SAM.  All reeght.  Good-bye, Emma.

EMMA.  Good-bye, Sam.

(Exit SAM left centre. MRS. ORMEROD comes from the inside door.  She has a small blue teapot in her hand.)

SARAH.  Was anybody ‘ere, Emma?  A thowt A yeard someun talkin’, only my yearin’ isn’t what it used to be, an’ A warn’t sure.

EMMA.  It were Sam Horrocks, Mrs. Ormerod.

SARAH.  Yon lad of ould Sal Horrocks as died last year?  ’Im as isn’t reeght in ’is yead?

EMMA.  Aye.  ‘E’s bin askin’ me to wed ’im.

SARAH (incensed).  In my ‘ouse?  Theer’s imperence for thee, an’ tha promised to another lad, an’ all.  A’d ’ave set about ‘im wi’ a stick, Emma.

EMMA.  ’E didn’t knaw about Joe.  It made me feel cruel like to ’ave to tell ’im.

SARAH.  ’E’ll get ower it.  Soom lass ‘ll tak’ ’im.

EMMA.  A suppose so.

SARAH (coming down, putting the teapot in EMMA’S hands).  Well, theer’s teapot.

EMMA (meets SARAH right centre, examining teapot).  It’s beautiful.  Beautiful, it is, Mrs. Ormerod.

SARAH.  Aye, it’s a bit o’ real china is that.  Tha’ll tak’ care on’t, lass, won’t thee?

EMMA.  A will an’ all.

SARAH.  Aye.  A knaw it’s safe wi’ thee.  Mebbe safer than it would be in workus.  A can’t think well on yon plaice.  A goa cold all ower at thowt of it.

(A knock at the door.)

EMMA.  That’ll be Parson.

SARAH (crosses left, smoothing her hair).  Goa an’ look through window first, an’ see who ’t is.

EMMA (puts teapot on table; looking through window).  It is not th’ ould Parson.  It’s one o’ them young curate chaps.

SARAH.  Well, coom away from window an’ sit thee down.  It won’t do to seem too eager.  Let un knock again if it’s not th’ ould Parson.

(EMMA leaves the window and goes to right of table.  The knock is repeated.)

SARAH (raising her voice).  Coom in so who tha art.  Door’s on latch.

(Enter the REV.  FRANK ALLEYNE. He is a young curate, a Londoner and an Oxford man, by association, training, and taste totally unfitted for a Lancashire curacy, in which he is, unfortunately, no exception.)

ALLEYNE.  Good afternoon, Mrs. Ormerod.

SARAH.  Good day to thee.

ALLEYNE.  I’m sorry to say Mr. Blundell has had to go to a missionary meeting, but he asked me to come and see you in his stead.

SARAH.  Tha’s welcoom, lad.  Sit thee doon.

(EMMA comes below table left.  Dusts a chair, which doesn’t need it, with her apron. ALLEYNE raises a deprecatory hand. SARAH’S familiarity, as it seems to him, offends him.  He looks sourly at EMMA and markedly ignores her.)

ALLEYNE.  Thank you; no, I won’t sit; I cannot stay long.

SARAH.  Just as tha likes.  It’s all same to me.