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_ ACT I - SCENE I
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.] _
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