Juliais sitting at the foot of a tree in the wood.Chris,NatandTansieare 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 itnowwith 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.
[Susancomes 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.
Nat. 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,TansieandNatgo 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,thenChrisslowly follows the others,leavingJuliaalone.Juliasits 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 likewiseWhen small birds they do sing.
[Johnwith 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. Ah, 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.
[Johnsits down on the bench byJuliaand opens the basket.Julialooks 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.
[Johngoes out angrily.Juliasits down again on the bench and begins to sing.
Julia. [Singing.]
My gardener stood byAnd told me to take great care,For in the middle of a red rose-budThere grows a sharp thorn there.
[Lauracomes 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!
[Susancomes up.During the next sentencesLauratakes 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. [Susangoes 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 toLaura.
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.
[Laurareplaces the vegetables in her basket and rises from the seat as the curtain falls.
The Garden of Road Farm as in Act I.
Mrs. Gardneris knitting in the Arbour.Williamstrolls 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.
[Johncomes 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.
[Susancomes 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.
[Johntakes 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.
[Williamfollows 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.Juliacomes 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. [Johnlooks at her with exasperated contempt.Then he slowly walks away towards the house.Juliagoes in the opposite direction to the garden gate.
Julia. [Calling.] Chris! [Chriscomes 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.
[Lauracomes in,followed byNatandTansie.
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. [Johncomes up.
John. The master’s very nigh ready now, mistress.
[Susanfollows him.
Susan. The mistress says, please to be seated till she do come.
John. [ToChrisandNat.] 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.
[WilliamandMrs. Gardnercome in.Williamlooks nervously round him.Mrs. Gardnerperceives the gipsies,andSusantalking toNat.
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 toJulia.] 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 takesChrisby the hand and leads him forward.
Mrs. Gardner. What’s this? William, do you understand what the young person is telling us?
Julia. [TakingLaurawith 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 toWilliam.] Now master, hearken to that. Can’t you lift your spirits a bit.
Julia. [ToMrs. 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 intoWilliam’shand.] 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 atNatandSusan.] 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 ofChris.] 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,withLauraon his arm,returns.Lauracarries 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 toJohn.] 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 intoWilliam’seyes.] 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.]
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.