Mercy.  Good morning, Mr. Strangway.

Strangway.  Now, yesterday I was telling you what our Lord’s coming meant to the world.  I want you to understand that before He came there wasn’t really love, as we know it.  I don’t mean to say that there weren’t many good people; but there wasn’t love for the sake of loving.  D’you think you understand what I mean?

     Mercy fidgets.  GLADYS’S eyes are following a fly.

Ivy.  Yes, Mr. Strangway.

Strangway.  It isn’t enough to love people because they’re good to you, or because in some way or other you’re going to get something by it.  We have to love because we love loving.  That’s the great thing —­without that we’re nothing but Pagans.

Gladys.  Please, what is Pagans?

Strangway.  That’s what the first Christians called the people who lived in the villages and were not yet Christians, Gladys.

Mercy.  We live in a village, but we’re Christians.

Strangway. [With a smile] Yes, Mercy; and what is a Christian?

     Mercy kicks afoot, sideways against her neighbour, frowns over
     her china-blare eyes, is silent; then, as his question passes
     on, makes a quick little face, wriggles, and looks behind her.

Strangway.  Ivy?

Ivy.  ’Tis a man—­whu—­whu——­

Strangway.  Yes?—­Connie?

Connie. [Who speaks rather thickly, as if she had a permanent slight cold] Please, Mr. Strangway, ’tis a man what goes to church.

Gladys.  He ’as to be baptised—­and confirmed; and—­and—­buried.

Ivy.  ’Tis a man whu—­whu’s gude and——­

Gladys.  He don’t drink, an’ he don’t beat his horses, an’ he don’t hit back.

Mercy. [Whispering] ’Tisn’t your turn. [To Strangway] ’Tis a man like us.

Ivy.  I know what Mrs. Strangway said it was, ’cause I asked her once, before she went away.

Strangway. [Startled] Yes?

Ivy.  She said it was a man whu forgave everything.

Strangway.  Ah!

     The note of a cuckoo comes travelling.  The girls are gazing at
     Strangway, who seems to have gone of into a dream.  They begin
     to fidget and whisper.

Connie.  Please, Mr. Strangway, father says if yu hit a man and he don’t hit yu back, he’s no gude at all.

Mercy.  When Tommy Morse wouldn’t fight, us pinched him—­he did squeal! [She giggles] Made me laugh!

Strangway.  Did I ever tell you about St. Francis of Assisi?

Ivy. [Clasping her hands] No.

Strangway.  Well, he was the best Christian, I think, that ever lived—­simply full of love and joy.

Ivy.  I expect he’s dead.