
+a-coming up the path, Mother?<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; Do you expect me to be carving of the fowls and a-looking
+out of the window the same time, Thomas?<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; George, my lad, do you open the door and see who &rsquo;tis.<br>
+<br>
+[JOAN <i>looks anxiously across the table at </i>CLARA.&nbsp; <i>Then
+she drops her spoon and fork and takes up her fan</i>,<i> using it violently
+whilst </i>GEORGE <i>slowly gets up and opens the door</i>.&nbsp; LORD
+LOVEL <i>is seen standing on the threshold.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LORD LOVEL.&nbsp; [<i>To </i>GEORGE.]&nbsp; Kindly tell me, my man,
+is this the farm they call Ox Lease?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Ah, that&rsquo;s right enough.<br>
+<br>
+LORD LOVEL.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m sorry to break in upon a party like this,
+but I want to see Miss Clara Spring if she is here.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; [<i>Standing up</i>.]&nbsp; You&rsquo;ve come at the very
+moment, master.&nbsp; This be a giving in marriage supper.&nbsp; And
+&rsquo;tis Miss Clara, what&rsquo;s only sister to me, as is to be wed.<br>
+<br>
+LORD LOVEL.&nbsp; Impossible, my good sir!<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; Ah, that&rsquo;s it.&nbsp; Miles Hooper, he&rsquo;s the
+happy man.&nbsp; If you be come by Painswick High Street you&rsquo;ll
+have seen his name up over the shop door.<br>
+<br>
+LORD LOVEL.&nbsp; Miss Clara - Miles Hooper - No, I can&rsquo;t believe
+it.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; [<i>Pointing towards </i>JOAN <i>and </i>MILES.]&nbsp;
+There they be - the both of them.&nbsp; Turtle doves on the same branch.&nbsp;
+You&rsquo;re right welcome, master, to sit down along of we as one of
+the family on this occasion.<br>
+<br>
+LORD LOVEL.&nbsp; [<i>Looking at </i>JOAN <i>who has suddenly dropped
+her fan and is leaning back with a look of supplication towards </i>CLARA.]&nbsp;
+I must have come to the wrong place - that&rsquo;s not the Miss Clara
+Spring I know.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; [<i>Bending over </i>JOAN.]&nbsp; My sweet Missy has no
+acquaintance with this gentleman, I am sure.<br>
+<br>
+[LORD LOVEL <i>suddenly turns round and perceives </i>CLARA <i>seated
+by </i>MAGGIE <i>at the table</i>.&nbsp; <i>He quickly goes towards
+her</i>,<i> holding out his hand.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LORD LOVEL.&nbsp; Miss Clara.&nbsp; Tell me what is going on.&nbsp;
+[<i>Looking at her cap and apron</i>.]&nbsp; Why have you dressed yourself
+like this?<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; Come, come.&nbsp; There seems to be some sort of a hitch
+here.&nbsp; The young gentleman has very likely stopped a bit too long
+at the Spotted Cow on his way up.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Very faintly</i>,<i> looking at </i>CLARA.]&nbsp; O
+do you stand by me now.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; [<i>Lays her hand on </i>LORD LOVEL&rsquo;s <i>arm</i>.]&nbsp;
+Come with me, my lord.&nbsp; I think I can explain everything if you
+will only step outside with me.&nbsp; Come - [<i>She leads him swiftly
+through the door which </i>GEORGE <i>shuts behind them.</i>]<br>
+<br>
+[JOAN <i>leans back in her chair as though she were going to faint.<br>
+<br>
+</i>THOMAS.&nbsp; Well, now - but that&rsquo;s a smartish wench, getting
+him out so quiet, like.&nbsp; George, you&rsquo;d best step after them
+to see as the young man don&rsquo;t annoy her in any way.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; That young person can take good care of herself.&nbsp;
+Sit you down, Thomas and George, and get on with your eating, if you
+can.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; Why did he think Joan was our aunt, mother?<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; &rsquo;Cause he was in that state when a man don&rsquo;t
+know his right leg from his left arm.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; [<i>Who has remained standing</i>.]&nbsp; Look you here,
+Master Thomas - see here mistress.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis time as there was
+an end of this cursed play acting, or whatever &rsquo;tis called.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; Play acting there never has been in my house, George, I&rsquo;d
+like for you to know.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; O yes there have been, mistress.&nbsp; And &rsquo;tis
+time it was finished.&nbsp; [<i>Pointing to </i>JOAN.]&nbsp; You just
+take and ask that young person what she do mean by tricking herself
+out in Miss Clara&rsquo;s gowns and what not, and by having herself
+called by Miss Clara&rsquo;s own name.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; [<i>Taking </i>JOAN&rsquo;S <i>hand in his</i>.]&nbsp;
+My sweet Miss must pay no attention to the common fellow.&nbsp; I dare
+him to speak like that of my little lady bride.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; A jay bird in peacock&rsquo;s feathers, that&rsquo;s what
+&rsquo;tis.&nbsp; And she&rsquo;s took you all in, the every one of
+you.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; O George, isn&rsquo;t she really our aunt from London?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; No, that she baint, Miss Jessie.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; Come, come, my lad.&nbsp; I never knew you act so afore.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis clear where he have spent his time this afternoon.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; Nay, nay, I never did see George inside of the Spotted Cow
+in all the years I&rsquo;ve known of him.&nbsp; George baint made to
+that shape.<br>
+<br>
+ROBIN.&nbsp; Then who is Aunt Clara, George?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; She who be just gone from out of the room, Master Robin,
+and none other.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; Come, George, this talk do sound so foolish.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; I can&rsquo;t help that, master.&nbsp; Foolish deeds do
+call for foolish words, may be.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; My pretty Miss is almost fainting, I declare.&nbsp; [<i>He
+pours out water for </i>JOAN <i>and bends affectionately over her</i>.]&nbsp;
+Put the drunken fellow outside and let&rsquo;s have an end of this.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; [<i>Advancing</i>.]&nbsp; Yes, us&rsquo;ll have an end
+to it very shortly.&nbsp; But I be going to put a straight question
+to the maid first, and &rsquo;tis a straight answer as her&rsquo;ll
+have to give me in reply.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; Not a word, not a word.&nbsp; Miss is sadly upset by your
+rude manners.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Do you ask of the young lady but one thing, Master Hooper,
+and then I&rsquo;ll go when you will.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; Well, my man, what&rsquo;s that?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Do you get her to speak the name as was given she at baptism,
+Mister Hooper.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; This is madness.&nbsp; My pretty Miss shall not be teased
+by such a question.&nbsp; Thomas, you&rsquo;ll have to get this stupid
+fellow locked up, or something.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; [<i>Angrily</i>.]&nbsp; Her shall say it, if I stands
+here all night.<br>
+<br>
+[JOAN <i>suddenly bends forward and hides her face in her hands</i>,<i>
+her form shaken by violent weeping</i>.&nbsp; <i>The door opens and
+</i>CLARA <i>enters followed by </i>LORD LOVEL.&nbsp; <i>She has taken
+off her cap and apron.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Raising her head and stretching out her hands to
+</i>CLARA.]&nbsp; O speak for me, mistress.&nbsp; Speak for me and help.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; I am Clara, she is Joan.&nbsp; Thomas, Emily, I pray you
+to forgive us both for taking you in like this.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; Well, I never did hear tell of such a thing.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m not going to believe a word the young person
+says.<br>
+<br>
+LORD LOVEL.&nbsp; She has told you but the truth, my good friends.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; And who are you, to put your tongue into the basin, I&rsquo;d
+like to know?<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; This is the nephew of my dear godmother.&nbsp; Lord Lovel
+is his name.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; If you think I&rsquo;m going to be took in with such nonsense,
+the more fool you, I says.<br>
+<br>
+LORD LOVEL.&nbsp; But all that Miss Clara tells you is true, Missis
+Spring.&nbsp; She and her serving maid, for certain reasons of their
+own, agreed to change parts for a few days.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; [<i>Turning to </i>JOAN.]&nbsp; Is this really so, my
+maid?<br>
+<br>
+[JOAN <i>bows her head</i>,<i> her handkerchief still covering her face.<br>
+<br>
+</i>THOMAS.&nbsp; [<i>To </i>CLARA.]&nbsp; Who ever would have thought
+on such a thing?<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas a foolish enough thing, but no harm is done.&nbsp;
+Look up, Joan, and do not cry so pitifully.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Looking up at </i>MILES.]&nbsp; You&rsquo;ll never go
+and change towards me now that we&rsquo;re most as good as wed, will
+you, Mister Hooper?<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; [<i>Rising and speaking with cold deliberation</i>.]&nbsp;
+Ladies and gentlemen, I have the honour to wish you all a very pleasant
+evening.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; Come, come Miles, we be all a bit turned in the head,
+it seems.&nbsp; But things&rsquo;ll settle back to their right places
+if you gives them a chance.&nbsp; Sit you down and take a drink of sommat.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t be so foolish, Thomas.&nbsp; As if a man what&rsquo;s
+been stung by a wasp would care to sit himself down on a hornet&rsquo;s
+nest.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; You are perfectly right, madam.&nbsp; This is no place
+for me.&nbsp; I have been sported with.&nbsp; My good name has been
+treated as a jest.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; O Mister Hooper, &rsquo;twas my doing, all of it, but I
+did it for the best, I did.<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; [<i>Going to the door</i>.]&nbsp; Thank you, my good woman.&nbsp;
+Next time you want to play a little prank like this, I beg that you
+will select your partner with more care.&nbsp; The name of Hooper is
+not a suitable one to toy with, let me tell you.<br>
+<br>
+ROBIN.&nbsp; Aren&rsquo;t you going to marry her then, Mister Hooper?<br>
+<br>
+MILES.&nbsp; I am not, Master Robin.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; You said as you could tell a real lady by her ways, but
+you couldn&rsquo;t very well, could he, Mother?<br>
+<br>
+[MILES, <i>covering his mortification with sarcastic bows made to the
+right and left</i>,<i> goes out</i>.&nbsp; JOAN <i>leans back almost
+fainting in her chair.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LUKE.&nbsp; [<i>Taking her hand</i>.]&nbsp; This is the finest hearing
+in all the world for me, Miss - Miss Joan.<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; O Mr. Jenner, how deep you must despise me.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; And that I&rsquo;d never do, though I&rsquo;m blest if I
+know why you did it.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; It was as much my fault as hers, Mister Jenner.&nbsp; There
+were things that each of us wanted, and that we thought we might get,
+by changing places, one with the other.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; [<i>To </i>CLARA.]&nbsp; Well, my maid, I&rsquo;m blessed
+if I do know what you was a hunting about for, dressed up as a serving
+wench.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; [<i>Turning a little towards </i>GEORGE.]&nbsp; I thought
+to find something which was mine when I was a little child, but which
+I lost.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; O Georgie do know how to find things which is lost.&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Twas he as brought back the yellow pullet when her had strayed
+off.<br>
+<br>
+ROBIN.&nbsp; Yes.&nbsp; And &rsquo;twas George as did find your blue
+hair ribbon Aunt Clara, when it was dropped in the hayfield.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; I believe as Georgie knowed which of them was our aunt
+all the time.<br>
+<br>
+ROBIN.&nbsp; I believe it too.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; Why, George, you sly dog, what put you on the scent, like?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas not one, but many things.&nbsp; And if you
+wants a clear proof [<i>Turning to </i>CLARA] - put back the laces of
+your sleeve, Miss Clara.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; What for, George?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Whilst you was a-doing of the taters, this morning, you
+did pull up your sleeves.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas then I held the proof.&nbsp;
+Not that &rsquo;twas needed for me, like.<br>
+<br>
+[CLARA <i>pushes up both her sleeves</i>,<i> and holds out her arms
+towards </i>GEORGE.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; [<i>Pointing to the scar</i>.]&nbsp; There &rsquo;tis
+- there&rsquo;s where th&rsquo; old gander have left his mark.<br>
+<br>
+THE CHILDREN.&nbsp; [<i>Getting up</i>.]&nbsp; Where, where!&nbsp; O
+do let us see!<br>
+<br>
+[<i>They run round to where </i>CLARA <i>stands and look eagerly at
+the mark on her arm which she shews to them.<br>
+<br>
+</i>THOMAS.&nbsp; George, my lad, you baint th&rsquo; only one as can
+play fox.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t you be so set up as to think as you can, Thomas.&nbsp;
+For a more foolish figure of a goose never was cut.&nbsp; A man might
+tell when &rsquo;twas his own sister, if so be as he had his full senses
+upon him.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; Never you mind, Emily.&nbsp; What I says to George is,
+he baint th&rsquo; only fox.&nbsp; How now, my lad?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t see what you be driving at, master.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; [<i>Slyly</i>.]&nbsp; What about that bit of blue ribbon,
+George?<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Yes, Thomas.&nbsp; Ask Georgie if he will give it back
+to me.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; [<i>Stepping forward till he is by </i>CLARA&rsquo;S <i>side</i>.]&nbsp;
+No, and that I will not do.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis little enough as I holds,
+but what little, I&rsquo;ll keep it.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; [<i>To </i>GEORGE.]&nbsp; Those words are like a frail
+bridge on which I can stand for a moment.&nbsp; Georgie, do you remember
+the days when you used to lead me by the hand into the deep parts of
+the wood, lifting me over the briars and the brambles so that I should
+not be hurt by their thorns?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Hark you here, Clara.&nbsp; This once I&rsquo;ll speak.&nbsp;
+I never had but one true love, and that was a little maid what would
+run through the woods and over all the meadows, her hand in mine.&nbsp;
+I learnt she the note of every bird.&nbsp; And when th&rsquo; evening
+was come, us would watch together till th&rsquo; old mother badger did
+get from out of her hole, and start hunting in the long grasses.<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; [<i>Taking </i>GEORGE&rsquo;S <i>hand</i>.]&nbsp; Then,
+Georgie, there was no need for the disguise that I put upon myself.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Do you think as the moon can hide her light when there
+baint no cloud upon the sky, Clara?<br>
+<br>
+CLARA.&nbsp; Georgie, I went in fear of what this gold and silver might
+raise up between you and me.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s all finished and done with now, my maid.&nbsp;
+If I&rsquo;d a hundred sisters, George should have the pick of them,
+he should.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; Thank you.&nbsp; Thomas.&nbsp; One of your sisters is about
+enough.<br>
+<br>
+LUKE.&nbsp; [<i>Who has been sitting with </i>JOAN&rsquo;S <i>hand in
+his</i>.]&nbsp; Hark you here, mistress.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s many a
+cloudy morning turns out a sunshiny day.&nbsp; Baint that a true saying,
+Joan?<br>
+<br>
+JOAN.&nbsp; [<i>Looking up radiantly</i>.]&nbsp; O that it is, dear
+Luke.<br>
+<br>
+LORD LOVEL.&nbsp; Miss Clara, it seems that there is nothing more to
+be said.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; And that&rsquo;s the most sensible thing as has been spoke
+this long while.&nbsp; Thomas, your sister favours you in being a poor,
+grizzling sort of a muddler.&nbsp; She might have took up with this
+young man, who has a very respectable appearance.<br>
+<br>
+LORD LOVEL.&nbsp; [<i>Coming forward to </i>GEORGE <i>and shaking his
+hand</i>.]&nbsp; I&rsquo;m proud to make your acquaintance, sir.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; [<i>Rising angrily</i>.]&nbsp; Come Thomas, come Luke,
+come Clara.&nbsp; Us might be a barn full of broody hens the way we
+be set around of this here table.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twill be midnight afore
+the things is cleared away and washed up.<br>
+<br>
+THOMAS.&nbsp; What if it be, Emily.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tisn&rsquo;t very often
+as I gets the chance of minding how &rsquo;twas in times gone past.&nbsp;
+Ah, I was a young man in those days, too, I was.<br>
+<br>
+EMILY.&nbsp; And &rsquo;tis a rare old addle head as you be got now,
+Thomas.<br>
+<br>
+JESSIE.&nbsp; [<i>Slipping her hand into </i>THOMAS&rsquo;S.]&nbsp;
+O do let us sit up till midnight, Dad.<br>
+<br>
+ROBIN.&nbsp; I shall eat a smartish lot more if we does.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>Curtain</i>.]<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+MY MAN JOHN<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHARACTERS<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.<br>
+WILLIAM, <i>her son.<br>
+</i>JOHN, <i>his farm hand.<br>
+</i>SUSAN, <i>their maid.<br>
+</i>JULIA, <i>the owner of Luther&rsquo;s Farm.<br>
+</i>LAURA, CHRIS, NAT, TANSIE, <i>gipsies.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+</i>ACT I. - Scene 1.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<i>The garden of the Road Farm.&nbsp; To the right an arbour covered
+with roses</i>.&nbsp; MRS. GARDNER<i> is seated in it</i>,<i> knitting.&nbsp;
+</i>WILLIAM <i>is tying up flowers and watering them.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; And you have come to a ripe age when &rsquo;tis
+the plain duty of a man to turn himself towards matrimony, William.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis a bit of quiet that I&rsquo;m after, Mother.<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; Quiet! &rsquo;tis a good shaking up as you want,
+William.&nbsp; Why, you have got as set in your ways as last season&rsquo;s
+jelly.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Then let me bide so.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis all I ask.<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; No, William.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m got to be an old woman
+now, and &rsquo;tis time that I had someone at my side to help in the
+house-keeping and to share the work.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; What&rsquo;s Susan for, if &rsquo;tisn&rsquo;t to do
+that?<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; Susan?&nbsp; As idle a piece of goods as ever was
+seen on a summer&rsquo;s day!&nbsp; No.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tisn&rsquo;t a
+serving maid that I was thinking of, but someone who should be of more
+account in the house.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis a daughter that I&rsquo;m wanting,
+William, and I&rsquo;ve picked out the one who is to my taste.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Then you&rsquo;ve done more than I have, Mother.<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis the young person whom Luther Smith has
+left his farm and all his money to.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve got my eye on her
+for you, William.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Then you&rsquo;ll please to put your eye somewhere else,
+Mother, for I&rsquo;ve seen them, and they don&rsquo;t suit me.<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; Come, this is news, William.&nbsp; Pray where did
+you meet?<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas when I was in church last Sunday.&nbsp; In
+they came, the two young maids from Luthers, like a couple of gallinie
+fowls, the way they did step up over the stones and shake the plumes
+of them this way and that.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t hold with fancy tricks.&nbsp;
+I never could abide them.&nbsp; No foreign wenches for me.&nbsp; And
+that&rsquo;s about all.<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis true they are from town, but none the
+worse for that, William.&nbsp; You have got sadly rude and cumbersome
+in your ways, or you wouldn&rsquo;t feel as you do towards a suitable
+young person.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis from getting about with John so much,
+I think.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Now look you here, Mother, I&rsquo;ve got used to my
+own ways, and when a man&rsquo;s got set in his own ways, &rsquo;tis
+best to leave him there.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m past the age for marrying,
+and you ought to know this better than anyone.<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; I know that &rsquo;tis a rare lot of foolishness
+that you do talk, William, seeing as you&rsquo;re not a year past thirty
+yet.&nbsp; But if you can&rsquo;t be got to wed for love of a maid,
+perhaps you&rsquo;ll do so for love of a purse, when &rsquo;tis fairly
+filled.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s always been enough for you and me so far,
+Mother.<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; Ah, but that won&rsquo;t last for ever.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m
+got an old woman, and I can&rsquo;t do with the dairy nor the poultry
+as I was used to do.&nbsp; And things have not the same prices to them
+as &rsquo;twas a few years gone by.&nbsp; And last year&rsquo;s season
+was the worst that I remember.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; So &rsquo;twas.&nbsp; But so long as there&rsquo;s a
+roof over our heads and a loaf of bread and a bit of garden for me to
+work on, where&rsquo;s the harm, Mother?<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; O you put me out of all patience, William.&nbsp;
+Where&rsquo;s the rent to come from if we go on like this?&nbsp; And
+the clothing, and the food?&nbsp; And John&rsquo;s wages, and your flower
+seeds, if it comes to that, for you have got terrible wasteful over
+the flowers.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; I wish you&rsquo;d take it quieter, Mother.&nbsp; Look
+at you bed of musk, &rsquo;tis a grand smell that comes up from it all
+around.<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; No, William.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve no eye for musk, nor
+nose to smell at it either till you&rsquo;ve spoken the word that I
+require.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Best let things bide as they are, Mother.<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll leave you no rest till you do as I wish,
+William.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m got an old woman, and &rsquo;tis hard I should
+be denied in aught that I&rsquo;ve set my heart upon.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Please to set it upon something different, Mother, for
+I&rsquo;m not a marrying man, and John he&rsquo;ll tell you the same
+thing.<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; John!&nbsp; I&rsquo;m sick of the very name of him.&nbsp;
+I can&rsquo;t think how &rsquo;tis that you can lower yourself by being
+so close with a common farm hand, William.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Ah, &rsquo;twould be a rare hard matter to find the equal
+to John, Mother.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis of gold all through, and every bit
+of him, that he is made.&nbsp; You don&rsquo;t see many like John these
+days, that&rsquo;s the truth.<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; Well, then, John, won&rsquo;t be here much longer,
+for we shan&rsquo;t have anything to give him if things go on like this.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d wed forty wives sooner than lose John - and
+that I would.<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m not asking you to wed forty.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis
+only one.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; And that one?<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; The young person who&rsquo;s got Luther&rsquo;s
+farm.&nbsp; Her name is Julia.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; [<i>Leaving his flower border and walking up and down
+thoughtfully.</i>]&nbsp; Would she be the one with the cherry colour
+ribbons to her gown?<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m sure I don&rsquo;t know.&nbsp; I was not
+at church last Sunday.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Or t&rsquo;other one in green?<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; You appear to have used your eyes pretty well, William.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; O, I can see a smartish bit about me when I choose.<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; T&rsquo;other wench is but the housekeeper.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Where did you get that from?<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas Susan who told me.&nbsp; She got it
+off someone down in the village.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Well, which of the maids would have had the cherry-coloured
+ribbons to her, Mother?<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m sure I don&rsquo;t know, but if you go
+up there courting this afternoon, may happen that you&rsquo;ll find
+out.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; This afternoon?&nbsp; O, that&rsquo;s much too sudden
+like.<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; Not a bit of it.&nbsp; Recollect, your fancy has
+been set on her since Sunday.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Come, Mother, you can&rsquo;t expect a man to jump into
+the river all of a sudden like this.<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; I expect you to go up there this very day and to
+commence telling her of your feelings.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; But I&rsquo;ve got no feelings that I can tell her of,
+Mother.<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; Then you&rsquo;ll please to find some, William.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis a thing that in all my life I&rsquo;ve never
+done as to go visiting of a strange wench of an afternoon.<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; Then &rsquo;tis time you did begin.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; And what&rsquo;s more, I&rsquo;ll not do it, neither.<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; Then I must tell John that we have no further need
+of his services, for where the money to pay him is to come from, I don&rsquo;t
+know.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She rolls up her knitting and rises.<br>
+<br>
+</i>WILLIAM.&nbsp; Stop a moment, Mother - stop a moment.&nbsp; Maybe
+&rsquo;twon&rsquo;t be so bad when I&rsquo;ve got more used to the idea.&nbsp;
+You&rsquo;ve pitched it upon me so sudden like.<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; Rent day has pitched upon me more sudden, William.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Look you, Mother, I&rsquo;ll get and turn it about in
+my mind a bit.&nbsp; And, maybe, I&rsquo;ll talk it over with John.&nbsp;
+I can&rsquo;t do more, can I now?<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; Talk it over with whom you please, William.&nbsp;
+But remember &rsquo;tis this very afternoon that you have to start courting.&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;ve laid your best clothes out all ready on your bed.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; [<i>Sighing heavily.</i>]&nbsp; O then I count there&rsquo;s
+no way out of it.&nbsp; But how am I to bring it off?&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis
+that I&rsquo;d like to know.<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; Maybe your man will be able to give you some suitable
+advice.&nbsp; Such things are beyond me, I&rsquo;m afraid.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She gathers up her work things</i>,<i> and with a contemptuous look
+at her son</i>,<i> she goes slowly out of the garden.<br>
+<br>
+</i>[WILLIAM <i>remains on the path lost in perturbed thought.&nbsp;
+Suddenly he goes to the gate and calls loudly.<br>
+<br>
+</i>WILLIAM.&nbsp; John, John!<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; [<i>From afar.</i>]&nbsp; Yes, master.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; [<i>Calling.</i>]&nbsp; Come you here, John, as quick
+as you can run.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; That I will, master.<br>
+<br>
+[JOHN <i>hurries into the garden.<br>
+<br>
+</i>WILLIAM.&nbsp; John, I&rsquo;m powerful upset.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Mistress&rsquo;s fowls bain&rsquo;t got among the flowers
+again, be they, Master William?<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; No, no, John.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tisn&rsquo;t so bad as that.&nbsp;
+But I&rsquo;m in a smartish fix, I can tell you.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; How&rsquo;s that, master?<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; John, did you ever go a&rsquo;courting?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Well, master, that&rsquo;s a thing to ask a man!<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis a terrible serious matter, John.&nbsp; Did
+you ever go?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Courting?<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Yes.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Why, I count as I have went a score of times, master.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; A score of times, John!&nbsp; But that was before you
+were got to the age you are now?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Before that, and now, master.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; And now, John?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; To be sure, master.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Then you know how &rsquo;tis done?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Ah, that I does, master.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Well, John, you&rsquo;re the man for me.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Lord bless us, master, but what have you to do with courting?<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; You may well ask me, John.&nbsp; Why, look you here -
+until this very morning, you would say I was a quiet and a peaceable
+man, with the right place for everything and everything in its place.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Ah, and that you was, Master William.&nbsp; And a time for
+all things too, and a decenter, proper gentleman no man ever served
+- that&rsquo;s truth.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Ah, John - the mistress has set her will to change all
+this.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Now, you&rsquo;d knock me down with a feather.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; That she has, John.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve got to set out courting
+- a thing I&rsquo;ve never thought to do in all my living days.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; That I&rsquo;ll be bound you have not, Master William, though
+a finer gentleman than yourself is not to be found in all the country
+side.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; [<i>With shy eagerness.</i>]&nbsp; Is that how I appear
+to you, John?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Ah, and that you does, master.&nbsp; And &rsquo;tis the
+wonder with all for miles around as how you&rsquo;ve been and kept yourself
+to yourself like this, so many years.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Well, John, it appears that I&rsquo;m to pass out of
+my own keeping.&nbsp; My Sunday clothes are all laid out upon the bed.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Bless my soul, Master William, and &rsquo;tis but Thursday
+too.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Isn&rsquo;t that a proper day for this sort of business,
+John?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve always been used to Saturday myself, but with
+a gentleman &rsquo;tis different like.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Well, John, there&rsquo;s nothing in this day or that
+as far as I can see.&nbsp; A bad job is a bad job, no matter what, and
+the day of it does make but very little difference.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; You&rsquo;re right there, master.&nbsp; But if I may be
+so bold, where is it as you be going off courting this afternoon?<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Ah - now you and me will have a straight talk one with
+another - for &rsquo;tis to you I look, John, for to pull me out of
+this fix where the mistress has gone and put me.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; And that I&rsquo;ll do, master - with all the will in the
+world.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Well then, John, &rsquo;tis to be one of those maids
+from strange parts who are come to live at old Luther&rsquo;s, up yonder.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Ah, I seed the pair of them in church last Sunday.&nbsp;
+Fine maids, the both of them, and properly suitable if you was to ask
+me.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis only the one I&rsquo;ve got to court, John.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; And I reckon that&rsquo;s one too many, Master William.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; You&rsquo;re right there, John.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis Mistress
+Julia I&rsquo;ve to go at.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; And which of the pair would that be, Master William?<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; That one with the cherry colour ribbons to her gown,
+I believe.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Ah, t&rsquo;other was plainer in her dressing, and did keep
+the head of her bent smartish low on her book, so that a man couldn&rsquo;t
+get a fair look upon she.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; That would be the housekeeper or summat.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis
+Julia, who has the old man&rsquo;s money, I&rsquo;m to court.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Well, master, I&rsquo;ll come along with you a bit of the
+road, to keep your heart up like.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; You must do more than that for me, John.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ve
+got to learn me how the courting is done before I set off.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Why, master, courting baint a thing what wants much learning,
+that&rsquo;s the truth.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis all new to me, John.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m blessed
+if I know how to commence.&nbsp; Why, the thought of it at once sends
+me hot all over; and then as cold again.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; You start and get your clothes on, master.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis
+half the battle - clothes.&nbsp; What a man cannot bring out of his
+mouth of a Saturday will fall out easy as anything on the Sunday with
+his best coat to his back.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; No, John.&nbsp; The clothes won&rsquo;t help me in this
+fix.&nbsp; You must tell me how to start once I get to the farm and
+am by the door.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; You might take a nosegay with you, master.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; I might.&nbsp; And yet, &rsquo;tis a pity to cut the
+blooms for naught.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; I always takes a nosegay with me, of a Saturday night.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Why, John, who is it that you are courting then?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis that wench Susan, since you ask me, master.&nbsp;
+But not a word of it to th&rsquo; old mistress.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll not mention it, John.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Thank you kindly, master.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; And now, John, when the nosegay&rsquo;s all gathered
+and the flowers bunched, what else should I do?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Well, then you gives it her when you gets to the door.&nbsp;
+And very like she&rsquo;ll ask you into the parlour, seeing as you be
+a particular fine looking gentleman.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; I could not stand that, John.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve no tongue
+to me within a strange house.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Well then, maybe as you and she will sit aside of one another
+in an arbour in the garden, or sommat of the sort.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Yes, John.&nbsp; And what next?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m blessed if I do know, master.&nbsp; You go along
+and commence.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; No, John, and that I won&rsquo;t.&nbsp; Not till I know
+more about it like.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Well, master, I&rsquo;m fairly puzzled hard to tell you.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; I have the very thought, John.&nbsp; Do you bring Susan
+out here.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll place myself behind the shrubs, and do you
+get and court her as well as you know how; and maybe that will learn
+me something.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Susan&rsquo;s a terrible hard wench to court, Master William.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twill make the better lesson, John.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis a stone in place of a heart what Susan&rsquo;s
+got.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twill very likely be the same with Julia.&nbsp;
+Go and bring her quickly, John.<br>
+<br>
+[WILLIAM <i>places himself behind the arbour.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOHN.&nbsp; As you will, master - but Susan have been wonderful
+nasty in her ways with me of late.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis my belief as she
+have took up with one of they low gipsy lads what have been tenting
+up yonder, against the wood.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Well, &rsquo;twill be your business to win her back to
+you, John.&nbsp; See - am I properly hid, behind the arbour?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Grandly hid, master - I&rsquo;ll go and fetch the wench.&nbsp;
+[JOHN <i>leaves the garden.<br>
+<br>
+</i>[WILLIAM <i>remains hidden behind the arbour.&nbsp; After a few
+minutes </i>JOHN <i>returns pulling </i>SUSAN <i>by the hand.<br>
+<br>
+</i>SUSAN.&nbsp; And what are you about, bringing me into master&rsquo;s
+flower garden at this time of the morning?&nbsp; I should like for mistress
+to look out of one of the windows - you&rsquo;d get into fine trouble,
+and me too, John.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Susan, my dear, you be a passing fine wench to look upon,
+and that&rsquo;s the truth.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; And is it to tell me such foolishness that you&rsquo;ve
+brought me all the way out of the kitchen?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; [<i>Stooping and picking a dandelion.</i>]&nbsp; And to
+give you this flower, dear Susan.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; [<i>Throwing it down.</i>]&nbsp; A common thing like that!&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;ll have none of it.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis prime you looks when you be angered, Susan.&nbsp;
+The blue fire do fairly leap from your eyes.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; O you&rsquo;re enough to anger a saint, John.&nbsp; What
+have you brought me here for?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; I thought I&rsquo;d like to tell you as you was such a fine
+wench, Susan.&nbsp; And that I did never see a finer.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; You do look at me as though I was yonder prize heifer what
+Master William&rsquo;s so powerful set on.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Ah - and &rsquo;tis true as you have sommat of the look
+of she when you stands a pawing of the ground as you be now.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; Is it to insult me that you&rsquo;ve got me away from the
+kitchen, John?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Nay - &rsquo;tis to tell you that you be a rare smartish
+wench - and I&rsquo;ll go along to the church with you any day as you
+will name, my dear.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; That you won&rsquo;t, John.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t mind taking
+a nosegay of flowers from you now and then, and hearing you speak nice
+to me over the garden gate of an evening, but I&rsquo;m not a-going
+any further along the road with you.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s all.&nbsp; [<i>She
+moves towards the house.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOHN.&nbsp; Now, do you bide a moment longer, Susan - and let me
+say sommat of all they feelings which be stirring like a nest of young
+birds in my heart for you.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; They may stir within you like an old waspes&rsquo; nest
+for all I care, John.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Come, Susan, put better words to your tongue nor they.&nbsp;
+You can speak honey sweet when it do please you to.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis mustard as is the right food for you this morning,
+John.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; I gets enough of that from mistress - I mean - well - I
+mean - [<i>in a loud, clear voice</i>]&nbsp; - O mistress is a wonderful
+fine woman and no mistake.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; You won&rsquo;t say as much when she comes round the corner
+and catches you a wasting of your time like this, John.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Is it a waste of time to stand a-drinking in the sweetness
+of the finest rose what blooms, Susan?<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; Is that me, John?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Who else should it be, Susan?<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; Well, John - sometimes I think there&rsquo;s not much amiss
+with you.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; O Susan, them be grand words.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; But then again - I do think as you be getting too much
+like Master William.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; And a grander gentleman than he never went upon the earth.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; Cut and clipped and trimmed and dry as that box tree yonder.&nbsp;
+And you be getting sommat of the same fashion about you, John.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Then make me differenter, Susan, you know the way.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m not so sure as I do, John.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Wed me come Michaelmas, Susan.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; And that I&rsquo;ll not.&nbsp; And what&rsquo;s more, I&rsquo;m
+not a-going to stop here talking foolish with you any longer.&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;ve work to do within.&nbsp; [SUSAN <i>goes off.<br>
+<br>
+</i>[JOHN, <i>mopping his face and speaking regretfully as </i>WILLIAM
+<i>steps from behind the arbour.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOHN.&nbsp; There, master.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s courting for you.&nbsp;
+That&rsquo;s the sort of thing.&nbsp; And a caddling thing it is too.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; But &rsquo;tis a thing that you do rare finely and well,
+John.&nbsp; And &rsquo;tis you and none other who shall do the job for
+me this afternoon, there - that&rsquo;s what I&rsquo;ve come to in my
+thoughts.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Master, master, whatever have you got in your head now?<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; See here, John - we&rsquo;ll cut a nosegay for you to
+carry - some of the best blooms I&rsquo;ll spare.&nbsp; And you, who
+know what courting is, and who have such fine words to your tongue,
+shall step up at once and do the business for me.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Master, if &rsquo;twas an acre of stone as you&rsquo;d asked
+me to plough, I&rsquo;d sooner do it nor a job like this.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; John, you&rsquo;ve been a good friend to me all the years
+that you have lived on the farm, you&rsquo;ll not go and fail me now.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Why not court the lady with your own tongue, Master William?&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Twould have better language to it nor what I can give the likes
+of she.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Your words are all right, John.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tisn&rsquo;t
+as though sensible speech was needed.&nbsp; You do know what&rsquo;s
+wanted with the maids, whilst I have never been used to them in any
+way whatever.&nbsp; So let&rsquo;s say no more about it, but commence
+gathering the flowers.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; [<i>Heavily</i>,<i> but resigned.</i>]&nbsp; Since you say
+so, master.&nbsp; [<i>They begin to gather flowers.<br>
+<br>
+</i>WILLIAM.&nbsp; What blooms do young maids like the best, John?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Put in a sprig of thyme, master.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Yes - I can well spare that.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; And a rose that&rsquo;s half opened, master.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; It goes to my heart to have a rose wasted on this business,
+John.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tain&rsquo;t likely as you can get through courtship
+without parting with sommat, master.&nbsp; Lucky if it baint gold as
+you&rsquo;re called upon to spill.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s true, John - I&rsquo;ll gather the rose
+-<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; See here, master, the lily and the pink.&nbsp; Them be brave
+flowers, the both of them, and with a terrible fine scent coming out
+of they.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Put them into the nosegay, John - And now - no more -
+&rsquo;Tis enough waste for one day.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis a smartish lot of blooms as good as done for,
+says I.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; A slow sowing and a quick reaping, John.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis to be hoped as &rsquo;twill be the same with
+the lady, master.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; There, off you go, John.&nbsp; And mind, &rsquo;tis her
+with the cherry ribbon to her gown and bonnet.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Why, master, and her might have a different ribbon to her
+head this day, being that &rsquo;tis Thursday?<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; An eye like - like a bullace, John.&nbsp; And a grand
+colour to the face of her like yon rose.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s enough, Master William.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll not
+pitch upon the wrong maid, never fear.&nbsp; And now I&rsquo;ll clean
+myself up a bit at the pump, and set off straight away.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; [<i>Shaking </i>JOHN&rsquo;s <i>hand.</i>]&nbsp; Good
+luck to you, my man.&nbsp; And if you can bring it off quiet and decent
+like without me coming in till at the last, why, &rsquo;tis a five pound
+note that you shall have for your trouble.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; You be a grand gentleman to serve, Master William, and no
+mistake about that.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>Curtain.</i>]<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+ACT II. - Scene 1.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<i>A wood.&nbsp; To the right a fallen tree </i>(<i>or a bench</i>).&nbsp;
+JOHN <i>comes from the left</i>,<i> a large bunch of flowers in his
+hand.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOHN.&nbsp; Out, and a taking of the air in the wood, be they?&nbsp;
+Well, bless my soul, but &rsquo;tis a rare caddling business what master&rsquo;s
+put upon I.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis worse nor any job he have set me to in
+all the years I&rsquo;ve been along of him, so &rsquo;tis.&nbsp; But
+I&rsquo;m the one to bring it off slick and straight, and, bless me,
+if I won&rsquo;t take and hide myself by yon great bush till I see the
+wenches a-coming up.&nbsp; That&rsquo;ll give me time to have a quiet
+look at the both and pick out she what master&rsquo;s going a-courting
+of.<br>
+<br>
+[JOHN <i>puts himself behind some thick bushes as </i>JULIA <i>and </i>LAURA
+<i>come forward</i>.&nbsp; JULIA <i>is very simply dressed.&nbsp; Her
+head is bare</i>,<i> and she is carrying her white cotton sunbonnet</i>.&nbsp;
+LAURA <i>wears finer clothes and her bonnet is tied by bright ribbons
+of cherry colour.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LAURA.&nbsp; [<i>Stopping by the bench.</i>]&nbsp; We&rsquo;ll sit
+down - &rsquo;Tis a warm day, and I&rsquo;ve had enough of walking.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She sinks down on the seat.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JULIA.&nbsp; [<i>Looking all round her.</i>]&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis beautiful
+and quiet here.&nbsp; O this is ever so much better than the farm.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; The farm!&nbsp; What&rsquo;s wrong with that, I should
+like to know?<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Everything.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis more like a prison than a
+home to me.&nbsp; Within the house there&rsquo;s always work crying
+out to be done - and outside I believe &rsquo;tis worse - work - nothing
+else speaking to me.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; You&rsquo;re a sad ungrateful girl.&nbsp; Why, there&rsquo;s
+many would give their eyes to change with you.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; But out here &rsquo;tis all peace, and freedom.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s
+naught calling out to be done.&nbsp; The flowers grow as they like,
+and the breezes move them this way, and that.&nbsp; The ground is thick
+with leaves and blossoms and no one has got to sweep it, and the hard
+things with great noises to them, like pails and churns, are far away
+and clean forgot.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tisn&rsquo;t much use as you&rsquo;ll be on the
+farm.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; I wish I&rsquo;d never come nigh to it.&nbsp; I was happier
+far before.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis a grand life.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ll see it as I
+do one of these days.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; No, that I shall not.&nbsp; Every day that I wake and hear
+the cattle lowing beneath my window I turn over on my pillow, and &rsquo;tis
+a heart of lead that turns with me.&nbsp; The smell of the wild flowers
+in the fields calls me, but &rsquo;tis to the dairy I must go, to work.&nbsp;
+And at noonday, when the shade of the woodland makes me thirsty for
+its coolness, &rsquo;tis the kitchen I must be in - or picking green
+stuff for the market.&nbsp; And so on till night, when the limbs of
+me can do no more and the spirit in me is like a bird with the wing
+of it broken.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ll harden to it all by winter time right enough.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; O I&rsquo;ll never harden to it.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis not that
+way I am made.&nbsp; Some girls can set themselves down with four walls
+round them, and do their task nor ask for anything beyond, but &rsquo;tis
+not so with me.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; How is it then with you?<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; [<i>Pointing.</i>]&nbsp; There - see that blue thing yonder
+flying from one blossom to another.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s how &rsquo;tis
+with me.&nbsp; Shut me up close in one place, I perish.&nbsp; Let me
+go free, and I can fly and live.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; You do talk a powerful lot of foolishness that no one could
+understand.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; O, do not let us talk at all.&nbsp; Let us bide still,
+and get ourselves refreshed by the sweetness and the wildness of the
+forest.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA <i>turns away and gives herself up to the enjoyment of the wood
+around her</i>.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA <i>arranges her ribbons and smoothes out her gown.&nbsp; Neither
+of them speak for a few minutes.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LAURA.&nbsp; [<i>Looking up and pointing.</i>]&nbsp; See those strange
+folk over there?&nbsp; What are they?<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; [<i>Looking in the same direction.</i>]&nbsp; I know them.&nbsp;
+They are gipsies from the hill near to us.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; They should be driven away then.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t like
+such folk roosting around.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; But I do.&nbsp; They are friends to me.&nbsp; Many&rsquo;s
+the time I have run out at dusk to speak with them as they sit round
+their fire.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; Then you didn&rsquo;t ought to have done so.&nbsp; Let&rsquo;s
+get off now, before they come up.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; No, no.&nbsp; Let us talk to them all.&nbsp; [<i>Calling.</i>]&nbsp;
+Tansie and Chris, come you here and sit down alongside of us.&nbsp;
+[CHRIS, NAT, <i>and </i>TANSIE <i>come up.<br>
+<br>
+</i>CHRIS.&nbsp; Good morning to you, mistress.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis a fine
+brave day, to-day.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; That it is, Chris.&nbsp; There never was so fine a day.&nbsp;
+And we have come to spend all of it in this forest.<br>
+<br>
+TANSIE.&nbsp; Ah, but &rsquo;tis warm upon the high road.<br>
+<br>
+NAT.&nbsp; We be come right away from the town, mistress.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Then sit down, all of you, and we will talk in the cool
+shade.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; Not here, if you please.&nbsp; I am not used to such company.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Not here?&nbsp; Very well, my friends, let us go further
+into the wood and you shall stretch yourselves under the green trees
+and we will all rest there together.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; Well, what next!&nbsp; You might stop to consider how &rsquo;twill
+look in the parish.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; How what will look?<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; How &rsquo;twill look for you to be seen going off in such
+company like this.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; The trees have not eyes, nor have the grass, and flowers.&nbsp;
+There&rsquo;s no one to see me but you, and you can turn your head t&rsquo;other
+way.&nbsp; Come Tansie, come<br>
+<br>
+Chris.&nbsp; [<i>She turns towards the three gipsies.<br>
+<br>
+</i>TANSIE.&nbsp; Nat&rsquo;s in a sorry way, this morning - baint you,
+Nat?<br>
+<br>
+NAT.&nbsp; Let I be.&nbsp; You do torment anyone till they scarce do
+know if they has senses to them or no.<br>
+<br>
+TANSIE.&nbsp; You&rsquo;re not one to miss what you never had, Nat.<br>
+<br>
+CHRIS.&nbsp; Let the lad bide in quiet, will you.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis a
+powerful little nagging wench as you be.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Why are you heavy and sad this fine day, Nat?<br>
+<br>
+TANSIE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis love what&rsquo;s the matter with he, mistress.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Love?&nbsp; O, that&rsquo;s not a thing that should bring
+heaviness or gloom, but lightness to the heart, and song to the lips.<br>
+<br>
+TANSIE.&nbsp; Ah, but when there&rsquo;s been no meeting in the dusk
+since Sunday, and no message sent!<br>
+<br>
+CHRIS.&nbsp; Keep that tongue of your&rsquo;n where it should be, and
+give over, Tansie.&nbsp; Susan&rsquo;s not one as would play tricks
+with her lad.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Now I have a thirst to hear all about this, Nat, so come
+off further into the wood, all of you, where we can speak in quiet.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She holds out her hand to </i>NAT.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; Upon my word, but something must be done to bring these
+goings on to an end.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Come, Nat - you shall tell me all your trouble.&nbsp; I
+understand the things of the heart better than Tansie, and I shall know
+how to give you comfort in your distress - come<br>
+<br>
+[JULIA <i>and </i>NAT, <i>followed by </i>CHRIS <i>and </i>TANSIE, <i>move
+off out of sight</i>.&nbsp; LAURA <i>is left sitting on the bench alone.&nbsp;
+Presently </i>JOHN <i>comes out carefully from behind the bushes</i>,<i>
+holding his bunch of flowers.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOHN.&nbsp; A good day to you, mistress.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; The same to you, master.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Folks do call me John.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; Indeed?&nbsp; Good morning, John.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; A fine brave sun to-day, mistress.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; But pleasant enough here in the shade.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Now, begging your pardon, but what you wants over the head
+of you baint one of these great trees full of flies and insects, but
+an arbour trailed all about with bloom, such as my master has down at
+his place yonder.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; Indeed?&nbsp; And who may your master be, John?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis Master William Gardner, what&rsquo;s the talk
+of the country for miles around, mistress.&nbsp; And that he be.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; Master William Gardner!&nbsp; What, he of Road Farm?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; The very same, mistress.&nbsp; And as grand a gentleman
+as anyone might wish for to see.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; Yes - I seem to have heard something told about him, but
+I don&rsquo;t rightly remember what &rsquo;twas.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; You may have heard tell as the finest field of beans this
+season, that&rsquo;s his.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t think &rsquo;twas of beans that I did hear.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Or that &rsquo;twas his spotted hilt what fetched the highest
+price of any in the market Saturday?<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; No, &rsquo;twasn&rsquo;t that neither.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Or that folks do come as thick as flies on a summer&rsquo;s
+day from all parts of the country for to buy the wheat what he do grow.&nbsp;
+Ah, and before &rsquo;tis cut or like to be, they be a fighting for
+it, all of them, like a pack of dogs with a bone.&nbsp; So &rsquo;tis.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twasn&rsquo;t that, I don&rsquo;t think.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Or &rsquo;twas that th&rsquo; old missis - she as is mother
+to Master William - her has a tongue what&rsquo;s sharper nor longer
+than any vixen&rsquo;s going.&nbsp; But that&rsquo;s between you and
+I, missis.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; Ah - &rsquo;Twas that I did hear tell of.&nbsp; Now I remember
+it.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; But Master William - the tongue what he do keep be smooth
+as honey, and a lady might do as she likes with him if one got the chance.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; Indeed?&nbsp; He must be a pleasant sort of a gentleman.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; For he could be led with kindness same as anything else.&nbsp;
+But try for to drive him, as old Missis do - and very likely &rsquo;tis
+hoofed as you&rsquo;ll get for your pains.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; I like a man with some spirit to him, myself.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Ah, Master William has a rare spirit to him, and that he
+has.&nbsp; You should hear him when th&rsquo; old Missis&rsquo;s fowls
+be got into his flower garden.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis sommat as is not likely
+to be forgot in a hurry.&nbsp; That &rsquo;tisn&rsquo;t.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; You carry a handsome nosegay of blossoms there, John.&nbsp;
+Are they from your master&rsquo;s garden?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Ah, there&rsquo;re not amiss.&nbsp; I helped for to raise
+they too.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; And to whom are you taking them now, John?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; To the lady what my master&rsquo;s a-courting of, mistress.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; And whom may that be, John?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Why, &rsquo;tis yourself, mistress.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; Me, John?&nbsp; Why, I&rsquo;ve never clapped eyes on Master
+William Gardner so far as I know of.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; But he&rsquo;ve clapped eyes on you, mistress - &rsquo;twas
+at Church last Sunday.&nbsp; And &rsquo;tis not a bit of food, nor a
+drop of drink, nor an hour of sleep, as Master William have taken since.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; O, you do surprise me, John?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s how &rsquo;tis with he, mistress.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis
+many a year as I&rsquo;ve served Master William - but never have I seen
+him in the fix where he be in to-day.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; Why - how is it with him then?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; As it might be with the cattle when the flies do buzz about
+they, thick in the sunshine.&nbsp; A-lashing this way and that, a-trampling
+and a-tossing, and never a minute&rsquo;s rest.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; Well, now - to think of such a thing.&nbsp; Indeed!<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve seen a horse right up to the neck of him in that
+old quag ahind of our place - a-snorting and a-clapping with his teeth
+and a-plunging so as &rsquo;twould terrify anyone to harken to it.&nbsp;
+And that&rsquo;s how &rsquo;tis to-day with Master William up at home,
+so &rsquo;tis.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; And only saw me once - at Church last Sunday, John?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Ah - and they old maid flies do sting but once, but &rsquo;tis
+a terrible big bump as they do raise on the flesh of anyone, that &rsquo;tis.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; O John - &rsquo;tis a fine thing to be loved like that.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; So I should say - ah, &rsquo;tisn&rsquo;t every day that
+a man like Master William goes a-courting.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; But he hasn&rsquo;t set out yet, John.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; You take and hold the nosegay, mistress, and I&rsquo;ll
+go straight off and fetch him, so being as you&rsquo;re agreeable.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; O yes, and that I am, John - You go and fetch him quick.&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;ll bide here gladly, waiting till he comes.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s it.&nbsp; I knowed you for a sensible lady
+the moment I pitched my eyes on to you.&nbsp; And when master do come
+up, you take and talk to him nicely and meek-like and lead him on from
+one thing to t&rsquo;other: and you&rsquo;ll find as he&rsquo;ll go
+quiet as a sheep after the first set off, spite of the great spirit
+what&rsquo;s at the heart of he.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; John, I&rsquo;ll do all as you say, and more than all.&nbsp;
+Only, you get along and send him quickly to me.&nbsp; And - yes, you
+might give him a good hint, John - I&rsquo;m not averse to his attentions.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Ah, and I should think you wasn&rsquo;t, for &rsquo;twould
+be a hard job to find a nicer gentleman nor Master William.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; That I know it would.&nbsp; Why, John, my heart&rsquo;s
+commenced beating ever so fast, it has.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Then you may reckon how &rsquo;tis with the poor master!&nbsp;
+Why, &rsquo;tis my belief as &rsquo;twill be raving madness as&rsquo;ll
+be the end of he if sommat don&rsquo;t come to put a finish to this
+unrest.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; O John, &rsquo;twould never do for such a fine gentleman
+to go crazy.&nbsp; Do you set off quick and send him along to me, and
+I&rsquo;ll take and do my very best for to quiet him, like.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; [<i>Rising and about to set off.</i>]&nbsp; Ah, &rsquo;tis
+a powerful lot of calming as Master William do require.&nbsp; But you
+be the one for to give it him.&nbsp; You just bide where you do sit
+now whilst I goes and fetches him, mistress.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; O that I will, my good, dear John.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>Curtain</i>.]<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+ACT II. - Scene 2.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<i>The same wood.<br>
+<br>
+</i>WILLIAM <i>and </i>JOHN <i>come up</i>.&nbsp; WILLIAM <i>carries
+a large market basket containing vegetables.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOHN.&nbsp; [<i>Looking round and seeing no one.</i>]&nbsp; Bless
+my soul, but &rsquo;twas on the seat as I did leave she.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; We have kept her waiting a bit too long whilst we were
+cutting the green stuff.&nbsp; And now &rsquo;twill be best to let matters
+bide over till to-morrow.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Why, master &rsquo;tis my belief as you be all of a-tremble
+like.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; I wish we were well out of this business, John.&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Tis not to my liking in any way.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis a fine looking lady, and that &rsquo;tis.&nbsp;
+You take and court her, Master William.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; How am I to court the wench when she&rsquo;s not here?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; [<i>Pointing.</i>]&nbsp; Look yonder, master, there she
+comes through them dark trees.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ve got to bide somewhere nigh me, John.&nbsp;
+I could not be left alone with a wench who&rsquo;s a stranger to me.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t you get flustered, Master William.&nbsp; See
+here, I&rsquo;ll hide me ahind of yon bushes, and if so be as you should
+want me, why, there I&rsquo;m close at hand.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d rather you did stand at my side, John.<br>
+<br>
+[JOHN <i>hides himself behind the bushes</i>.&nbsp; LAURA <i>comes slowly
+up</i>.&nbsp; WILLIAM <i>stands awkwardly before her</i>,<i> saying
+nothing.&nbsp; Presently he takes off his hat and salutes her clumsily
+and she bows to him.&nbsp; For some moments they stand embarrassed</i>,<i>
+looking at one another.<br>
+<br>
+</i>WILLIAM.&nbsp; [<i>Suddenly bringing out a bunch of carrots from
+his basket and holding them up.</i>]&nbsp; See these young carrots,
+mistress.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; Indeed I do, master.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tisn&rsquo;t everywhere that you do see such fine
+grown ones for the time of year.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; You&rsquo;re right there, master.&nbsp; We have none of
+them up at our place.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; [<i>Holding them towards her.</i>]&nbsp; Then be pleased
+to accept these, mistress.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; [<i>Taking the carrots.</i>]&nbsp; Thank you kindly, master.&nbsp;
+[<i>There is another embarrassed silence</i>.&nbsp; WILLIAM <i>looks
+distractedly from </i>LAURA <i>to his basket.&nbsp; Then he takes out
+a bunch of turnips.<br>
+<br>
+</i>WILLIAM.&nbsp; You couldn&rsquo;t beat these nowhere, not if you
+were to try.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m sure you could not, master.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; They do call this sort the Early Snowball.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis
+a foolish name for a table root.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis a beautiful turnip.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; [<i>Giving her the bunch.</i>]&nbsp; You may as well
+have them too.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; O you&rsquo;re very kind, master.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>There is another long silence</i>.&nbsp; WILLIAM <i>shuffles on
+his feet </i>- LAURA <i>bends admiringly over her gifts.<br>
+<br>
+</i>WILLIAM.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s young beans and peas and a spring cabbage
+too, within the basket.&nbsp; I do grow a little of most everything.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; O shall we sit down and look at the vegetables together?<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; [<i>Visibly relieved.</i>]&nbsp; We might do worse nor
+that.&nbsp; [<i>They sit down side by side with the basket between them.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LAURA.&nbsp; [<i>Lifting the cabbage.</i>]&nbsp; O, this is quite
+a little picture!&nbsp; See how the leaves do curl backwards - so fresh
+and green!<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Ah, and that one has a rare white heart to it, it has.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; I do love the taste of a spring cabbage, when it has a
+slice of fat bacon along with it.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; I might have brought a couple of pounds with me if I&rsquo;d
+have thought.&nbsp; Mother do keep some rare mellow jowls a-hanging
+in the pantry.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; [<i>Shyly.</i>]&nbsp; Next time, maybe.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; [<i>Eagerly.</i>]&nbsp; &rsquo;Twouldn&rsquo;t take ten
+minutes for me to run back.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; Not now - O no master - not now.&nbsp; Do you bide a little
+longer here and tell me about - about t&rsquo;other things in the basket.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; [<i>Mopping his face with a handkerchief.</i>]&nbsp;
+Well - there&rsquo;s the beans - I count that yours haven&rsquo;t come
+up very smart this year.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; That they&rsquo;ve not.&nbsp; The whole place has been
+let to run dreadful wild.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d - I&rsquo;d like to show you how &rsquo;tis
+in my garden, one of these days.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d be very pleased to walk along with you there.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; [<i>Hurriedly.</i>]&nbsp; Ah - you should see it later
+on when the - the - the parsnips are a bit forrarder.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d like to see the flower garden now, where this
+nosegay came from.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; [<i>Looking round uneasily.</i>]&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t
+know what the folks would say if they were to see you and me a-going
+on the road in broad day - I&rsquo;m sure I don&rsquo;t.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; Why, what should they say, Master Gardner?<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; They might get saying - they might say as - as I&rsquo;d
+got a-courting, or sommat foolish.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; Well - and would that be untrue?<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; [<i>Looking at her very uncomfortably.</i>]&nbsp; I&rsquo;m
+blessed if I do know - I mean -<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; This nosegay - and look, those young carrots - and the
+turnips and beans, why did you bring them for me, master, unless it
+was that you intended something by it?<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; [<i>Very confused.</i>]&nbsp; That&rsquo;s so.&nbsp;
+So &rsquo;tis.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s true.&nbsp; I count you have got hold
+of the sow by the ear right enough this time.&nbsp; And the less said
+about it the better.&nbsp; [<i>A slight silence.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LAURA.&nbsp; [<i>Looking up shyly in </i>WILLIAM&rsquo;s face.]&nbsp;
+What was it drew you to me first, master?<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; I believe &rsquo;twas in Church on Sunday that I chanced
+to take notice of you, like.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; Yes, but what was it about me that took your fancy in Church
+on Sunday?<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m blessed if I know, unless &rsquo;twas those
+coloured ribbons that you have got to your bonnet.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; You are partial to the colour?<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Ah, &rsquo;tis well enough.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; See here.&nbsp; [<i>Taking a flower from her dress.</i>]&nbsp;
+This is of the same colour.&nbsp; I will put it in your coat.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She fastens it in his coat</i>.&nbsp; WILLIAM <i>looks very uncomfortable
+and nervous.<br>
+<br>
+</i>WILLIAM.&nbsp; Well, bless my soul, but women folk have got some
+powerful strange tricks to them.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; [<i>Pinning the flower in its place.</i>]&nbsp; There -
+my gift to you, master.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; You may call me by my name, if you like, &rsquo;tis more
+suitable, seeing that we might go along to Church together one of these
+days.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; O William, you have made me very happy - I do feel all
+mazy like with my gladness.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Well, Julia, we might do worse than to - to - name the
+day.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; Why do you call me Julia?<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Seeing that I&rsquo;ve given you leave to call me William
+&rsquo;tis only suitable that I should use your name as well.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; But my name is not Julia.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; What is it then, I should like to know?<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis Laura, William.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Folks did tell me that you were named Julia.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; No - Laura is my name; but I live with Mistress Julia up
+at Luther&rsquo;s Farm, and I help her with the work.&nbsp; House-keeping,
+dairy, poultry, garden.&nbsp; O there&rsquo;s nothing I can&rsquo;t
+turn my hand to, Master William.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; [<i>Starts up from the seat in deepest consternation.</i>]&nbsp;
+John, John - Come you here, I say!&nbsp; Come here.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; [<i>Emerges from the bushes.</i>]&nbsp; My dearest master!<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; What&rsquo;s this you&rsquo;ve been and done, John?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Why, master - the one with the cherry ribbons, to her you
+did say.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; [<i>Disgustedly.</i>]&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis the wrong one.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; What are you two talking about?&nbsp; William, do you mean
+to say as that man of yours was hid in the bushes all the while?<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Now, John, you&rsquo;ve got to get me out of the fix
+where I&rsquo;m set.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; O my dear master, don&rsquo;t you take on so.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis
+a little bit of misunderstanding to be sure, but one as can be put right
+very soon.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Then you get to work and set it right, John, for &rsquo;tis
+beyond the power of me to do so.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll be blessed if I&rsquo;ll
+ever get meddling with this sort of job again.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Now don&rsquo;t you get so heated, master, but leave it
+all to me.&nbsp; [<i>Turning to </i>LAURA.]&nbsp; My good wench, it
+seems that there has been a little bit of misunderstanding between you
+and my gentleman here.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; [<i>Angrily.</i>]&nbsp; So that&rsquo;s what you call it
+- misunderstanding &rsquo;tis a fine long word, but not much of meaning,
+to it, I&rsquo;m thinking.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Then you do think wrong.&nbsp; Suppose you was to go to
+market for to buy a nice spring chicken and when you was got half on
+the way to home you was to see as they had put you up a lean old fowl
+in place of it, what would you do then?<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t see that chickens or fowls have anything
+to do with the matter.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Then you&rsquo;re not the smart maid I took you for.&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Tis not you as would be suitable in my master&rsquo;s home.&nbsp;
+And what&rsquo;s more, &rsquo;tis not you as my master&rsquo;s come
+a-courting of.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; If &rsquo;tis not me, who is it then?<br>
+<br>
+[WILLIAM <i>looks at her sheepishly and then turns away.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOHN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis your mistress, since you wants to know.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; [<i>Indignantly.</i>]&nbsp; O, I see it all now - How could
+I have been so misled!<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; However could poor master have been so mistook, I say.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; [<i>Turning away passionately.</i>]&nbsp; O, I&rsquo;ve
+had enough of you and - and your master.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Now that&rsquo;s what I do like for to hear.&nbsp; Because
+me and master have sommat else to do nor to stand giddle-gaddling in
+this old wood the rest of the day.&nbsp; Us have got a smartish lot
+of worry ahead of we, haven&rsquo;t us, master?<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; You never said a truer word, John.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Come along then Master William.&nbsp; You can leave the
+spring vegetables to she.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis more nor she deserves, seeing
+as her might have known as &rsquo;twas her mistress the both of us was
+after, all the time.<br>
+<br>
+[LAURA <i>throws herself on the seat and begins to cry silently</i>,<i>
+but passionately.<br>
+<br>
+</i>WILLIAM.&nbsp; O John, this courting, &rsquo;tis powerful heavy
+work.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; [<i>Taking </i>WILLIAM&rsquo;S <i>arm.</i>]&nbsp; Come you
+along with me, master, and I&rsquo;ll give you a helping hand with it
+all.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; [<i>Looking up and speaking violently.</i>]&nbsp; I warrant
+you will, you clown.&nbsp; But let me advise you to look better afore
+you leap next time, or very likely &rsquo;tis in sommat worse than a
+ditchful of nettles as you&rsquo;ll find yourself.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; [<i>Looking back over his shoulders as he goes off with
+</i>WILLIAM.]&nbsp; I reckon as you&rsquo;ve no call to trouble about
+we, mistress.&nbsp; Us is they what can look after theirselves very
+well.&nbsp; Suppose you was to wash your face and dry your eyes and
+set about the boiling of yon spring cabbage.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twould be
+sensibler like nor to bide grizzling after one as is beyond you in his
+station, so &rsquo;twould.<br>
+<br>
+[JOHN <i>and </i>WILLIAM <i>go out</i>,<i> leaving </i>LAURA <i>weeping
+on the bench</i>,<i> the basket of vegetables by her side.<br>
+<br>
+</i>[<i>Curtain.</i>]<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+ACT II. - Scene 3.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+JULIA <i>is sitting at the foot of a tree in the wood</i>.&nbsp; CHRIS,
+NAT <i>and </i>TANSIE <i>are seated near her on the ground.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JULIA.&nbsp; I wish this day might last for always.<br>
+<br>
+CHRIS.&nbsp; Why, when to-morrow&rsquo;s come, &rsquo;twill be the same.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; That it will not.&nbsp; To-day is a holiday.&nbsp; To-morrow&rsquo;s
+work.<br>
+<br>
+TANSIE.&nbsp; One day &rsquo;tis much the same as t&rsquo;other with
+me.<br>
+<br>
+NAT.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis what we gets to eat as do make the change.<br>
+<br>
+TANSIE.&nbsp; I should have thought as how a grand young mistress like
+yourself might have had the days to your own liking.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Ah, and so I did once.&nbsp; But that was before Uncle
+died and left me the farm.&nbsp; Now, &rsquo;tis all different with
+the days.<br>
+<br>
+CHRIS.&nbsp; How was it with you afore then, mistress?<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Much the same as &rsquo;tis with that bird flying yonder.&nbsp;
+I did so as I listed.&nbsp; If I had a mind to sleep when the sun was
+up, then I did sleep.&nbsp; And if my limbs would not rest when &rsquo;twas
+dark, why, then I did roam.&nbsp; There was naught to hold me back from
+my fancy.<br>
+<br>
+TANSIE.&nbsp; And how is it <i>now </i>with you, mistress?<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis all said in one word.<br>
+<br>
+CHRIS.&nbsp; What&rsquo;s that?<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis &ldquo;work.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+NAT.&nbsp; Work?<br>
+<br>
+CHRIS.&nbsp; Work?<br>
+<br>
+TANSIE.&nbsp; Work!&nbsp; And yet &rsquo;tis a fine young lady as you
+do look in your muslin gown with silky ribbons to it and all.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m a farmer, Tansie.&nbsp; And for a farmer &rsquo;tis
+work of one sort, or t&rsquo;other from when the sun is up till the
+candle has burned itself short.&nbsp; If &rsquo;tisn&rsquo;t working
+with my own hands, &rsquo;tis driving of the hands of another.<br>
+<br>
+CHRIS.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve heard tell as a farmer do spin gold all the
+day same as one of they great spiders as go putting out silk from their
+mouths.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; And what is gold to me, Chris, who have no one but myself
+to spend it on<br>
+<br>
+CHRIS.&nbsp; Folks do say as the laying up of gold be one of the finest
+things in the world.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; It will never bring happiness to me, Chris.<br>
+<br>
+CHRIS.&nbsp; Come, mistress, &rsquo;tis a fine thing to have a great
+stone roof above the head of you.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d sooner get my shelter from the green leaves.<br>
+<br>
+NAT.&nbsp; And a grand thing to have your victuals spread afore you
+each time &rsquo;stead of having to go lean very often.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; O, a handful of berries and a drink of fresh water is enough
+for me.<br>
+<br>
+TANSIE.&nbsp; And beautiful it must be to stretch the limbs of you upon
+feathers when night do come down, with a fine white sheet drawn up over
+your head.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; O, I could rest more sweetly on the grass and moss yonder.<br>
+<br>
+NAT.&nbsp; I did never sleep within four walls but once, and then &rsquo;twas
+in gaol.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; O Nat, you were never in gaol, were you?<br>
+<br>
+NAT.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas that they mistook I for another.&nbsp; And when
+the morning did come, they did let I go again.<br>
+<br>
+CHRIS.&nbsp; I count &rsquo;twas a smartish long night, that!<br>
+<br>
+NAT.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas enough for to shew me how it do feel when anyone
+has got to bide sleeping with the walls all around of he.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; And the ceiling above, Nat.&nbsp; And locked door.&nbsp;
+And other folk lying breathing in the house, hard by.&nbsp; All dark
+and close.<br>
+<br>
+CHRIS.&nbsp; And where us may lie, the air do run swift over we.&nbsp;
+We has the smell of the earth and the leaves on us as we do sleep.&nbsp;
+There baint no darkness for we, for the stars do blink all night through
+up yonder.<br>
+<br>
+TANSIE.&nbsp; And no sound of other folk breathing but the crying of
+th&rsquo; owls and the foxes&rsquo; bark.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Ah, that must be a grand sound, the barking of a fox.&nbsp;
+I never did hear one.&nbsp; Never.<br>
+<br>
+CHRIS.&nbsp; Ah, &rsquo;tis a powerful thin sound, that - but one to
+raise the hair on a man&rsquo;s head and to clam the flesh of he, at
+dead of night.<br>
+<br>
+NAT.&nbsp; You come and bide along of we one evening, and you shall
+hearken to the fox, and badger too, if you&rsquo;ve the mind.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; O that would please me more than anything in the world.<br>
+<br>
+TANSIE.&nbsp; And when &rsquo;twas got a little lighter, so that the
+bushes could be seen, and the fields, I&rsquo;d shew you where the partridge
+has her nest beneath the hedge; where we have gotten eggs, and eaten
+them too.<br>
+<br>
+CHRIS.&nbsp; And I&rsquo;ll take and lead you to a place what I do know
+of, where the water flows clear as a diamond over the stones.&nbsp;
+And if you bides there waiting quiet you may take the fish as they come
+along - and there&rsquo;s a dinner such as the Queen might not get every
+day of the week.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; O Chris, who is there to say I must bide in one place when
+all in me is thirsting to be in t&rsquo;other!<br>
+<br>
+CHRIS.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m sure I don&rsquo;t know.<br>
+<br>
+NAT.&nbsp; I should move about where I did like, if &rsquo;twas me.<br>
+<br>
+TANSIE.&nbsp; A fine young lady like you can do as she pleases.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Well then, it pleases me to bide with you in the free air.<br>
+<br>
+CHRIS.&nbsp; Our life, &rsquo;tis a poor life, and wandering.&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Tis food one day, and may be going without the next.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis
+the sun upon the faces of us one hour - and then the rain.&nbsp; But
+&rsquo;tis in freedom that us walks, and we be the masters of our own
+limbs.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Will you be good to me if I journey with you?<br>
+<br>
+CHRIS.&nbsp; Ah, &rsquo;tis not likely as I&rsquo;ll ever fail you,
+mistress.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Do not call me mistress any longer, Chris, my name is Julia.<br>
+<br>
+CHRIS.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis a well-sounding name, and one as runs easy as
+clear water upon the tongue.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Tansie, how will it be for me to go with you?<br>
+<br>
+TANSIE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twill be well enough with the spirit of you I don&rsquo;t
+doubt, but how&rsquo;ll it be with the fine clothes what you have on?<br>
+<br>
+NAT.&nbsp; [<i>Suddenly looking up.</i>]&nbsp; Why, there&rsquo;s Susan
+coming.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; [<i>Looking in the same direction.</i>]&nbsp; So that is
+Susan?<br>
+<br>
+TANSIE.&nbsp; I count as her has had a smartish job to get away from
+th&rsquo; old missis so early in the day.<br>
+<br>
+CHRIS.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis a rare old she cat, and handy with the claw&rsquo;s
+of her, Susan&rsquo;s missis.<br>
+<br>
+[SUSAN <i>comes shyly forward.<br>
+<br>
+</i>NAT.&nbsp; Come you here, Susan, and sit along of we.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Yes, sit down with us in this cool shade, Susan.&nbsp;
+You look warm from running.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; O, I didn&rsquo;t know you was here, Mistress Julia.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Well, Susan, and so you live at Road Farm.&nbsp; Are you
+happy there?<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; I should be if &rsquo;twern&rsquo;t for mistress.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; No mistress could speak harshly to you, Susan - you are
+so young and pretty.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; Ah, but mistress takes no account of aught but the work
+you does, and the tongue of her be wonderful lashing.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Then how comes it that you have got away to the forest
+so early on a week day?<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis that mistress be powerful took up with sommat
+else this afternoon, and so I was able to run out for a while and her
+didn&rsquo;t notice me.<br>
+<br>
+TANSIE.&nbsp; Why Su, what&rsquo;s going on up at the farm so particular
+to-day?<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis courting.<br>
+<br>
+ALL.&nbsp; Courting?<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; Yes.&nbsp; That &rsquo;tis.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis our Master
+William what&rsquo;s dressed up in his Sunday clothes and gone a-courting
+with a basket of green stuff on his arm big enough to fill the market,
+very nigh.<br>
+<br>
+CHRIS.&nbsp; Well, well, who&rsquo;d have thought he had it in him?<br>
+<br>
+NAT.&nbsp; He&rsquo;s a gentleman what&rsquo;s not cut out for courting,
+to my mind.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; Indeed he isn&rsquo;t, Nat.&nbsp; And however the mistress
+got him dressed and set off on that business, I don&rsquo;t know.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; But you have not told us who the lady is, Susan.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; [<i>Suddenly very embarrassed.</i>]&nbsp; I - I - don&rsquo;t
+think as I do rightly know who &rsquo;tis, mistress.<br>
+<br>
+CHRIS.&nbsp; Why, look you, Susan, you&rsquo;ll have to take and hide
+yourself if you don&rsquo;t want for them to know as you be got along
+of we.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; What&rsquo;s that, Chris?<br>
+<br>
+CHRIS.&nbsp; [<i>Pointing.</i>]&nbsp; See there, that man of Master
+Gardner&rsquo;s be a-coming along towards us fast.&nbsp; Look yonder
+-<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; O whatever shall I do?&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis John, and surely
+he will tell of me when he gets back.<br>
+<br>
+SAT.&nbsp; Come you off with me afore he do perceive you, Susan.&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;ll take you where you shall bide hid from all the Johns in the
+world if you&rsquo;ll but come along of me.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s it.&nbsp; Take her off, Nat; take her, Tansie.&nbsp;
+And do you go along too, Chris, for I have a fancy to bide alone in
+the stillness of the wood for a while.<br>
+<br>
+[SUSAN, TANSIE <i>and </i>NAT <i>go out.<br>
+<br>
+</i>CHRIS.&nbsp; Be I to leave you too, Julia?<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; [<i>Slowly.</i>]&nbsp; Only for a little moment, Chris;
+then you can come for me again.&nbsp; I would like to stay with myself
+in quiet for a while.&nbsp; New thoughts have come into my mind and
+I cannot rightly understand what they do say to me, unless I hearken
+to them alone.<br>
+<br>
+CHRIS.&nbsp; Then I&rsquo;ll leave you, Julia.&nbsp; For things be stirring
+powerful in my mind too, and I&rsquo;d give sommat for to come to an
+understanding with they.&nbsp; Ah, that I would.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>They look at one another in silence for a moment</i>,<i> then </i>CHRIS
+<i>slowly follows the others</i>,<i> leaving </i>JULIA <i>alone</i>.&nbsp;
+JULIA <i>sits alone in the wood.&nbsp; Presently she begins to sing.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JULIA.&nbsp; [<i>Singing.</i>]<br>
+<br>
+I sowed the seeds of love,<br>
+It was all in the Spring;<br>
+In April, in May, and in June likewise<br>
+When small birds they do sing.<br>
+<br>
+[JOHN <i>with a large basket on his arm comes up to her.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOHN.&nbsp; A good day to you, mistress.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Good afternoon.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Now I count as you would like to know who &rsquo;tis that&rsquo;s
+made so bold in speaking to you, Mistress.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Why, you&rsquo;re Master Gardner&rsquo;s farm hand, if
+I&rsquo;m not mistaken.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Ah, that&rsquo;s right enough.&nbsp; And there be jobs as
+I wish Master William would get and do for hisself instead of putting
+them on I.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Well, and how far may you be going this afternoon?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; I baint going no further than where I be a-standing now,
+mistress.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; It would appear that your business was with me, then?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Ah, you&rsquo;ve hit the right nail, mistress.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis
+with you.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis a straight offer as my master have sent me
+out for to make.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Now I wonder what sort of an offer that might be!<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis master&rsquo;s hand in marriage, and a couple
+of pigs jowls, home-cured, within this here basket.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; O my good man, you&rsquo;re making game of me.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; And that I baint, mistress.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas in the church
+as Master William seed you first.&nbsp; And &rsquo;tis very nigh sick
+unto death with love as he have been since then.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Is he too sick to come and plead his cause himself, John?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Ah, and that he be.&nbsp; Do go moulting about the place
+with his victuals left upon the dish - a sighing and a grizzling so
+that any maid what&rsquo;s got a heart to th&rsquo; inside of she would
+be moved in pity, did she catch ear of it, and would lift he out of
+the torment.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Well, John, I&rsquo;ve not seen or heard any of this sad
+to-do, so I can&rsquo;t be moved in pity.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; An, do you look within this basket at the jowls what Master
+William have sent you.&nbsp; Maybe as they&rsquo;ll go to your heart
+straighter nor what any words might.<br>
+<br>
+[JOHN <i>sits down on the bench by </i>JULIA <i>and opens the basket.&nbsp;
+</i>JULIA <i>looks in.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JULIA.&nbsp; I have no liking for pigs&rsquo; meat myself.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Master&rsquo;s pig meat be different to any in the county,
+mistress.&nbsp; &ldquo;Tell her,&rdquo; says Master William, &ldquo;&rsquo;tis
+a rare fine bit of mellow jowl as I be a sending she.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; O John, I&rsquo;m a very poor judge of such things.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; And look you here.&nbsp; I never seed a bit of Master William&rsquo;s
+home-cured sent out beyond the family to no one till this day.&nbsp;
+No, that I have not, mistress.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; [<i>Shutting the basket.</i>]&nbsp; Well - I have no use
+for such a gift, John, so it may be returned again to the family.&nbsp;
+I am sorry you had the trouble of bringing it so far.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; You may not be partial to pig meat, mistress, but you&rsquo;ll
+send back the key of Master William&rsquo;s heart same as you have done
+the jowls.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; I have no use for the key of Master William&rsquo;s heart
+either, John.&nbsp; And you may tell him so, from me.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Why, mistress.&nbsp; You don&rsquo;t know what you be a
+talking of.&nbsp; A man like my master have never had to take a No in
+place of Yes in all the born days of him.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; [<i>Rising.</i>]&nbsp; Then he&rsquo;ll have to take it
+now, John.&nbsp; And I&rsquo;m thinking &rsquo;tis time you set off
+home again with your load.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Well, mistress, I don&rsquo;t particular care to go afore
+you have given me a good word or sommat as&rsquo;ll hearten up poor
+Master William in his love sickness.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Truly, John, I don&rsquo;t know what you would have me
+say.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; I warrant there be no lack of words to the inside of you,
+if so be as you&rsquo;d open you mouth a bit wider.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis
+not silence as a maid is troubled with in general.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; O, I have plenty of words ready, John, should you care
+to hear them.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Then out with them, Mistress Julia, and tell the master
+as how you&rsquo;ll take the offer what he have made you.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve never seen your master, John, but I know quite
+enough about him to say I&rsquo;ll never wed with him.&nbsp; Please
+to make that very clear when you get back.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis plain as you doesn&rsquo;t know what you be a
+talking of.&nbsp; And &rsquo;tis a wonder as how such foolishness can
+came from the mouth of a sensible looking maid like yourself.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; I shall not marry Master William Gardner.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; I reckon as you&rsquo;ll be glad enough to eat up every
+one of them words the day you claps eyes on Master William, for a more
+splendid gentleman nor he never fetched his breath.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll never wed a farmer, John.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; And then, look at the gift what Master William&rsquo;s been
+and sent you.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tisn&rsquo;t to everyone as master do part
+with his pig meat.&nbsp; That &rsquo;tisn&rsquo;t.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; [<i>Rising.</i>]&nbsp; Well, you can tell your master I&rsquo;m
+not one that can be courted with a jowl, mellow or otherwise.&nbsp;
+And that I&rsquo;ll not wed until I can give my heart along with my
+hand.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d like to know where you would find a better one
+nor master for to give your heart to, mistress?<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; May be I have not far to search.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; [<i>Taking up the basket.</i>]&nbsp; You&rsquo;re a rare
+tricksy maid as ever I did see.&nbsp; Tricksy and tossy too.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; There - that&rsquo;s enough, John.&nbsp; Suppose you set
+off home and tell your master he can hang up his meat again in the larder,
+for all that it concerns me.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll be blowed if I do say anything of the sort, mistress.&nbsp;
+I shall get and tell Master William as you be giving a bit of thought
+to the matter, and that jowls not being to your fancy, &rsquo;tis very
+like as a dish of trotters may prove acceptabler.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Say what you like, John.&nbsp; Only let me bide quiet in
+this good forest now.&nbsp; I want to be with my thoughts.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; [<i>Preparing to go and speaking aloud to himself.</i>]&nbsp;
+Her&rsquo;s a wonderful contrary bird to be sure.&nbsp; And bain&rsquo;t
+a shy one neither, what gets timid and flustered and is easily netted.&nbsp;
+My word, but me and master has a job before us for to catch she.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; I hear you, and &rsquo;tis very rudely that you talk.&nbsp;
+There&rsquo;s an old saying that I never could see the meaning of before,
+but now I think &rsquo;tis clear, &ldquo;Like master, like man,&rdquo;
+they say.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll have none of Master William, and you can
+tell him so.<br>
+<br>
+[JOHN <i>goes out angrily</i>.&nbsp; JULIA <i>sits down again on the
+bench and begins to sing.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JULIA.&nbsp; [<i>Singing.</i>]<br>
+<br>
+My gardener stood by<br>
+And told me to take great care,<br>
+For in the middle of a red rose-bud<br>
+There grows a sharp thorn there.<br>
+<br>
+[LAURA <i>comes slowly forward</i>,<i> carrying the basket of vegetables
+on one arm.&nbsp; She holds a handkerchief to her face and is crying.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JULIA.&nbsp; Why, Laura, what has made you cry so sadly?<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; O, Julia, &rsquo;twas a rare red rose as I held in my hand,
+and a rare cruel thorn that came from it and did prick me.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; And a rare basket of green stuff that you have been getting.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; [<i>Sinking down on the seat</i>,<i> and weeping violently.</i>]&nbsp;
+His dear gift to me!<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; [<i>Looking into the basket.</i>]&nbsp; O a wonderful fine
+gift, to be sure.&nbsp; Young carrots and spring cabbage.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve
+had a gift offered too - but mine was jowls.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; Jowls.&nbsp; O, and did you not take them?<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; No, I sent them back to the giver, with the dry heart which
+was along with them in the same basket.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; O Julia, how could you be so hard and cruel?<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Come, wouldn&rsquo;t you have done the same?<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; [<i>Sobbing vehemently.</i>]&nbsp; That I should not, Julia.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Perhaps you&rsquo;ve seen the gentleman then?<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; I have.&nbsp; And O, Julia, he is a beautiful gentleman.&nbsp;
+I never saw one that was his like.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; The rare red rose with its thorn, Laura.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; He did lay the heart of him before me - thinking my name
+was Julia.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; And did he lay the vegetables too?<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas all the doing of a great fool, that man of
+his.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; And you - did you give him what he asked of you - before
+he knew that your name was not Julia?<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; O, I did - that I did.&nbsp; [<i>A short silence</i>.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; And could you forget the prick of the thorn, did you hold
+the rose again, Laura?<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; O that I could.&nbsp; For me there&rsquo;d be naught but
+the rose, were it laid once more in my hand.&nbsp; But &rsquo;tis not
+likely to be put there, since &rsquo;tis you he favours.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; But I don&rsquo;t favour him.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ll favour him powerful well when you see him,
+Julia.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve given my heart already, but &rsquo;tis not to
+him.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ve given your heart?<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Yes, Chris has all of it, Laura.&nbsp; There is nothing
+left for anyone else in the world.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; O Julia, think of your position.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; That I will not do.&nbsp; I am going to think of yours.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; [<i>Beginning to cry.</i>]&nbsp; I&rsquo;m no better in
+my station than a serving maid, like Susan.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; [<i>Pointing.</i>]&nbsp; There she comes [<i>calling</i>]
+Susan, Susan!<br>
+<br>
+[SUSAN <i>comes up.&nbsp; During the next sentences </i>LAURA <i>takes
+one bunch of vegetables after another from the basket</i>,<i> smoothing
+each in turn with a fond caressing movement.<br>
+<br>
+</i>SUSAN.&nbsp; Did you call, mistress?<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Yes, Susan.&nbsp; That I did.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; Can I help you in any way, Miss Julia?<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Yes, and that you can.&nbsp; You have got to run quickly
+back to the farm.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; Be it got terrible late, mistress?<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis not only that.&nbsp; You have got to find your
+master and tell him to expect a visit from me in less than an hour&rsquo;s
+time from now.&nbsp; Do you understand?<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; O, yes, mistress, and that I do - to tell master as you
+be coming along after he as fast as you can run.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Well - I should not have put it in that way, but &rsquo;tis
+near enough may be.&nbsp; So off, and make haste, Susan.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; Please, mistress, I could make the words have a more loving
+sound to them if you do wish it.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; My goodness, Susan, what are you thinking of?&nbsp; Say
+naught, but that I&rsquo;m coming.&nbsp; Run away now, and run quickly.&nbsp;
+[SUSAN <i>goes off.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LAURA.&nbsp; [<i>Looking up</i>,<i> a bunch of carrots in her hands.</i>]&nbsp;
+What are you going to do now, Julia?<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; You shall see, when you have done playing with those carrots.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; He pulled them, every one, with his own hands, Julia.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; My love has gathered something better for me than a carrot.&nbsp;
+See, a spray of elder bloom that was tossing ever so high in the wind.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She takes a branch of elder flower from her dress</i>,<i> and shews
+it to </i>LAURA.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; The roots that lie warm in the earth do seem more homely
+like to me.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Well - each one has their own way in love - and mine lies
+through the dark woods, and yours is in the vegetable garden.&nbsp;
+And &rsquo;tis your road that we will take this afternoon - so come
+along quickly with me, Laura, for the sun has already begun to change
+its light.<br>
+<br>
+[LAURA <i>replaces the vegetables in her basket and rises from the seat
+as the curtain falls.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+</i>ACT III. - Scene 1.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<i>The Garden of Road Farm as in Act I.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MRS. GARDNER <i>is knitting in the Arbour</i>.&nbsp; WILLIAM <i>strolls
+about gloomily</i>,<i> his hands in his pockets.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; And serve you right, William, for sending the
+man when you should have gone yourself.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; John has a tongue that is better used to this sort of
+business than mine.<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; Nonsense, when was one of our family ever known
+to fail in the tongue?<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; If she that was asked first had only been the right one,
+all would have been over and done with now.<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis John that you have got to thank for the
+blunder.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; [<i>Sighing.</i>]&nbsp; That was a rare fine maid, and
+no mistake.<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; And a rare brazen hussy, from all that has reached
+my ears.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Well - I&rsquo;ve done with courting - now and for all
+time, that I have.&nbsp; And you may roast me alive if I&rsquo;ll ever
+go nigh to a maid again.<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; That you shall, William - and quickly too.&nbsp;
+There&rsquo;s no time like the present, and your Sunday clothes are
+upon you still.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; I was just going up to change, Mother.<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; Then you&rsquo;ll please to remain as you are.&nbsp;
+You may take what gift you like along with you this time, so long as
+it&rsquo;s none of my home-cured meat.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m blessed if I do stir out again this day.&nbsp;
+Why, look at the seedlings crying for water, and the nets to lay over
+the fruit and sommat of everything wanting to be done all around of
+me.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll not stir.<br>
+<br>
+[JOHN <i>comes towards them.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; Here&rsquo;s John.&nbsp; Suppose he were to
+make himself useful in the garden for once instead of meddling in things
+that are none of his business.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll be blowed if &rsquo;tis any more courting as
+I&rsquo;ll do, neither for Master William nor on my own account.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Why, John, &rsquo;twasn&rsquo;t your fault that the lady
+wouldn&rsquo;t take me, you did your best with her, I know.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; An that I did, Master William, but a more contrary coxsy
+sort of a maid I never did see.&nbsp; &ldquo;I baint one as fancies
+pig meat,&rdquo; her did say.&nbsp; And the nose of she did curl away
+up till it could go no higher.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s not the wench for
+me, I says to myself.<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; Is the jowl hung up in its right place again, John?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; That &rsquo;tis, mistress.&nbsp; I put it back myself, and
+a good job for that &rsquo;taint went out of the family and off to the
+mouths of strangers, so says I.<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; Do you tend to Master William&rsquo;s garden John,
+instead of talking.&nbsp; We&rsquo;ve had enough of your tongue for
+one day.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Why, be Master William goin&rsquo; out for to court again,
+this afternoon?<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; No, John - No, I&rsquo;ve had enough of that for my life
+time.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; So have I, master, and more nor enough.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t
+care particular if I never set eyes on a maid again.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; [<i>Pointing to a plot of ground.</i>]&nbsp; That&rsquo;s
+where I pulled the young carrots this morning.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Ah, and so you did, master.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; And there&rsquo;s from where I took the Early Snowballs.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; And a great pity as you did.&nbsp; There be none too many
+of that sort here.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; She had a wonderful soft look in her eyes as she did
+handle them and the spring cabbage, John.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Ah, and a wonderful hard tongue when her knowed &rsquo;twasn&rsquo;t
+for she as they was pulled.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Was t&rsquo;other maid anything of the same pattern,
+John?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Upon my word, if t&rsquo;other wasn&rsquo;t the worst of
+the two, for she did put a powerful lot of venom into the looks as she
+did give I, and the words did fall from she like so many bricks on my
+head.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Pity the first was not the right maid.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Ah, a maid what can treat a prime home-cured jowl as yon
+did baint the sort for to mistress it over we, I&rsquo;m thinking.<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; See here, John - suppose you were to let your tongue
+bide still in its home awhile, and start doing something with your hands.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s right enough, mistress.&nbsp; What&rsquo;s
+wanted, Master William?<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m blessed if I can recollect, John.&nbsp; This
+courting business lies heavy on me, and I don&rsquo;t seem able to get
+above it, like.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d let it alone, master, if I was you.&nbsp; They
+be all alike, the maids.&nbsp; And &rsquo;twouldn&rsquo;t be amiss if
+we was to serve they as we serves the snails when they gets to the young
+plants.<br>
+<br>
+[SUSAN <i>comes hurriedly into the garden.<br>
+<br>
+</i>SUSAN.&nbsp; Please master, please mistress.<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; What do you mean, Susan, by coming into the garden
+without your cap?&nbsp; Go and put it on at once.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; The wind must have lifted it from me, mistress, for I was
+running ever so fast.<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; Do you expect me to believe that, Susan - and not
+a breath stirring the flowers or trees, or anything?<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas the lady I met as - as - as I was coming across
+the field from feeding the fowls.<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; What lady, Susan?<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; Her from Luther&rsquo;s, mistress.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; And what of she; out with it, wench.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; She did tell I to say as she be coming along as fast as
+she may after Master William.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; [<i>As though to himself with an accent of despair.</i>]&nbsp;
+No.&nbsp; No.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; There, master, didn&rsquo;t I tell you so?<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; [<i>Very nervously.</i>]&nbsp; What did you tell me,
+John?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; That, let her abide and her&rsquo;d find the senses of she
+presently.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; O I&rsquo;m blessed if I do know what to do.<br>
+<br>
+[JOHN <i>takes his master&rsquo;s arm and draws him aside.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOHN.&nbsp; You pluck up your heart, my dearest master, and court
+she hard.&nbsp; And in less nor a six months &rsquo;tis along to church
+as you&rsquo;ll be a-driving she.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; But John, &rsquo;tis t&rsquo;other with the cherry ribbons
+that has taken all my fancy.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; No, no, Master William.&nbsp; You take and court the mistress.&nbsp;
+You take and tame the young vixen, and get the gold and silver from
+she.&nbsp; T&rsquo;other wench is but the serving maid.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; The lady&rsquo;s coming along ever so quickly, master.<br>
+<br>
+[MRS. GARDNER, <i>rising and folding up her knitting.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ll please to come indoors with me,
+William, and I&rsquo;ll brush you down and make you look more presentable
+than you appear just now.&nbsp; Susan, you&rsquo;ll get a cap to you
+head at once, do you hear me!&nbsp; And John, take and water master&rsquo;s
+seedlings.&nbsp; Any one can stand with their mouths open and their
+eyes as big as gooseberries if they&rsquo;ve a mind.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis
+not particular sharp to do so.&nbsp; Come, William.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d like a word or two with John first, Mother.<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; You come along with me this moment, William.&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Tis a too many words by far that you&rsquo;ve had with John already,
+and much good they&rsquo;ve done to you.&nbsp; Come you in with me.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; O I&rsquo;m blessed if I do know whether &rsquo;tis on
+my head or on my feet that I&rsquo;m standing.<br>
+<br>
+[WILLIAM <i>follows his mother slowly and gloomily into the house.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOHN.&nbsp; Well - if ever there was a poor, tormented animal &rsquo;tis
+the master.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; Ah, mistress should have been born a drover by rights.&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Tis a grand nagging one as her&rsquo;d have made, and sommat
+what no beast would ever have got the better of.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; I wouldn&rsquo;t stand in Master William&rsquo;s shoes,
+not if you was to put me knee deep in gold.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; Nor I.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Ah, this courting business, &rsquo;tis a rare caddling muddle
+when &rsquo;tis all done and said.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis according as some folks do find it, Master John.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis a smartish lot as you&rsquo;ll get of it come
+Sunday night, my wench.&nbsp; You wait and see.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; That shews how little you do know.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twill be
+better nor ever with me then.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twill be alone by yourself as you&rsquo;ll go walking,
+Su.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; We&rsquo;ll see about that when the time comes, John.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; All I says is that I baint a-going walking with you.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; I never walk with two, John.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ll have to learn to go in your own company.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; I shall go by the side of my husband by then, very likely.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Your husband?&nbsp; What tales be you a-giving out now?<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis to Nat as I&rsquo;m to be wed come Saturday.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Get along with you, Susan, and put a cap to your head.&nbsp;
+Mistress will be coming out presently, and then you know how &rsquo;twill
+be if her catches you so.&nbsp; Get along in with you.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; Now you don&rsquo;t believe what I&rsquo;m telling you
+- but it&rsquo;s true, O it&rsquo;s true.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Look here - There&rsquo;s company at the gate, and you a-standing
+there like any rough gipsy wench on the road.&nbsp; Get you in and make
+yourself a decenter appearance and then go and tell the mistress as
+they be comed.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; [<i>Preparing to go indoors and speaking over her shoulder.</i>]&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Tis in the parson&rsquo;s gown as you should be clothed, Master
+John.&nbsp; Ah, &rsquo;tis a wonderful wordy preacher as you would make,
+to be sure.&nbsp; And &rsquo;tis a rare crop as one might raise with
+the seed as do fall from your mouth.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She goes indoors</i>.&nbsp; JULIA <i>comes leisurely into the garden.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JULIA.&nbsp; Well, John, and how are you feeling now?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Nicely, thank you, mistress.&nbsp; See yon arbour?<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; And that I do, John.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Well, you may go and sit within it till the master has leisure
+to come and speak with you.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Thank you, John, but I would sooner stop and watch you
+tend the flowers.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis all one to me whether you does or you does not.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Now, John, you are angry with me still.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; I likes a wench as do know the mind of she, and not one
+as can blow hot one moment and cold the next.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; There was never a moment when I did not know my own mind,
+John.&nbsp; And that&rsquo;s the truth.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Well, us won&rsquo;t say no more about that.&nbsp; &rsquo;Taint
+fit as there should be ill feeling nor quarrelling &rsquo;twixt me and
+you.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; You&rsquo;re right, John.&nbsp; And there was something
+that I had it in my mind to ask you.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; You can say your fill.&nbsp; There baint no one but me in
+the garden.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; John, you told me that since Sunday your master has been
+sick with love.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s right enough, mistress.&nbsp; I count as we
+shall bury he if sommat don&rsquo;t come to his relief.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Now, John, do you look into my eyes and tell me if &rsquo;tis
+for love of Julia or of Laura that your master lies sickening.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; You&rsquo;d best go and ask it of his self, mistress.&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Tis a smartish lot of work as I&rsquo;ve got to attend to here.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; You can go on working, John.&nbsp; I am not hindering you.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; No more than one of they old Juney bettels a-roaring and
+a-buzzin round a man&rsquo;s head.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Now, John - you must tell me which of the two it is.&nbsp;
+Is it Laura whom your master loves, or Julia?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis Julia, then, since you will have it out of me.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; No, John, you&rsquo;re not looking straight at me.&nbsp;
+You are looking down at the flower bed.&nbsp; Let your eyes meet mine.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; [<i>Looking up crossly.</i>]&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve got my work
+to think of.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m not one to stand cackling with a maid.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Could you swear me it is Julia?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis naught to I which of you it be.&nbsp; There bide
+over, so as I can get the watering finished.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; [<i>Seizes the watering can.</i>]&nbsp; Now, John, you
+have got to speak the truth to me.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Give up yon can, I tell you.&nbsp; O you do act wonderful
+unseemly for a young lady.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; [<i>Withholding the can.</i>]&nbsp; Not till I have the
+truth from you.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; [<i>Angrily.</i>]&nbsp; Well then, is it likely that my
+master would set his fancy on such a plaguy, wayward maid?&nbsp; Why,
+Master William do know better nor to do such a thing, I can tell you.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Then &rsquo;tis for Laura that he is love-sick, John.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Give I the watering can.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; [<i>Giving him the can.</i>]&nbsp; Here it is, dear John.&nbsp;
+O I had a fancy all the time that &rsquo;twas to Laura your master had
+lost his heart.&nbsp; And now I see I made no mistake.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; I shouldn&rsquo;t have spoke as I did if you hadn&rsquo;t
+a buzzed around I till I was drove very nigh crazy.&nbsp; Master William,
+he&rsquo;ll never forgive me this.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; That he will, I&rsquo;m sure, when he has listened to what
+I have got to say to him.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; You do set a powerful store on what your tongue might say,
+but I&rsquo;d take and bide quiet at home if I was you and not come
+hunting of a nice reasonable gentleman like master, out of his very
+garden.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; O John, you&rsquo;re a sad, ill-natured man, and you misjudge
+me very unkindly.&nbsp; But I&rsquo;ll not bear malice if you will just
+run in and tell your master that I want a word with him.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; A word?&nbsp; Why not say fifty?&nbsp; When was a maid ever
+satisfied with one word I&rsquo;d like to know?<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; Well - I shan&rsquo;t say more than six, very likely, so
+fetch him to me now, John, and I&rsquo;ll wait here in the garden.&nbsp;
+[JOHN <i>looks at her with exasperated contempt.&nbsp; Then he slowly
+walks away towards the house</i>.&nbsp; JULIA <i>goes in the opposite
+direction to the garden gate.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JULIA.&nbsp; [<i>Calling.</i>]&nbsp; Chris!&nbsp; [CHRIS <i>comes
+in.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JULIA.&nbsp; [<i>Pointing.</i>]&nbsp; O Chris, look at this fine
+garden - and yon arbour - see the fine house, with lace curtains to
+the windows of it.<br>
+<br>
+CHRIS.&nbsp; [<i>Sullenly.</i>]&nbsp; Ah - I sees it all very well.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; And all this could be mine for the stretching out of a
+hand.<br>
+<br>
+CHRIS.&nbsp; Then stretch it.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twould be like putting a wild bird into a gilded
+cage, to set me here in this place.&nbsp; No, I must go free with you,
+Chris - and we will wander where our spirits lead us - over all the
+world if we have a mind to do so.<br>
+<br>
+CHRIS.&nbsp; Please God you&rsquo;ll not grieve at your choice.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; That I never shall.&nbsp; Now call to Laura.&nbsp; Is she
+in the lane outside?<br>
+<br>
+CHRIS.&nbsp; There, she be come to the gate now.<br>
+<br>
+[LAURA <i>comes in</i>,<i> followed by </i>NAT <i>and </i>TANSIE.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; [<i>Pointing to a place on the ground.</i>]&nbsp; Laura,
+see, here is the place from which your young carrots were pulled.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; O look at the flowers, Julia - Lillies, pinks and red roses.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis a fine red rose that shall be gathered for you
+presently, Laura.&nbsp; [JOHN <i>comes up.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOHN.&nbsp; The master&rsquo;s very nigh ready now, mistress.<br>
+<br>
+[SUSAN <i>follows him.<br>
+<br>
+</i>SUSAN.&nbsp; The mistress says, please to be seated till she do
+come.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; [<i>To </i>CHRIS <i>and </i>NAT.]&nbsp; Now, my men, we
+don&rsquo;t want the likes of you in here.&nbsp; You had best get off
+afore Master William catches sight of you.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; No, John.&nbsp; These are my friends, and I wish them to
+hear all that I have to say to your master.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Ah, &rsquo;tis in the grave as poor Master William will
+be landed soon if you don&rsquo;t have a care.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; [<i>Anxiously.</i>]&nbsp; O is he so delicate as that,
+John?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Ah - and that he be.&nbsp; And these here love matters and
+courtings and foolishness have very nigh done for he.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t
+give him but a week longer if things do go on as they be now.<br>
+<br>
+[WILLIAM <i>and </i>MRS. GARDNER <i>come in</i>.&nbsp; WILLIAM <i>looks
+nervously round him</i>.&nbsp; MRS. GARDNER <i>perceives the gipsies</i>,<i>
+and </i>SUSAN <i>talking to </i>NAT.<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; Susan, get you to your place in the kitchen, as
+quick as you can.&nbsp; John, put yon roadsters through the gate, if
+you please.&nbsp; [<i>Turning to </i>JULIA.]&nbsp; Now young Miss?<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; A very good evening to you, mistress.&nbsp; And let me
+make Chris known to you for he and I are to be wed to-morrow.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She takes </i>CHRIS <i>by the hand and leads him forward.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; What&rsquo;s this?&nbsp; William, do you understand
+what the young person is telling us?<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; [<i>Taking </i>LAURA <i>with her other hand.</i>]&nbsp;
+And here is Laura to whom I have given all my land and all my money.&nbsp;
+She is the mistress of Luther&rsquo;s now.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; [<i>Aside to </i>WILLIAM.]&nbsp; Now master, hearken to
+that.&nbsp; Can&rsquo;t you lift your spirits a bit.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; [<i>To </i>MRS. GARDNER.]&nbsp; And I beg you to accept
+her as a daughter.&nbsp; She will make a better farmer&rsquo;s wife
+than ever I shall.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; [<i>In a loud whisper.</i>]&nbsp; Start courting, master.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; O I dare not quite so sudden, John.<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; [<i>Sitting down.</i>]&nbsp; It will take a few
+moments for me to understand this situation.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; There is no need for any hurry.&nbsp; We have all the evening
+before us.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; [<i>Hastily gathers a rosebud and puts it into </i>WILLIAM&rsquo;S
+<i>hand.</i>]&nbsp; Give her a blossom, master.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis an
+easy start off.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; [<i>Coming forward shyly with the flower.</i>]&nbsp;
+Would you fancy a rosebud, mistress?<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; O that I would, master.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; Should you care to see - to see where the young celery
+is planted out?<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; O, I&rsquo;d dearly love to see the spot.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll take you along to it then.&nbsp; [<i>He gives
+her his arm</i>,<i> very awkwardly</i>,<i> and they move away.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; [<i>Sitting down.</i>]&nbsp; Well - things have
+changed since I was young.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; [<i>Looking viciously at </i>NAT <i>and </i>SUSAN.]&nbsp;
+Ah, I counts they have, mistress, and &rsquo;tis all for the worse.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; [<i>Comes forward timidly.</i>]&nbsp; And me and Nat are
+to be married too, mistress.<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; I should have given you notice anyhow to-night,
+Susan, so perhaps it&rsquo;s just as well you have made sure of some
+sort of a roof to your head.<br>
+<br>
+NAT.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twill be but the roof of th&rsquo; old cart, mistress;
+but I warrant as her&rsquo;ll sleep bravely under it, won&rsquo;t you,
+Su.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; That I shall, dear Nat.<br>
+<br>
+TANSIE.&nbsp; Well, Master John, have you a fancy to come tenting along
+of we.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Upon my word, but I don&rsquo;t know how &rsquo;tis with
+the young people nowadays, they be so bold.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; [<i>Who has been standing apart</i>,<i> her hand in that
+of </i>CHRIS.]&nbsp; New days, new ways, John.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Bless my soul, but &rsquo;tis hard to keep up with all these
+goings on, and no mistake.<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; No need for you to try, John.&nbsp; If you are too old
+to run with us you must abide still and watch us as we go.<br>
+<br>
+CHRIS.&nbsp; But there, you needn&rsquo;t look downhearted, master,
+for I knows someone as&rsquo;ll give you a rare warm welcome if so be
+as you should change your mind and take your chance in the open, same
+as we.<br>
+<br>
+TANSIE.&nbsp; You shall pay for that, Chris.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; [<i>Stiffly.</i>]&nbsp; I hope as I&rsquo;ve a properer
+sense of my duty nor many others what I could name.<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; Those are the first suitable words that have been
+spoken in my hearing this afternoon.<br>
+<br>
+[WILLIAM, <i>with </i>LAURA <i>on his arm</i>,<i> returns</i>.&nbsp;
+LAURA <i>carries a small cucumber very lovingly.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LAURA.&nbsp; Julia, look!&nbsp; The first one of the season!&nbsp;
+O, isn&rsquo;t it a picture!<br>
+<br>
+JULIA.&nbsp; O Laura, &rsquo;tis a fine wedding gift to be sure.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; [<i>Stepping up to </i>JOHN.]&nbsp; John, my man, here&rsquo;s
+a five pound note to your pocket.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d never have won this
+lady here if it hadn&rsquo;t been for you.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; [<i>Taking the note.</i>]&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t name it, dear
+master.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis a long courtship what has no ending to it,
+so I always says.<br>
+<br>
+MRS. GARDNER.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis one upset after another, but suppose
+you were to make yourself useful for once, Susan, and bring out the
+tray with the cake and glasses on it.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Ah, that&rsquo;s it, and I&rsquo;ll go along of she and
+help draw the cider.&nbsp; Courtship be powerful drying work.<br>
+<br>
+LAURA.&nbsp; [<i>Looking into </i>WILLIAM&rsquo;S <i>eyes.</i>]&nbsp;
+O William, &rsquo;twas those Early Snowballs that did first stir up
+my heart.<br>
+<br>
+WILLIAM.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas John who thought of them.&nbsp; Why, John
+has more sensible thoughts to the mind of him than any other man in
+the world - and when the cider is brought, &rsquo;tis to John&rsquo;s
+health we will all drink.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>Curtain.</i>]<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+PRINCESS ROYAL<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHARACTERS IN THE PLAY<br>
+<br>
+ROSE, MARION, <i>village girls.<br>
+</i>LADY MILLICENT.<br>
+ALICE, <i>her maid.<br>
+</i>LEAH, <i>an old gipsy.<br>
+</i>SUSAN, <i>otherwise Princess Royal</i>,<i> her grand-daughter.<br>
+</i>JOCKIE, <i>a little swine herd.<br>
+</i>LADY CULLEN.<br>
+<i>Her ladies in waiting (or one lady only).<br>
+</i>LORD CULLEN, <i>her only son.<br>
+As many girls as are needed for the dances should be in this Play.<br>
+<br>
+The parts of Lord Cullen and Jockie may be played by girls.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+</i>ACT I. - Scene 1.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<i>A village green.&nbsp; Some girls with market baskets come on to
+it</i>,<i> each one carrying a leaflet which she is earnestly reading.<br>
+<br>
+Gradually all the girls approach from different sides reading leaflets.<br>
+<br>
+Under a tree at the far end of the green the old gipsy is sitting -
+she lights a pipe and begins to smoke as </i>ROSE, <i>her basket full
+of market produce</i>,<i> comes slowly forward reading her sheet of
+paper.&nbsp; She is followed by </i>MARION - <i>also reading.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ROSE.&nbsp; Well, &rsquo;tis like to be a fine set out, this May
+Day.<br>
+<br>
+MARION.&nbsp; I can make naught of it myself.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; Why, &rsquo;tis Lord Cullen putting it about as how he be
+back from the war and thinking of getting himself wed, like.<br>
+<br>
+MARION.&nbsp; I understands that much, I do.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; Only he can&rsquo;t find the maid what he&rsquo;s lost his
+heart to.<br>
+<br>
+MARION.&nbsp; [<i>Reading.</i>]&nbsp; The wench what his lordship did
+see a-dancing all by herself in the forest when he was hid one day all
+among the brambles, a-rabbiting or sommat.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; And when my lord would have spoke with her, the maid did
+turn and fled away quick as a weasel.<br>
+<br>
+MARION.&nbsp; And his lordship off to the fighting when &rsquo;twas
+next morn.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; So now, each maid of us in the village and all around be
+to dance upon the green come May Day so that my lord may see who &rsquo;twas
+that pleased his fancy.<br>
+<br>
+[SUSAN <i>comes up and stands quietly listening.&nbsp; She is bare foot
+and her skirt is ragged</i>,<i> she wears a shawl over her shoulders
+and her hair is rough and untidy.&nbsp; On her arm she carries a basket
+containing a few vegetables and other marketings.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MARION.&nbsp; And when he do pitch upon the one, &rsquo;tis her
+as he will wed.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twill be a thing to sharpen the claws of th&rsquo;
+old countess worse nor ever - that marriage.<br>
+<br>
+MARION.&nbsp; Ah, I reckon as her be mortal angered with all the giddle-gaddle
+this business have set up among the folk.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>Regretfully.</i>]&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve never danced among
+the trees myself.<br>
+<br>
+MARION.&nbsp; [<i>Sadly.</i>]&nbsp; Nor I, neither, Rose.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d dearly like to be a countess, Marion.<br>
+<br>
+MARION.&nbsp; His lordship might think I was the maid.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m
+spry upon my feet you know.<br>
+<br>
+[SUSAN <i>comes still nearer.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MARION.&nbsp; [<i>Turning to her and speaking rudely.</i>]&nbsp;
+Well, Princess Rags, &rsquo;tisn&rsquo;t likely as &rsquo;twas you a-dancing
+one of your Morris dances in the wood that day!<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>Mockingly.</i>]&nbsp; &rsquo;Tisn&rsquo;t likely as
+his lordship would set his thoughts on a wench what could caper about
+like a Morris man upon the high road.&nbsp; So there.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; [<i>Indifferently.</i>]&nbsp; I never danced upon the high
+road, I dances only where &rsquo;tis dark with gloom and no eyes upon
+me.&nbsp; No mortal eyes.<br>
+<br>
+MARION.&nbsp; [<i>Impudently.</i>]&nbsp; Get along with you, Princess
+Royal.&nbsp; Go off to th&rsquo; old gipsy Gran&rsquo;ma yonder.&nbsp;
+We don&rsquo;t want the likes of you along of us.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; Go off and dance to your own animals, Miss Goatherd.&nbsp;
+All of us be a-going to practise our steps against May Day.&nbsp; Come
+along girls.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She signs to the other girls who all draw near and arrange themselves
+for a Country Dance</i>.&nbsp; SUSAN <i>goes slowly towards her </i>GRANDMOTHER
+<i>and sits on the ground by her side</i>,<i> looking sadly and wistfully
+at the dancers.&nbsp; At the end of the dance</i>,<i> the girls pick
+up their baskets and go off in different directions across the green</i>.&nbsp;
+SUSAN <i>and her </i>GRANDMOTHER <i>remain in their places.&nbsp; The
+gipsy continues to smoke and </i>SUSAN <i>absently turns over the things
+in her basket.<br>
+<br>
+</i>SUSAN.&nbsp; They mock me in the name they have fixed to me - Princess
+Royal.<br>
+<br>
+GRANDMOTHER.&nbsp; Let them mock.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll bring the words back
+to them like scorpions upon their tongues.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>There is a little silence and then </i>SUSAN <i>begins to sing as
+though to herself.<br>
+<br>
+</i>SUSAN.&nbsp; [<i>Singing.</i>]<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;As I walked out one May morning,<br>
+So early in the Spring;<br>
+I placed my back against the old garden gate,<br>
+And I heard my true love sing.&rdquo; <a name="citation1"></a><a href="#footnote1">{1}</a><br>
+<br>
+GRANDMOTHER.&nbsp; [<i>At the end of the singing.</i>]&nbsp; It might
+be the blackcap a-warbling all among of the branches.&nbsp; So it might.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; Ah, &rsquo;twas I that was a-dancing in the shade of the
+woods that day.<br>
+<br>
+GRANDMOTHER.&nbsp; He&rsquo;ll never look on the likes of you - that&rsquo;s
+sure enough, my little wench.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; I wish he was a goat-herd like myself - O that I do.<br>
+<br>
+GRANDMOTHER.&nbsp; Then there wouldn&rsquo;t be no use in your wedding
+yourself with him as I can see.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis himself, not his riches that I want.<br>
+<br>
+GRANDMOTHER.&nbsp; You be speaking foolishness.&nbsp; What do you know
+of him - what do us blind worms know about the stars above we?<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; I see&rsquo;d him pass by upon his horse one day.&nbsp;
+All there was of him did shine like the sun upon the water - I was very
+near dazed by the brightness.&nbsp; So I was.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>The </i>GRANDMOTHER <i>continues to smoke in silence.<br>
+<br>
+</i>SUSAN.&nbsp; [<i>Softly.</i>]&nbsp; And &rsquo;twas then I lost
+the heart within me to him.<br>
+<br>
+[JOCKIE <i>runs up beating his tabor.<br>
+<br>
+</i>SUSAN.&nbsp; [<i>Springing up.</i>]&nbsp; Come, Jockie, I have a
+mind to dance a step or two.&nbsp; [<i>Rubbing her eyes with the back
+of her hands.</i>]&nbsp; Tears be for them as have idle times and not
+for poor wenches what mind cattle and goats.&nbsp; Come, play me my
+own music, Jock.&nbsp; And play it as I do like it best.<br>
+<br>
+[JOCKIE <i>begins to play the tune of</i> &ldquo;<i>Princess Royal</i>&rdquo;
+<i>and </i>SUSAN <i>dances.&nbsp; Whilst </i>SUSAN <i>is dancing </i>LADY
+MILLICENT <i>and her waiting maid come slowly by and stand watching</i>.&nbsp;
+SUSAN <i>suddenly perceives them and throws herself on the ground</i>.&nbsp;
+JOCKIE <i>stops playing.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LADY MILLICENT.&nbsp; [<i>Fanning herself.</i>]&nbsp; A wondrous
+bold dance, upon my word - could it have been that which captivated
+my lord, Alice?<br>
+<br>
+ALICE.&nbsp; O no, mistress.&nbsp; His lordship has no fancy for boldness
+in a maid.<br>
+<br>
+LADY MILLICENT.&nbsp; Immodest too.&nbsp; A Morris dance.&nbsp; The
+girl should hide her face in shame.<br>
+<br>
+ALICE.&nbsp; And there she is, looking at your ladyship with her gipsy
+eyes, bold as a brass farthing.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; [<i>Starting up and speaking passionately.</i>]&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll
+not be taunted for my dancing - I likes to dance wild, and leap with
+my body when my spirit leaps, and fly with my limbs when my heart flies
+and move in the air same as the birds do move when &rsquo;tis mating
+time.<br>
+<br>
+GRANDMOTHER.&nbsp; Ah, &rsquo;tis so with she.&nbsp; She baint no tame
+mouse what creeps from its hole along of t&rsquo;others and who do go
+shuffle shuffle, in and out of the ring, mild as milk and naught in
+the innards of they but the squeak.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; [<i>Defiantly.</i>]&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas my dance gained his
+lordship&rsquo;s praise - so there, fine madam.<br>
+<br>
+LADY MILLICENT.&nbsp; Your dance?&nbsp; Who are you then?<br>
+<br>
+ALICE.&nbsp; A gipsy wench, mistress, who minds the goats and pigs for
+one of they great farms.<br>
+<br>
+GRANDMOTHER.&nbsp; Have a care for that tongue of yours, madam waiting
+maid.&nbsp; For I know how to lay sommat upon it what you won&rsquo;t
+fancy.<br>
+<br>
+LADY MILLICENT.&nbsp; [<i>Coming up to </i>SUSAN <i>and laying her hand
+on her arm.</i>]&nbsp; Now tell me your name, my girl.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; They call me Princess Royal.<br>
+<br>
+LADY MILLICENT.&nbsp; O that must be in jest.&nbsp; Why, you are clothed
+in rags, poor thing.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; [<i>Shaking herself free.</i>]&nbsp; I&rsquo;d sooner wear
+my own rags nor the laces which you have got upon you.<br>
+<br>
+LADY MILLICENT.&nbsp; Now why do you say such a thing?<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas in these rags as I danced in the wood that
+day, and &rsquo;tis by these rags as my lord will know me once more.<br>
+<br>
+LADY MILLICENT.&nbsp; Listen, I will cover you in silk and laces, Princess
+Royal.<br>
+<br>
+ALICE.&nbsp; Susan is the maid&rsquo;s name.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t want none of your laces or silks.<br>
+<br>
+LADY MILLICENT.&nbsp; And feed you with poultry and cream and sweetmeats.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; I want naught but my crust of bread.<br>
+<br>
+LADY MILLICENT.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll fill your hands with gold pieces.<br>
+<br>
+GRANDMOTHER.&nbsp; Do you hear that, Sue?<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; [<i>Doggedly.</i>]&nbsp; I hear her well enough, Gran.<br>
+<br>
+LADY MILLICENT.&nbsp; If you&rsquo;ll teach me your dance against May
+Day.&nbsp; Then, I&rsquo;ll clothe myself much after your fashion and
+dance upon the green with the rest.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll not learn you my dance.&nbsp; Not for all the
+gold in the world.&nbsp; You shan&rsquo;t go and take the only thing
+I have away from me.<br>
+<br>
+LADY MILLICENT.&nbsp; [<i>Angrily.</i>]&nbsp; Neither shall a little
+gipsy wretch like you take my love from me.&nbsp; We were as good as
+promised to each other at our christening.<br>
+<br>
+ALICE.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t put yourself out for the baggage, madam.&nbsp;
+His lordship would never look on her.<br>
+<br>
+GRANDMOTHER.&nbsp; Gold, did you say, mistress?<br>
+<br>
+LADY MILLICENT.&nbsp; Gold?&nbsp; O yes - an apron full of gold, and
+silver too.<br>
+<br>
+GRANDMOTHER.&nbsp; Do you hear that, Susan?<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; [<i>Doggedly</i>.]&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll not do it for a King&rsquo;s
+ransom.<br>
+<br>
+GRANDMOTHER.&nbsp; You will.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ll do it for the sake of
+poor old Gran, what&rsquo;s been father and mother to you - and what&rsquo;s
+gone hungered and thirsty so that you might have bread and drink.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; [<i>Distractedly.</i>]&nbsp; O I can never give him up.<br>
+<br>
+GRANDMOTHER.&nbsp; He&rsquo;ll never be yourn to give - Dance till your
+legs is off and he&rsquo;ll have naught to say to a gipsy brat when
+&rsquo;tis all finished.<br>
+<br>
+ALICE.&nbsp; Whilst my lady belongs to his lordship&rsquo;s own class,
+&rsquo;tis but suitable as she should be the one to wed with him - knowing
+the foreign tongues and all, and playing so sweetly on her instruments.&nbsp;
+There&rsquo;s a lady anyone would be proud to take before the Court
+in London.<br>
+<br>
+[SUSAN <i>turns away with a movement of despair.&nbsp; The </i>GRANDMOTHER
+<i>begins to smoke again</i>.&nbsp; LADY MILLICENT <i>fans herself and
+</i>ALICE <i>arranges her own shawl.<br>
+<br>
+</i>GRANDMOTHER.&nbsp; I could do with a little pig up at our place
+if I&rsquo;d the silver to take into the market for to buy him with.&nbsp;
+[<i>A silence.<br>
+<br>
+</i>GRANDMOTHER.&nbsp; And I could do with a pair of good shoes to my
+poor old feet come winter time when &rsquo;tis snowing.&nbsp; [<i>Another
+silence.<br>
+<br>
+</i>GRANDMOTHER.&nbsp; And &rsquo;twould be good not to go to bed with
+the pain of hunger within my lean old body - so &rsquo;twould.&nbsp;
+[SUSAN <i>turns round suddenly.<br>
+<br>
+</i>SUSAN.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll do it, Gran.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll do it for
+your sake.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis very likely true what you do say, all of
+you.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d but dance my feet off for naught.&nbsp; When he
+came to look into my gipsy eyes, &rsquo;twould all be over and done
+with.<br>
+<br>
+LADY MILLICENT.&nbsp; Sensible girl.<br>
+<br>
+ALICE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis time she should see which way her bread was
+spread.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; Come, Jockie, come ladies - come Gran - we&rsquo;ll be
+off to the quiet of our own place where I can learn her ladyship the
+steps and capers.<br>
+<br>
+GRANDMOTHER.&nbsp; [<i>Rising and pointing to an advancing figure.</i>]&nbsp;
+You&rsquo;d best make haste.&nbsp; The mice be a-running from their
+holes once more - t&rsquo;wouldn&rsquo;t do for they to know aught about
+this.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; Let us go quickly then.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>The </i>GRANDMOTHER, SUSAN, LADY MILLICENT <i>with </i>ALICE <i>and
+</i>JOCKIE <i>go out as a crowd of village girls come on to the green</i>,<i>
+and laughing and talking together</i>,<i> arrange themselves to practise
+a Country Dance.<br>
+<br>
+End of Act I.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+</i>ACT II. - Scene 1.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<i>Groups of village girls are sitting or standing about on the green.&nbsp;
+A dais has been put up at one end of it.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MARION.&nbsp; How slow the time do pass, this May Day.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; Let&rsquo;s while it away with a song or two.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>They all join in singing.&nbsp; At the end of the song the gipsy
+comes slowly and painfully across the green</i>,<i> casting black looks
+to right and to left.&nbsp; She is followed by </i>SUSAN, <i>who appears
+weighed down by sadness.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ROSE.&nbsp; Good afternoon, Princess Royal Rags.&nbsp; Are we to
+see you cutting capers before his lordship this afternoon?<br>
+<br>
+MARION.&nbsp; Get along and hide your bare feet behind the tree, Royal.&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;d be ashamed to go without shoes if &rsquo;twas me.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; O leave me alone - you be worse nor a nest of waspes -
+that you be.<br>
+<br>
+GRANDMOTHER.&nbsp; [<i>Turning fiercely round.</i>]&nbsp; Us&rsquo;ll
+smoke them out of their holes one day - see if us do not.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>They pass over to the tree where the </i>GRANDMOTHER <i>sits down
+and </i>SUSAN <i>crouches by her side.&nbsp; Presently they are joined
+by </i>JOCKIE.&nbsp; <i>The girls sing a verse or two of another song</i>,<i>
+and during this </i>LADY MILLICENT, <i>enveloped in a big cloak</i>,<i>
+goes over to the tree</i>,<i> followed by </i>ALICE, <i>also wearing
+a long cloak and they sit down by the side of </i>SUSAN.<br>
+<br>
+MARION.&nbsp; [<i>Pointing.</i>]&nbsp; Who are those yonder, Rose?<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m sure I don&rsquo;t know, Marion - strangers, may
+be.<br>
+<br>
+MARION.&nbsp; O my heart goes wild this afternoon.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; Mine too.&nbsp; Look, there they come.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>The Music begins to play and old </i>LADY CULLEN, <i>followed by
+her lady companions</i>,<i> comes slowly towards the dais</i>,<i> on
+which she seats herself.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LADY CULLEN.&nbsp; Dear me, what a gathering to be sure.<br>
+<br>
+HER LADY.&nbsp; Indeed it is an unusual sight.<br>
+<br>
+LADY CULLEN.&nbsp; And O what a sad infatuation on the part of my poor
+boy.<br>
+<br>
+HER LADY.&nbsp; The war has been known to turn many a brain.<br>
+<br>
+LADY CULLEN.&nbsp; And yet my son holds his own with the brightest intelligences
+of the day.<br>
+<br>
+HER LADY.&nbsp; Only one little spot of his lordship&rsquo;s brain seems
+to be affected.<br>
+<br>
+LADY CULLEN.&nbsp; Just so.&nbsp; But here he comes, poor misguided
+youth.<br>
+<br>
+[LORD CULLEN <i>comes slowly over the green</i>,<i> looking to right
+and to left.&nbsp; He mounts the dais and sits down by his mother</i>,<i>
+and the music plays for a country dance</i>.&nbsp; &ldquo;<i>The Twenty
+Ninth of May</i>.&rdquo;&nbsp; <i>The girls arrange themselves</i>,<i>
+and during the dance </i>LORD CULLEN <i>scans each face very eagerly.&nbsp;
+The dance ends and the girls pass in single file before the dais.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LORD CULLEN.&nbsp; No, no - that was not the music of it, that was
+not the dance - not a face among them resembles the image I carry in
+my heart.<br>
+<br>
+LADY CULLEN.&nbsp; [<i>Aside.</i>]&nbsp; Thank goodness.&nbsp; May that
+face never be seen again.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>A fresh group come up and another dance is formed and danced.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LORD CULLEN.&nbsp; [<i>At the end of it.</i>]&nbsp; Worse and worse.&nbsp;
+Could I have dreamed both the music and the dance and the dancer?<br>
+<br>
+LADY CULLEN.&nbsp; [<i>Soothingly.</i>]&nbsp; I am sure this was the
+case, my dear son.<br>
+<br>
+LORD CULLEN.&nbsp; [<i>Rallying.</i>]&nbsp; I heard her voice singing
+in the forest before ever she began to dance.&nbsp; It was the sweetest
+voice and song I ever heard.&nbsp; [<i>Looking around.</i>]&nbsp; Can
+any of these maid, sing to me, I wonder?<br>
+<br>
+MARION.&nbsp; [<i>Steps forward.</i>]&nbsp; I only know one song, my
+lord.<br>
+<br>
+[LORD CULLEN <i>signs to her to sing</i>,<i> and she stands before the
+dais and sings a verse of</i> &ldquo;<i>Bedlam</i>.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+LORD CULLEN.&nbsp; [<i>Impatiently.</i>]&nbsp; No, no - that is not
+in the least what I remember.&nbsp; [<i>Turning to </i>ROSE.]&nbsp;
+You try now.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t sing, my lord - but - [<i>Indicating another
+girl in the group</i>] she has a sweet voice, and she knows a powerful
+lot of songs.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>A girl steps out from the others and sings a verse of</i> &ldquo;<i>The
+Lark in the Morn</i>.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+LORD CULLEN.&nbsp; Not that.&nbsp; Mine was a song to stir the depths
+of a man&rsquo;s heart and bring tears up from the fountains of it.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>He leans back in deep dejection - and at this moment </i>LADY MILLICENT
+<i>and </i>ALICE <i>come forward.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LORD CULLEN.&nbsp; [<i>Eagerly.</i>]&nbsp; I seem to know that russet
+skirt - those bare, small feet.&nbsp; [<i>Standing up quickly.</i>]&nbsp;
+Mother, look at that maid with the red kerchief on her head.<br>
+<br>
+LADY CULLEN.&nbsp; Some sort of a gipsy dress, to all appearance.<br>
+<br>
+LORD CULLEN.&nbsp; [<i>Doubtfully.</i>]&nbsp; The skirt she wore was
+torn and ragged - that day in the forest.&nbsp; She had no gold rings
+to her ears, nor silken scarf upon her head - But this might be her
+dress for holidays.<br>
+<br>
+[JOCKIE <i>advances and begins to play the tune of </i>&ldquo;<i>Princess
+Royal</i>.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+LORD CULLEN.&nbsp; [<i>Eagerly.</i>]&nbsp; That is the right music -
+O is it possible my quest is ended!<br>
+<br>
+[LADY MILLICENT <i>and </i>ALICE, <i>standing opposite one to another
+begin to dance - slowly and clumsily</i>,<i> and in evident doubt as
+to their steps</i>.&nbsp; LORD CULLEN <i>watches them for a moment and
+then claps his hands angrily as a sign for the music to stop.&nbsp;
+The dancers pause.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LORD CULLEN.&nbsp; This is a sad mimicry of my beautiful love.&nbsp;
+But there lies something behind the masquerade which I shall probe.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>He leaves the dais and goes straight towards </i>LADY MILLICENT,
+<i>who turns from him in confusion.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LORD CULLEN.&nbsp; From whom did you take the manner and the colour
+of your garments, my maid?<br>
+<br>
+[LADY MILLICENT <i>remains obstinately silent</i>.<br>
+<br>
+LORD CULLEN.&nbsp; [<i>To </i>ALICE.]&nbsp; Perhaps you have a tongue
+in your head.&nbsp; From whom did you try to learn those steps?<br>
+<br>
+[ALICE <i>turns sulkily away</i>.&nbsp; JOCKIE <i>comes forward.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOCKIE.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll tell your lordship all about it, and I&rsquo;ll
+take your lordship straight to the right wench, that I will, if so be
+as your lordship will give a shilling to a poor little swine-herd what
+goes empty and hungered most of the year round.<br>
+<br>
+LORD CULLEN.&nbsp; A handful of gold, my boy, if you lead me rightly.<br>
+<br>
+[JOCKIE <i>leads the way to the tree where </i>SUSAN <i>is sitting.&nbsp;
+She stands up as </i>LORD CULLEN <i>approaches</i>,<i> and for a moment
+they gaze at one another in silence.<br>
+<br>
+</i>GRANDMOTHER.&nbsp; You might curtsey to the gentleman, Susan.<br>
+<br>
+LORD CULLEN.&nbsp; No - there&rsquo;s no need of that, from her to me.&nbsp;
+[<i>Turning to </i>JOCKIE <i>and putting his hand in his pocket.</i>]&nbsp;
+Here, my boy, is a golden pound for you - and more shall follow later.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>He then takes </i>SUSAN&rsquo;S <i>hand and leads her to the foot
+of the dais.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LORD CULLEN.&nbsp; Will you dance for me again, Susan?<br>
+<br>
+SEVERAL OF THE GIRLS.&nbsp; [<i>Mockingly.</i>]&nbsp; Princess Royal
+is her name.<br>
+<br>
+MARION.&nbsp; [<i>Rudely.</i>]&nbsp; Or Princess Rags.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis all took out of my hands now, I can but do as
+your lordship says.&nbsp; Jockie, play me my music, and play it bravely
+too.<br>
+<br>
+[JOCKIE <i>places himself near her and begins to play</i>.&nbsp; SUSAN
+<i>dances by herself.&nbsp; At the end of her dance </i>LORD CULLEN
+<i>leads the applause</i>,<i> and even the ladies on the dais join faintly
+in it.&nbsp; He then takes </i>SUSAN <i>by the hand and mounts the dais
+with her and presents her to his mother.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LADY CULLEN.&nbsp; [<i>Aside</i>,<i> to her companion.</i>]&nbsp;
+I wonder if the young person understands that my poor boy is a little
+touched in the brain?<br>
+<br>
+LORD CULLEN.&nbsp; Here is your daughter, mother.<br>
+<br>
+[LADY CULLEN <i>and </i>SUSAN <i>look at one another in silence.&nbsp;
+After a moment </i>SUSAN <i>turns to </i>LORD CULLEN.<br>
+<br>
+SUSAN.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m a poor ragged thing to be daughter to the likes
+of she.&nbsp; But the heart within of me is grander nor that of any
+queen, because of the love that it holds for you, my lord.<br>
+<br>
+[LORD CULLEN <i>takes her hand and leads her to the front of the dais.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LORD CULLEN.&nbsp; We will be married to-morrow, my princess.&nbsp;
+And all these good people shall dance at our wedding.<br>
+<br>
+MARION.&nbsp; [<i>Springing up.</i>]&nbsp; And we&rsquo;ll do a bit
+of dancing now as well.&nbsp; Come, Jockie, give us the tune of &ldquo;Haste
+to the Wedding.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s it.&nbsp; Come girls -<br>
+<br>
+LADY MILLICENT.&nbsp; [<i>To </i>ALICE.]&nbsp; I pray he won&rsquo;t
+find out about me.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>The old </i>GRANDMOTHER <i>has come slowly towards the middle of
+the green.<br>
+<br>
+</i>GRANDMOTHER.&nbsp; Ah, and my little wench will know how to pay
+back some of the vipers tongues which slandered her, when she sits on
+her velvet chair as a countess, the diamonds a-trickling from her neck
+and the rubies a-crowning of her head.&nbsp; Her&rsquo;ll not forget
+the snakes what did lie in the grass.&nbsp; Her&rsquo;ll have her heel
+upon they, so that their heads be put low and there shan&rsquo;t go
+no more venom from their great jaws to harm she, my pretty lamb - my
+little turtle.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>The music begins to play and all those on the green form themselves
+for the dance</i>.&nbsp; LORD CULLEN <i>and </i>SUSAN <i>stand side
+by side in front of the dais</i>,<i> and the </i>GRANDMOTHER <i>lights
+a pipe and smokes it as she watches the dance from below.&nbsp; At the
+end of the dance </i>LORD CULLEN, <i>leading </i>SUSAN, <i>comes down
+from the dais and</i>,<i> followed by </i>LADY CULLEN <i>and her ladies</i>,<i>
+passes between two lines of girls and so off the stage.&nbsp; The girls
+follow in procession</i>,<i> and lastly the </i>GRANDMOTHER <i>preceded
+by </i>JOCKIE, <i>beating his drum.<br>
+<br>
+</i>[<i>Curtain.</i>]<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+THE SEEDS OF LOVE<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHARACTERS<br>
+<br>
+JOHN DANIEL, <i>aged </i>30, <i>a Miller.<br>
+</i>ROSE-ANNA <i>his sister.<br>
+</i>KITTY, <i>aged </i>16, <i>his sister</i>.<br>
+ROBERT PEARCE, <i>aged </i>26.<br>
+LIZ, JANE <i>elderly cousins of Robert.<br>
+</i>JEREMY, <i>John&rsquo;s servant - of middle age.<br>
+</i>MARY MEADOWS, <i>aged </i>24, <i>a Herbalist.<br>
+</i>LUBIN.<br>
+ISABEL.<br>
+<br>
+<i>The time is Midsummer.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+</i>ACT I<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<i>A woodland road outside </i>MARY&rsquo;S <i>cottage.&nbsp; There
+are rough seats in the porch and in front of the window.&nbsp; Bunches
+of leaves and herbs hang drying around door and window</i>.&nbsp; MARY
+<i>is heard singing within.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MARY.&nbsp; [<i>Singing.</i>]<br>
+<br>
+I sowed the seeds of Love,<br>
+And I sowed them in the Spring.<br>
+I gathered them up in the morning so soon.<br>
+While the sweet birds so sweetly sing,<br>
+While the sweet birds so sweetly sing. <a name="citation2"></a><a href="#footnote2">{2}</a><br>
+<br>
+[MARY <i>comes out of the cottage</i>,<i> a bundle of enchanter</i>&rsquo;<i>s
+nightshade in her arms.&nbsp; She hangs it by a string to the wall and
+then goes indoors.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MARY.&nbsp; [<i>Singing.</i>]<br>
+<br>
+The violet I did not like,<br>
+Because it bloomed so soon;<br>
+The lily and the pink I really over think,<br>
+So I vowed I would wait till June,<br>
+So I vowed I would wait till June.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>During the singing </i>LUBIN <i>comes slowly and heavily along the
+road.&nbsp; He wears the dress of a farm labourer and carries a scythe
+over his shoulder.&nbsp; In front of the cottage he pauses</i>,<i> looks
+round doubtfully</i>,<i> and then sits stiffly and wearily down on the
+bench beneath the window.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MARY.&nbsp; [<i>Coming to the doorway with more plants and singing.</i>]<br>
+<br>
+&ldquo;For the grass that has oftentimes been trampled underfoot,<br>
+Give it time, it will rise up again.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; [<i>Looking up gloomily.</i>]&nbsp; And that it won&rsquo;t,
+mistress.<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; [<i>Suddenly perceiving him and coming out.</i>]&nbsp; O
+you are fair spent from journeying.&nbsp; Can I do anything for you,
+master?<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; [<i>Gazing at her fixedly.</i>]&nbsp; You speak kindly
+for a stranger, but &rsquo;tis beyond the power of you nor anyone to
+do aught for me.<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; [<i>Sitting down beside him and pointing to the wall of
+the house.</i>]&nbsp; See those leaves and flowers drying in the sun?&nbsp;
+There&rsquo;s medicine for every sort of sickness there, sir.<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s not a root nor yet a herb on the face of
+the earth that could cure the sickness I have within me.<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; That must be a terrible sort of a sickness, master.<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; So &rsquo;tis.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis love.<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; Love?<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; Yes, love; wicked, unhappy love.&nbsp; Love what played
+false when riches fled.&nbsp; Love that has given the heart what was
+all mine to another.<br>
+<br>
+[ISABEL <i>has been slowly approaching</i>,<i> she wears a cotton handkerchief
+over her head and carries a small bundle tied up in a cloth on her arm.&nbsp;
+Her movements are languid and sad.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MARY.&nbsp; I know of flowers that can heal even the pains of love.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; [<i>Coming forward and speaking earnestly.</i>]&nbsp;
+O tell me of them quickly, mistress.<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; Why, are you sick of the same complaint?<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; [<i>Sinking down on the grass at </i>MARY&rsquo;S <i>feet.</i>]&nbsp;
+So bruised and wounded in the heart that the road from Framilode up
+here might well have been a hundred miles or more.<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; Framilode?&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis there you come from?<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; I was servant at the inn down yonder.&nbsp; Close upon
+the ferry.&nbsp; Do you know the place, master?<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; [<i>In deep gloom.</i>]&nbsp; Ah, the place and the ferry
+man too.<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; [<i>Leaning forward and clasping her hands.</i>]&nbsp; Him
+as is there to-day, or him who was?<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; He who was there and left for foreign parts a good three
+year ago.<br>
+<br>
+[ISABEL <i>covers her face and is shaken by sobs</i>.&nbsp; LUBIN <i>leans
+his elbow on his knee</i>,<i> shading his eyes with his hand.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MARY.&nbsp; I have help for all torments in my flowers.&nbsp; Such
+things be given us for that.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; [<i>Looking up.</i>]&nbsp; You be gentle in your voices
+mistress.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis like when a quist do sing, as you speaks.<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; Then do both of you tell your sorrow.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twill
+be strange if I do not find sommat that will lighten your burdens for
+you.<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas at Moat Farm I was born and bred.<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; Close up to Daniels yonder?<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; The same.&nbsp; Rose-Anna of the Mill and I - we courted
+and was like to marry.&nbsp; But there came misfortune and I lost my
+all.&nbsp; She would not take a poor man, so I left these parts and
+got to be what you do see me now - just a day labourer.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; Mine, &rsquo;tis the same tale, very nigh.&nbsp; Robert
+the ferry-man and me, we loved and was to have got us wedded, only there
+came a powerful rich gentleman what used to go fishing along of Robert.&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Twas he that &rsquo;ticed my lover off to foreign parts.<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; [<i>With a heavy sigh.</i>]&nbsp; These things are almost
+more than I can bear.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; At first he wrote his letters very often.&nbsp; Then &rsquo;twas
+seldom like.&nbsp; Then &rsquo;twas never.&nbsp; And then there comed
+a day - [<i>She is interrupted by her weeping.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MARY.&nbsp; Try to get out your story - you can let the tears run
+afterwards if you have a mind.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; There comed a day when I did meet a fisherman from Bristol.&nbsp;
+He brought me news of Robert back from the seas, clothed in fine stuff
+with money in the pockets of him, horse and carriage, and just about
+to wed.<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; Did he name the maid?<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; Rose-Anna she was called, of Daniel&rsquo;s mill up yonder.<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; Rose-Anna - She with whom I was to have gone to church.<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; Here is a tangle worse nor any briar rose.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; O &rsquo;twas such beautiful times as we did have down
+by the riverside, him and me.<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; She would sit, her hand in mine by the hour of a Sunday
+afternoon.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>A pause during which </i>LUBIN <i>and </i>ISABEL <i>seem lost in
+their own sad memories</i>.&nbsp; MARY <i>gets up softly and goes within
+the cottage.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ISABEL.&nbsp; And when I heared as &rsquo;twas to-morrow they were
+to wed, though &rsquo;twas like driving a knife deeper within the heart
+of me, I up and got me upon the road and did travel along by starlight
+and dawn and day just for one look upon his face again.<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas so with me.&nbsp; From beyond Oxford town I
+am come to hurt myself worse than ever, by one sight of the eyes that
+have looked so cruel false into mine.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; If I was to plead upon my knees to him &rsquo;twould do
+no good - poor wench of a serving maid like me.<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; [<i>Looking down at himself.</i>]&nbsp; She&rsquo;d spurn
+me from the door were I to stand there knocking - in the coat I have
+upon me now.&nbsp; No - let her go her way and wed her fancy man.<br>
+<br>
+[LUBIN <i>shades his eyes with one hand</i>.&nbsp; ISABEL <i>bows her
+head on her knees weeping</i>.&nbsp; MARY <i>comes out of the house
+carrying two glass bowls of water.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MARY.&nbsp; Leave your sorrowful tears till later, my friends.&nbsp;
+This fresh water from the spring will revive you from your travelling.<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; [<i>Looking up.</i>]&nbsp; The heart of me is stricken
+past all remedy, mistress.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; I could well lie me down and die.<br>
+<br>
+[MARY <i>giving to each one a bowl from which they begin to drink slowly.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MARY.&nbsp; I spoke as you do, once.&nbsp; My lover passed me by
+for another.&nbsp; A man may give all his love to the gilly flower,
+but &rsquo;tis the scarlet rose as takes his fancy come to-morrow.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; And has your heart recovered from its sickness, mistress?<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; [<i>Slowly.</i>]&nbsp; After many years.<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; And could you wed you to another?<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; [<i>Still more slowly.</i>]&nbsp; Give the grass that has
+been trampled underfoot a bit of time, &rsquo;twill rise again.&nbsp;
+There&rsquo;s healing all around of us for every ill, did we but know
+it.<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d give sommat to know where &rsquo;tis then.<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; There isn&rsquo;t a herb nor a leaf but what carries its
+message to them that are in pain.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; Give me a bloom that&rsquo;ll put me to sleep for always,
+mistress.<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s evil plants as well, but &rsquo;tisn&rsquo;t
+a many.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s hen bane which do kill the fowls and fishes
+if they eat the seed of it.&nbsp; And there&rsquo;s water hemlock which
+lays dumbness upon man.<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve heard them tell of that, I have.<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; And of the good leaves there is hounds tongue.&nbsp; Wear
+it at the feet of you against dogs what be savage.&nbsp; Herb Benet
+you nail upon the door.&nbsp; No witch nor evil thing can enter to your
+house.<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; And have you naught that can deaden the stab of love upon
+the heart, mistress<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; [<i>Speaking in anguish.</i>]&nbsp; Aught that can turn
+our faithless lovers back again to we?<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; That I have.&nbsp; See these small packages - you that love
+Robert, take you this - and you who courted Rose-Anna, stretch out your
+hand.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She puts a small paper packet into the hand</i>s<i> of each.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LUBIN.&nbsp; [<i>Looking uncertainly at his packet.</i>]&nbsp; What&rsquo;ll
+this do for me, I&rsquo;d like to know?<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis an unfailing charm.&nbsp; A powder from roses,
+fine as dust, and another seed as well.&nbsp; You put it in her glass
+of water - and the love comes back to you afore next sun-rise.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; And will it be the same with I?<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; You have the Herb of Robert there.&nbsp; Be careful of it.&nbsp;
+To-morrow at this hour, his heart will be all yours again, and you shall
+do what you will with it.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; O I can&rsquo;t believe in this.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis too
+good to be true, and that it be - A fine gentleman as Robert be now
+and a poor little wretch like me!<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; [<i>Slowly.</i>]&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis but a foolish dream like.&nbsp;
+How are folks like us to get mixing and messing with the drinks of they?&nbsp;
+Time was when I did sit and eat along of them at the table, the same
+as one of theirselves.&nbsp; But now!&nbsp; Why, they&rsquo;d take and
+hound me away from the door.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; And me too.<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; [<i>Breaking off a spray of the enchanters nightshade from
+the bunch drying.</i>]&nbsp; That&rsquo;ll bring luck, may be.<br>
+<br>
+[ISABEL <i>takes it and puts it in her dress and then wraps the packet
+in her bundle</i>.&nbsp; LUBIN <i>puts his packet away also.&nbsp; Whilst
+they are doing this</i>,<i> </i>MARY <i>strolls a little way on the
+road.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MARY.&nbsp; [<i>Returning.</i>]&nbsp; The man from Daniels be coming
+along.<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; [<i>Hastily.</i>]&nbsp; What, old Andrews?<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; No.&nbsp; This is another.&nbsp; Folk do marvel how Miller
+John do have the patience to keep in with him.<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; How&rsquo;s that?<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; So slow and heavy in his ways.&nbsp; But he can drink longer
+at the cider than any man in the county afore it do fly to his head,
+and that&rsquo;s why master do put up with him.<br>
+<br>
+[JEREMY <i>comes heavily towards them</i>,<i> a straw in his mouth.&nbsp;
+His hat is pushed to the back of his head.&nbsp; His expression is still
+and impassive.&nbsp; He comes straight towards </i>MARY, <i>then halts.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MARY.&nbsp; Come, Jeremy, I reckon &rsquo;tis not for rue nor tea
+of marjoram you be come here this morning?<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; [<i>Looking coldly and critically at the travellers and
+pointing to them.</i>]&nbsp; Who be they?<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; Travellers on the road, seeking a bit of rest.<br>
+<br>
+[JEREMY <i>continues to look them all over in silence.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MARY.&nbsp; How be things going at the Mill to-day, Jerry?<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; Powerful bad.<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; O I am grieved to hear of it.&nbsp; What has happened?<br>
+<br>
+[LUBIN <i>and </i>ISABEL <i>lean forward</i>,<i> listening eagerly.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JEREMY.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis a pretty caddle, that&rsquo;s all.<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; The mistress isn&rsquo;t took ill? or Miss Kitty?<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; I almost wish they was, for then there wouldn&rsquo;t
+be none of this here marrying to-morrow.<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; What has upset you against the wedding, Jerry?<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; One pair of hands baint enough for such goings on.<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis three you&rsquo;ve got up there.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; There you&rsquo;re mistook.&nbsp; Th&rsquo; idle wench
+and the lad be both away - off afore dawn to the Fair and took their
+clothes along of they.&nbsp; I be left with all upon me like, and &rsquo;tis
+too much.<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; What shall you do, Jerry?<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll be blowed if I&rsquo;m agoin&rsquo; to do anything.&nbsp;
+There.<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; But you&rsquo;ll have to stir yourself up and deck the house
+and set the table and wait upon the visitors and look to the traps and
+horses and all, Jerry - seeing as you&rsquo;re the only one.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll not.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m not one as steps beyond
+my own work, and master do know it too.<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; Then how are they going to manage?<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m out to find them as&rsquo;ll manage for them.&nbsp;
+[<i>Turning sharply to </i>LUBIN.]&nbsp; Be you in search of work, young
+man?<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; I - I count as I&rsquo;ve nothing particular in view.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; [<i>Turning to </i>ISABEL.]&nbsp; And you, wench?<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; [<i>Faintly.</i>]&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve gone from the place
+where I was servant.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; Then you&rsquo;ll come along of me - the both of you.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; [<i>Shrinking.</i>]&nbsp; O no - I couldn&rsquo;t go among
+- among strangers.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; I never takes no count of a female&rsquo;s vapours.&nbsp;
+You&rsquo;ll come along of me.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ll curl the mistress&rsquo;s
+hair and lace her gown and keep her tongue quiet - and you [<i>turning
+to </i>LUBIN] my man, will set the tables and wait upon the quality
+what we expect from Bristol town this dinner-time.<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; [<i>Angrily.</i>]&nbsp; I never waited on man nor woman
+in my life, and I&rsquo;ll not start now.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; You will.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m not agoin&rsquo; a half mile
+further this warm morning.&nbsp; Back to the Mill you goes along of
+me, the two of you.<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; [<i>Looking fixedly at </i>ISABEL.]&nbsp; This is a chance
+for you, my dear.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ll not find a better.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; Better?&nbsp; I count as you&rsquo;ll not better this&rsquo;n.&nbsp;
+Good money for your pains - victuals to stuff you proper, and cider,
+all you can drink on a summer&rsquo;s day.&nbsp; I count you&rsquo;ll
+not better that.<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; [<i>As though to himself.</i>]&nbsp; I could not go.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; Some cattle want a lot of driving.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; [<i>Timidly to </i>LUBIN.]&nbsp; If I go, could not you
+try and come along with me, master?<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ll never have the heart to go through with it.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis a fine fat heart as her has within of she.&nbsp;
+Don&rsquo;t you go and put fancies into the head of her.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; [<i>To </i>LUBIN.]&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll go if so be as you&rsquo;ll
+come along of me too.<br>
+<br>
+[LUBIN <i>bends his head and remains thinking deeply.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JEREMY.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis thirsty work this hiring of men and wenches
+- I&rsquo;ll get me a drop of cider down at the Red Bull.&nbsp; Mayhap
+you&rsquo;ll be ready time I&rsquo;ve finished.<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll see that you&rsquo;re not kept waiting, Jeremy.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; [<i>Turning back after he has started.</i>]&nbsp; What
+be they called, Mary?<br>
+<br>
+[MARY <i>looks doubtfully towards </i>LUBIN <i>and </i>ISABEL.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; My name - they calls me Isabel.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; [<i>Turning to </i>LUBIN.]&nbsp; And yourn?<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; [<i>In confusion.</i>]&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t rightly recollect.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; [<i>Impassively.</i>]&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis of no account,
+us&rsquo;ll call you William like the last one.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; O, and couldn&rsquo;t I be called like the last one too?<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; Then us&rsquo;ll call you Lucy.&nbsp; And a rare bad slut
+her was, and doubtless you&rsquo;ll not prove much worser.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>He goes away.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MARY.&nbsp; This is your chance.&nbsp; A good chance too -<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; They&rsquo;ll know the both of us.&nbsp; Love isn&rsquo;t
+never quite so dead but what a sound in the speech or a movement of
+the hand will bring some breath to it again.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; You&rsquo;re right there, master - sommat&rsquo;ll stir
+in the hearts of them when they sees we - and &rsquo;tis from the door
+as us&rsquo;ll be chased for masking on them like this.<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; But not before the seeds of love have done their work.&nbsp;
+Come, Isabel; come, Lubin - I will so dress you that you shall not be
+recognised.<br>
+<br>
+[MARY <i>goes indoors</i>.&nbsp; ISABEL <i>slowly rises and takes up
+her bundle</i>.&nbsp; LUBIN <i>remains seated</i>,<i> looking gloomily
+before him.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ISABEL.&nbsp; Come, think what &rsquo;twill feel to be along of
+our dear loves and look upon the forms of them and hear the notes of
+their voices once again.<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s what I am a-thinking of.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twill
+be hot iron drove right into the heart all the while.&nbsp; Ah, that&rsquo;s
+about it.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll gladly bear the pain.<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; [<i>After a pause.</i>]&nbsp; Then so will I.&nbsp; We&rsquo;ll
+go.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>He raises his eyes to her face and then gets heavily up and follows
+her into the cottage.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+</i>ACT II. - Scene 1.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<i>The living room at Daniel&rsquo;s Mill.&nbsp; In the window </i>ROSE-ANNA
+<i>is seated awkwardly sewing some bright ribbons on to a muslin gown</i>.&nbsp;
+KITTY <i>is moving about rapidly dusting chairs and ornaments which
+are in disorder about the room and </i>JOHN <i>stands with his back
+to the grate gravely surveying them.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>Petulantly.</i>]&nbsp; Whatever shall we do, John!&nbsp;
+Me not dressed, everything no how, and them expected in less nor a half
+hour&rsquo;s time<br>
+<br>
+KITTY.&nbsp; There!&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve finished a-dusting the chairs.&nbsp;
+Now I&rsquo;ll set them in their places.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; No one is thinking of me!&nbsp; Who&rsquo;s going to help
+me on with my gown and curl my hair like Robert was used to seeing me
+wear it at Aunt&rsquo;s?<br>
+<br>
+KITTY.&nbsp; Did you have it different down at Bristol, Rose?<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; Of course I did.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twouldn&rsquo;t do to be countrified
+in the town.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Your hair&rsquo;s well enough like that.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tisn&rsquo;t
+of hair as anyone&rsquo;ll be thinking when they comes in, but of victuals.&nbsp;
+And how we&rsquo;re a-going to get the table and all fixed up in so
+short a time do fairly puzzle me.<br>
+<br>
+KITTY.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll do the table.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; No.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ve got to help me with my gown.&nbsp;
+O that was a good-for-nothing baggage, leaving us in the lurch!<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Well, I&rsquo;ve done my best to get us out of the fix.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; And what would that be, pray?<br>
+<br>
+KITTY.&nbsp; Why John, you&rsquo;ve done nothing but stand with your
+back to the grate this last hour.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve sent off Jerry.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>Scornfully.</i>]&nbsp; Much good that&rsquo;ll do.<br>
+<br>
+KITTY.&nbsp; We know just how far Jerry will have gone.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; I told him not to shew hisself unless he could bring a couple
+of servants back along with him.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>Angrily.</i>]&nbsp; You&rsquo;re more foolish than I
+took you to be, John.&nbsp; Get you off at once and fetch Jerry from
+his cider at the Red Bull.&nbsp; He&rsquo;s not much of a hand about
+the house, but he&rsquo;s better than no one.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; [<i>Sighing heavily.</i>]&nbsp; Jeremy&rsquo;s not the man
+to start his drinking so early in the day.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve caught him at the cask soon after dawn.<br>
+<br>
+KITTY.&nbsp; And so have I, John.&nbsp; How you put up with his independent
+ways I don&rsquo;t know.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Ah, &rsquo;tisn&rsquo;t everyone as has such a powerful
+strong head as Jerry&rsquo;s.&nbsp; He&rsquo;s one that can be trusted
+to take his fill, and none the worse with him afterwards.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>A knock at the door</i>,<i> which is pushed open by </i>JEREMY.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; [<i>From the doorway.</i>]&nbsp; Well, Master John - well,
+mistress?<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>Sharply.</i>]&nbsp; Master was just starting out for
+to fetch you home, Jerry.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; [<i>Ignoring her.</i>]&nbsp; Well, master, I&rsquo;ve
+brought a couple back along of me.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; Ducklings or chickens?<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve gotten them too.<br>
+<br>
+KITTY.&nbsp; Do you mean that you&rsquo;ve found some servants for us,
+Jerry?<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; Two outside.&nbsp; Female and male.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Didn&rsquo;t I tell you so!&nbsp; There&rsquo;s naught that
+Jerry cannot do.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ll have a drink for this, my man<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; You may take my word he&rsquo;s had that already, John.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; I have, mistress.&nbsp; Whilst they was a packing up the
+poultry in my basket.&nbsp; Down at the Bull.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; What sort of a maid is it?<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; Ah, &rsquo;tis for you to tell me that, mistress, when
+you&rsquo;ve had her along of you a bit.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; And the man?<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; Much the same as any other male.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>Impatiently.</i>]&nbsp; Do you step outside, John, and
+have a look at them, and if they&rsquo;re suitable bring them in and
+we&rsquo;ll set them about their work.<br>
+<br>
+[JOHN <i>goes out</i>.&nbsp; KITTY <i>peers through the window.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JEREMY.&nbsp; I reckon I can go off and feed the hilts now.&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Tis the time.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; Feed the hilts!&nbsp; Indeed you can&rsquo;t do no such
+thing.&nbsp; O I&rsquo;m mad with vexation that nothing is well ordered
+or suitably prepared for Mr. Robert and his fine cousins from Bristol
+town.&nbsp; Whatever will they say to such a house when they do see
+it?<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m sure I don&rsquo;t know.<br>
+<br>
+KITTY.&nbsp; [<i>From the window.</i>]&nbsp; I see the new servants.&nbsp;
+John is bringing them up the walk.&nbsp; The man&rsquo;s face is hid
+by his broad hat, but the girl looks neat enough in her cotton gown
+and sun-bonnet.<br>
+<br>
+[JOHN <i>comes into the room</i>,<i> followed by </i>LUBIN <i>and </i>ISABEL.&nbsp;
+LUBIN <i>shuffles off his hat</i>,<i> but holds it between his face
+and the people in the room.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JEREMY.&nbsp; [<i>Pointing to them and speaking to </i>ROSE.]&nbsp;
+There you are, mistress - man-servant and maid.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; What do we know about them?&nbsp; Folk picked up by Jerry
+at the Red Bull.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; No, from the roadside.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; Worser far.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; No, no, Rose.&nbsp; These young persons were spoken for
+by Mary Meadows.&nbsp; And &rsquo;tis rare fortunate for we to obtain
+their services at short notice like this.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>To </i>ISABEL.]&nbsp; What are you called, my girl?<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; [<i>Faintly.</i>]&nbsp; Isabel is my name, but I&rsquo;d
+sooner you called me Lucy.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; And that I will.&nbsp; My tongue is used to Lucy.&nbsp;
+The other is a flighty, fanciful name for a servant.<br>
+<br>
+KITTY.&nbsp; And what is the man called, John?<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; [<i>Harshly.</i>]&nbsp; I am called William.<br>
+<br>
+KITTY.&nbsp; William and Lucy!&nbsp; Like the ones that ran away this
+morning.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; O do not let us waste any more time!&nbsp; Jerry, do you
+take the man and shew him his work in the back kitchen; and Lucy, come
+to me and help me with my gown and my hair dressing.&nbsp; We have not
+a minute to lose.<br>
+<br>
+KITTY.&nbsp; They may be upon us any time now.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll go out
+and gather the flowers for the parlour, since you don&rsquo;t want me
+any more within, Rose.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; And I&rsquo;ll get and finish Jeremy&rsquo;s work in the
+yard.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis upside down and round about and no how to-day.&nbsp;
+But we&rsquo;ll come out of it some time afore next year I reckon.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t you ever go for to get married, master.&nbsp;
+There could never come a worser caddle into a man&rsquo;s days nor matrimony,
+I count.<br>
+<br>
+[JOHN, <i>on his way to the door</i>,<i> pauses - as though momentarily
+lost in thought.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOHN.&nbsp; Was Mary Meadows asked to drop in at any time to-day,
+Rose?<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>Who is taking up her gown and ribbons to show to </i>ISABEL,
+<i>and speaking crossly.</i>]&nbsp; I&rsquo;m sure I don&rsquo;t know,
+nor care.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve enough to think about as &rsquo;tis.<br>
+<br>
+KITTY.&nbsp; [<i>Taking </i>JOHN&rsquo;s <i>arm playfully.</i>]&nbsp;
+You&rsquo;re terribly took up with Mary Meadows, John.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; There isn&rsquo;t many like her, Kitty.&nbsp; She do rear
+herself above t&rsquo;others as - as a good wheat stalk from out the
+rubbish.<br>
+<br>
+[JOHN <i>and </i>KITTY <i>go slowly out.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JEREMY.&nbsp; [<i>As though to himself.</i>]&nbsp; I sees as how
+I shall have to keep an eye on master - [<i>turning to </i>LUBIN <i>and
+signing to him.</i>]&nbsp; But come, my man, us has no time for romance,
+&rsquo;tis dish washing as lies afore you now.<br>
+<br>
+[LUBIN <i>jerks his head haughtily and makes a protesting gesture.&nbsp;
+Then he seems to remember himself and follows </i>JEREMY <i>humbly from
+the room</i>.&nbsp; ROSE <i>takes up some ribbons and laces.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>To </i>ISABEL, <i>who is standing near.</i>]&nbsp;
+Now, Lucy, we must look sharp; Mister Robert and his cousins from Bristol
+town will soon be here.&nbsp; I have not met with the cousins yet, but
+I&rsquo;ve been told as they&rsquo;re very fine ladies - They stood
+in place of parents to my Robert, you know.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis unfortunate
+we should be in such a sad muddle the day they come.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; When I have helped you into your gown, mistress, I shall
+soon have the dinner spread and all in order.&nbsp; I be used to such
+work, and I&rsquo;m considered spry upon my feet.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis more serious that you should be able to curl
+my hair in the way that Mr. Robert likes.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; [<i>Sadly.</i>]&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t doubt but that I shall
+be able to do that too, mistress.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; Very well.&nbsp; Take the gown and come with me up to my
+room.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>They go out together</i>,<i> </i>ISABEL <i>carrying the gown.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+</i>ACT II. - Scene 2.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<i>The same room.&nbsp; The table is laid for dinner and </i>ISABEL
+<i>is putting flowers upon it</i>.&nbsp; LUBIN <i>wearing his hat</i>,<i>
+enters with large jugs of cider</i>,<i> which he sets upon a side table.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ISABEL.&nbsp; [<i>Looking up from her work.</i>]&nbsp; Shall us
+ever have the heart to go on with it, Master Lubin?<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; [<i>Bitterly.</i>]&nbsp; Do not you &ldquo;Master&rdquo;
+me, Isabel.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m only a common servant in the house where
+once I was lover and almost brother.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; [<i>Coming up to him.</i>]&nbsp; O do not take it so hard,
+Lubin - Us can do naught at this pass but trust what the young woman
+did tell me.<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; [<i>Gloomily.</i>]&nbsp; The sight of Rose has stirred
+up my love so powerful that I do hardly know how to hold the tears back
+from my eyes.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; [<i>Pressing her eyes with her apron.</i>]&nbsp; What&rsquo;ll
+it be for me when Robert comes in?<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; We&rsquo;ll have to help one another, Isabel, in the plight
+where we stand.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s it.&nbsp; And perchance as them seeds&rsquo;ll
+do the rest.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>They spring apart as a sound of voices and laughter is heard outside.<br>
+<br>
+</i>KITTY.&nbsp; [<i>Runs in.</i>]&nbsp; They&rsquo;ve come.&nbsp; All
+of them.&nbsp; And do you know that Robert&rsquo;s cousins are no fine
+ladies at all, as he said, but just two common old women dressed grand-like.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; That will be a sad shock to poor mistress.<br>
+<br>
+KITTY.&nbsp; O, she is too much taken up with Mister Robert to notice
+yet.&nbsp; But quick!&nbsp; They are all sharp set from the drive.&nbsp;
+Fetch in the dishes, William and Lucy.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; All shall be ready in a moment, Miss Kitty.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She goes hurriedly out followed by </i>LUBIN.&nbsp; KITTY <i>glances
+round the room and then stands at the side of the front door.&nbsp;
+</i>JOHN, <i>giving an arm to each of </i>ROBERT&rsquo;S <i>cousins</i>,<i>
+enters.&nbsp; The cousins are dressed in coloured flowered dresses</i>,<i>
+and wear bonnets that are heavy with bright plumes.&nbsp; They look
+cumbered and ill at ease in their clothes</i>,<i> and carry their sunshades
+and gloves awkwardly.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LIZ.&nbsp; [<i>Looking round her.</i>]&nbsp; Very comfortable, I&rsquo;m
+sure.&nbsp; But I count as that there old-fashioned grate do take a
+rare bit of elbow grease.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; Very pleasant indeed.&nbsp; But I didn&rsquo;t reckon as
+the room would be quite the shape as &rsquo;tis.<br>
+<br>
+LIZ.&nbsp; Come to that, I didn&rsquo;t expect the house to look as
+it do.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; Very ancient in appearance, I&rsquo;m sure.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Ah, the house has done well enough for me and my father
+and grandfather afore me.<br>
+<br>
+[ROSE, <i>very grandly dressed</i>,<i> comes in hanging on </i>ROBERT&rsquo;S
+<i>arm</i>.&nbsp; ROBERT <i>is clothed in the fashion of the town.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ROSE.&nbsp; Please to remove your bonnet, Miss Eliza.&nbsp; Please
+to remove yours, Miss Jane.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; [<i>Heartily.</i>]&nbsp; Ah, that&rsquo;s so - &rsquo;Twill
+be more homely like for eating.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s a glass upon the wall.<br>
+<br>
+LIZ.&nbsp; I prefer to remain as I be.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; Sister and me have our caps packed up in the tin box.<br>
+<br>
+KITTY.&nbsp; [<i>Bringing the tin box from the doorway.</i>]&nbsp; Shall
+I take you upstairs to change?&nbsp; Dinner&rsquo;s not quite ready
+yet.<br>
+<br>
+LIZ.&nbsp; That will suit us best, I&rsquo;m sure.&nbsp; Come, sister.<br>
+<br>
+[KITTY <i>leads the way out</i>,<i> followed by both sisters.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOHN.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll just step outside and see that Jerry&rsquo;s
+tending to the horse.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>He hurries out</i>,<i> and </i>ROBERT <i>is left alone with </i>ROSE.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>Coming towards him and holding out her hands.</i>]&nbsp;
+O, Robert, is it the same between us as it was last time?<br>
+<br>
+ROBERT.&nbsp; [<i>Looking at her critically.</i>]&nbsp; You&rsquo;ve
+got your hair different or something.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>Putting her hand to her head.</i>]&nbsp; The new maid.&nbsp;
+A stupid country wench.<br>
+<br>
+ROBERT.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ve got my meaning wrong.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis that
+I&rsquo;ve never seen you look so well before.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; O dear Robert!<br>
+<br>
+ROBERT.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ve got my fancy more than ever, Rose.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; O, I&rsquo;m so happy to be going off with you to-morrow,
+and I love it down at Bristol.&nbsp; Robert, I&rsquo;m tired and sick
+of country life.<br>
+<br>
+ROBERT.&nbsp; We&rsquo;ll make a grand fine lady of you there, Rose.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>A little sharply.</i>]&nbsp; Am I not one in looks already,
+Robert?<br>
+<br>
+ROBERT.&nbsp; You&rsquo;re what I do dote upon.&nbsp; I can&rsquo;t
+say no more.<br>
+<br>
+[LUBIN <i>and </i>ISABEL <i>enter carrying dishes</i>,<i> which they
+set upon the table</i>.&nbsp; ROBERT <i>and </i>ROSE <i>turn their backs
+to them and look out into the garden.&nbsp; The staircase door is opened</i>,<i>
+and </i>LIZ, JANE <i>and </i>KITTY <i>come into the room</i>.&nbsp;
+LIZ <i>and </i>JANE <i>are wearing gaudy caps trimmed with violet and
+green ribbons.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ROSE.&nbsp; We&rsquo;ll sit down, now.&nbsp; John won&rsquo;t be
+a moment before he&rsquo;s here.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She sits down at one end of the table and signs to </i>ROBERT <i>to
+place himself next to her.&nbsp; The sisters and </i>KITTY <i>seat themselves</i>.&nbsp;
+JOHN <i>comes hurriedly in.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOHN.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s right.&nbsp; Everyone in their places?&nbsp;
+But no cover laid for Mary?<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>Carelessly.</i>]&nbsp; We can soon have one put, should
+she take it into her head to drop in.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s it.&nbsp; Now ladies, now Robert - &rsquo;tis
+thirsty work a-driving upon the Bristol road at midsummer.&nbsp; We&rsquo;ll
+lead off with a drink of home-made cider.&nbsp; The eating&rsquo;ll
+come sweeter afterwards.<br>
+<br>
+ROBERT.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s it, Miller.<br>
+<br>
+[LUBIN <i>and </i>ISABEL <i>come forward and take the cider mugs from
+each place to the side table</i>,<i> where </i>LUBIN <i>fills them from
+a large jug.&nbsp; In the mugs of </i>ROSE-ANNA <i>and </i>ROBERT, ISABEL
+<i>shakes the contents of the little packets.&nbsp; Whilst they are
+doing this the following talk is carried on at the table.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LIZ [<i>Taking up a spoon.</i>]&nbsp; Real plated, sister.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; Upon my word, so &rsquo;tis.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; And not so bright as I should wish to see it neither.&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;ve had a sad trouble with my maids of late.<br>
+<br>
+LIZ.&nbsp; Sister and I don&rsquo;t keep none of them, thank goodness.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; We does our work with our own hands.&nbsp; We&rsquo;d be
+ashamed if &rsquo;twas otherwise.<br>
+<br>
+ROBERT.&nbsp; [<i>Scowling at them.</i>]&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve been and engaged
+a house-full of servants for Rose-Anna.&nbsp; She shall know what &rsquo;tis
+to live like a lady once she enters our family.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Servants be like green fly on the bush.&nbsp; They do but
+spoil th&rsquo; home and everything they do touch.&nbsp; All save one.<br>
+<br>
+KITTY.&nbsp; And that one&rsquo;s Jerry, I suppose.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; You&rsquo;re right there, Kitty, that you are.&nbsp; A harder
+head was never given to man than what Jerry do carry twixt his shoulders.<br>
+<br>
+[LUBIN <i>and </i>ISABEL <i>here put round the mugs of cider</i>,<i>
+and everyone drinks thirstily</i>.&nbsp; ISABEL <i>stands behind the
+chairs of </i>ROSE <i>and </i>ROBERT <i>and </i>LUBIN <i>at </i>JOHN&rsquo;S
+<i>side.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ROBERT.&nbsp; [<i>Setting down his mug.</i>]&nbsp; There&rsquo;s
+a drink what can&rsquo;t be got in foreign parts.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>Looking fondly at him.</i>]&nbsp; Let the maid fill
+your mug again, my dear one.<br>
+<br>
+ROBERT.&nbsp; [<i>Carelessly handing it to </i>ISABEL.]&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t
+mind if I do have another swill.<br>
+<br>
+[ISABEL <i>fills the mug and puts it by his side</i>.<br>
+<br>
+LIZ.&nbsp; As good as any I ever tasted.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; Couldn&rsquo;t better it at the King&rsquo;s Head up our
+way.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Good drink - plenty of it.&nbsp; Now we&rsquo;ll start upon
+the meat I reckon.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>He takes up a knife and fork and begins to carve</i>,<i> and </i>LUBIN
+<i>hands round plates.&nbsp; During this </i>ROBERT&rsquo;S <i>gaze
+restlessly wanders about the room</i>,<i> finally fixing itself on </i>ISABEL,
+<i>who presently goes out to the back kitchen with plates.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ROBERT.&nbsp; The new serving maid you&rsquo;ve got there, Rose,
+should wear a cap and not her bonnet.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; How sharp you are to notice anything.<br>
+<br>
+ROBERT.&nbsp; A very pretty looking wench, from what I can see.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>Speaking more to the cousins than to </i>ROBERT.]&nbsp;
+O she&rsquo;s but a rough and untrained girl got in all of a hurry.&nbsp;
+Not at all the sort I&rsquo;ve been used to in this house, I can tell
+you.<br>
+<br>
+[ISABEL <i>comes back with fresh plates and stands at the side table.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LIZ.&nbsp; [<i>To </i>JANE.]&nbsp; A mellower piece of pig meat
+I never did taste, sister.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m sorry I went and took the poultry.<br>
+<br>
+KITTY.&nbsp; John will carve you some ham if you&rsquo;d like to try
+it, Miss Jane.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m sure I&rsquo;m much obliged.<br>
+<br>
+[JEREMY <i>comes in.</i>]<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; [<i>Coming to the back of </i>JANE&rsquo;S <i>chair.</i>]&nbsp;
+Don&rsquo;t you get mixing of your meats is what I says.&nbsp; Commence
+with ham and finish with he.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s what do suit the inside
+of a delicate female.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; [<i>Looking up admiringly.</i>]&nbsp; Now that&rsquo;s just
+what old Uncle he did used to say.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; Old uncle did know what he was a-talking about then.<br>
+<br>
+LIZ.&nbsp; [<i>Warming and looking less awkward and ill at ease.</i>]&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Twas the gout what kept Uncle so low in his eating, &rsquo;twas
+not th&rsquo; inclination of him.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; Ah &rsquo;twouldn&rsquo;t be the gout nor any other disease
+as would keep me from a platter of good food.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Nor from your mug of drink neither, Jerry.<br>
+<br>
+[JEREMY <i>laughs and moves off to the side table</i>.<br>
+<br>
+LIZ.&nbsp; A very pleasant sort of man.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; I do like anyone what&rsquo;s homely.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; [<i>Calling out heartily.</i>]&nbsp; Do you listen to that,
+Jerry!&nbsp; The ladies here do find you pleasant and homely, and I
+don&rsquo;t know what else.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; The mugs want filling once more.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>He stolidly goes round the table refilling the mugs</i>.&nbsp; ROSE&rsquo;S
+<i>gaze wanders about her.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>To </i>ROBERT.]&nbsp; That&rsquo;s not a bad looking
+figure of a man -<br>
+<br>
+ROBERT.&nbsp; Who?<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; Well - the new farm hand.<br>
+<br>
+ROBERT.&nbsp; A sulky looking brute.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d not let him wear
+his hat to table if I was master here.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; He puts me in mind of - well - there, I can&rsquo;t recollect
+who &rsquo;tis.&nbsp; [<i>A knock is heard at the door.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>Sharply to </i>ISABEL.]&nbsp; Go and see who &rsquo;tis,
+Lucy.<br>
+<br>
+[ISABEL <i>opens the door</i>,<i> and </i>MARY MEADOWS <i>stands on
+the threshold</i>,<i> a large nosegay of beautiful wild flowers in her
+hand.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOHN.&nbsp; [<i>Rising up in great pleasure.</i>]&nbsp; You&rsquo;re
+late, Mary.&nbsp; But you&rsquo;re welcome as the - as the very sunshine.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; Set another place, Lucy.<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; Not for me, Rose.&nbsp; I did not come here to eat or drink,
+but to bring you these few blossoms and my love.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>Rises from the table and takes the nosegay</i>.]&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;m sure you&rsquo;re very kind, Mary - Suppose we were all to
+move into the parlour now we have finished dinner, and then we could
+enjoy a bit of conversation.<br>
+<br>
+LIZ.&nbsp; Very pleasant, I&rsquo;m sure.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; I see no objection.<br>
+<br>
+KITTY.&nbsp; [<i>Running round to look at the flowers.</i>]&nbsp; And
+Mary shall tell us how to make charms out of the flowers - and the meanings
+of the blossoms and all the strange things she knows about them.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; [<i>Taking a flower from the bunch and putting it into his
+coat.</i>]&nbsp; Yes, and how to brew tea as&rsquo;ll curl up anyone&rsquo;s
+tongue within the mouth for a year - and fancy drinks for sheep with
+foot rot, and powders against the murrain and any other nonsense that
+you do please.<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; Now, John, I&rsquo;ll not have you damage my business like
+this.<br>
+<br>
+LIZ.&nbsp; Maybe as the young person&rsquo;s got sommat what&rsquo;ll
+be handy with your complaint, sister.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; Or for when you be took with th&rsquo; air in your head
+so bad, Jane.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; Yes, I reckon that Mary has a charm for every ill beneath
+the sun.&nbsp; Let&rsquo;s go off to the parlour along of her.&nbsp;
+You&rsquo;re not coming with us, John, are you?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d not miss the telling of these things for anything
+in the world, foolishness though they be.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; Come along then - all of you.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>They all go out</i>.&nbsp; JEREMY <i>holds the door open for them</i>.&nbsp;
+<i>As she passes through it </i>LIZ <i>says</i>,<i> looking at him.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LIZ.&nbsp; We shall hope for your company, too.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; To be sure, mister.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; [<i>Haughtily.</i>]&nbsp; I bain&rsquo;t one for parlours,
+nor charms, ma&rsquo;am.&nbsp; I be here for another purpose.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>They leave the room.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JEREMY.&nbsp; [<i>Having watched the party out</i>,<i> moves towards
+the cider jug.</i>]&nbsp; Now, my man, now, my wench - us&rsquo;ll see
+what can be done with the victuals and drink they&rsquo;ve been and
+left.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis a fair heavy feed and drink as I do need.&nbsp;
+Sommat as&rsquo;ll lift me up through all the trials of this here foolish
+matrimony and stuff.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>He raises the jug of cider to his mouth as the Curtain falls.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+</i>ACT III. - Scene 1.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<i>The next morning</i>.&nbsp; ROBERT&rsquo;S <i>cousins are standing
+by the fire-place of the same room.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LIZ.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis powerful unhomely here, Jane.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; And that &rsquo;tis.&nbsp; I wish as Robert had never brought
+us along of him.<br>
+<br>
+LIZ.&nbsp; She&rsquo;s a stuck-up jay of a thing what he&rsquo;s about
+to wed if ever I seed one.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; That her be.&nbsp; He&rsquo;ll live to wish hisself dead
+and buried one day.<br>
+<br>
+LIZ.&nbsp; There bain&rsquo;t but one sensible tongue in the whole place
+to my mind.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; Ah, he&rsquo;s a man to anyone&rsquo;s liking, sister.<br>
+<br>
+LIZ.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis homelike as he do make I to feel among all these
+strangers.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; Here he comes.<br>
+<br>
+[JEREMY <i>with a yoke and two pails stands at the doorway.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LIZ.&nbsp; Now do you come in, mister, and have a bit of talk along
+of we.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; Set down them pails and do as sister says, Mister Jeremy.<br>
+<br>
+[JEREMY <i>looks them all over and then slowly and deliberately sets
+down his pails.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LIZ.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s right, sister and me was feeling terribly
+lonesome here this morning.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; And we was wishing as we&rsquo;d never left home to come
+among all these stranger folk.<br>
+<br>
+LIZ.&nbsp; Not that we feels you to be a stranger, dear Mister Jeremy.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; You be a plain homely man such as me and sister be accustomed
+to.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; Anything more?<br>
+<br>
+LIZ.&nbsp; I suppose you&rsquo;ve put by a tidy bit - seeing as you
+be of a certain age.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; Although your looks favour you well, don&rsquo;t they, sister?<br>
+<br>
+LIZ.&nbsp; To be sure they do.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; And I reckon as you could set up a home of your own any
+day, mister.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; [<i>Pointing through the window.</i>]&nbsp; See that there
+roof against the mill?<br>
+<br>
+LIZ.&nbsp; Indeed I do.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s where I do live.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>Both sisters move quickly to the window</i>.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; A very comfortable looking home indeed.<br>
+<br>
+LIZ.&nbsp; I likes the looks of it better nor this great old house.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; [<i>Archly.</i>]&nbsp; Now I daresay there&rsquo;s but one
+thing wanted over there, Mister Jeremy.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; What&rsquo;s that?<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; A good wife to do and manage for you.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; I never was done for nor managed by a female yet, and
+blowed if I will be now.<br>
+<br>
+LIZ.&nbsp; [<i>Shaking her finger at him.</i>]&nbsp; Sister an&rsquo;
+me knows what comes of such words, don&rsquo;t us, sister?&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis
+an old saying in our family as one wedding do make a many.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; Give me a woman&rsquo;s tongue for foolishness.&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;ve heared a saying too in my family, which be - get a female
+on to your hearth and &rsquo;tis Bedlam straight away.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; Now, sister, did you ever hear the like of that?<br>
+<br>
+LIZ.&nbsp; Us&rsquo;ll have to change his mind for him, Jane.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; I reckon &rsquo;twould take a rare lot of doing to change
+that, mistress.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; Bain&rsquo;t you a-goin&rsquo; to get yourself ready for
+church soon?<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; Dashed if I ever heard tell of such foolishness.&nbsp;
+Who&rsquo;s to mind the place with all the folk gone fiddle-faddling
+out?<br>
+<br>
+LIZ.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s the man William.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; I bain&rsquo;t a-goin&rsquo; to leave the place to a stranger.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; Why, sister, us&rsquo;ll feel lost and lonesome without
+mister, shan&rsquo;t us, Liz?<br>
+<br>
+LIZ.&nbsp; That us will.&nbsp; What if us stayed at home and helped
+to mind the house along of he?<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; [<i>Slowly.</i>]&nbsp; And did not put our new gowns upon
+the backs of we after all the money spent?<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; Ah, there you be.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis the same with all females.&nbsp;
+Creatures of vanity - even if they be got a bit long in the tooth.&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Tis all the same.<br>
+<br>
+[JANE <i>and </i>LIZ <i>draw themselves up</i>,<i> bridling</i>,<i>
+but </i>LIZ <i>relaxes.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LIZ.&nbsp; He must have his little joke, sister, man-like, you know.<br>
+<br>
+[JOHN <i>enters.</i>]<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Jerry, and I&rsquo;ve been seeking you everywhere.&nbsp;
+Come you off to the yard.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis as much as we shall do to
+be ready afore church time.&nbsp; I never knew you to idle in the house
+afore.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; [<i>Taking up his pails</i>,<i> sarcastically.</i>]&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Twas the females as tempted I, master, but &rsquo;twon&rsquo;t
+occur again, so there.&nbsp; [<i>He hurries off</i>,<i> followed by
+</i>JOHN.<br>
+<br>
+LIZ.&nbsp; [<i>With dignity.</i>]&nbsp; Us&rsquo;ll go upstairs and
+dress, sister.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis time we did so.&nbsp; All them new-fashioned
+things be awkward in the fastenings.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>They go upstairs.<br>
+<br>
+</i>[ROBERT <i>and </i>ROSE <i>come in from the garden</i>.&nbsp; ROBERT
+<i>carries a little card-board box in his hand</i>,<i> which he places
+on the table</i>.&nbsp; ROSE <i>sits down listlessly on a chair leaning
+her arms on the table.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ROBERT.&nbsp; [<i>Undoing the box.</i>]&nbsp; This is the bouquet
+what I promised to bring from town.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>Her gaze wandering outside.</i>]&nbsp; Well, we might
+as well look at it afore I go to dress.<br>
+<br>
+[ROBERT <i>uncovers the box and takes out a small bouquet of white flowers
+surrounded by a lace frill.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>Taking it from him carelessly and raising it to
+her face.</i>]&nbsp; Why, they are false ones.<br>
+<br>
+ROBERT.&nbsp; [<i>Contemptuously.</i>]&nbsp; My good girl, who ever
+went to church with orange blossom that was real, I&rsquo;d like to
+know?<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>Languidly dropping the bouquet on the table.</i>]&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;m sure I don&rsquo;t care.&nbsp; I reckon that one thing&rsquo;s
+about as good as another to be married with.<br>
+<br>
+ROBERT.&nbsp; [<i>Going to the window and looking out.</i>]&nbsp; Ah
+- I daresay &rsquo;tis so.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; I feel tired of my wedding day already - that I do.<br>
+<br>
+ROBERT.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s a plaguey, fanciful kind of feel about the
+day, what a man&rsquo;s hardly used to, so it seems to me.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>Wildly.</i>]&nbsp; O, I reckon we may get used to it
+in time afore we die.<br>
+<br>
+ROBERT.&nbsp; Now - if &rsquo;twas with the right -<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; Right what, Robert?<br>
+<br>
+ROBERT.&nbsp; [<i>Confused.</i>]&nbsp; I hardly know what I was a-going
+to say, Rose.&nbsp; Suppose you was to take up your flowers and go to
+dress yourself.&nbsp; We might as well get it all over and finished
+with.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>Rising slowly.</i>]&nbsp; Perhaps &rsquo;twould be best.&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;ll go to my room, and you might call the girl Lucy and send
+her up to help me with my things.<br>
+<br>
+ROBERT.&nbsp; Won&rsquo;t you take the bouquet along of you?<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; No - let it bide there.&nbsp; I can have it later.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She goes slowly from the room.<br>
+<br>
+</i>[<i>Left to himself</i>,<i> </i>ROBERT <i>strolls to the open door
+and looks gloomily out on the garden</i>.&nbsp; <i>Suddenly his face
+brightens.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ROBERT.&nbsp; Lucy, Lucy, come you in here a moment.<br>
+<br>
+LUCY.&nbsp; [<i>From outside.</i>]&nbsp; I be busy just now hanging
+out my cloths, master.<br>
+<br>
+ROBERT.&nbsp; Leave your dish cloths to dry themselves.&nbsp; Your mistress
+wants you, Lucy.<br>
+<br>
+LUCY.&nbsp; [<i>Coming to the door.</i>]&nbsp; Mistress wants me, did
+you say?<br>
+<br>
+ROBERT.&nbsp; Yes, you&rsquo;ve got to go and dress her for the church.&nbsp;
+But you can spare me a minute or two first.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; [<i>Going quickly across the room to the staircase door.</i>]&nbsp;
+Indeed, that is what I cannot do, master.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis late already.<br>
+<br>
+ROBERT.&nbsp; [<i>Catches her hand and pulls her back.</i>]&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve
+never had a good look at your face yet, my girl - you act uncommon coy,
+and that you do.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; [<i>Turning her head away and speaking angrily.</i>]&nbsp;
+Let go of my hand, I tell you.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t want no nonsense
+of that sort.<br>
+<br>
+ROBERT.&nbsp; Lucy, your voice do stir me in a very uncommon fashion,
+and there&rsquo;s sommat about the appearance of you -<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; Let go of me, master.&nbsp; Suppose as anyone should look
+through the window.<br>
+<br>
+ROBERT.&nbsp; Let them look.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d give a good bit for all
+the world to see us now.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; O, whatever do you mean by that, Mister Robert?<br>
+<br>
+ROBERT.&nbsp; What I say.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis with you as I&rsquo;d be
+going along to church this morning.&nbsp; Not her what&rsquo;s above.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; But I wouldn&rsquo;t go with you - No, not for all the
+gold in the world.<br>
+<br>
+ROBERT.&nbsp; Ah, you&rsquo;ve changed since yesterday.&nbsp; When I
+caught your eye at dinner, &rsquo;twas gentle as a dove&rsquo;s - and
+your hand, when it gave me my mug of cider did seem - well did seem
+to put a caress upon me like.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; O there lies a world of time twixt yesterday and to-day,
+Master Robert.<br>
+<br>
+ROBERT.&nbsp; So it do seem.&nbsp; For to-day &rsquo;tis all thorns
+and thistles with you - But I&rsquo;m a-goin&rsquo; to have my look
+at your pretty face and my kiss of it too.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; I shall scream out loud if you touches me - that I shall.<br>
+<br>
+ROBERT.&nbsp; [<i>Pulling her to him.</i>]&nbsp; Us&rsquo;ll see about
+that.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>He tries to get a sight of her face</i>,<i> but she twists and turns</i>.&nbsp;
+<i>Finally he seizes both her hands and covers them with kisses as </i>KITTY
+<i>enters.<br>
+<br>
+</i>KITTY.&nbsp; O whatever&rsquo;s going on!&nbsp; Rose, Rose, John
+- come you in here quickly, do.&nbsp; [<i>To </i>LUCY.]&nbsp; O you
+bad, wicked girl.&nbsp; I knew you couldn&rsquo;t be a very nice servant
+brought in off the road by Jeremy.<br>
+<br>
+[ISABEL, <i>released by </i>ROBERT, <i>goes over to the window arranging
+her disordered sun-bonnet and trying to hide her tears</i>.&nbsp; ROBERT
+<i>watches her sullenly.<br>
+<br>
+</i>KITTY.&nbsp; [<i>Goes to the staircase door and calls loudly.</i>]&nbsp;
+Rose, Rose - come you down as quick as you can run.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>Coming down.</i>]&nbsp; What&rsquo;s all this, I&rsquo;d
+like to know?<br>
+<br>
+KITTY.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s Lucy, behaving dreadful - O you must send her
+straight away from the house, Rose.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; What has she done, then?<br>
+<br>
+KITTY.&nbsp; Going on with Robert.&nbsp; Flirting, Rose, and kissing.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; O no, mistress, twasn&rsquo;t so, I do swear to you.<br>
+<br>
+ROBERT.&nbsp; [<i>Brutally.</i>]&nbsp; Yes &rsquo;twas.&nbsp; The maid
+so put me powerful in mind of someone who - who -<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>Coldly.</i>]&nbsp; I understand you, Robert.&nbsp; Well,
+&rsquo;tis lucky that all this didn&rsquo;t come off an hour or so later.<br>
+<br>
+KITTY.&nbsp; [<i>Tearfully.</i>]&nbsp; O Rose, what do you mean?<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; I mean that what&rsquo;s not broken don&rsquo;t need no
+mending.&nbsp; Robert can go to church with someone else to-day, he
+can.&nbsp; And no harm done.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She takes up the bunch of orange flowers and begins pulling it to
+pieces and throwing it all about the room.<br>
+<br>
+</i>KITTY.&nbsp; O Rose, Rose, don&rsquo;t take it so hard.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twasn&rsquo;t
+Robert&rsquo;s fault.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas the girl off the road what led
+him on.&nbsp; I know it.&nbsp; Tell her to get out of the house.&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;ll dress you - I&rsquo;ll do the work.&nbsp; Only be just and
+sensible again; dear Rose.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; Let the girl bide.&nbsp; It makes no difference to me.&nbsp;
+There&rsquo;ll be no marrying for me to-day.<br>
+<br>
+[JOHN <i>comes in at the door.<br>
+<br>
+</i>KITTY.&nbsp; [<i>Running to him.</i>]&nbsp; O John, John - do you
+quiet down Rose and tell her to get upstairs and dress.&nbsp; She&rsquo;s
+a-saying that she won&rsquo;t marry Robert because of his goings on
+with the new servant - But, O, you&rsquo;ll talk her into reason again,
+won&rsquo;t you, dear John?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Come, come, what&rsquo;s all this cackle about, Rose?<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m breaking off with Robert, that&rsquo;s all, John.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Robert, can&rsquo;t you take and explain a bit what &rsquo;tis.<br>
+<br>
+ROBERT.&nbsp; [<i>Sullenly.</i>]&nbsp; A little bit of play &rsquo;twixt
+me and the wench there, and that&rsquo;s about all, I reckon.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Now that&rsquo;s an unsensible sort of thing to get doing
+on your marriage day, to my thinking.<br>
+<br>
+KITTY.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twasn&rsquo;t Robert&rsquo;s fault, I know.&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Twas the maid off the road who started it.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>Here </i>ISABEL <i>sinks down on a chair by the window</i>,<i> leaning
+her arms on the table and bowing her head</i>,<i> in tears.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOHN.&nbsp; [<i>Going to the door.</i>]&nbsp; Jeremy - Jeremy -
+come you in here a minute.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>Instead of </i>JEREMY, LUBIN <i>comes in.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOHN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas Jeremy I did call - not you.<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; He&rsquo;s gone off the place for a few minutes.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; [<i>Vexedly.</i>]&nbsp; Ah, &rsquo;tis early for the Red
+Bull.<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; Can I - can I do anything for you, master?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Not unless you can account for the sort of serving wench
+off the roadside what Jerry has put upon us.<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; What is there to account for in her, master?<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>Passionately.</i>]&nbsp; O I don&rsquo;t particular
+mind about what&rsquo;s happened.&nbsp; Let her kiss with Robert if
+she has the mind.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis always the man who commences.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis not.&nbsp; There are some wenches who don&rsquo;t
+know how to leave anyone alone.&nbsp; Worser than cattle flies, that
+sort.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; [<i>Going across the room to </i>LUBIN&rsquo;S <i>side.</i>]&nbsp;
+O you shame me by them words, I bain&rsquo;t that sort of maid - you&rsquo;ll
+answer for me - William?<br>
+<br>
+[LUBIN <i>silently takes her hand.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>Her eyes fixed on </i>LUBIN.]&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll tell
+you what, John; I&rsquo;ll tell you, Kitty.&nbsp; I wish I&rsquo;d held
+me to my first lover and I wish &rsquo;twas with Lubin that I was a-going
+to the church to-day.<br>
+<br>
+ROBERT.&nbsp; [<i>Sullenly.</i>]&nbsp; Then I&rsquo;ll say sommat, Rose.&nbsp;
+I wish &rsquo;twas with Isabel that I was getting wed.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Now, now - &rsquo;Tis like two children a quarrelling over
+their playthings.&nbsp; Suppose you was to go and get yourself dressed,
+Rose-Anna - And you too, Robert.&nbsp; Why, the traps will be at the
+door afore you&rsquo;re ready if you don&rsquo;t quicken yourselves
+up a bit.&nbsp; Kitty, you go and help your sister.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>With a jealous glance at Isabel.</i>]&nbsp; No, I&rsquo;ll
+have Lucy with me.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s it, you keep her out of mischief<br>
+<br>
+KITTY.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve got my own dress to put on.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; And Robert, you and me will have a drink after all this
+caddle.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis dry work getting ready for marriage so it appears.<br>
+<br>
+ROBERT.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis fiery dry to my thinking.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>Crossing the room and going up to </i>LUBIN.]&nbsp;
+I have no flowers to take to church with me, William; go you to the
+waterside, I have a mind to carry some of the blue things what grow
+there.<br>
+<br>
+KITTY.&nbsp; Forget-me-nots, you mean!<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; Forget-me-nots, I mean.&nbsp; And none but you to gather
+them for me, William.&nbsp; Because - because - well, you do put me
+in thoughts of someone that I once held and now have lost.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s
+all.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>Curtain.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+</i>ACT III. - Scene 2.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<i>The same room half an hour later</i>.&nbsp; ISABEL <i>is picking
+up the scattered orange blossom which she ties together and lays on
+the window sill</i>.&nbsp; LUBIN <i>comes in with a large bunch of river
+forget-me-nots.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LUBIN.&nbsp; I didn&rsquo;t think to find you here, Isabel.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; O but that is a beautiful blue flower.&nbsp; I will take
+the bunch upstairs.&nbsp; She is all dressed and ready for it.<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; [<i>Putting it on the table.</i>]&nbsp; No - do you bide
+a moment here with me.<br>
+<br>
+[ISABEL <i>looks helplessly at </i>LUBIN <i>who takes her hands slowly
+in his.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LUBIN.&nbsp; What are we going to do?<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; I wish as we had never touched the seeds.<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; O cursed seeds of love - Far better to have left all as
+&rsquo;twas yesterday in the morning.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; He has followed me like my shadow, courting and courting
+me hard and all the time, Lubin.<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; She sought me out in the yard at day-break, and what I&rsquo;d
+have given twenty years of life for yester eve I could have thrown into
+the stream this morning.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL [<i>Sadly.</i>]&nbsp; So &rsquo;tis with my feelings.<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; She has altered powerful, to my fancy, in these years.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; And Robert be differenter too from what I do remember.&nbsp;
+[<i>A long silence.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LUBIN.&nbsp; Have you thought as it might be in us two these changes
+have come about, Isabel?<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; I was just the maid as ever I was until -<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; And so was I unchanged, until I started travelling up on
+the same road as you, Isabel.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>For a few minutes they look gravely into one another</i>&rsquo;<i>s
+eyes.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LUBIN.&nbsp; [<i>Taking </i>ISABEL&rsquo;S <i>hands</i>.]&nbsp;
+So that&rsquo;s how &rsquo;tis with you and me.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; O Lubin - a poor serving maid like I am.<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll have no one else in the whole world.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; What could I have seen in him, times gone by?<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; And was it ever true that I did sit through a long Sunday
+her hand in mine?&nbsp; [<i>Another silence.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ISABEL.&nbsp; But how&rsquo;s us ever to get out of the caddle where
+we be?<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; [<i>Gaily.</i>]&nbsp; We&rsquo;ll just run away off to
+the Fair as t&rsquo;other servants did.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; And leave them in their hate for one another?&nbsp; No
+- &rsquo;twould be too cruel.&nbsp; Us&rsquo;ll run to the young mistress
+what knows all about them herbs.&nbsp; I count as there be seeds or
+sommat which could set the hearts of them two back in the right places
+again.&nbsp; Come -<br>
+<br>
+LUBIN.&nbsp; Have it your own way then.&nbsp; But &rsquo;twill have
+to be done very quickly if &rsquo;tis done at all.<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; Us&rsquo;ll fly over the ground like.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She puts her hand impetuously in </i>LUBIN&rsquo;S <i>and they go
+out together</i>.&nbsp; <i>As they do so</i>,<i> </i>ISABEL&rsquo;S
+<i>bonnet falls from her head and lies unheeded on the floor.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+</i>ACT III. - Scene 3.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<i>A few minutes later</i>.&nbsp; LIZ <i>and </i>JANE <i>wearing gay
+sprigged dresses and feathered bonnets</i>,<i> come to the room</i>.&nbsp;
+<i>They carry fans and handkerchiefs in their hands</i>.&nbsp; <i>It
+is seen that their gowns are not fastened at the back.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LIZ.&nbsp; Such a house I never heard tell of.&nbsp; Ring, ring
+at the bell and no one to come nigh.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; Being unused to bells, sister, maybe as us did pull them
+wrong or sommat.<br>
+<br>
+LIZ.&nbsp; I wish we&rsquo;d had the gowns made different.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; To do up in the front - sensible like.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>They twist and turn in front of the glass on the wall</i>,<i> absorbed
+in their dress</i>,<i> they do not notice that </i>JEREMY <i>has come
+in and is watching them sarcastically.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JEREMY.&nbsp; Being as grey as th&rsquo; old badger don&rsquo;t
+keep a female back from vanity.<br>
+<br>
+LIZ.&nbsp; O dear, Master Jeremy, what a turn you did give me, to be
+sure.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; We can&rsquo;t find no one in this house to attend upon
+we.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; I count as you can not.&nbsp; Bain&rsquo;t no one here.<br>
+<br>
+LIZ.&nbsp; We rang for the wench a many time.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; Ah, and you might ring.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; We want someone as&rsquo;ll fasten them niggly hooks to
+our gowns.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; Ah, and you may want.<br>
+<br>
+LIZ.&nbsp; Our sight bain&rsquo;t clear enough to do one for t&rsquo;other,
+the eyelets be made so small.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; Count as you&rsquo;ll have to go unfastened then.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; O now you be a laughing at us.&nbsp; Call the wench down,
+or we shall never be ready in time.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; Man and maid be both gone off.&nbsp; Same as t&rsquo;others,
+us&rsquo;ll have to do without service<br>
+<br>
+LIZ.&nbsp; Gone off!<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; Runned clean away?<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s about it.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; Well now, sister, us&rsquo;ll have to ask the little Miss
+to help we.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve harnessed the mare a many time.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t
+see why I shouldn&rsquo;t get the both of you fixed into the shafts
+like.<br>
+<br>
+LIZ and JANE.&nbsp; [<i>Fanning themselves coyly.</i>]&nbsp; O Master
+Jeremy -<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; Come now.&nbsp; Let&rsquo;s have a try.&nbsp; I count
+as no one have a steadier hand nor me this side of the river, nor a
+finer eye for seeing as everything be in its place.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll
+settle the both of you afore I gets out the horse and trap.&nbsp; Turn
+round.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>The sisters turn awkwardly</i>,<i> and with very self-conscious
+airs begin to flutter their fans</i>.&nbsp; JEREMY <i>quickly hooks
+each gown in succession</i>.&nbsp; <i>As he finishes the fastening of
+</i>JANE&rsquo;S <i>dress </i>ROSE, <i>followed by </i>KITTY, <i>comes
+into the room</i>.&nbsp; <i>She is wearing her bridal gown and veil.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>Pausing.</i>]&nbsp; What&rsquo;s this, Jeremy?<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; The servants be runned away same as t&rsquo;others - that&rsquo;s
+all, mistress.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; Run away?<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; So I do reckon.&nbsp; Bain&rsquo;t anywhere about the
+place.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>Flinging herself down on a chair by the table</i>,<i>
+in front of the bunch of forget-me-nots.</i>]&nbsp; Let them be found.&nbsp;
+Let them be brought back at once.<br>
+<br>
+KITTY.&nbsp; For my part I&rsquo;m glad they&rsquo;ve gone off.&nbsp;
+The girl was a wild, bad thing.&nbsp; I saw how she went on with Robert.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>Brokenly to </i>JEREMY.]&nbsp; You found them.&nbsp;
+Bring them back, Jerry.<br>
+<br>
+KITTY.&nbsp; No - wait till you and Robert are made man and wife, Rose.&nbsp;
+Then &rsquo;twon&rsquo;t matter quite so much.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll never wed me to Robert, I&rsquo;ll only wed me
+to him who gathered these blue flowers here.<br>
+<br>
+KITTY.&nbsp; Good heavens, Rose, &rsquo;twas the man William.<br>
+<br>
+[KITTY <i>looks in consternation from </i>ROSE <i>to the cousins and
+then to </i>JEREMY, <i>who remains impassive and uninterested</i>,<i>
+sucking a straw</i>.&nbsp; ROSE <i>clasps her hands round the forget-me-nots
+and sits gazing at them</i>,<i> desolately unhappy</i>.&nbsp; ROBERT
+<i>enters</i>.&nbsp; <i>He is very grandly dressed for the wedding</i>,<i>
+but as he comes into the room he sees </i>ISABEL&rsquo;S <i>cotton bonnet
+on the floor</i>.&nbsp; <i>He stoops</i>,<i> picks it up and laying
+it reverently on the table</i>,<i> sinks into a chair opposite </i>ROSE
+<i>and raising one of its ribbons</i>,<i> kisses this with passion.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ROBERT.&nbsp; There - I&rsquo;d not change this for a thousand sacks
+of gold - I swear I&rsquo;d not.<br>
+<br>
+KITTY.&nbsp; Now Robert - get up, the two of you.&nbsp; Are you bewitched
+or sommat - O Jerry, stir them, can&rsquo;t you.<br>
+<br>
+LIZ.&nbsp; Robert, &rsquo;tisn&rsquo;t hardly suitable - with the young
+miss so sweetly pretty in her white gown.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; And wedding veil and all.&nbsp; And sister and me hooked
+up into our new sprigs, ready for the ceremony.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; [<i>Looking at them with cold contempt.</i>]&nbsp; Let
+them bide.&nbsp; The mush&rsquo;ll swim out of they same as &rsquo;twill
+swim off the cider vat.&nbsp; Just let the young fools bide.<br>
+<br>
+KITTY.&nbsp; O this&rsquo;ll never do.&nbsp; Jerry forgetting of his
+manners and all.&nbsp; [<i>Calling at the garden door.</i>]&nbsp; John,
+John, come you here quickly, there&rsquo;s shocking goings on.&nbsp;
+[JOHN, <i>in best clothes comes in.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOHN.&nbsp; What&rsquo;s the rattle now, Kitty?&nbsp; I declare
+I might be turning round on top of my own mill wheel such times as these.<br>
+<br>
+KITTY.&nbsp; Rose says she won&rsquo;t wed Robert, and Robert&rsquo;s
+gone off his head all along of that naughty servant maid.<br>
+<br>
+[JOHN <i>stands contemplating </i>ROSE <i>and </i>ROBERT.&nbsp; ROSE
+<i>seems lost to the outside world and is gazing with tears at her forget-me-nots</i>,<i>
+whilst </i>ROBERT, <i>in sullen gloom</i>,<i> keeps his eyes fixed on
+the sun-bonnet.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOHN.&nbsp; Come, Rose, &rsquo;tis time you commenced to act a bit
+different.&nbsp; [ROSE <i>does not answer.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOHN.&nbsp; Come, Robert, if you play false to my sister at the
+last moment, you know with whom you&rsquo;ll have to reckon like.&nbsp;
+[ROBERT <i>pays no heed to him.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOHN.&nbsp; [<i>To </i>JEREMY.]&nbsp; Can you do naught to work
+upon them a bit, Jerry?<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d have a jug of cider in, master.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twill
+settle them all.&nbsp; Folks do get &rsquo;sterical and vapourish face
+to face with matrimony.&nbsp; Put some drink afore of them, and see
+how &rsquo;twill act.<br>
+<br>
+LIZ.&nbsp; O what a wise thought, Master Jerry.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; Most suitable, I call it.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>Here </i>MARY MEADOWS <i>comes in</i>,<i> </i>JOHN <i>turns eagerly
+to her.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOHN.&nbsp; O Mary - have you come to help us in the fix where we
+are?&nbsp; [<i>He signs to </i>ROSE <i>and </i>ROBERT.<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; What has happened, John?<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll tell you in a couple of words, mistress.<br>
+<br>
+LIZ.&nbsp; No - do you fetch the cider, dear Mister Jeremy.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis more than I can do with, Mary.&nbsp; Rose is
+set against Robert, and Robert is set against Rose.&nbsp; Rose - well
+I&rsquo;m fairly ashamed to mention it - Rose has lost her senses and
+would wed the servant William - and Robert is a-courting of the maid.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; Ah, let each fool follow their own liking, says I.<br>
+<br>
+LIZ.&nbsp; And sister and me all dressed in our new gowns for the church.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; And Jerry had to do the hooking for we, both of the servants
+having runned away.<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; Well, now I&rsquo;m here I&rsquo;ll lend a hand.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll
+help with the dinner time you&rsquo;re at church.&nbsp; You shall not
+need to trouble about anything, Mr. John.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; O once I do get them to the church and the ring fixed and
+all I shan&rsquo;t trouble about nothing, Mary.&nbsp; But &rsquo;tis
+how to move them from where they be!&nbsp; That&rsquo;s the puzzle.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll never move till the hand that gathered these
+flowers be here to raise me.<br>
+<br>
+ROBERT.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll sit here to the end of the world sooner nor
+go along to be wed with Miss over there.<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis midsummer heat have turned their brains.&nbsp;
+But I know a cooling draught that will heal them of their sickness.&nbsp;
+Jeremy, do you step into the garden and bring me a handful of fresh
+violet leaves, one blossom from the heartsease and a sprig of rosemary.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; [<i>Sighing.</i>]&nbsp; What next?<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Get gone at once, Jerry.<br>
+<br>
+[JEREMY <i>goes to the door - as he does so </i>LIZ <i>and </i>JANE
+<i>start up and follow him</i>.<br>
+<br>
+LIZ.&nbsp; Sister and me will come along and help you, dear Mr. Jeremy.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; And that us will, if our new gowns bain&rsquo;t hooked too
+tight for we to bend.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>They follow </i>JEREMY <i>to the garden</i>.&nbsp; KITTY <i>silently
+leaves the room also</i>.&nbsp; ROSE <i>and </i>ROBERT <i>remain lost
+in their sorrowful reflections</i>.&nbsp; JOHN <i>and </i>MARY <i>look
+at them for a moment and then turn to one another.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOHN.&nbsp; Mary, I never thought to see such a thing as this.<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; You take my word for it, John, the storm will soon be blown
+away.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t know how I should stand up against the worry
+of it all, wasn&rsquo;t it for you, Mary.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>A short silence.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOHN.&nbsp; [<i>Taking </i>MARY&rsquo;S <i>hand.</i>]&nbsp; &rsquo;Twill
+be a bit lonesome for me here, when they&rsquo;ve gone off, Mary.<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ll have Kitty to do for you then.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Kitty be going to live along of them at Bristol too, after
+a while.<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; [<i>Looking round the room.</i>]&nbsp; Then I count as it
+might feel a bit desolate like in this great house alone.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; [<i>Taking </i>MARY&rsquo;S <i>hand.</i>]&nbsp; I cannot
+face it, Mary.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve loved you many years, you know.<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; I know you have, dear John.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; Can&rsquo;t you forget he what was false to you, days gone
+by, and take me as your husband now?<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; [<i>Doubtfully.</i>]&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t hardly know.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; You used to sing sommat - the grass that was trampled under
+foot, give it time, it will rise up again.<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; [<i>Drying her eyes.</i>]&nbsp; Ah, it has risen, dear John
+- and I count it have covered the wound of those past days - my heart
+do tell me so, this minute.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; [<i>Holding both her hands.</i>]&nbsp; Then &rsquo;tis one
+long midsummer afore you and me, Mary.<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s how &rsquo;twill be, dear John.<br>
+<br>
+[JEREMY, <i>followed by the cousins</i>,<i> enters</i>.&nbsp; <i>He
+holds a bunch of leaves towards </i>MARY.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; There you be, mistress.&nbsp; Fools&rsquo; drink for fools.&nbsp;
+A mug of good cider would have fetched them to their senses quicker.<br>
+<br>
+[MARY <i>takes the bunch</i>,<i> and still holding </i>JOHN&rsquo;S
+<i>hand</i>,<i> leads him to the kitchen</i>.&nbsp; JEREMY <i>watches
+the pair sarcastically.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JEREMY.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis all finished with the master, then.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>The sisters seat themselves on the couch and mop their faces with
+handkerchiefs.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LIZ.&nbsp; Dear me, &rsquo;tis warm.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; I hope my face don&rsquo;t show mottled, sister?<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; I was saying as how &rsquo;twas all finished with the
+master.<br>
+<br>
+[MARY, <i>followed by </i>JOHN, <i>comes forward carrying two glasses</i>.&nbsp;
+<i>She gives one to </i>ROSE <i>and the other to </i>ROBERT.<br>
+<br>
+MARY.&nbsp; Now do you take a good draught of this, the both of you.&nbsp;
+With violet leaves the fever of the mind is calmed, and heartsease lightens
+every trouble caused by love.&nbsp; Rosemary do put new life to anyone
+with its sweetness, and cold spring water does the rest.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She leaves the table and stands far back in the room by </i>JOHN&rsquo;S
+<i>side</i>.&nbsp; ROSE <i>slowly lifts her glass and begins to drink</i>.&nbsp;
+ROBERT <i>does the same</i>.&nbsp; <i>They are watched with anxiety
+by all in the room</i>.&nbsp; <i>When they have emptied their glasses
+</i>ROSE <i>dries her tears and pushes the flowers a little way from
+her</i>.&nbsp; ROBERT <i>shakes himself and moves the cotton bonnet
+so that it falls unheeded to the floor</i>.&nbsp; <i>Meanwhile </i>KITTY
+<i>has come quietly to the garden door and stands there watching the
+scene intently.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LIZ.&nbsp; Bain&rsquo;t we going to get a drink too?<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; Seems as though master have been and forgot we.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; [<i>Starting up and going to the kitchen.</i>]&nbsp; If
+I&rsquo;ve been and forgot you two old women, I&rsquo;ve remembered
+myself.&nbsp; Be blowed if I can get through any more of this foolishness
+without a wet of my mouth.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>He goes out</i>.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>Speaking faintly.</i>]&nbsp; Does it show upon my face,
+the crying, Robert?<br>
+<br>
+ROBERT.&nbsp; [<i>Looking at her.</i>]&nbsp; No, no, Rose, your eyes
+be brighter nor ever they were.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>Pushing the forget-me-nots yet further away.</i>]&nbsp;
+Those flowers are dying.&nbsp; My fancy ones were best.<br>
+<br>
+KITTY.&nbsp; [<i>Coming forward with the orange blossoms.</i>]&nbsp;
+Here they are, dear Rose.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>Taking them.</i>]&nbsp; O how beautiful they do look.&nbsp;
+I declare I can smell the sweetness coming out from them, Robert.<br>
+<br>
+ROBERT.&nbsp; All the orange blossom in the world bain&rsquo;t so sweet
+as one kiss from your lips, Rose.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; Now is that truly so?<br>
+<br>
+ROBERT.&nbsp; Ah, &rsquo;tis heavy work a-waiting for the coach, Rose.<br>
+<br>
+JOHN.&nbsp; [<i>Coming forward and taking </i>MARY&rsquo;S <i>hand.</i>]&nbsp;
+And yours won&rsquo;t be the only marriage Rose-Anna.&nbsp; Did you
+never think that me and Mary might -<br>
+<br>
+KITTY.&nbsp; [<i>Running forward.</i>]&nbsp; But I did - O so many times,
+John.&nbsp; [JEREMY <i>enters with </i>LUBIN <i>and </i>ISABEL.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; Servants be comed back.&nbsp; Man was to the Red Bull,
+I count.&nbsp; Female a-washing and a-combing of herself in the barn.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>Coldly.</i>]&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t care whether they be
+here or not.&nbsp; Set them to work, Jerry, whilst we are to church.<br>
+<br>
+LIZ.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s it, Master Jeremy.&nbsp; I was never so put
+out in my life, as when sister did keep on ringing and the wench was
+not there to help us on with our gowns.<br>
+<br>
+[ROSE <i>and </i>ROBERT <i>get up and go towards the door</i>.&nbsp;
+<i>They pause before </i>LUBIN <i>and </i>ISABEL.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; The man puts me in mind of someone whom I knew before, called
+Lubin.&nbsp; I thought I had a fancy for him once - but &rsquo;twasn&rsquo;t
+really so.<br>
+<br>
+ROBERT.&nbsp; And the girl do favour a little servant wench from Framilode.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>Jealously.</i>]&nbsp; You never went a-courting with
+a servant wench, now did you, my heart&rsquo;s dearest?<br>
+<br>
+ROBERT.&nbsp; Never in all my days, Rose.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas but the
+fanciful thoughts of a boy towards she, that I had.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>Putting her arm in </i>ROBERT&rsquo;S.]&nbsp; Well,
+we have nothing to do with anything more of it now, dear Robert.<br>
+<br>
+ROBERT.&nbsp; You&rsquo;re about right, my true love, we&rsquo;ll get
+us off to the church.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; Ah, coach have been waiting a smartish while, I reckon.&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Tis on master as expense&rsquo;ll fall.<br>
+<br>
+[ROSE <i>and </i>ROBERT <i>with cold glances at </i>LUBIN <i>and </i>ISABEL,
+<i>pass out of the door.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JOHN.&nbsp; [<i>Giving his arm to </i>MARY.]&nbsp; Now, Mary - now,
+Kitty.&nbsp; [<i>They pass out.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LIZ.&nbsp; Now, Jeremy, sister and me bain&rsquo;t going off all
+alone.<br>
+<br>
+JEREMY.&nbsp; [<i>Offering an arm to each.</i>]&nbsp; No further than
+the church door, I say.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve better things to do nor a-giving
+of my arm to females be they never so full of wiles.&nbsp; And you two
+do beat many what bain&rsquo;t near so long in the tusk, ah, that you
+does.<br>
+<br>
+[JEREMY <i>goes out with the sisters.<br>
+<br>
+</i>LUBIN.&nbsp; [<i>To </i>ISABEL.]&nbsp; And shall we go off into
+the meadows, Isabel, seeing that we are quite forgot?<br>
+<br>
+ISABEL.&nbsp; No - &rsquo;tis through these faithless ones as us have
+learnt to understand the hearts within of we.&nbsp; Let&rsquo;s bide
+and get the marriage dinner ready for them first.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She stretches both her hands towards </i>LUBIN, <i>who takes them
+reverently in his as the Curtain falls.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+</i>THE NEW YEAR<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHARACTERS<br>
+<br>
+STEVE BROWNING, <i>a Blacksmith</i>,<i> also Parish Clerk.<br>
+</i>GEORGE DAVIS, <i>a Carpenter.<br>
+</i>HARRY MOSS, <i>a young Tramp.<br>
+</i>MAY BROWNING.<br>
+JANE BROWNING.<br>
+DORRY BROWNING, <i>aged twelve.<br>
+</i>ANNIE SIMS.<br>
+ROSE SIMS.<br>
+VASHTI REED.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+ACT I. - Scene 1.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<i>A country roadside</i>.&nbsp; <i>It is late afternoon and already
+dusk.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MAY BROWNING <i>with </i>HARRY MOSS <i>come slowly forward</i>.&nbsp;
+<i>Close to a stile which is a little off the road</i>,<i> </i>MAY <i>stops.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MAY.&nbsp; There, you don&rsquo;t need to come no further with I,
+Harry Moss.&nbsp; You get on quick towards the town afore the night
+be upon you, and the snow, too.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t care much about leaving you like this on
+the roadside, May.&nbsp; And that&rsquo;s the truth, &rsquo;tis.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t you take no more thought for I, Harry.&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Tis a good boy as you&rsquo;ve been to I since the day when we
+fell in together.&nbsp; But now there bain&rsquo;t no more need for
+you to hold back your steps, going slow and heavy when you might run
+spry and light.&nbsp; For &rsquo;tis home as I be comed to now, I be.&nbsp;
+You go your way.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; I see naught of any house afore us or behind.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis
+very likely dusk as is upon us, or may happen &rsquo;tis the fog getting
+up from the river.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; [<i>Coughing.</i>]&nbsp; Look you across that stile, Harry.&nbsp;
+There be a field path, bain&rsquo;t there?<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; [<i>Taking a few steps to the right and peering through
+the gloom.</i>]&nbsp; Ah, and that there be.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; And at t&rsquo;other end of it a house what&rsquo;s got a
+garden fence all round.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; Ah - and &rsquo;tis so.&nbsp; And now as I comes to look
+there be a light shining from out the windows of it, too, though &rsquo;tis
+shining dim-like in the mist.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis that yonder&rsquo;s my home, Harry.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s
+the door where I must stand and knock.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>For a moment she draws the shawl over her face and is shaken with
+weeping.<br>
+<br>
+</i>HARRY.&nbsp; I wouldn&rsquo;t take on so, if &rsquo;twas me.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; And did you say as how there was a light in the window?&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Twill be but fire light then, for th&rsquo; old woman she never
+would bring out the lamp afore &rsquo;twas night, close-handed old she-cat
+as her was, what&rsquo;d lick up a drop of oil on to the tongue of her
+sooner nor it should go wasted.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; There, &rsquo;tis shining better now - or maybe as the
+fog have shifted.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis nigh to home as I be, Harry.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; Then get and stand up out of the wet grass there, and I&rsquo;ll
+go along of you a bit further.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twill not be much out of
+my way.&nbsp; Nothing to take no count of.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; No, no, Harry.&nbsp; I bain&rsquo;t going to cross that field,
+nor yet stand at the door knocking till the dark has fallen on me.&nbsp;
+Why, is it like as I&rsquo;d let them see me coming over the meadow
+and going through the gate in this?&nbsp; [<i>Holding up a ragged shawl.</i>]&nbsp;
+In these?&nbsp; [<i>Pointing to her broken shoes.</i>]&nbsp; And - as
+I be to-day.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>Spreading out her arms and then suddenly bending forward in a fit
+of anguished coughing.<br>
+<br>
+</i>HARRY.&nbsp; There, there, you be one as is too handy with the tongue,
+like.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t you go for to waste the breath inside of you
+when you&rsquo;ll be wanting all your words for they as bides up yonder
+and as doesn&rsquo;t know that you be coming back.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; [<i>Throwing apart her shawl and struggling with her cough.</i>]&nbsp;
+Harry, you take the tin and fill it at the ditch and give I to drink.&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Tis all live coals within I here, so &rsquo;tis.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; You get along home, and maybe as them&rsquo;ll find summat
+better nor water from the ditch to give you.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; No, no, what was I a-saying to you?&nbsp; The dark must fall
+and cover me, or I won&rsquo;t never go across the field nor a-nigh
+the house.&nbsp; Give I to drink, give I to drink.&nbsp; And then let
+me bide in quiet till all of the light be gone.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; [<i>Taking out a tin mug from the bundle beside her.</i>]&nbsp;
+Where be I to find drink, and the frost lying stiff upon the ground?<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; [<i>Pointing.</i>]&nbsp; Up yonder, where the ash tree do
+stand.&nbsp; Look you there, &rsquo;tis a bit of spouting as do come
+through the hedge, and water from it, flowing downwards away to the
+ditch.<br>
+<br>
+[HARRY <i>goes off with the can</i>.&nbsp; MAY <i>watches him</i>,<i>
+drawing her shawl again about her and striving to suppress a fit of
+coughing.<br>
+<br>
+</i>[HARRY <i>returns and holds out the can.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MAY.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis not very quick as you&rsquo;ve been, Harry
+Moss.&nbsp; Here - give it to I fast.&nbsp; Give!<br>
+<br>
+[HARRY <i>puts the can towards her and she takes it in her hands</i>,<i>
+which shake feverishly</i>,<i> and she drinks with sharp avidity.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MAY.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis the taste as I have thought on these many
+a year.&nbsp; Ah, and have gotten into my mouth, too, when I did lay
+sleeping, that I have.&nbsp; Water from yonder spout, with the taste
+of dead leaves sharp in it.&nbsp; Drink of it, too, Harry.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis no water as I wants, May.&nbsp; Give I summat
+as&rsquo;ll lie more warm and comfortable to th&rsquo; inside like.&nbsp;
+I bain&rsquo;t one for much water, and that&rsquo;s the truth, &rsquo;tis.&nbsp;
+[<i>He empties the water on the ground.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MAY.&nbsp; Then go you out upon your way, Harry Moss, for the dark
+be gathering on us fast, and there be many a mile afore you to the town,
+where the lamps do shine and &rsquo;tis bright and warm in the places
+where they sells the drink.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; Once I sets off running by myself, I&rsquo;ll get there
+fast enough, May.&nbsp; But I be going to stop along of you a bit more,
+for I don&rsquo;t care much about letting you bide lonesome on the road,
+like.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; Then sit you down aside of me, Harry, and the heat in my
+body, which is like flames, shall maybe warm yourn, too.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; [<i>Sitting down by her side.</i>]&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis a fine
+thing to have a home what you can get in and go to, May, with a bit
+of fire to heat the limbs of you at, and plenty of victuals as you can
+put inside.&nbsp; How was it as you ever came away from it, like?<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; Ah, and that&rsquo;s what I be asking of myself most of the
+time, Harry!&nbsp; For, &rsquo;tis summat like a twelve or eleven year
+since I shut the door behind me and went out.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>A slight pause.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MAY.&nbsp; Away from them all, upon the road - so &rsquo;twas.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; And never see&rsquo;d no more of them, nor sent to say
+how &rsquo;twas with you, nor nothing?<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; Nor nothing, Harry.&nbsp; Went out and shut the door behind
+me.&nbsp; And &rsquo;twas finished.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>A long pause</i>,<i> during which the darkness has gathered.<br>
+<br>
+</i>HARRY.&nbsp; Whatever worked on you for to do such a thing, May?<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; [<i>Bitterly.</i>]&nbsp; Ah now, whatever did!<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tweren&rsquo;t as though you might have been a young
+wench, flighty like, all for the town and for they as goes up and about
+the streets of it.&nbsp; For, look you here, &rsquo;tis an old woman
+as you be now, May, and has been a twenty year or more, I don&rsquo;t
+doubt.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; An old woman be I, Harry?&nbsp; Well, to the likes of you
+&rsquo;tis so, I count.&nbsp; But a twelve year gone by, O, &rsquo;twas
+a fine enough looking maid as I was then - Only a wild one, Harry, a
+wild one, all for the free ways of the road and the lights of the fair
+- And for the sun to rise in one place where I was, and for I to be
+in t&rsquo;other when her should set.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d keep my breath for when &rsquo;twas wanted, if
+&rsquo;twas me.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; Come, look I in the face, Harry Moss, and tell I if so be
+as they&rsquo;ll be likely to know I again up at home?<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; How be I to tell you such a thing, May, seeing that &rsquo;tis
+but a ten days or less as I&rsquo;ve been along of you on the road?&nbsp;
+And seeing that when you was a young wench I never knowed the looks
+of you neither?<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; Say how the face of I do seem to you now, Harry, and then
+I&rsquo;ll tell you how &rsquo;twas in the days gone by?<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis all too dark like for to see clear, May.&nbsp;
+The night be coming upon we wonderful fast.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; The hair, &rsquo;twas bright upon my head eleven years gone
+by, Harry.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas glancing, as might be the wing of a thrush,
+so &rsquo;twas.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; Well, &rsquo;tis as the frost might lie on a dead leaf
+now, May, that it be.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; And the colour on me was as a rose, and my limbs was straight.&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Twas fleet like a rabbit as I could get about, the days that
+was then, Harry.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis a poor old bent woman as you be now, May.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; Ah, Death have been tapping on the door of my body this long
+while, but, please God, I can hold me with the best of them yet, Harry,
+and that I can.&nbsp; Victuals to th&rsquo; inside of I and a bit of
+clothing to my bones, with summat to quiet this cough as doubles of
+I up.&nbsp; Why, there, Harry, you won&rsquo;t know as &rsquo;tis me
+when I&rsquo;ve been to home a day or two - or may be as &rsquo;twill
+take a week.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; I count &rsquo;twill take a rare lot of victuals afore
+you be set up as you once was, May.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; Look you in my eyes, Harry.&nbsp; They may not know me up
+at home by the hair, which is different to what &rsquo;twas, or by the
+form of me, which be got poor and nesh like.&nbsp; But in the eye there
+don&rsquo;t come never no change.&nbsp; So look you at they, Harry,
+and tell I how it do appear to you.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; There be darkness lying atween you and me, May.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; Then come you close to I, Harry, and look well into they.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; Them be set open wonderful wide and &rsquo;tis as though
+a heat comed out from they.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis not anyone as might care
+much for to look into the eyes what you&rsquo;ve got.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; [<i>With despondence.</i>]&nbsp; Maybe then, as them&rsquo;ll
+not know as &rsquo;tis me, Harry Moss.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; I count as they&rsquo;ll be hard put to, and that&rsquo;s
+the truth.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; The note of me be changed, too, with this cold what I have,
+and the breath of me so short, but &rsquo;twon&rsquo;t be long, I count,
+afore they sees who &rsquo;tis.&nbsp; Though all be changed to th&rsquo;
+eye like, there&rsquo;ll be summat in me as&rsquo;ll tell they.&nbsp;
+And &rsquo;tis not a thing of shape, nor of colour as&rsquo;ll speak
+for I - But &rsquo;tis summat what do come straight out of the hearts
+of we and do say better words for we nor what the looks nor tongues
+of us might tell.&nbsp; You mind me, Harry, there&rsquo;s that which
+will come out of me as&rsquo;ll bring they to know who &rsquo;tis.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; Ah, I reckon as you&rsquo;ll not let them bide till they
+does.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; And when they do know, and when they sees who &rsquo;tis,
+I count as they&rsquo;ll be good to me, I count they will.&nbsp; I did
+used to think as Steve, he was a hard one, and th&rsquo; old woman what&rsquo;s
+his mother, hard too - And that it did please him for to keep a rein
+on me like, but I sees thing different now.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; Ah, &rsquo;tis one thing to see by candle and another by
+day.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; For &rsquo;twas wild as I was in the time gone by.&nbsp;
+Wild after pleasuring and the noise in the town, and men a-looking at
+the countenance of I, and a-turning back for to look again.&nbsp; But,
+hark you here, &rsquo;tis powerful changed as I be now.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; Ah, I count as you be.&nbsp; Be changed from a young woman
+into an old one.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m finished with the road journeying and standing
+about in the streets on market days and the talk with men in the drinking
+places - Men what don&rsquo;t want to look more nor once on I now, and
+what used to follow if &rsquo;twasn&rsquo;t only a bit of eyelid as
+I&rsquo;d lift on them, times that is gone.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; Ah, &rsquo;twould take a lot of looking to see you as you
+was.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; Yes, I be finished with all of it now, and willing for to
+bide quiet at the fireside and to stay with the four walls round I and
+the door shut.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; I reckon as you be.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; And I&rsquo;m thinking as they&rsquo;ll be rare pleased for
+to have I in the house again.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twill be another pair of
+hands to the work like.&nbsp; And when I was young, &rsquo;twas not
+on work as I was set much.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; Ah, I did guess as much.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; But when I gets a bit over this here nasty cough, &rsquo;tis
+a strong arm as them&rsquo;ll have working for they; Steve, th&rsquo;
+old woman what&rsquo;s his mother, and little Dorry, too.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; Dorry?&nbsp; I han&rsquo;t heard tell of she.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s my little baby as was, Harry Moss.&nbsp; I left
+she crawling on the floor, and now I count as she be growed into a rare
+big girl.&nbsp; Bless the innocent heart of her!<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; Whatever led you to do such a thing, I can&rsquo;t think!&nbsp;
+You must have been drove to it like, wasn&rsquo;t you?<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas summat inside of me as drove I, then.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas
+very likely the blood of they gipsies which did leap in I, so that when
+I was tied up to Steve, &rsquo;twas as if they had got I shut in a box.&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Twas the bridle on my head and the bit in the mouth of I; and
+to be held in where once I had gone free.&nbsp; [<i>A short pause.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MAY.&nbsp; And I turned wild, Harry, for the very birds seemed to
+be calling I from the hedges to come out along of they, and the berries
+tossing in the wind, and the leaves blowing away quick from where they&rsquo;d
+been stuck all summer.&nbsp; All of it spoke to I, and stirred I powerful,
+so that one morning when the sun was up and the breeze running, I comed
+out into the air, Harry, and shut the door behind I.&nbsp; And &rsquo;twas
+done - so &rsquo;twas.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; And didn&rsquo;t they never try for to stop you, nor for
+to bring you back, May?<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; No, Harry, they did not.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; And where was it you did go to, May, once you was out and
+the door shut ahind of you?<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; Ah - where!&nbsp; To the east, to the south, every part.&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Twas morning with I in that time, and the heart of I was warm.&nbsp;
+And them as went along of I on the road, did cast but one look into
+the countenance of I.&nbsp; Then &rsquo;twas the best as they could
+give as I might take; and &rsquo;twas for no lodging as I did want when
+dark did come falling.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; And yet, look you here, you be brought down terrible low,
+May.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; The fine looks of a woman be as grass, Harry, and in the
+heat of the day they do wither and die.&nbsp; And that what has once
+been a grand flower in the hand of a man is dropped upon the ground
+and spat upon, maybe.&nbsp; So &rsquo;twas with I.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She bows her head on her knees</i>,<i> and for a moment is shaken
+with sudden grief.<br>
+<br>
+</i>HARRY.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t you take on so, May.&nbsp; Look you here,
+you be comed to the end of your journeying this day, and that you be.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; [<i>Raising her head.</i>]&nbsp; Ah, &rsquo;tis so, &rsquo;tis
+so.&nbsp; And &rsquo;tis rare glad as them&rsquo;ll be to see I once
+again.&nbsp; Steve, he&rsquo;s a hard man, but a good one - And I&rsquo;ll
+tell you this, Harry Moss, he&rsquo;ll never take up with no woman what&rsquo;s
+not me - and that he won&rsquo;t - I never knowed him much as look on
+one, times past; and &rsquo;twill be the same as ever now, I reckon.&nbsp;
+And little Dorry, &rsquo;twill be fine for her to get her mammy back,
+I warrant - so &rsquo;twill.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>A slight pause.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MAY.&nbsp; Th&rsquo; old woman - well - I shan&rsquo;t take it amiss
+if her should be dead, like.&nbsp; Her was always a smartish old vixen
+to I, that her was, and her did rub it in powerful hard as Steve was
+above I in his station and that.&nbsp; God rest the bones of she, for
+I count her&rsquo;ll have been lying in the churchyard a good few years
+by now.&nbsp; But I bain&rsquo;t one to bear malice, and if so be as
+her&rsquo;s above ground, &rsquo;tis a rare poor old wretch with no
+poison to the tongue of she, as her&rsquo;ll be this day - so &rsquo;tis.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; Look you here - the snow&rsquo;s begun to fall and &rsquo;tis
+night.&nbsp; Get up and go in to them all yonder.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis thick
+dark now and there be no one on the road to see you as you do go.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; Help I to get off the ground then, Harry, for the limbs of
+me be powerful weak.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; [<i>Lifting her up.</i>]&nbsp; The feel of your body be
+as burning wood, May.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; [<i>Standing up.</i>]&nbsp; Put me against the stile, Harry,
+and then let I bide alone.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; Do you let me go over the field along of you, May, just
+to the door.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; No, no, Harry, get you off to the town and leave me to bide
+here a while in the quiet of my thoughts.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis of little
+Dorry, and of how pleased her&rsquo;ll be to see her mammy once again,
+as I be thinking.&nbsp; But you, Harry Moss, as han&rsquo;t got no home
+to go to, nor fireside, nor victuals, you set off towards the town.&nbsp;
+And go you quick.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s summat in me what doesn&rsquo;t care about
+leaving you so, May.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; And if ever you should pass this way come spring-time, Harry,
+when the bloom is white on the trees, and the lambs in the meadows,
+come you up to the house yonder, and may be as I&rsquo;ll be able to
+give you summat to keep in remembrance of me.&nbsp; For to-day, &rsquo;tis
+empty-handed as I be.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t want nothing from you, May, I don&rsquo;t.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; [<i>Fumbling in her shawl.</i>]&nbsp; There, Harry - &rsquo;tis
+comed back to my mind now.&nbsp; [<i>She takes out part of a loaf of
+bread.</i>]&nbsp; Take you this bread.&nbsp; And to-night, when you
+eats of it, think on me, and as how I be to home with Steve a-holding
+of my hand and little Dorry close against me; and plenty of good victuals,
+with a bed to lie upon warm.&nbsp; There, Harry, take and eat.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She holds the bread to him<br>
+<br>
+</i>HARRY.&nbsp; [<i>Taking the bread.</i>]&nbsp; I count &rsquo;twill
+all be well with you now, May?<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; I warrant as &rsquo;twill, for I be right to home.&nbsp;
+But go you towards the town, Harry, for &rsquo;tis late.&nbsp; And God
+go with you, my dear, now and all time.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll set off running then.&nbsp; For the night, &rsquo;tis
+upon us, May, and the snow, &rsquo;tis thick in the air.<br>
+<br>
+[MAY <i>turns to the stile and leans on it heavily</i>,<i> gazing across
+the field</i>.&nbsp; HARRY <i>sets off quickly down the road.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+</i>ACT II. - Scene 1.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<i>The living room in the Brownings</i>&rsquo;<i> cottage</i>.&nbsp;
+<i>The room is divided by a curtain which screens the fireside end from
+the draught of the principal door.<br>
+<br>
+To the right of the fireplace is a door leading upstairs</i>.&nbsp;
+<i>Chairs are grouped round the hearth</i>,<i> and there is a table
+at which </i>JANE BROWNING <i>is ironing a dress by the light of one
+candle</i>.&nbsp; DORRY <i>leans against the table</i>,<i> watching
+her.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JANE.&nbsp; [<i>Putting aside the iron.</i>]&nbsp; There, you take
+and lay it on the bed upstairs, and mind you does it careful, for I&rsquo;m
+not a-going to iron it twice.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She lays the dress carefully across </i>DORRY&rsquo;S <i>arms.<br>
+<br>
+</i>DORRY.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t the lace look nice, Gran&rsquo;ma?<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; You get along upstairs and do as I says, and then come straight
+down again.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; Couldn&rsquo;t I put it on once, Gran&rsquo;ma, just to
+see how it do look on me?<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; And get it all creased up afore to-morrow!&nbsp; Whatever
+next!&nbsp; You go and lay it on the bed this minute, do you hear?<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; [<i>Leaving the room by the door to the right.</i>]&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;d like to put it on just once, I would.<br>
+<br>
+[JANE BROWNING <i>blows out the candle and puts away the iron and ironing
+cloth</i>.&nbsp; <i>She stirs up the fire and then sits down by it as
+</i>DORRY <i>comes back.<br>
+<br>
+</i>DORRY.&nbsp; Dad&rsquo;s cleaning of himself ever so - I heard the
+water splashing something dreadful as I went by his door.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis a-smartening of hisself up for this here dancing
+as he be about, I reckon.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; [<i>Sitting down on a stool.</i>]&nbsp; I&rsquo;d like
+to go along, too, and see the dancing up at the schools to-night, I
+would.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; And what next, I should like to know!<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; And wear my new frock what&rsquo;s ironed, and the beads
+what Miss Sims gived me.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; [<i>Looking out at the window.</i>]&nbsp; I&rsquo;m thinking
+as we shall get some snow by and bye.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis come over so
+dark all of a sudden.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; Couldn&rsquo;t I go along of they, Gran&rsquo;ma, and wear
+my new frock, and the beads, too?&nbsp; I never see&rsquo;d them dance
+th&rsquo; old year out yet, I haven&rsquo;t.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; Get along with you, Dorry.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis many a year
+afore you&rsquo;ll be of an age for such foolishness.&nbsp; And that&rsquo;s
+what I calls it, this messing about with dancing and music and I don&rsquo;t
+know what.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; Katie Sims be younger nor me and she&rsquo;s let to go,
+she is.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; You bain&rsquo;t Katie Sims, nor she you.&nbsp; And if the
+wedding what&rsquo;s to-morrow isn&rsquo;t enough to stuff you up with
+nonsense, I don&rsquo;t know what is.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; I wish it was to-morrow now, Gran&rsquo;ma, I do.&nbsp;
+Shall you put on your Sunday gown first thing, or wait till just afore
+we goes to church?<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; How your tongue do go!&nbsp; Take and bide quiet a bit,
+if you knows how.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; I shall ask Dad if I may go along of him and Miss Sims
+to the dance, I shall.&nbsp; Dad&rsquo;s got that kind to me since last
+night - he gived me a sixpence to buy sweets this morning when I hadn&rsquo;t
+asked.&nbsp; And won&rsquo;t it be nice when Miss Sims comes here to
+live, and when you has someone to help you in the work, Gran&rsquo;ma?<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; Well - &rsquo;tis to be hoped as &rsquo;twill be all right
+this time.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; This time, Gran&rsquo;ma!&nbsp; Why, wasn&rsquo;t it all
+right when Dad was married afore, then?<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; [<i>Getting the lamp from a shelf.</i>]&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t
+light up as a rule till &rsquo;tis six o&rsquo;clock, but I count it&rsquo;s
+a bit of snow coming as have darkened the air like.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; Gran&rsquo;ma, isn&rsquo;t Miss Sims nice-looking, don&rsquo;t
+you think?&nbsp; I&rsquo;d like to wear my hair like hers and have earrings
+a-hanging from me and a-shaking when I moves my head, I would.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; [<i>Setting the lamp on the table.</i>]&nbsp; Here, fetch
+me the matches, do.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; [<i>Bringing the matches.</i>]&nbsp; Was my mammy nice-looking,
+like Miss Sims, Gran&rsquo;ma?<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m one as goes by other things nor looks - For like
+as not &rsquo;tis fine looks as is the undoing of most girls as has
+them - give me a plain face and a heart what&rsquo;s pure, I says, and
+&rsquo;tis not far out as you&rsquo;ll be.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; Was my mammy&rsquo;s heart pure, Gran&rsquo;ma?&nbsp; [<i>A
+moment</i>&rsquo;<i>s silence</i>.&nbsp; JANE <i>lights the lamp</i>.&nbsp;
+DORRY <i>leans at the table</i>,<i> watching her.<br>
+<br>
+</i>DORRY.&nbsp; Was my mammy&rsquo;s - [<i>A loud knock on the outside
+door.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JANE.&nbsp; Who&rsquo;s that come bothering round!&nbsp; Run and
+see, Dorry, there&rsquo;s a good child.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; It&rsquo;ll be Gran&rsquo;ma Vashti, I daresay.&nbsp; She
+do mostly knock at the door loud with her stick.<br>
+<br>
+[DORRY <i>runs to the window and looks out.<br>
+<br>
+</i>DORRY.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis her, and the snow white all upon her.<br>
+<br>
+[DORRY <i>goes to the door to open it.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JANE.&nbsp; [<i>To herself.</i>]&nbsp; Of all the meddlesome old
+women - why can&rsquo;t her bide till her&rsquo;s wanted.<br>
+<br>
+[DORRY <i>opens the door wide</i>,<i> and </i>VASHTI <i>Comes slowly
+in to the room</i>,<i> leaning on a big staff.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JANE.&nbsp; Well, Vashti Reed, and what brings you down from the
+hill to-day?&nbsp; &rsquo;Twould have been better had you bid at home,
+with the dark coming on and the snow.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; [<i>Who has closed the door.</i>]&nbsp; Sit down, Granny
+- there, close against the fire, do.<br>
+<br>
+[VASHTI <i>stands in the middle of the room</i>,<i> looking from one
+to another.<br>
+<br>
+</i>DORRY.&nbsp; Sit down, Granny, by the fire, do.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis in the house and out of it as I have went.&nbsp;
+And down to the pool where the ice do lie, and up on the fields where
+&rsquo;tis fog, And there be summat in I what drives I onward, as might
+the wind.&nbsp; And no where may the bones of me rest this day.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; If &rsquo;tis to talk your foolishness as you be come, you&rsquo;d
+best have stopped away.&nbsp; Here, sit you down, Vashti Reed, and behave
+sensible, and maybe as I&rsquo;ll get you summat warm to drink presently.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; Yes, Grannie, sit you down along of we.<br>
+<br>
+[VASHTI <i>sits stiffly down by the hearth</i>,<i> leaning on her stick</i>.&nbsp;
+JANE <i>resumes her place</i>,<i> and </i>DORRY <i>puts her little stool
+between them.<br>
+<br>
+</i>VASHTI.&nbsp; And in the night when I was laid down, against the
+windowpane it fled a three times.&nbsp; A three time it fled and did
+beat the pane as though &rsquo;twould get in.&nbsp; And I up and did
+open the window.&nbsp; And the air it ran past I, and &rsquo;twas black,
+with naught upon it but the smell of a shroud.&nbsp; So I knowed.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; What did you know, Granny?<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; [<i>Leaning forward and warming her hands at the fire</i>,<i>
+speaking as though to herself.</i>]&nbsp; Summat lost - summat lost,
+and what was trying to get safe away.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; Safe away?&nbsp; From what, Granny?<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; And there be one what walks abroad in the night time,
+what holds in the hand of him a stick, greater nor this staff what I
+holds here, and the knife to it be as long again by twice.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; O, Granny, I&rsquo;ll be a-feared to go across the garden
+after dark, I shall.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; What do you want to go and put that there into the child&rsquo;s
+head for?&nbsp; I&rsquo;d like for Steve to hear you talking of such
+stuff.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; I sat me down at the table, but the victuals was as sand
+in the mouth, and the drink did put but coldness within I.&nbsp; And
+when the door was closed, &rsquo;twas as if one did come running round
+the house and did beat upon it for to be let in.&nbsp; Then I did go
+for to open it, but the place outside was full of emptiness, and &rsquo;twas
+they old carrion crows what did talk to I out of the storm.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; How you do go on, to be sure!&nbsp; Why don&rsquo;t you
+speak of summat what&rsquo;s got some sense to it?&nbsp; Come, don&rsquo;t
+you know as Steve, his wedding day, &rsquo;tis to-morrow as ever is.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis the New Year, too, Granny, as well as Dad&rsquo;s
+marriage.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; [<i>Suddenly.</i>]&nbsp; Be this house made ready for
+a-marrying, then?<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; Why, of course it be, Granny.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t you see
+how &rsquo;tis cleaned and the new net curtains in the windows, and
+the bit of drugget &rsquo;gainst the door where the old one always tripped
+me up?<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; I see naught but what &rsquo;tis more like a burial here.&nbsp;
+So &rsquo;tis.&nbsp; And &rsquo;tis a burial as I&rsquo;ve carried in
+my heart as I comed down from the hills.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; [<i>Looking out of the window.</i>]&nbsp; Granny, you&rsquo;ll
+be forced to bide the night along of we, &rsquo;cause the snow be falling
+thick, and &rsquo;twill be likely as not as you&rsquo;ll lose your way
+if you start for to go home again when &rsquo;tis snowing.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; Th&rsquo; old thing may as well bide the night now she be
+come.&nbsp; Hark you, Vashti, &rsquo;twill save you the journey down
+to-morrow like, if you bides the night, and the chimney corner is all
+as you ever wants.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; And what should I be journeying down to-morrow for, Jane
+Browning?<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; Why, Granny, &rsquo;tis Dad&rsquo;s wedding day to-morrow,
+and &rsquo;tis a white frock with lace to it as I&rsquo;m going to wear,
+and beads what Miss Sims gived me, and the shoes what was new except
+for being worn to church three times.&nbsp; Shall I fetch them all and
+show to you, Granny?<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; Yes, run along and get them, Dorry; very likely &rsquo;twill
+give her thoughts a turn, looking at the things, seeing as she be in
+one of her nasty moods to-day when you can&rsquo;t get a word what isn&rsquo;t
+foolishness out of her.&nbsp; [DORRY <i>runs upstairs.<br>
+<br>
+</i>VASHTI.&nbsp; [<i>Leaning forward.</i>]&nbsp; Was her telling of
+a marriage?<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; Why, yes, Vashti Reed.&nbsp; And you know all about it,
+only you don&rsquo;t trouble for to recollect nothing but what you dreams
+of yourself in the night.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis our Steve what&rsquo;s going
+to marry Annie Sims to-morrow.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; Steve Browning?<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; I haven&rsquo;t patience with th&rsquo; old gipsy!&nbsp;
+Yes - Steve.&nbsp; And &rsquo;tis a twelvemonth or more as you&rsquo;d
+knowed of it.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; Our Steve, what&rsquo;s husband to my May?<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis a fine thing to fetch up May this evening, that
+&rsquo;tis.&nbsp; May, what went out trolloping along the roads &rsquo;stead
+of she biding at home to mind the house and child!&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis
+how you did breed she up, Vashti Reed, what led her to act as her did.&nbsp;
+And if you&rsquo;d have bred her different, &rsquo;twould have been
+all the same; for what&rsquo;s in the blood is bound to out and show;
+and when you picks a weed and sets it in the room, &rsquo;tain&rsquo;t
+no flower as you must look for.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis summat like a twelve year since her went.&nbsp;
+But in the blinking of an eye the latch might be raised, and she come
+through the door again.&nbsp; God bless the head an feet of she!<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; There you are, Vashti, talking so foolish.&nbsp; A bad herb
+like she, was bound for to meet her doom.&nbsp; And &rsquo;twas in the
+river up London way where the body of her was catched, floating, and
+the same petticoat to it as I&rsquo;ve seed on May a score of times.&nbsp;
+Don&rsquo;t you recollect how &rsquo;twas parson as brought the news
+to we?<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; &rsquo;Taint with no parsons as I do hold, nor with what
+may come from the mouths of they, neither.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; And Steve, I knowed what was in his mind when parson was
+gone out.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas not much as he did say, being a man what
+hasn&rsquo;t many words to his tongue.&nbsp; But he took and fetched
+down his big coat what do hang up yonder, and told I to put a bit of
+black to the sleeve of it.&nbsp; Leastways, he didn&rsquo;t speak the
+words, but I seed what he was after, and I took and sewed a bit on,
+and he&rsquo;s wore it ever since till yesterday - And that&rsquo;s
+eleven year ago it be - so there.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; Her be moving about upon the earth, her be.&nbsp; And
+I seems to feel the tread of she at night time, and by day as well.&nbsp;
+Her bain&rsquo;t shrouded, nor boxed, nor no churchyard sod above the
+limbs of she - you take my words - and there shall come a day when the
+latch shall rise and her be standing among us and a-calling on her child
+and husband what&rsquo;s forgotten she.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; For goodness sake, Vashti, have done speaking about such
+things to-night.&nbsp; If Steve was to hear you, why I shouldn&rsquo;t
+wonder if he was to put you out of the door and into the snow - and
+&rsquo;tis most unfitting for to talk so afore the child.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; [<i>Calling out loudly.</i>]&nbsp; Come back to I, May
+- you come back to I - there bain&rsquo;t no one what thinks on the
+name of you, or what wants you but your old mother.&nbsp; You come back
+to I!<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll thank you for to shut your mouth, old Vashti!&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Tain&rsquo;t nothing to be proud on as you&rsquo;ve got, and
+&rsquo;twould be better if you was to be less free in your hollering.&nbsp;
+Look, here&rsquo;s Dorry coming.<br>
+<br>
+[DORRY <i>comes into the kitchen</i>;<i> she is wearing her new white
+frock.<br>
+<br>
+</i>DORRY.&nbsp; See, Granny, I&rsquo;ve been and put it on for to show
+you better.&nbsp; See the lace?&nbsp; Isn&rsquo;t it nice?&nbsp; And
+the beads, too.&nbsp; I didn&rsquo;t stop for to put on my shoes, nor
+my new stockings.&nbsp; Nor my hat, what&rsquo;s got a great long feather
+all round of it.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; You bad, naughty girl, Dorry, you&rsquo;ll crease and tumble
+that frock so as it&rsquo;s not fit to be seen to-morrow!&nbsp; Whatever
+did you go to put it on for?<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; So as that Gran should see something pretty, and so as
+she should come out of her trouble.&nbsp; Gran&rsquo;s always got some
+trouble in her mind, han&rsquo;t you, Granny?<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; A twelve year gone by, my child.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll give it you if you starts off again.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; A twelve year gone by -<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; A twelve year gone by, what then, Granny?<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis more&rsquo;n eleven years since her wented
+out of the door, my child - your poor mammy.&nbsp; Out of the door,
+out of the door!&nbsp; And likely as not &rsquo;twill be feet first
+as her shall be brought in again.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; Granny, was my poor mammy, what&rsquo;s dead, nice looking
+like Miss Sims as is going for to marry Dad, to-morrow?<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas grand as a tree in full leaf and the wind
+a-moving all the green of it as was your mammy, my dear.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; And did she have fine things to her, nice gowns and things,
+like Miss Sims, Granny?<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas the looks of her and the love of finery and
+pleasuring what was her undoing, as &rsquo;twill be the undoing of you,
+too, Dorry, if you don&rsquo;t take care.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis she as you
+favours, and none of your father&rsquo;s people, more&rsquo;s the pity,
+and &rsquo;tis more thoughtful and serious as you&rsquo;ll have to grow
+if you don&rsquo;t want to come to harm.&nbsp; You take and go right
+up, and off with that frock, do you hear me?<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; O, I wanted to be let to go to the dancing now I&rsquo;d
+got it on, I did.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; Dancing, there you are!&nbsp; Dancing and finery, &rsquo;tis
+all as you do think on, and &rsquo;tis plain to see what&rsquo;s got
+working in the inside of you, Dorry.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis the drop of bad
+blood as you has got from she what bore you.&nbsp; But I might as well
+speak to that door for all you cares.&nbsp; Only, hark you here, you&rsquo;ll
+be sorry one of these days as you han&rsquo;t minded me better.&nbsp;
+And then &rsquo;twill be too late.<br>
+<br>
+[STEVE <i>comes down the stairs</i>,<i> pushes open the door and enters.<br>
+<br>
+</i>STEVE.&nbsp; Well, Mother, what&rsquo;s up now?&nbsp; Gran, you
+here?&nbsp; Why, Dorry, what be you a-crying for?<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; I wants to be let to go to the dancing, Dad - now that
+I&rsquo;ve got my frock on and all. - O, I wants to be let to go.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; Well, Mother - what do you say?&nbsp; &rsquo;Twouldn&rsquo;t
+hurt for she to look in about half an hour, and Annie and me we could
+bring her back betimes.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; O, Dad, I wants to go if &rsquo;twas only for a minute.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; There, there - you shall go and we&rsquo;ll say no more
+about it.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; I never knowed you give in to her so foolish like this afore,
+Steve.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; Well, Mother, &rsquo;tain&rsquo;t every day as a man&rsquo;s
+married, that &rsquo;tain&rsquo;t.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; And so you&rsquo;re to be wed come to-morrow, Steve?&nbsp;
+They tells me as you&rsquo;re to be wed.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s right enough, Gran.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; [<i>Rising.</i>]&nbsp; And there be no resting in me to-day,
+Steve.&nbsp; There be summat as burns quick in the bones of my body
+and that will not let me bide. - And &rsquo;tis steps as I hears on
+the roadside and in the fields - and &rsquo;tis a bad taste as is in
+my victuals, and I must be moving, and peering about, and a-taking cold
+water into my mouth for to do away with the thing on my tongue, which
+is as the smell of death - So &rsquo;tis.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; Now she&rsquo;s off again!&nbsp; Come, sit you down, Vashti
+Reed, and I&rsquo;ll give you summat as&rsquo;ll very likely warm you
+and keep you quiet in your chair a while.&nbsp; Just you wait till I
+gets the water boiling.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She begins to stir up the fire and sets a kettle on it.<br>
+<br>
+</i>DORRY.&nbsp; [<i>From the window.</i>]&nbsp; Here&rsquo;s Miss Sims
+coming up the path, and Rosie too.&nbsp; O, they&rsquo;re wrapped up
+all over &rsquo;cause &rsquo;tis snowing.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll open, I&rsquo;ll
+open.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She runs to the door and unlatches it</i>.&nbsp; ANNIE <i>and </i>ROSE
+SIMS <i>come in</i>,<i> shaking the snow from them and unbuttoning their
+cloaks</i>,<i> which </i>STEVE <i>takes from them and hangs on the door.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+</i>ACT II. - Scene 2.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+ANNIE.&nbsp; [<i>As </i>STEVE <i>takes off her cloak.</i>]&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis
+going to be a dreadful night.&nbsp; The snow&rsquo;s coming down something
+cruel.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; There won&rsquo;t be many to the dance if it keeps on like
+this, will there?<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; Get you to the fire, both of you, and warm yourselves before
+we sets out again.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; Miss Sims, Miss Sims - Miss Rosie - I&rsquo;m going along
+with you to the dance, Dad says as I may.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; Bless the child!&nbsp; However her has worked upon her father,
+and he so strict, I don&rsquo;t know.<br>
+<br>
+ANNIE.&nbsp; Well, you be got up fine and grand, Dorry - I shouldn&rsquo;t
+hardly know &rsquo;twas you.&nbsp; [<i>Turning to </i>VASHTI REED.]&nbsp;
+Good evening, Mrs. Reed, my eyes was very near blinded when I first
+got in out of the dark, and I didn&rsquo;t see as you was there.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; Good evening, Mrs. Reed, and how be you keeping this cold
+weather?<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; [<i>Peering into their faces as they stand near her.</i>]&nbsp;
+What be you a-telling I of?<br>
+<br>
+ANNIE.&nbsp; We was saying, how be you in this sharp weather, Mrs. Reed?<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; How be I?<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; Yes, Mrs. Reed, how be you a-keeping now &rsquo;tis come
+over such nasty weather?<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; And how should an old woman be, and her one child out
+in the rain and all the wind, and driv&rsquo; there too by them as was
+laid like snakes in the grass about the feet of she, ready for to overthrow
+she when her should have gotten to a time of weakness.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; Take no account of what she do say, girls, but sit you down
+in the warm and bide till I gets the time to take and look on the clothes
+which you have upon you.&nbsp; [<i>Moving about and putting tea things
+on the table.</i>]&nbsp; I be but just a-going to make a cup of tea
+for th&rsquo; old woman, with a drop of summat strong to it as will
+keep her from using of her tongue so free till morning time.<br>
+<br>
+ANNIE.&nbsp; [<i>Sitting down.</i>]&nbsp; Poor old woman, &rsquo;tis
+a sad thing when folks do come to such a pass as she.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; And han&rsquo;t got their proper sense to them, nor nothing.&nbsp;
+But she&rsquo;s better off nor a poor creature what we saw crouching
+below the hedge as we was coming across the meadow.&nbsp; &ldquo;Why,&rdquo;
+I says to Annie, &ldquo;it must be bad to have no home to bide in such
+a night as this!&rdquo;&nbsp; Isn&rsquo;t that so, Mrs. Browning?<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; Ah, you&rsquo;re right there, you&rsquo;re right.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; I wouldn&rsquo;t much care to be upon the road to-night,
+would you, Steve?<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; And at that hour when th&rsquo; old year be passing out,
+and dark on all the land, the graves shall open and give up the dead
+which be in they.&nbsp; And, standing in the churchyard you may read
+the face to each, as the corpses do go by.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s many
+a night as I have stood and have looked into they when them did draw
+near to I, but never the face I did seek.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>Here </i>JANE, <i>who has been making a cup of tea</i>,<i> and who
+has poured something in it from a bottle</i>,<i> advances to </i>VASHTI.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; Here, Vashti Reed, here&rsquo;s a nice cup of hot tea for
+you.&nbsp; Take and drink it up and very likely &rsquo;twill warm th&rsquo;
+inside of you, for I&rsquo;ll lay as you haven&rsquo;t seen a mouthful
+of naught this day.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; Ah, that&rsquo;s it, that&rsquo;s it.&nbsp; When folks
+do go leer &rsquo;tis a powerful lot of fancies as do get from the stomach
+to the heads of they.<br>
+<br>
+[VASHTI <i>takes the cup and slowly drinks.<br>
+<br>
+</i>DORRY.&nbsp; O, Miss Sims, you do look nice.&nbsp; Look, Gran&rsquo;ma,
+at what Miss Sims have got on!<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; [<i>Putting down her cup and leaning forward.</i>]&nbsp;
+Which of you be clothed for marriage?<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; Get along of you, Gran, &rsquo;tis for the dance up at the
+school as they be come.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; Come you here - her what&rsquo;s to wed our Steve.&nbsp;
+Come you here and let I look at you.&nbsp; My eyes bain&rsquo;t so quick
+as they was once.&nbsp; Many tears have clouded they.&nbsp; But come
+you here.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; Go along to her, Miss Sims, Granny wants to look at your
+nice things.<br>
+<br>
+ANNIE.&nbsp; [<i>Steps in front of </i>VASHTI.]&nbsp; Here I be, Mrs.
+Reed.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; Be you the one what&rsquo;s going to wed our Steve come
+New Year.<br>
+<br>
+ANNIE.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s it, Mrs. Reed, that&rsquo;s it.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; And be these garments which you be clothed in for marriage
+or for burial?<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; Come, Granny, have another cup of tea.&nbsp; Annie, don&rsquo;t
+you take no account of she.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis worry and that as have
+caused the mind of she to wander a bit, but she don&rsquo;t mean nothing
+by it.<br>
+<br>
+ANNIE.&nbsp; All right, Steve.&nbsp; She don&rsquo;t trouble me at all.&nbsp;
+[<i>To </i>VASHTI.]&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis to be hoped as I shall make a good
+wife to Steve, Mrs. Reed.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; Steve!&nbsp; What do Steve want with another wife?&nbsp;
+Han&rsquo;t he got one already which is as a rose among the sow-thistles.&nbsp;
+What do Steve want for with a new one then?<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; Come on, girls.&nbsp; I can&rsquo;t stand no more of this.&nbsp;
+Let&rsquo;s off, and call in to George&rsquo;s as we do go by.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; We did meet Mr. Davis as we was coming along and he said
+as how &rsquo;twouldn&rsquo;t be many minutes afore he joined us here,
+Steve.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s right, then we&rsquo;ll bide a bit longer
+till George do call for we, only &rsquo;tis more nor I can stand when
+th&rsquo; old lady gets her tongue moving.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; Why, look, Gran&rsquo;s fell asleep!&nbsp; O, Miss Sims,
+now that Gran&rsquo;s dropped off and can&rsquo;t say none of her foolish
+things any more, do stand so as Dad and Gran&rsquo;ma can see the frock
+which you&rsquo;ve got for the dance.<br>
+<br>
+ANNIE.&nbsp; O, Dorry, you&rsquo;re a little torment, that&rsquo;s the
+truth.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She gets up and turns slowly round so that all can see what she
+has on.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ROSE.&nbsp; Well, Steve?<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; Well, Rosie.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; Haven&rsquo;t you got nothing as you can say, Steve?<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; What be I to say, Rose?<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; Well, something of how you thinks she looks, of course.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; O, &rsquo;tis all right, I suppose.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; All right!&nbsp; And is that about all as you&rsquo;ve seen?&nbsp;
+Why, bless you, Steve, where have you gone and hid your tongue I should
+like to know!<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; Well, there bain&rsquo;t nothing wrong, be there?<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; Of course there isn&rsquo;t.&nbsp; But I never did see such
+a man as you, Steve.&nbsp; Why, I don&rsquo;t believe as you&rsquo;d
+know whether Annie haves a pair of eyes to her face or not, nor if they
+be the same colour one to t&rsquo;other.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; I sees enough for me.&nbsp; I sees as Annie is the girl
+as I&rsquo;ve picked out of the whole world.&nbsp; And I know that to-morrow
+she and I is to be made man and wife.&nbsp; And that be pretty nigh
+enough for me this night, I reckon.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; O, Miss Sims, do you hear what Dad is saying?&nbsp; O,
+I wonder what I should feel if &rsquo;twas me that was going to be married!<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; You get and ask Annie how &rsquo;tis with her, Dorry.&nbsp;
+I could tell a fine tale of how as she do lie tossing half the nights,
+and of the candles that&rsquo;s burned right down to the very end of
+them, I could.<br>
+<br>
+ANNIE.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t you go for to listen to her, Dorry, nor Steve,
+neither.&nbsp; She&rsquo;s that flustered herself about the dance to-night
+that she scarce do know what she&rsquo;s a-saying of.&nbsp; But suppose
+you was just to ask her what she&rsquo;s got wrapped so careful in that
+there paper in her hand.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; O, Rosie, whatever is it?<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; What&rsquo;s that you&rsquo;ve got hold on now, Rosie?<br>
+<br>
+ANNIE.&nbsp; Come, show them all, Rose.<br>
+<br>
+[ROSE <i>slowly unfolds the paper and shows them all a hothouse carnation
+and a fern.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ROSE.&nbsp; There &rsquo;tis, then.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; O my, Rosie - isn&rsquo;t it beautiful.&nbsp; Be you going
+to wear it to the dance?<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; No, Dorry, &rsquo;tisn&rsquo;t for me.<br>
+<br>
+ANNIE.&nbsp; You just ask her for whom it is, then, Dorry.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; O, who is it for, Rosie - who is it for?<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; No - I&rsquo;m not a-going to tell none of you.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She wraps it up carefully again.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ANNIE.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll tell then, for you.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; No, you shan&rsquo;t, Annie - that you shan&rsquo;t!<br>
+<br>
+ANNIE.&nbsp; That I shall, then - come you here, Dorry - I&rsquo;ll
+whisper it to your ear.&nbsp; [<i>Whispers it to </i>DORRY.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; [<i>Excitedly.</i>]&nbsp; I know who &rsquo;tis - I know
+- &rsquo;tis for Mr. Davis - for Mr. Davis!&nbsp; Think of that, Dad
+- the flower &rsquo;tis for George Davis.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; O, Annie, how you could!<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; George -<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; [<i>Suddenly roused.</i>]&nbsp; Who named George?&nbsp;
+There was but one man as was called by that name - and he courted my
+girl till her was faint and weary of the sound and shape of he, and
+so on a day when he was come -<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s Gran gone off on her tales again.<br>
+<br>
+[JANE <i>crosses the hearth and puts a shawl over the head of </i>VASHTI,
+<i>who relapses again into sleep.<br>
+<br>
+</i>STEVE.&nbsp; [<i>Sitting down by </i>ROSE.]&nbsp; What&rsquo;s this,
+Rose?&nbsp; I han&rsquo;t heard tell of this afore.&nbsp; Be there aught
+a-going on with you and George, then?<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; No, Steve, there isn&rsquo;t nothing in it much, except
+that George and me we walked out last Sunday in the evening like - and
+a two or three time before.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; And is it that you be a-keeping of that flower for to give
+to George, then?<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; Well - &rsquo;tis for George as I&rsquo;ve saved it out
+of some what the gardener up at Squire&rsquo;s gived me.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; [<i>As though to himself.</i>]&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis a powerful
+many years since George he went a-courting.&nbsp; I never knowed him
+so much as look upon a maid, I didn&rsquo;t since -<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; Well, Steve, I&rsquo;m sure there&rsquo;s no need for you
+to be upset over it.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis nothing to you who George walks
+out with, or who he doesn&rsquo;t.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; Who said as I was upset, Rose?<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; Look at the long face what you&rsquo;ve pulled.&nbsp; Annie,
+if &rsquo;twas me, I shouldn&rsquo;t much care about marrying a man
+with such a look to him.<br>
+<br>
+ANNIE.&nbsp; What&rsquo;s up, Steve?&nbsp; What&rsquo;s come over you
+like, all of a minute?<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis naught, Annie, naught.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas summat
+of past times what comed into the thoughts of me.&nbsp; But &rsquo;tis
+naught.&nbsp; And, Rose, if so be as &rsquo;twas you as George is after,
+I&rsquo;d wish him to have luck, with all my heart, I would, for George
+and me - well, we too has always stuck close one to t&rsquo;other, as
+you knows.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; Ah - that you has, George and you - you and George.<br>
+<br>
+ANNIE.&nbsp; Hark - there&rsquo;s someone coming up now.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; O, let me open the door - let me open it!<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She runs across the room and lifts the latch</i>.&nbsp; GEORGE <i>stands
+in the doorway shaking the snow from him</i>.&nbsp; <i>Then he comes
+into the room.<br>
+<br>
+</i>DORRY.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m going to the dance, Mr. Davis.&nbsp; Look,
+haven&rsquo;t I got a nice frock on?<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; Good evening, George, and how be you to-night?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Nicely, Steve, nicely.&nbsp; Good evening, Mrs. Browning.&nbsp;
+Miss Sims, good evening - Yes, Steve, I&rsquo;ll off with my coat, for
+&rsquo;tis pretty well sprinkled with snow, like.<br>
+<br>
+[STEVE <i>helps </i>GEORGE <i>to take off his overcoat.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ROSE.&nbsp; A happy New Year to you, Mr. Davis.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; And that&rsquo;s a thing which han&rsquo;t no luck to it,
+if &rsquo;tis said afore the proper time, Rosie.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; Well, but &rsquo;tis New Year&rsquo;s Eve, isn&rsquo;t it?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Ah, so &rsquo;tis - and a terrible nasty storm as ever
+I knowed!&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas comed up very nigh to my knees, the snow,
+as I was a-crossing of the meadow.&nbsp; And there lay some poor thing
+sheltering below the hedge, with a bit of sacking throwed over her.&nbsp;
+I count &rsquo;tis very near buried alive as anyone would be as slept
+out in such a night.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; I reckon &rsquo;twould be so - so &rsquo;twould.&nbsp;
+But come you in and give yourself a warm; and Mother, what do you say
+to getting us a glass of cider all round afore we sets out to the dancing.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; What do you want to be taking drinks here for, when &rsquo;tis
+free as you&rsquo;ll get them up at the school?<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; Just a drop for to warm we through.&nbsp; Here, I&rsquo;ll
+fetch it right away.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; No, you don&rsquo;t.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll have no one meddling
+in the pantry save it&rsquo;s myself.&nbsp; Dorry, give me that there
+jug.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; [<i>Taking a jug from the dresser.</i>]&nbsp; Here &rsquo;tis,
+Gran&rsquo;ma, shall I light the candle?<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; So long as you&rsquo;ll hold the matches careful.<br>
+<br>
+ANNIE.&nbsp; Well - &rsquo;tis to be hoped as the weather&rsquo;ll change
+afore morning.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; We shall want a bit of sunshine for the bride.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; That us shall, but it don&rsquo;t look much as though
+we should get it.<br>
+<br>
+[JANE BROWNING <i>and </i>DORRY <i>go out of the room.<br>
+<br>
+</i>STEVE.&nbsp; Sit you down, George, along of we.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis
+right pleased as I be for to see you here to-night.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Well, Steve, I bain&rsquo;t one for a lot of words but
+I be powerful glad to see you look as you does, and &rsquo;tis all joy
+as I wishes you and her what&rsquo;s to be your wife, to-morrow.<br>
+<br>
+ANNIE.&nbsp; Thank you kindly, Mr. Davis.&nbsp; I shall do my best for
+Steve, and a girl can&rsquo;t do no more, can she?<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; And so you&rsquo;re going to church along of Steve, Mr.
+Davis?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis as Steve do wish, but I be summat after a cow
+what has broke into the flower gardens, places where there be many folk
+got together and I among they.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; O, come, Mr. Davis!<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis with me as though t&rsquo;were all hoof and
+horn as I was made of.&nbsp; But Steve, he be more used to mixing up
+with the quality folks and such things, and he do know better nor I
+how to carry his self in parts when the ground be thick on them.<br>
+<br>
+ANNIE.&nbsp; Very likely &rsquo;tis a-shewing of them into their places
+of a Sunday and a-ringing of the bell and a-helping of the vicar along
+with the service, like, as has made Steve so easy.<br>
+<br>
+ROSIE.&nbsp; But, bless you, Mr. Davis, you sees a good bit of the gentry,
+too, in your way, when you goes in to houses, as it might be the Squire&rsquo;s
+for to put up a shelf, or mend a window, and I don&rsquo;t know what.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Ah, them caddling sort of jobs don&rsquo;t much agree
+with I, Miss Rose.&nbsp; And when I gets inside one of they great houses,
+where the maids do pad about in boots what you can&rsquo;t hear, and
+do speak as though &rsquo;twere church and parson at his sermon, I can&rsquo;t
+think of naught but how &rsquo;twill feel for to be out in the open
+again.&nbsp; Why, bless you, I do scarce fetch my breath in one of they
+places from fear as there should be too much sound to it, and the noise
+of my own hammer do very near scare I into fits.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; Well, Mr. Davis, who would ever have thought it?<br>
+<br>
+[MRS. BROWNING <i>and </i>DORRY <i>come back and the cider is put upon
+the table</i>,<i> </i>DORRY <i>and </i>ANNIE <i>getting glasses from
+the dresser.<br>
+<br>
+</i>GEORGE.&nbsp; [<i>Drinking.</i>]&nbsp; Your health, Steve, and yours,
+too, Miss Sims.&nbsp; And many years of happiness to you both.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; Thank you kindly, George.<br>
+<br>
+ANNIE.&nbsp; Thank you, Mr. Davis.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; Hasn&rsquo;t Miss Sims got a nice frock on her for the
+dance, Mr. Davis?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Well, I&rsquo;m blessed if I&rsquo;d taken no notice of
+it, Dorry.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; Why, you&rsquo;re worse nor Dad, I do declare!&nbsp; But
+you just look at Rosie, now, Mr. Davis, and ask her what she&rsquo;s
+got wrapped up in that there paper in her hand.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; O, Dorry, you little tease, you!<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; You just ask her, Mr. Davis.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>Undoing the parcel.</i>]&nbsp; There, &rsquo;tis nothing
+to make such a commotion of!&nbsp; Just a flower - see, Mr. Davis?&nbsp;
+I knowed as it was one what you was partial to, and so I just brought
+it along with me.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; That there bain&rsquo;t for I, be it?<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; Indeed &rsquo;tis - if so as you&rsquo;ll accept of it.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; O, &rsquo;tis best saved against to-morrow.&nbsp; The
+freshness will be most gone from it, if I was to wear it now.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; No, no, Mr. Davis, &rsquo;tis for now!&nbsp; To wear at
+the dance.&nbsp; Put it on him, Rosie, put it on him.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>Tossing the flower across the table to </i>GEORGE.]&nbsp;
+He can put it on hisself well enough, Dorry.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; [<i>After a moment</i>&rsquo;<i>s hesitation.</i>]&nbsp;
+I don&rsquo;t know so well about that.<br>
+<br>
+ANNIE.&nbsp; Go on, Rosie - pin it into his coat.&nbsp; Come, &rsquo;tis
+getting late.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; O, pin it in quick, Rosie - come along - and then we can
+start to the dancing.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; Shall I, Mr. Davis?<br>
+<br>
+[GEORGE <i>gets up and crosses the room</i>;<i> </i>ROSE <i>takes the
+flower and </i>DORRY <i>hands her a pin</i>.&nbsp; <i>She slowly pins
+the flower in his coat.<br>
+<br>
+</i>STEVE.&nbsp; [<i>Stretching out his hand to </i>ANNIE.]&nbsp; You
+be so quiet like to-night, Annie.&nbsp; There isn&rsquo;t nothing wrong,
+is there, my dear?<br>
+<br>
+ANNIE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis only I&rsquo;m that full of gladness, Steve,
+as I don&rsquo;t seem to find words to my tongue for the things what
+I can talk on most days.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; And that&rsquo;s how &rsquo;tis with I, too, Annie.&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Tis as though I was out in the meadows, like - And as though
+&rsquo;twere Sunday, and such a stillness all around that I might think
+&rsquo;twas only me as was upon the earth.&nbsp; But then summat stirs
+in me sudden and I knows that you be there, too, and &rsquo;tis my love
+for you what has put me right away from the rest of them.<br>
+<br>
+ANNIE.&nbsp; Steve, you&rsquo;ve had a poor, rough time, I know, but
+I&rsquo;ll do my best for to smooth it like for you, I will.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; See here, Annie - I be comed out of the rain and into the
+sun once more.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; [<i>Leading </i>GEORGE <i>forward.</i>]&nbsp; See how fine
+Mr. Davis do look - see, isn&rsquo;t he grand?&nbsp; O, Miss Sims, see
+how nice the flower do look what Rosie has pinned in his coat!&nbsp;
+See, Gran&rsquo;ma.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve enough to do putting away all these glasses which
+have been messed up.&nbsp; What I wants to know is when I shall get
+off to bed this night, seeing as &rsquo;tis late already and you none
+of you gone off yet.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; O, let us be off, let us be off - and what am I to put
+over my dress, Gran&rsquo;ma, so as the snow shan&rsquo;t get to it?<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; If you go careful and don&rsquo;t drop it in the snow may
+be as I&rsquo;ll wrap my big shawl around of you, Dorry, what&rsquo;s
+hanging behind the door.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; Give me my cloak, Steve - O, how I do love a bit of dancing,
+don&rsquo;t you, Mr. Davis?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; I be about as much use in the ball room as one of they
+great drag horses, Miss Rose.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; O, get on, Mr. Davis!&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t believe half what
+you do say, no more does Annie.<br>
+<br>
+ANNIE.&nbsp; If Mr. Davis don&rsquo;t know how to dance right, you&rsquo;re
+the one to learn him, Rose.&nbsp; Come, Dorry, you take hold of my hand,
+and I&rsquo;ll look after you on the way.&nbsp; Good-night, Mrs. Browning.&nbsp;
+Good-night, Mrs. Reed.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; Why, Granny&rsquo;s sound asleep, Miss Sims, you know.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; And about time, too.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis to be hoped as we
+shan&rsquo;t have no more trouble with her till morning.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; [<i>Her eyes raised to the door latch.</i>]&nbsp; Just
+look, why the latch is up.<br>
+<br>
+ANNIE.&nbsp; Whoever&rsquo;s that, I wonder?<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis very likely someone with a horse what&rsquo;s
+lost a shoe, Steve.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; I guess as &rsquo;tis a coffin wanted sudden, George Davis.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; I bain&rsquo;t a-going to shoe no horses this time of night,
+not if &rsquo;twas the King hisself what stood at the door.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; If &rsquo;tis a corpse, I guess her&rsquo;ll have to wait
+till the dancing&rsquo;s finished, then.<br>
+<br>
+[VASHTI <i>groans in her sleep and turns over in the chair</i>,<i> her
+face to the fire.<br>
+<br>
+</i>STEVE.&nbsp; [<i>Going to the door and speaking loudly.</i>]&nbsp;
+Who&rsquo;s there?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Us&rsquo;ll soon see.<br>
+<br>
+[GEORGE <i>unbolts the door and opens it</i>,<i> first a little way</i>,<i>
+and then wide</i>.&nbsp; MAY <i>is seen standing in the doorway</i>.&nbsp;
+<i>Her shawl is drawn over head and the lower part of her face.<br>
+<br>
+</i>GEORGE.&nbsp; Here&rsquo;s someone what&rsquo;s missed their way,
+I count.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; Why, &rsquo;tis like the poor thing we seed beneath the
+hedge, I do believe.<br>
+<br>
+ANNIE Whatever can she want a-coming-in here at this time of night!<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; [<i>Advancing firmly.</i>]&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis one of they
+dirty roadsters what there&rsquo;s too many of all about the country.&nbsp;
+Here, I&rsquo;ll learn you to come to folks&rsquo; houses this time
+of night, disturbing of a wedding party.&nbsp; You take and get gone.&nbsp;
+We don&rsquo;t want such as you in here, we don&rsquo;t.<br>
+<br>
+[MAY <i>looks fixedly into </i>JANE&rsquo;S <i>face.<br>
+<br>
+</i>GEORGE.&nbsp; I count &rsquo;tis very nigh starved by the cold as
+she be.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; Looks like it, and wetted through to the bone.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; Put her out and shut the door, George, and that&rsquo;ll
+learn the likes of she to come round begging at folks&rsquo; houses
+what&rsquo;s respectable.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis poor work shutting the door on such as her
+this night.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; And that &rsquo;tis, George, and what&rsquo;s more, I bain&rsquo;t
+a-going for to do it.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis but a few hours to my wedding,
+and if a dog was to come to me for shelter I&rsquo;d not be one to put
+him from the door.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tain&rsquo;t to be expected as I shall let a dirty
+tramp bide in my kitchen when &rsquo;tis all cleaned up against to-morrow,
+Steve.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; To-morrow, &rsquo;tis my day, Mother, and I&rsquo;ll have
+the choosing of my guests, like.&nbsp; [<i>Turning to </i>MAY.]&nbsp;
+Come you in out of the cold.&nbsp; This night you shall bide fed and
+warmed, so that, may be, in years to come, &rsquo;twill please you to
+think back upon the eve afore my wedding.<br>
+<br>
+[STEVE <i>stands back</i>,<i> holding the door wide open</i>.&nbsp;
+MAY, <i>from the threshold</i>,<i> has been looking first on one face
+and then on another</i>.&nbsp; <i>Suddenly her eyes fall on </i>ANNIE,
+<i>who has moved to </i>STEVE&rsquo;S <i>side</i>,<i> laying her hand
+on his arm</i>,<i> and with a sudden defiance</i>,<i> she draws herself
+up and comes boldly into the room as the curtain falls.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+</i>ACT II. - Scene 3.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<i>The same room</i>,<i> two hours later</i>.&nbsp; VASHTI REED <i>seems
+to be sleeping as before by the fireside</i>.&nbsp; <i>On the settle
+</i>MAY <i>is huddled</i>,<i> her head bent</i>,<i> the shawl drawn
+over her face</i>.&nbsp; JANE BROWNING <i>moves about</i>,<i> putting
+away work things</i>,<i> cups and plates</i>,<i> seeing that the window
+is closed</i>,<i> winding the clock</i>,<i> etc</i>.&nbsp; <i>There
+is a tap at the outer door and </i>JANE <i>opens it</i>.&nbsp; STEVE,
+ANNIE <i>and </i>DORRY <i>enter.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JANE.&nbsp; Whatever kept you so late, Steve, and me a-sitting up
+for to let you all in and not able to get away to my bed?<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; O, Gran&rsquo;ma, it was beautiful, I could have stopped
+all night, I could.&nbsp; We comed away early &rsquo;cause Miss Sims,
+she said as the dancing gived her the headache, but the New Year han&rsquo;t
+been danced in yet, it han&rsquo;t.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; You get and dance off to bed, Dorry, that&rsquo;s what you&rsquo;ve
+got to do - and quickly.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; All right, Gran&rsquo;ma.&nbsp; Good-night, Miss Sims;
+good-night, Dad.&nbsp; O, why, there&rsquo;s Granny!&nbsp; But her&rsquo;s
+tight asleep so I shan&rsquo;t say nothing to her.&nbsp; O, I do wish
+as there was dancing, and lamps, and music playing every night, I do!<br>
+<br>
+[DORRY <i>goes towards the staircase door.<br>
+<br>
+</i>JANE.&nbsp; [<i>Calling after her.</i>]&nbsp; I&rsquo;m a-coming
+along directly.&nbsp; Be careful with the candle, Dorry.<br>
+<br>
+[JANE <i>opens the door and </i>DORRY <i>goes upstairs</i>.&nbsp; STEVE
+<i>and </i>ANNIE <i>come towards the fireplace.<br>
+<br>
+</i>STEVE.&nbsp; Was there aught as you could do for yonder poor thing?<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; Poor thing, indeed!&nbsp; A good-for-nothing roadster what&rsquo;s
+been and got herself full of the drink, and that&rsquo;s what&rsquo;s
+the matter with she.&nbsp; See there, how she do lie, snoring asleep
+under the shawl of her; and not a word nor sound have I got out of she
+since giving her the drop of tea a while back.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; Well, well - she won&rsquo;t do us no harm where she do
+bide.&nbsp; Leave her in the warm till &rsquo;tis daylight, then let
+her go her way.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; She and Gran&rsquo; be about right company one for t&rsquo;other,
+I&rsquo;m thinking.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; Ah, that they be.&nbsp; Let them sleep it off and you get
+up to bed, Mother.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; That I will, Steve.&nbsp; Be you a-going to see Annie safe
+to home?<br>
+<br>
+ANNIE.&nbsp; Do you bide here, Steve, and let me run back - &rsquo;tis
+but a step - and I don&rsquo;t like for you to come out into the snow
+again.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m coming along of you, Annie.&nbsp; Get off to
+bed, Mother.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll be back to lock up and all that in less
+nor ten minutes.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; All right, Steve, and do you cast an eye around to see as
+I han&rsquo;t left nothing out as might get took away, for &rsquo;tis
+poor work leaving the kitchen to roadsters and gipsies and the like.<br>
+<br>
+[JANE <i>lights a candle and goes upstairs</i>.&nbsp; STEVE <i>takes
+</i>ANNIE&rsquo;S <i>hand and they go together towards the outer door</i>.&nbsp;
+<i>As they pass to the other side of the curtain which is drawn across
+the room</i>,<i> </i>MAY <i>suddenly rears herself up on the settle</i>,<i>
+throwing back her shawl</i>,<i> and she leans forward</i>,<i> listening
+intently.<br>
+<br>
+</i>STEVE.&nbsp; To-morrow night, Annie!<br>
+<br>
+ANNIE.&nbsp; There&rsquo;ll be no turning out into the snow for us both,
+Steve.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; You&rsquo;ll bide here, Annie, and &rsquo;tis more gladness
+than I can rightly think on, that &rsquo;tis.<br>
+<br>
+ANNIE.&nbsp; Steve!<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; Well, Annie.<br>
+<br>
+ANNIE.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s summat what&rsquo;s been clouding you a bit
+this night.&nbsp; You didn&rsquo;t know as how I&rsquo;d seen it, but
+&rsquo;twas so.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; Why, Annie, I didn&rsquo;t think as how you&rsquo;d take
+notice as I was different from ordinary.<br>
+<br>
+ANNIE.&nbsp; But I did, Steve.&nbsp; And at the dancing there was summat
+in the looks of you which put me in mind of a thing what&rsquo;s hurted.&nbsp;
+Steve, I couldn&rsquo;t abide for to see you stand so sad with the music
+going on and all.&nbsp; So I told you as I&rsquo;d the headache.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; O Annie, &rsquo;twas thoughts as was too heavy for me,
+and I couldn&rsquo;t seem to get them pushed aside, like.<br>
+<br>
+ANNIE.&nbsp; How&rsquo;d it be if you was to tell me, Steve.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t much care for to, Annie.&nbsp; But &rsquo;twas
+thoughts what comed out of the time gone by, as may be I&rsquo;d been
+a bit too hard with - with her as was Dorry&rsquo;s mother.<br>
+<br>
+ANNIE.&nbsp; O, I&rsquo;m sure, from all I hear, as she had nothing
+to grumble at, Steve.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; And there came a fearsome thought, too, Annie, as you might
+go the same way through not getting on comfortable with me, and me being
+so much older nor you, and such-like.&nbsp; Annie, I couldn&rsquo;t
+bear for it to happen so, I could not.&nbsp; For I holds to having you
+aside of me always stronger nor I holds to anything else in the world,
+and I could not stand it if &rsquo;twas as I should lose you.<br>
+<br>
+ANNIE.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s nothing in the world as could make you lose
+me, Steve.&nbsp; For, look you here, I don&rsquo;t think as there&rsquo;s
+a woman on the earth what&rsquo;s got such a feeling as is in my heart
+this night, of quiet, Steve, and of gladness, because that you and me
+is to be wed and to live aside of one another till death do part us.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; Them be good words, Annie, and no mistake.<br>
+<br>
+ANNIE.&nbsp; And what you feels about the days gone by don&rsquo;t count,
+Steve, &rsquo;cause they bain&rsquo;t true of you.&nbsp; You was always
+a kind husband, and from what I&rsquo;ve hear-ed folks say, she was
+one as wasn&rsquo;t never suited to neither you nor yours.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; Poor soul, she be dead and gone now, and what I thinks
+one way or t&rsquo;other can&rsquo;t do she no good.&nbsp; Only &rsquo;tis
+upon me as I could take you to-morrow more glad-like, Annie, if so be
+as I had been kinder to she, the time her was here.<br>
+<br>
+ANNIE.&nbsp; Do you go off to bed, Steve, you&rsquo;re regular done
+up, and that&rsquo;s what &rsquo;tis.&nbsp; I never hear-ed you take
+on like this afore.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; All right, my dear, don&rsquo;t you mind what I&rsquo;ve
+been saying.&nbsp; Very like &rsquo;tis a bit unnerved as I be this
+night.&nbsp; But &rsquo;tis a good thought, bain&rsquo;t it, Annie,
+that come to-morrow at this time, there won&rsquo;t be no more need
+for us to part?<br>
+<br>
+ANNIE.&nbsp; [<i>As he opens the door.</i>]&nbsp; O, &rsquo;tis dark
+outside!<br>
+<br>
+[<i>They both leave the cottage</i>.&nbsp; MAY <i>throws back her shawl
+as though stifled</i>.&nbsp; <i>She gets up and first stands bending
+over </i>VASHTI.&nbsp; S<i>eeing that she is still sleeping heavily</i>,<i>
+she goes to the door</i>,<i> opens it gently and looks out</i>.&nbsp;
+<i>After a moment she closes it and walks about the kitchen</i>,<i>
+examining everything with a fierce curiosity</i>.&nbsp; <i>She takes
+up the shawl </i>DORRY <i>has been wearing</i>,<i> looks at it hesitatingly</i>,<i>
+and then clasps it passionately to her face</i>.&nbsp; <i>Hearing steps
+outside she flings it down again on the chair and returns to the settle</i>,<i>
+where she sits huddled in the corner</i>,<i> having wrapped herself
+again in her shawl</i>,<i> only her eyes looking out unquietly from
+it</i>.&nbsp; STEVE <i>re-enters</i>.&nbsp; <i>He bolts the door</i>,<i>
+then goes up to the table in front of the fire to put out the lamp.<br>
+<br>
+</i>STEVE.&nbsp; Can I get you an old sack or summat for to cover you
+up a bit this cold night?<br>
+<br>
+[MAY <i>looks at him for a moment and then shakes her head.<br>
+<br>
+</i>STEVE.&nbsp; All right.&nbsp; You can just bide where you be on
+the settle.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis warmer within nor upon the road to-night,
+and I&rsquo;ll come and let you out when &rsquo;tis morning.<br>
+<br>
+[MAY <i>raises both her hands in an attitude of supplication.<br>
+<br>
+</i>STEVE.&nbsp; [<i>Pausing</i>,<i> with his hand on the burner of
+the lamp.</i>]&nbsp; Be there summat as you wants what I can give to
+you?<br>
+<br>
+[MAY <i>looks at him for a moment and then speaks in a harsh whisper.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MAY.&nbsp; Let I bide quiet in the dark, &rsquo;tis all I wants
+now.&nbsp; [STEVE <i>puts out the lamp.<br>
+<br>
+</i>STEVE.&nbsp; [<i>As though to himself</i>,<i> as he goes towards
+the door upstairs.</i>]&nbsp; Then get off to your drunken sleep again,
+and your dreams.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>Curtain.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+</i>ACT II. - Scene 4.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<i>The fire is almost out</i>.&nbsp; <i>A square of moonlight falls
+on the floor from the window</i>.&nbsp; VASHTI <i>still sleeps in the
+chimney corner</i>.&nbsp; MAY <i>is rocking herself to and fro on the
+settle.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MAY.&nbsp; Get off to your drunken sleep and to your dreams!&nbsp;
+Your dreams - your dreams - Ah, where is it as they have gone, I&rsquo;d
+like for to know.&nbsp; The dreams as comed to I when I was laid beneath
+the hedge.&nbsp; Dreams!<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She gets up</i>,<i> feels down the wall in a familiar way for the
+bellows - blows up the fire and puts some coal on it gently</i>.&nbsp;
+<i>Then she draws forward a chair and sits down before it.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MAY.&nbsp; [<i>Muttering to herself.</i>]&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis my own
+hearth when &rsquo;tis all said and done.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She turns up the front of her skirt and warms herself</i>,<i> looking
+sharply at </i>VASHTI REED <i>now and then.<br>
+<br>
+</i>[<i>Presently </i>VASHTI&rsquo;S <i>eyes open</i>,<i> resting</i>,<i>
+at first unseeingly</i>,<i> and then with recognition</i>,<i> on </i>MAY&rsquo;S
+<i>face.<br>
+<br>
+</i>VASHTI.&nbsp; So you be comed back, May.&nbsp; I always knowed as
+you would.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; How did you know &rsquo;twas me, then?<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; &rsquo;Cause I knowed.&nbsp; There &rsquo;tis.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; I be that changed from the times when I would sit a-warming
+of myself by this here fire.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; Ah, and be you changed, May?&nbsp; My eyes don&rsquo;t
+see nothing of it, then.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; Ah, I be got into an ugly old woman now, mother, and Steve
+- Steve, he looked in the face of I and didn&rsquo;t so much as think
+who &rsquo;twas.&nbsp; &ldquo;Get off to the drunken sleep of you and
+to your dreams.&rdquo;&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas that what he did say to I.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; Your old mother do know better nor Steve.&nbsp; Ah, &rsquo;tweren&rsquo;t
+in no shroud as I seed you, May, nor yet with the sod upon the face
+of you, but stepping, stepping up and down on the earth, through the
+water what layed on the roads, and on the dry where there be high places,
+and in the grass of the meadows.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s how &rsquo;twas
+as I did see you, May.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; And I would like to know how &rsquo;twas as Steve saw I.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; Ah, and there was they as did buzz around as thick as
+waspes in summer time and as said, &ldquo;She be under ground and rotting
+now - that her be.&rdquo;&nbsp; And they seed in I but a poor old woman
+what was sleeping in the chimney corner, with no hearing to I.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Rotting yourself,&rdquo; I says, and I rears up sudden, &ldquo;She
+be there as a great tree and all the leaves of it full out - and you
+- snakes in the grass, snakes in the grass, all of you!&nbsp; There
+&rsquo;tis.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; [<i>Mockingly.</i>]&nbsp; &ldquo;It&rsquo;s a good thought,
+bain&rsquo;t it, Annie, that to-morrow this time there won&rsquo;t be
+no need for us to part?&rdquo;&nbsp; And in the days when I was a young
+woman and all the bloom of I upon me, &rsquo;twouldn&rsquo;t have been
+once as he&rsquo;d have looked on such as her.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; And &rsquo;tis full of bloom and rare fine and handsome
+as you appear now, May, leastways to my old eyes.&nbsp; And when you
+goes up to Steve and shows yourself, I take it the door&rsquo;ll be
+shut in the face of the mealy one what they&rsquo;ve all been so took
+up with this long while.&nbsp; I count that &rsquo;twill and no mistake.&nbsp;
+So &rsquo;tis.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; [<i>Fiercely.</i>]&nbsp; Hark you here, Mother, and &rsquo;tis
+to be wed to-morrow as they be!&nbsp; Wed - the both of them, the both
+of them!&nbsp; And me in my flesh, and wife to Steve!&nbsp; &ldquo;Can
+I cover you up with a bit of old sack or summat?&rdquo;&nbsp; Old sack!&nbsp;
+When there be a coverlet with feathers to it stretched over where he
+do lie upstairs.&nbsp; &ldquo;I&rsquo;ll let you out when &rsquo;tis
+morning.&rdquo;&nbsp; Ah, you will, will you, Steve Browning?&nbsp;
+Us&rsquo;ll see how &rsquo;twill be when &rsquo;tis morning - Us&rsquo;ll
+see, just won&rsquo;t us then!<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; Ah, &rsquo;tis in her place as th&rsquo; old woman will
+be set come morning - And that her&rsquo;ll be - I count as &rsquo;tis
+long enough as her have mistressed it over the house.&nbsp; [<i>Shaking
+her fist towards the ceiling.</i>]&nbsp; You old she fox, you may gather
+the pads of you in under of you now, and crouch you down t&rsquo;other
+side of the fire like any other old woman of your years - for my May&rsquo;s
+comed back, and her&rsquo;ll show you your place what you&rsquo;ve not
+known where &rsquo;twas in all the days of your old wicked life.&nbsp;
+So &rsquo;tis.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; Her han&rsquo;t changed a hair of her, th&rsquo; old stoat!&nbsp;
+Soon as I heard the note of she, the heat bubbled up in I, though &rsquo;twas
+chattering in the cold as I had been but a moment afore.&nbsp; &ldquo;One
+of they dirty roadsters - I&rsquo;ll learn you to come disturbing of
+a wedding party, I will.&rdquo;&nbsp; [<i>Shaking her fist towards the
+ceiling.</i>]&nbsp; No, you bain&rsquo;t changed, you hardened old sinner
+- but the words out of the cruel old mouth of you don&rsquo;t hurt I
+any more - not they.&nbsp; I be passed out of the power of such as you.&nbsp;
+I knowed I&rsquo;d have to face you when I comed back, but I knowed,
+too, as I should brush you out of the way of me, like I would brush
+one of they old maid flies.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; Ah, and so I telled she many a time.&nbsp; &ldquo;You
+bide till my May be comed home,&rdquo; I says.&nbsp; &ldquo;She be already
+put safe to bed and &rsquo;tis in the churchyard where her do take her
+rest,&rdquo; says she.&nbsp; Ah, what a great liar that is, th&rsquo;
+old woman what&rsquo;s Steve&rsquo;s mother!&nbsp; And the lies they
+do grow right out of she tall as rushes, and the wind do blow they to
+the left and to the right.&nbsp; So &rsquo;tis.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; Ah, she han&rsquo;t any more power for to hurt I in the ugly
+old body of her.&nbsp; I be got beyond she.&nbsp; There be but one or
+two things as can touch I now - But one or two.&nbsp; And I be struck
+to the heart, I be, struck to the heart.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She bends forwards</i>,<i> rocking herself to and fro and weeping.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MAY.&nbsp; [<i>As though speaking to herself.</i>]&nbsp; Back and
+fro, back and fro - On the dark of the earth and where &rsquo;twas light.&nbsp;
+When &rsquo;twas cold and no sound but the steps of I on the road, and
+the fox&rsquo;s bark; when &rsquo;twas hot and the white dust smouldered
+in the mouth of I, and things flying did plague I with the wings of
+they - But &rsquo;twas always the same thought as I had - &ldquo;Some
+day I shall come back to Steve,&rdquo; I did tell me.&nbsp; And then
+again - &ldquo;Some day I shall get and hold Dorry in my arms.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+And now I be comed.&nbsp; And Steve - and Steve - Ah, I be struck deep
+to the heart, &rsquo;tis so.&nbsp; Struck deep!<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; You get upstairs to Steve, May.&nbsp; Get you up there
+and take the place what&rsquo;s yours.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; My place, my place!&nbsp; Where&rsquo;s that I want to know!&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Tis another what&rsquo;s got into the nest now, to lie snug and
+warm within.&nbsp; And &rsquo;tis for I to spread the wings of me and
+to go out into the storm again.&nbsp; So &rsquo;tis.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; Get you to Steve, May, and let him but look on the form
+of you and on the bloom, and us&rsquo;ll see what he will do with t&rsquo;other
+hussy then.&nbsp; Ah, they sneaking, mealy wenches what have got fattened
+up and licked over by th&rsquo; old woman till &rsquo;tis queens as
+they fancies theirselves, you shall tell they summat about what they
+be, come morning.&nbsp; And your poor old mother, her&rsquo;ll speak,
+too, what hasn&rsquo;t been let sound her tongue these years gone by.&nbsp;
+Ah, hern shall know what us do think of they, hern shall squat upon
+the floor and hear the truth.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; He thought as I was sleeping; but I looked out on her and
+seed the way his eyes was cast upon the girl.&nbsp; Steve, if you had
+cast your eyes on me like that but once, in days gone by - maybe, maybe
+I&rsquo;d not have gone out and shut the door behind I.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; Get you to Steve and let him see you with the candle lit.&nbsp;
+Her bain&rsquo;t no match for he, the young weasel!&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis
+you as has the blood of me and my people what was grand folk in times
+gone by, &rsquo;tis you, May, as is the mate for he, above all them
+white-jowled things what has honey at the mouth of they, but the heart
+running over with poison - Ah, and what throws you the bone and keeps
+the meat for their own bellies.&nbsp; What sets the skin afore you and
+laps the cream theirselves.&nbsp; Vipers, all of them, and she-cats.&nbsp;
+There &rsquo;tis.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; Sit you down, Mother, and keep the tongue of you quiet.&nbsp;
+We don&rsquo;t want for to waken they.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; [<i>Sitting down heavily.</i>]&nbsp; But we&rsquo;ve got
+to waken Steve for he to know as how you be comed home again.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; And where&rsquo;s the good of that, when there bain&rsquo;t
+so much as a board nor a rag, but what&rsquo;s been stole from I?<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; You go and say to him as &rsquo;tis his wife what have
+come back to her place.&nbsp; And put th&rsquo; old woman against the
+chimney there, and let her see you a-cutting of the bread and of the
+meat, and a-setting out of the food so as that they who be at the table
+can loose the garments of them when the eating &rsquo;tis finished,
+if they has a mind to, &rsquo;stead of drawing they together so not
+to feel &rsquo;tis leer.&nbsp; Ah, &rsquo;tis time you be comed, May,
+&rsquo;tis time.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; [<i>Bitterly.</i>]&nbsp; I&rsquo;m thinking &rsquo;tis time!<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis the lies of they be growed big as wheat stalks
+and the hardness of their hearts be worse nor death.&nbsp; But &rsquo;tis
+to judgment as they shall be led, now you be comed home, May, and the
+hand of God shall catch they when they do crawl like adders upon the
+earth.&nbsp; &ldquo;Ah, and do you mind how &rsquo;twas you served old
+Vashti, what never did harm to no one all the life of her,&rdquo; I
+shall call out to th&rsquo; old woman in that hour when her shall be
+burning in the lake.&nbsp; And her shall beg for a drop of water to
+lay upon the withered tongue of she, and it shall be denied, for other
+hands nor ours be at work, and &rsquo;tis the wicked as shall perish
+- yes, so &rsquo;tis.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; [<i>Who has been bending forward</i>,<i> looking steadily
+into the fire.</i>]&nbsp; Stop that, Mother, I wants to get at my thoughts.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; Be you a-going to set on I, too, May, now that you be
+comed home.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis poor work for an old woman like I.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; [<i>As though to herself.</i>]&nbsp; And as I was laid beneath
+the hedge - &ldquo;&rsquo;Tis cold as my limbs is, now,&rdquo; I says,
+&ldquo;but I shall be warm this night.&rdquo;&nbsp; And the pangs what
+was in the body of me did fairly quail I - &ldquo;&rsquo;Tis my fill
+of victuals as I shall soon put within,&rdquo; thinks I.&nbsp; And they
+was laid a bit.&nbsp; The bleakness of the tempest fell on I, but &ldquo;I
+shan&rsquo;t feel lonesome no longer than this hour,&rdquo; I telled
+me.&nbsp; For to my thinking, Steve, he was waiting all the time till
+I should be comed back.&nbsp; And Dorry, too.&nbsp; There &rsquo;tis.&nbsp;
+[<i>A long silence.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MAY.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d have been content to bide with the door shut
+- so long as it was shut with they two and me inside the room - th&rsquo;
+old woman - well, I count I shouldn&rsquo;t have took many thought for
+she - she could have bided in her place if she&rsquo;d had a mind -
+I&rsquo;d have set me down, when once my clothes was decent and clean,
+and put my hands to the work and made a tidy wife for Steve, as good
+nor better than that there dressed-up thing out yonder - And bred Dorry
+up the right way, too, I would.&nbsp; But &rsquo;tis done with now,
+so &rsquo;tis.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; [<i>As though to herself.</i>]&nbsp; And when &rsquo;tis
+morning and she gets her down - &ldquo;There, &rsquo;tis my girl as
+is mistress here, I&rsquo;ll say to her - and &rsquo;tis my girl as
+shall sit cup end of the table - and you get you to the fire corner
+and bide there, like the poor old woman as you be, spite that you do
+slip about so spry on the wicked old legs of you.&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; And I could set she back in her place, too, that tricked-up,
+flashy thing over the way.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve but to climb the stairs
+and clap my hand on Steve - &ldquo;Get you from your dreams,&rdquo;
+I have got but to say, &ldquo;the woman what&rsquo;s yourn be comed
+home.&nbsp; Her have tasted the cup of death, very near, and her have
+been a-thirst and an hungered.&nbsp; But her has carried summat for
+you in her heart all the way what you wouldn&rsquo;t find in the heart
+of t&rsquo;other, no, not if you was to cut it open and search it through.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+And the right belongs to I to shut the door on t&rsquo;other hussey,
+holding Steve to I till death divides we.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; Going on the road I seed the eyes of they blinking as
+I did pass by.&nbsp; &ldquo;And may the light from out the thunder cloud
+fall upon you,&rdquo; I says to them, &ldquo;for &rsquo;tis a poor old
+woman as I be what has lost her child; and what&rsquo;s that to you
+if so be as the shoes on her feet be broken or no?&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis
+naked as the toes of you shall go, that hour when the days of this world
+shall be rolled by.&nbsp; Ah, &rsquo;tis naked and set on the lake of
+burning fire as the hoofs of you shall run!&rdquo;<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; I could up and screech so that the house should ring with
+the sound of me, &ldquo;I be your wife, Steve, comed back after these
+many years.&nbsp; What&rsquo;s this that you&rsquo;ve got doing with
+another?&rdquo;&nbsp; I could take hold on him and make him look into
+the eyes of I, yes, and th&rsquo; old woman, too.&nbsp; &ldquo;See here,
+your &lsquo;dirty roadster,&rsquo; look well on to her.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Why, &rsquo;tis May.&rdquo;&nbsp; But the eyes of him would then
+be cast so that I should see no more than a house what has dead within,
+and the blind pulled down.&nbsp; And I, what was thinking as there might
+be a light in the window!<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; &ldquo;And you may holler,&rdquo; I says to them, &ldquo;you
+may holler till you be heard over the face of all the earth, but no
+one won&rsquo;t take no account of you.&rdquo;&nbsp; And the lies of
+them which have turned into ropes of hempen shall come up and strangle
+they.&nbsp; But me and my child shall pass by all fatted up and clothed,
+and with the last flick, afore the eyelids of they drop, they shall
+behold we, and, a-clapping of the teeth of them shall they repent them
+of their sins.&nbsp; Too late, too late!&nbsp; There &rsquo;tis.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; Too late!&nbsp; There &rsquo;tis, I be comed home too late.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She rises and takes up her shawl</i>,<i> wrapping it about her shoulders</i>,<i>
+and muttering.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MAY.&nbsp; But I know a dark place full of water - &rsquo;Tis Simon&rsquo;s
+pool they calls it - And I warrant as any poor wretch might sleep yonder
+and be in quiet.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; Be you a-going up to Steve now?<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; No, I bain&rsquo;t.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis out from here that I
+be going.&nbsp; And back on to the road.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; May, my pretty May, you&rsquo;re never going for to leave
+I, what&rsquo;s such a poor old woman and wronged cruel.&nbsp; You step
+aloft and rouse up Steve.&nbsp; He&rsquo;ll never have you go upon the
+roads again once he do know as you&rsquo;ve comed back.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; Steve!&nbsp; What&rsquo;s it to Steve whether the like of
+I do go or bide?&nbsp; What be there in I for to quell the love of she
+which Steve&rsquo;s got in him?&nbsp; Dead leaves for new.&nbsp; Ditch
+water for the clear spring.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; Give him to drink of it, May.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; [<i>Looking upwards to the ceiling.</i>]&nbsp; No, Steve.&nbsp;
+Hark you here.&nbsp; I bain&rsquo;t a-going to do it.&nbsp; I bain&rsquo;t
+going to knock over the spoonful of sweet what you be carrying to your
+mouth.&nbsp; You take and eat of it in quiet and get you filled with
+the honey.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tain&rsquo;t my way to snatch from no one so
+that the emptiness which I has in me shall be fed.&nbsp; There, &rsquo;tis
+finished now, very nigh, and the sharpness done.&nbsp; And, don&rsquo;t
+you fear, Steve, as ever I&rsquo;ll trouble you no more.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; [<i>Rising.</i>]&nbsp; I be a-going to fetch him down,
+and that&rsquo;s what I&rsquo;m a-going for to do.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; [<i>Pushing her back into her chair.</i>]&nbsp; Harken you,
+Steve, he&rsquo;s never got to know as I&rsquo;ve been here.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; I tell you, May, I&rsquo;ll screech till he do come!<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; [<i>Sitting down by </i>VASHTI <i>and laying her hand on
+her.</i>]&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll put summat in your mouth as&rsquo;ll stop
+you if you start screeching, mother.&nbsp; Why, hark you here.&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Tis enough of this old place as I&rsquo;ve had this night, and
+&rsquo;tis out upon the roads as I be going.&nbsp; Th&rsquo; old woman
+- there&rsquo;s naught much changed in she - And Steve - well, Steve
+be wonderful hard in the soul of him.&nbsp; &ldquo;Can I get you an
+old sack,&rdquo; says he - and never so much as seed &rsquo;twas I -
+Ah - &rsquo;tis more than enough to turn the stomach in anyone - that
+it is.&nbsp; [<i>A slight pause.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MAY.&nbsp; I was never a meek one as could bide at the fireside
+for long.&nbsp; The four walls of this here room have very near done
+for me now, so they have.&nbsp; And &rsquo;tis the air blowing free
+upon the road as I craves - Ah, and the wind which hollers, so that
+the cries of we be less nor they of lambs new born.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; God bless you, May, and if you goes beyond the door &rsquo;tis
+the mealy-faced jade will get in come morning, for Steve to wed.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; So &rsquo;tis.&nbsp; And if I stopped &rsquo;twould be the
+same, her&rsquo;d be between us always, the pretty cage bird - For look
+you here on I, Mother, and here - [<i>pointing to her feet</i>] - and
+here - and here - See what&rsquo;s been done to I what&rsquo;s knocked
+about in the world along the roads, and then think if I be such a one
+as might hold the love of Steve.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; [<i>Beginning to whine desolately.</i>]&nbsp; O, do not
+you go for to leave your old mammy again what has mourned you as if
+you was dead all the years.&nbsp; Do not you go for to leave I and the
+wicked around of I as might be the venomous beasts in the grass.&nbsp;
+Stop with I, my pretty child - Stop along of your old mother, for the
+days of I be few and numbered, and the enemies be thick upon the land.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; Hark you here, Mother, and keep your screeching till another
+time.&nbsp; I wants to slip out quiet so as Steve and th&rsquo; old
+woman won&rsquo;t never know as I&rsquo;ve been nigh.&nbsp; And if you
+keeps your mouth shut, maybe I&rsquo;ll drop in at our own place on
+the hill one of these days and bide comfortable along of you, only now
+- I&rsquo;m off, do you hear?<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; I can&rsquo;t abide for you to go.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis more
+nor I can stand.&nbsp; Why, if you goes, May, &rsquo;tis t&rsquo;other
+wench and th&rsquo; old woman what&rsquo;ll get mistressing it here
+again in your place.&nbsp; [<i>Rising up.</i>]&nbsp; No - you shan&rsquo;t
+go.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll holler till I&rsquo;ve waked them every one - you
+shan&rsquo;t!&nbsp; My only child, my pretty May!&nbsp; Ah, &rsquo;tis
+not likely as you shall slip off again.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis not.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; Look you here, Mother - bide still, I say.&nbsp; [<i>Looking
+round the room distractedly.</i>]&nbsp; See here - &rsquo;tis rare dry
+as I be.&nbsp; You bide quiet and us&rsquo;ll have a drink together,
+that us will.&nbsp; Look, th&rsquo; old woman&rsquo;s forgot to put
+away the bottle, us&rsquo;ll wet our mouths nice and quiet, mother -
+she won&rsquo;t hear I taking out the cork, nor nothing.&nbsp; See!<br>
+<br>
+[MAY <i>gets up and crosses the room</i>;<i> she takes the bottle off
+the shelf where she has just perceived it</i>,<i> and also two glasses</i>;
+<i>she fills one and hands it to her mother.<br>
+<br>
+</i>VASHTI.&nbsp; [<i>Stretching out her hand.</i>]&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis
+rare dry and parched as I be, now I comes to think on it, May.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s right - drink your fill, Mother.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis pleasant for I to see you mistressing it here
+again, May.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; Ah, &rsquo;tis my own drink and all, come to that.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; So &rsquo;tis.&nbsp; And the tea what she gived me was
+but ditch water.&nbsp; I seed her spoon it in the pot, and &rsquo;twas
+not above a half spoon as her did put in for I, th&rsquo; old badger.&nbsp;
+My eye was on she, though, and her&rsquo;ll have it cast up at she when
+the last day shall come and the trumpet sound and all flesh stand quailing,
+and me and mine looking on at her as is brought to judgment.&nbsp; How
+will it be then, you old sinner, says I.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; [<i>Re-filling the glass.</i>]&nbsp; Take and drink this
+little drop more, mother.<br>
+<br>
+[VASHTI <i>drinks and then leans back in her chair again with half closed
+eyes.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MAY.&nbsp; [<i>Putting away the bottle and glasses.</i>]&nbsp; Her&rsquo;ll
+sleep very like, now.&nbsp; And when her wakes, I take it &rsquo;twill
+appear as though she&rsquo;d been and dreamt summat.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; Do you sit a-nigh me, May.&nbsp; The night be a wild one.&nbsp;
+I would not have you be on the roads.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; [<i>Sitting down beside her.</i>]&nbsp; O, the roads be fine
+on nights when the tempest moves in the trees above and the rain falls
+into the mouth of you and lies with a good taste on your tongue.&nbsp;
+And you goes quick on through it till you comes to where the lights
+do blink, and &rsquo;tis a large town and there be folk moving this
+way and that and the music playing, and great fowls and horses what&rsquo;s
+got clocks to the inside of they, a-stirring them up for to run, and
+girls and men a-riding on them - And the booths with red sugar and white,
+all lit and animals that&rsquo;s wild a-roaring and a-biting in the
+tents - And girls what&rsquo;s dancing, standing there in satin gowns
+all over gold and silver - And you walks to and fro in it all and &rsquo;tis
+good to be there and free - And &rsquo;tis better to be in such places
+and to come and to go where you have a mind than to be cooped in here,
+with th&rsquo; old woman and all - &rsquo;Tis a fine life as you lives
+on the roads - and &rsquo;tis a better one nor this, I can tell you,
+Mother.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; [<i>Who has gradually been falling into sleep.</i>]&nbsp;
+I count &rsquo;tis so.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis prime in the freshening of the
+day.&nbsp; I count I&rsquo;ll go along of you, come morning.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s it, Mother, that&rsquo;s it.&nbsp; Us&rsquo;ll
+take a bit of sleep afore we sets off, won&rsquo;t us?&nbsp; And when
+morning comes, us&rsquo;ll open the door and go out.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s it, when &rsquo;tis day.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>Her head falls to one side of the chair and she is presently asleep.<br>
+<br>
+</i>[MAY <i>watches her for some moments</i>.&nbsp; <i>Then she gets
+up softly and wraps her shawl round her</i>.&nbsp; <i>The window shews
+signs of a gray light outside</i>,<i> </i>MAY <i>goes quietly towards
+the outer door</i>.&nbsp; <i>As she reaches it</i>,<i> </i>DORRY <i>comes
+into the room from the staircase.<br>
+<br>
+</i>DORRY.&nbsp; [<i>Going up to </i>VASHTI.]&nbsp; Granny, &rsquo;tis
+the New Year!&nbsp; I&rsquo;m come down to see to the fire and to get
+breakfast for Dad and Gran&rsquo;ma.&nbsp; Why, Granny, you&rsquo;re
+sleeping still.&nbsp; And where&rsquo;s that poor tramp gone off to?&nbsp;
+[<i>She looks round the room and then sees </i>MAY <i>by the door.<br>
+<br>
+</i>DORRY.&nbsp; O, there you are.&nbsp; Are you going out on the road
+afore &rsquo;tis got light?<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; [<i>In a hoarse whisper.</i>]&nbsp; And that I be.&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Tis very nigh to daybreak, so &rsquo;tis.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; Stop a moment.&nbsp; [<i>Calling up the stairs.</i>]&nbsp;
+Daddy, the tramp woman, she&rsquo;s moving off already.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; [<i>From upstairs.</i>]&nbsp; Then give her a bit of bread
+to take along of she.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t care that anyone should go
+an-hungered this day.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; [<i>Turning to </i>MAY.]&nbsp; There - you bide a minute
+whilst I cuts the loaf.&nbsp; My Dad&rsquo;s going to get married this
+day, and he don&rsquo;t care that anyone should go hungry.<br>
+<br>
+[MAY <i>comes slowly back into the room and stands watching </i>DORRY,
+<i>who fetches a loaf from the pantry and cuts it at the table</i>.&nbsp;
+<i>Then she pulls aside the curtain and a dim light comes in.<br>
+<br>
+</i>DORRY.&nbsp; The snow&rsquo;s very nigh gone, and &rsquo;tis like
+as not as the sun may come out presently.&nbsp; Here&rsquo;s a piece
+of bread to take along of you.&nbsp; There, it&rsquo;s a good big piece,
+take and eat it.<br>
+<br>
+[MAY <i>hesitates an instant</i>,<i> then she stretches out her hand
+and takes the bread and puts it beneath her shawl.<br>
+<br>
+</i>MAY.&nbsp; And so there&rsquo;s going to be a wedding here to-day?<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis my Dad as is to be married.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis poor work, is twice marrying.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; My Dad&rsquo;s ever so pleased, I han&rsquo;t seen him
+so pleased as I can remember.&nbsp; I han&rsquo;t.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; Then maybe the second choosing be the best.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; Yes, &rsquo;tis - Gran&rsquo;ma says as &rsquo;tis - and
+Dad, he be ever so fond of Miss Sims - and I be, too.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; Then you&rsquo;ve no call to wish as her who&rsquo;s gone
+should come back to you, like?<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; What&rsquo;s that you&rsquo;re saying?<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; You don&rsquo;t never want as your mammy what you&rsquo;ve
+lost should be amongst you as afore?<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; I never knowed my mammy.&nbsp; Gran&rsquo;ma says she had
+got summat bad in her blood.&nbsp; And Granny&rsquo;s got the same.&nbsp;
+But Miss Sims, she&rsquo;s ever so nice to Dad and me, and I&rsquo;m
+real pleased as she&rsquo;s coming to stop along of us always after
+that they&rsquo;re married, like.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; And th&rsquo; old woman what&rsquo;s your gran&rsquo;ma,
+Dorry?<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; However did you know as I was called &ldquo;Dorry&rdquo;?<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; I heard them call you so last night.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; And whatever do you want to know about Gran&rsquo;ma?<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; What have her got to say &rsquo;bout the - the - wench what&rsquo;s
+going to marry your dad?<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; O, Gran&rsquo;ma, she thinks ever such a lot of Miss Sims,
+and she says as how poor Dad, what&rsquo;s been served so bad, will
+find out soon what &rsquo;tis to have a real decent wife, what&rsquo;ll
+help with the work and all, and what won&rsquo;t lower him by her ways,
+nor nothing.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; Look you here - &rsquo;tis growing day.&nbsp; I must be getting
+off and on to the road.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; [<i>Moving to the door.</i>]&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll unbolt the
+door, then.&nbsp; O, &rsquo;tis fine and daylight now.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; [<i>Turning back at the doorway and looking at the room.</i>]&nbsp;
+I suppose you wouldn&rsquo;t like to touch me, for good luck, Dorry?<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; No, I shouldn&rsquo;t.&nbsp; Gran&rsquo;ma, she don&rsquo;t
+let me go nigh road people as a rule.&nbsp; She&rsquo;s a-feared as
+I should take summat from them, I suppose.<br>
+<br>
+MAY.&nbsp; [<i>Hoarsely</i>,<i> her hand on the door.</i>]&nbsp; Then
+just say as you wishes me well, Dorry.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll wish you a good New Year, then, and Gran&rsquo;ma
+said as I was to watch as you cleared off the place.&nbsp; [MAY <i>goes
+out softly and quickly</i>.&nbsp; DORRY <i>watches her until she is
+out of sight</i>,<i> and then she shuts the door.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+</i>ACT III. - Scene 1.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<i>The same room</i>.&nbsp; <i>It is nearly mid-day</i>,<i> and the
+room is full of sunshine</i>.&nbsp; JANE BROWNING, <i>in her best dress</i>,<i>
+is fastening </i>DORRY&rsquo;S <i>frock</i>,<i> close to the window.<br>
+<br>
+</i>DORRY.&nbsp; Dad&rsquo;s been a rare long time a-cleaning of his
+self up, Gran.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; Will you bide still!&nbsp; However&rsquo;s this frock to
+get fastened and you moving this way and that like some live eel - and
+just see what a mark you&rsquo;ve made on the elbow last night, putting
+your arm down somewhere where you didn&rsquo;t ought to - I might just
+as well have never washed the thing.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; Granny&rsquo;s sound asleep still - she&rsquo;ll have to
+be waked time we goes along to the church.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; That her shan&rsquo;t be.&nbsp; Her shall just bide and
+sleep the drink out of her, her shall.&nbsp; Do you think as I didn&rsquo;t
+find out who &rsquo;twas what had got at the bottle as Dad left on the
+dresser last night.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; Poor Gran, she do take a drop now and then.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; Shame on th&rsquo; old gipsy.&nbsp; Her shall be left to
+bide till she have slept off some of the nonsense which is in her.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; Granny do say a lot of funny things sometimes, don&rsquo;t
+she, now?<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; You get and put on your hat and button your gloves, and
+let the old gipsy be.&nbsp; We can send her off home when &rsquo;tis
+afternoon, and us back from church.&nbsp; Now, where did I lay that
+bonnet?&nbsp; Here &rsquo;tis.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>She begins to tie the strings before a small mirror in the wall</i>.&nbsp;
+STEVE <i>comes downstairs in his shirt sleeves</i>,<i> carrying his
+coat.<br>
+<br>
+</i>DORRY.&nbsp; Why, Dad, you do look rare pleased at summat.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; And when&rsquo;s a man to look pleased if &rsquo;tis not
+on his wedding morn, Dorry?<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; The tramp what was here did say as how &rsquo;twas poor
+work twice marrying, but you don&rsquo;t find it be so, Dad, do you
+now?<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; And that I don&rsquo;t, my little wench.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis
+as nigh heaven as I be like to touch - and that&rsquo;s how &rsquo;tis
+with me.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; [<i>Taking </i>STEVE&rsquo;S <i>coat from him.</i>]&nbsp;
+Ah, &rsquo;tis a different set out altogether this time.&nbsp; That
+&rsquo;tis.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis a-marrying into your own rank, like, and
+no mixing up with they trolloping gipsies.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; Was my own mammy a trolloping gipsy, Gran?<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; [<i>Beginning to brush </i>STEVE&rsquo;S <i>coat.</i>]&nbsp;
+Ah, much in the same pattern as th&rsquo; old woman what&rsquo;s drunk
+asleep against the fireside.&nbsp; Here, button up them gloves, &rsquo;tis
+time we was off.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; I do like Miss Sims.&nbsp; She do have nice things on her.&nbsp;
+When I grows up I&rsquo;d like to look as she do, so I would.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; [<i>To </i>JANE.]&nbsp; There, Mother, that&rsquo;ll do.&nbsp;
+I&rsquo;d best put him on now.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; [<i>Holding out the coat for him.</i>]&nbsp; Well, and you
+be got yourself up rare smart, Steve.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis rare smart as I be feeling, Mother.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m
+all a kind of a dazzle within of me, same as &rsquo;tis with the sun
+upon the snow out yonder.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; Why, look you, there&rsquo;s George a-coming up the path
+already.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; He&rsquo;s wearing of the flower what Rosie gived him last
+night.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; [<i>Opening the door.</i>]&nbsp; Good morning, George.&nbsp;
+A first class New Year to you.&nbsp; You&rsquo;re welcome, if ever a
+man was.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; You bide where you do stand, George, till your feet is dry.&nbsp;
+My floor was fresh wiped over this morning.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; [<i>Standing on the door mat.</i>]&nbsp; All right, Mrs.
+Browning.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t you fluster.&nbsp; Good morning, Dorry.&nbsp;
+How be you to-day, Steve?<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; Dorry, come you upstairs along with me and get your coat
+put on, so as your frock bain&rsquo;t crushed.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; O, I wish I could go so that my nice frock was seen and
+no coat.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>They go upstairs</i>.&nbsp; GEORGE <i>rubs his feet on the mat and
+comes into the room</i>,<i> walking up and down once or twice restlessly
+and in evident distress of mind.<br>
+<br>
+</i>STEVE.&nbsp; [<i>Who has lit a pipe and is smoking.</i>]&nbsp; Why,
+George, be you out of sorts this morning?&nbsp; You don&rsquo;t look
+up to much, and that&rsquo;s the truth.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; [<i>Stopping before </i>STEVE.]&nbsp; Hark you, Steve.&nbsp;
+&rsquo;Tis on my mind to ask summat of you.&nbsp; Did you have much
+speech with the poor thing what you took in from the snow last night?<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; No, George, and that I didn&rsquo;t.&nbsp; Her was mostly
+in a kind of drunken sleep all the time, and naught to be got out from
+she.&nbsp; Mother, her tried.&nbsp; But &rsquo;twas like trying to get
+water from the pump yonder, when &rsquo;tis froze.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Your mother&rsquo;s a poor one at melting ice, Steve,
+and &rsquo;tis what we all knows.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; Ah, &rsquo;twasn&rsquo;t much as we could do for the likes
+of she - what was a regular roadster.&nbsp; Bad herbs, all of them.&nbsp;
+And if it hadn&rsquo;t been so as &rsquo;twas my wedding eve, this one
+shouldn&rsquo;t have set foot inside of the house.&nbsp; But &rsquo;tis
+a season when a man&rsquo;s took a bit soft and foolish, like, the night
+afore his marriage.&nbsp; Bain&rsquo;t that so, George?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; And when was it, Steve, as she went off from here?<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; That I couldn&rsquo;t rightly say, George, but I counts
+&rsquo;twas just upon daybreak.&nbsp; And &rsquo;twas Dorry what seed
+her off the place and gived her a piece of bread to take along of her.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; And do you think as she got talking a lot to Dorry, Steve?<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m blest if I do know, George.&nbsp; I never gived
+another thought to she.&nbsp; What&rsquo;s up?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; They was getting the body of her from out of Simon&rsquo;s
+Pool as I did come by.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s all.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; From Simon&rsquo;s Pool, George?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; I count her must have went across the plank afore &rsquo;twas
+fairly daylight.&nbsp; And, being slippery, like, from the snow, and
+her - her - as you did say.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; In liquor.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; I reckon as her missed her footing, like.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; Well, upon my word, George, who&rsquo;d have thought on
+such a thing!<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; I count as her had been in the water and below the ice
+a smartish while afore they catched sight of she.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; Well, &rsquo;tis a cold finish to a hot life.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; They took and laid her on the grass, Steve, as I comed
+by.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; If it had been me, I&rsquo;d have turned the head of me
+t&rsquo;other side.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; There was summat in the fashion her was laid, Steve, as
+drawed I near for to get a sight of the face of she.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; Well, I shouldn&rsquo;t have much cared for that, George.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Steve - did you get a look into the eyes of yon poor thing
+last night?<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; No, nor wanted for to, neither.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; There was naught to make you think of -<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; Of what, George?<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; There - Steve, I can&rsquo;t get it out, I can&rsquo;t.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; Then let it bide in.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas the way her was laid, and the long arms of
+she, and the hands which was clapped one on t&rsquo;other, as it might
+be in church.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; [<i>Looking through the window.</i>]&nbsp; You shut up,
+George.&nbsp; Here&rsquo;s Annie with Rose a-coming up to the door.&nbsp;
+Don&rsquo;t you get saying another word about yon poor wretch nor the
+end of her.&nbsp; I wouldn&rsquo;t have my Annie upset for all the world
+to-day.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis a thing as must not be spoke of afore they,
+nor Dorry neither, do you hear?<br>
+<br>
+[<i>He moves towards the door and puts his hand to the latch.<br>
+<br>
+</i>GEORGE.&nbsp; Hold back, Steve, a minute.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s summat
+more as I&rsquo;ve got to say.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; You take and shut your mouth up, old George, afore I opens
+the door to the girls.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis bound for to come from me afore you goes along
+to church, Steve.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; I warrant &rsquo;twill keep till us do come home again,
+George.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>He throws the door wide open with a joyous movement</i>.&nbsp; ANNIE
+<i>and </i>ROSE <i>in white dresses stand outside.<br>
+<br>
+</i>STEVE.&nbsp; Well, Annie, this is a rare surprise, and that&rsquo;s
+the truth.&nbsp; [ANNIE <i>and </i>ROSE <i>come into the room.<br>
+<br>
+</i>ROSE.&nbsp; Father, he&rsquo;s outside, and Jim and Bill and Katie,
+and all the rest.&nbsp; We said as &rsquo;twould be pleasanter if we
+was all to go up together along to the church.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; So &rsquo;twould be - so &rsquo;twould be - &rsquo;Twas
+a grand thought of yourn, Rosie.<br>
+<br>
+ANNIE.&nbsp; Steve -<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; [<i>Taking her hand.</i>]&nbsp; Annie, I&rsquo;m fair beside
+myself this day.<br>
+<br>
+ANNIE.&nbsp; O, Steve, there was never a day in my life like this one.&nbsp;
+[DORRY <i>and </i>JANE <i>come down.<br>
+<br>
+</i>DORRY.&nbsp; O, Miss Sims, you do look nice!&nbsp; Gran&rsquo;ma,
+don&rsquo;t Miss Sims look nice?&nbsp; And Rosie, too.&nbsp; O, they
+have nice gowns and hats on, haven&rsquo;t they, Dad?<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t see no gowns nor hats, and that&rsquo;s the
+truth.&nbsp; But I sees summat what&rsquo;s like - what&rsquo;s like
+a meadow of grass in springtime afore the sun&rsquo;s got on to it.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; Why, Dad, &rsquo;tis white, not green, as Miss Sims is
+wearing.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis in the eyes of her as I finds my meadow.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; O, let me see, Dad, let me look, too!<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>Going up to </i>GEORGE, <i>who has been standing aloof
+and moody in the background.</i>]&nbsp; Come, Mr. Davis, we must have
+a look, too.<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Get along, get along.&nbsp; We han&rsquo;t time for
+such foolishness.&nbsp; It be close on twelve already.<br>
+<br>
+ANNIE.&nbsp; O, let me be, all of you!&nbsp; I declare, I don&rsquo;t
+know which way to look, I don&rsquo;t.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll show you, Annie, then.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>To </i>GEORGE.]&nbsp; Well, Mr. Davis, you don&rsquo;t
+seem over bright this morning.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis with the nerves as he be took!<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; Look at what he&rsquo;s wearing in his buttonhole, Rosie.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis kept beautiful and fresh.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; Come on, come on, all of you.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis time we
+was at the church.<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; Hark to him!&nbsp; He&rsquo;s in a rare hurry for to get
+out of the house to-day.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; Bain&rsquo;t the old lady a-coming?<br>
+<br>
+JANE.&nbsp; That she bain&rsquo;t, the old drinking gipsy - &rsquo;tis
+at the spirits as her got in the night - and put away very near the
+best part of a bottle.&nbsp; Now she&rsquo;s best left to sleep it off,
+she be.<br>
+<br>
+STEVE.&nbsp; Come on, George.&nbsp; Come, Dorry.<br>
+<br>
+DORRY.&nbsp; O, isn&rsquo;t it a pity as Granny will get at the drink,
+Mr. Davis?&nbsp; And isn&rsquo;t Miss Sims nice in her white dress?&nbsp;
+And don&rsquo;t Dad look smiling and pleased?&nbsp; I never did know
+Dad smile like this afore.<br>
+<br>
+GEORGE.&nbsp; [<i>Heavily.</i>]&nbsp; Come on, Dorry - you take hold
+of me.&nbsp; You and me, we&rsquo;ll keep nigh one to t&rsquo;other
+this day, won&rsquo;t us?<br>
+<br>
+ROSE.&nbsp; [<i>Calling from outside.</i>]&nbsp; Come on, Mr. Davis.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>They all go out.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+</i>ACT III. - Scene 2.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<i>Nearly an hour later</i>.&nbsp; <i>The cottage room is full of sunlight.<br>
+<br>
+</i>VASHTI REED <i>is awake and gazing vacantly about her from the same
+chair by the fire</i>.&nbsp; <i>Someone knocks repeatedly at the door
+from outside.<br>
+<br>
+</i>VASHTI.&nbsp; And &rsquo;tis no bit of rest as I gets for my bones,
+but they must come and hustle I and call I from the dreams which was
+soft.&nbsp; [<i>The knocking is heard again.<br>
+<br>
+</i>VASHTI.&nbsp; And I up and says to they, &ldquo;Ah, and you would
+hustle a poor old woman what&rsquo;s never harmed so much as a hair
+out of the ugly heads of you.&nbsp; You would hunt and drive of her
+till she be very nigh done to death.&nbsp; But there shall come a day
+when you shall be laid down and a-taking of your bit of rest, and the
+thing what you knows of shall get up upon you and smite you till you
+do go screeching from the house, and fleeing to the uttermost part of
+the land - whilst me and mine -<br>
+<br>
+[<i>The door opens and </i>HARRY MOSS <i>enters.<br>
+<br>
+</i>HARRY.&nbsp; Beg pardon, old Missis, but I couldn&rsquo;t make no
+one hear me.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; Seeing as them be sick of the abomination which was inside
+of they.&nbsp; [<i>Perceiving </i>HARRY.]&nbsp; Well, and what be you
+as is comed into this room?<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis Moss as I be called, old Missis.&nbsp; And as
+I was a-going by this place, I thought as I&rsquo;d look in a moment,
+just for to ask how &rsquo;twas with May.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; They be all gone out from the house.&nbsp; All of them.&nbsp;
+They be in clothes what do lie in boxes most of the time with lumps
+of white among they.&nbsp; Them be set out in the best as they has,
+and in grand things of many colours.&nbsp; There &rsquo;tis.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; And be you th&rsquo; old lady what&rsquo;s Steve&rsquo;s
+mother?<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; I be not, sir.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis mother to May as I be.&nbsp;
+May, what&rsquo;s comed back, and what&rsquo;ll set t&rsquo;other old
+vixen in her place soon as they get home.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; Then May, she be gone out, too, have her?<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; [<i>Looking round vaguely.</i>]&nbsp; Ah, I counts as
+her be gone to church along of t&rsquo;other.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; To church, Missis?<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s marrying being done down here to-day.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; Marrying, be there?&nbsp; Well, but I was &rsquo;most feared
+as how it might have been t&rsquo;other thing.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; Ah, that there be - marrying.&nbsp; But there bain&rsquo;t
+no more victuals got into the house as I knows of.&nbsp; Th&rsquo; old
+woman&rsquo;s seen to that.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; And be May gone out, too, along of them to see the marrying?<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; Ah, I counts as her be.&nbsp; But her&rsquo;s a-coming
+back in a little while, and you may sit down and bide till she does.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; I&rsquo;d sooner be about and on my way, Missis, if &rsquo;tis
+all the same to you.&nbsp; But I thanks you kindly.&nbsp; And you get
+and tell May when she do come home, that &rsquo;tis particular glad
+I be for to know as her bain&rsquo;t took worse, nor nothing.&nbsp;
+And should I happen in these parts again, &rsquo;tis very likely as
+I&rsquo;ll take a look in on she some day.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; Ah, her&rsquo;ll have got t&rsquo;other old baggage set
+in the right place by then.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; [<i>Looking round him.</i>]&nbsp; Well, I be rare pleased
+to think of May so comfortable, like, for her was got down terrible
+low.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; T&rsquo;other&rsquo;ll be broughted lower.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; Look you here, old Missis, &rsquo;tis a stomach full of
+naught as I carries.&nbsp; If so be as you has a crust to spare -<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; [<i>Pointing to a door.</i>]&nbsp; There be a plate of
+meat inside of that cupboard.&nbsp; You take and fill your belly with
+it.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; Thank you kindly, Missis, but I counts I han&rsquo;t the
+time for heavy feeding this morning.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; &rsquo;Twould serve she right, th&rsquo; old sinner, for
+the place to be licked up clean, against the time when her was come&rsquo;d
+back, so &rsquo;twould.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; Well, Missis, you can tell May &rsquo;tis a brave New Year
+as I do wish she.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; [<i>Listening to bells which are heard suddenly ringing.</i>]&nbsp;
+There, there they be!&nbsp; Harken to them!&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis with bells
+as they be coming out.&nbsp; Bells what&rsquo;s ringing.&nbsp; I count
+&rsquo;tis fine as May do look now in her marriage gown.&nbsp; Harken,
+&rsquo;tis the bells a-shaking of the window pane.&nbsp; I be an old
+woman, but the hearing of me bain&rsquo;t spoiled.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; I warrant it bain&rsquo;t, Missis.&nbsp; Why, they&rsquo;re
+ringing wonderful smart.&nbsp; &rsquo;Tis enough, upon my word, for
+to fetch down every stone of the old place.<br>
+<br>
+VASHTI.&nbsp; Get you out upon the garden path and tell I if you sees
+them a-coming.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s it, old Missis, and so I will.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>He goes outside the house.<br>
+<br>
+</i>VASHTI.&nbsp; [<i>Sitting upright and looking with fixed vacancy
+before her.</i>]&nbsp; And when they was all laid low and the heads
+of them bowed.&nbsp; &ldquo;You would, would you,&rdquo; I says, for
+they was lifting the ends of their ugly mouths at I.&nbsp; And I passed
+among they and them did quail and crouch, being with fear.&nbsp; And
+me and mine did reach the place what was on the top.&nbsp; &ldquo;See
+now yourselves,&rdquo; I says, &ldquo;if so be that you do not go in
+blindness and in dark.&rdquo;&nbsp; &rsquo;Twas May what stood there
+aside of I.&nbsp; And &ldquo;Look you,&rdquo; I says, &ldquo;over the
+bended necks of you my child shall pass.&nbsp; For you be done to death
+by the lies which growed within you and waxed till the bodies of you
+was fed with them and the poison did gush out from your lips.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+But my little child stood in the light, and the hands of her was about
+the stars.<br>
+<br>
+HARRY.&nbsp; [<i>Coming in.</i>]&nbsp; Look, they be all a-coming over
+the meadow, old Missis.&nbsp; But May han&rsquo;t comed with they -
+May han&rsquo;t come too.<br>
+<br>
+[<i>The wedding party enters the room as the curtain falls.</i>]<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+Footnotes:<br>
+<br>
+<a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1">{1}</a>&nbsp; &ldquo;<i>As
+I walked Out</i>.&rdquo;&nbsp; <i>From Folk Songs from Essex collected
+by R. Vaughan Williams.&nbsp;  The whole</i>,<i> or two verses can be
+sung.<br>
+<br>
+</i><a name="footnote2"></a><a href="#citation2">{2}</a>&nbsp; &ldquo;The
+Seeds of Love,&rdquo; &ldquo;Folk Songs from Somerset,&rdquo; edited
+by Cecil J. Sharp and Charles L. Marsden.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, SIX PLAYS ***<br>
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