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.
[Emilygoes out.Clarasits down by the table and takes up a potato and the knife and slowly and awkwardly sets to work.Jessiestands 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.
[Georgecomes 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’seyes wander from the book toClaraas 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.
[Joanputs aside the knife and basket,turns back her sleeves,and then resumes her work.George’seyes 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 onClara’sbent 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 watchingClara.] 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.
[Claraputs 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 briarsI lately took my way,All for to hear the small birds singAnd 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 forThe 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 uneasyAnd troubled in my mind,Sometimes I think I’ll go to my loveAnd tell to him my mind.”
“And if I would go to my loveMy love he will say nayIf I show to him my boldnessHe’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 toRobin.] 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.Clarasews.Georgegoes on with the potatoes.As the last one is finished and tossed into the water,he looks atClarafor 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.
[Claraturns her head away and furtively presses her handkerchief to her eyes.Georgelooks gloomily on the floor.Emilyenters.
Emily. George, what are you at sitting at the kitchen table I’d like to know?
[Georgegets hastily off.Both children look up from their book.
Emily. [Looking freezingly atClara.] ’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 towardsEmily.] 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 ofJessieandRobin.] 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.
[Georgeis left alone in the kitchen.When all sounds ofEmilyand 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 thisThomascomes into the room.
Thomas. Why, George, my lad.
George. [Confusedly putting the ribbon back into his pocket.] Yes, Master Thomas.
Thomas. [Looking meaningly atGeorge.] ’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.
[GeorgeandThomasgo out.
[Joan,dressed as a lady of fashion,and followed byClara,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. [Clarainvoluntarily puts out her hand.] No, Joan. I was to give it to Aunt Clara herself. I’ve run all the way.
[Joanslowly 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. [TakingJessie’shand 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. [WhenJessiehas 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 toClara.] There, mistress, ’tis yours, not mine.
Clara. [Glancing at it.] Lord Lovel’s writing. [Claraopens 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.
[Claragets up and goes to the window,where she looks out for a few minutes in silence.Joancries softly meanwhile.
Clara. [Turning towardsJoan.] 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. [Claragoes out.
[Joanseats herself in a high-backed chair and opens her fan.Milesenters,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.
[Milesplaces a chair in front ofJoan,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 fromMiles,pretending to smell it.
Miles. Well—and what’s the next pleasure, Madam?
[Joandrops 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 laidEmily’ssilk 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 doorClaraenters.
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 Jennercomes 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.
[Joanlooks at him irresolutely for a moment and then precipitately leaves the room.
[Lukefolds his arms on the table and rests his head on them in an attitude of deepest despondency.After a few momentsClaraenters.
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.
[Claratakes the flowers gently from his hand,and as she does so,Emilyenters.
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.
The kitchen is decorated with bunches of flowers.A long table is spread with silver,china and food.Clarais setting mugs to each place.Maggiecomes 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 toMaggie’sside 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.
[Thomascomes 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 ofJessieandRobin,comes into the room.Her eyes fall onThomaswho is standing betweenClaraandMaggie,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 ofMiles Hooper,followsEmilyinto 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.Joanlanguidly sinks into a chair andMilesputs himself at her right.A place at her left remains empty.Thomassits 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.
[Clarasits down at a place at the end of the table.GeorgeandMaggiestill remain standing.
Emily. [PerceivingClara’smovement.] 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?
[Georgecomes involuntarily forward and stands behindClara’schair.Claradoes not move.
Emily. Get you out of that there place this instant, do you hear? [Turning toMiles.] 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.
[Claralooks 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 Jennerenters.He goes straight up toJoanand holds out his hand to her,and then toMiles.
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 byJoan’sside.] 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.
[GeorgeandMaggiequietly seat themselves on either side ofClara.Emilyis too busy dispensing the food to take any notice.Georgehands plates and dishes toClara,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 toLuke.] 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. [ToJoan,who has been nervously handling her knife and fork and watchingClara’smovements 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 watchingJoan.] 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.
[Joanlooks anxiously across the table atClara.Then she drops her spoon and fork and takes up her fan,using it violently whilstGeorgeslowly gets up and opens the door.Lord Lovelis seen standing on the threshold.
Lord Lovel. [ToGeorge.] 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 towardsJoanandMiles.] 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 atJoanwho has suddenly dropped her fan and is leaning back with a look of supplication towardsClara.] I must have come to the wrong place—that’s not the Miss Clara Spring I know.
Miles. [Bending overJoan.] My sweet Missy has no acquaintance with this gentleman, I am sure.
[Lord Lovelsuddenly turns round and perceivesClaraseated byMaggieat 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 atClara.] O do you stand by me now.
Clara. [Lays her hand onLord Lovel’sarm.] 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 whichGeorgeshuts behind them.]
[Joanleans 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 toJoan.] 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. [TakingJoan’shand 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 forJoanand 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.
[Joansuddenly bends forward and hides her face in her hands,her form shaken by violent weeping.The door opens andClaraenters followed byLord Lovel.She has taken off her cap and apron.
Joan. [Raising her head and stretching out her hands toClara.] 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 toJoan.] Is this really so, my maid?
[Joanbows her head,her handkerchief still covering her face.
Thomas. [ToClara.] 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 atMiles.] 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.Joanleans 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. [ToClara.] 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 towardsGeorge.] 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 toClara]—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.
[Clarapushes up both her sleeves,and holds out her arms towardsGeorge.
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 whereClarastands 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 byClara’sside.] No, and that I will not do. ’Tis little enough as I holds, but what little, I’ll keep it.
Clara. [ToGeorge.] 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.