Mrs. Hope. Well, who is to sleep there then?
Joy. [Coaxingly.] Let me sleep with Mother, Aunt Nell, do!
Mrs. Hope. Litter her up with a great girl like you, as if we’d only one spare room! Tom, see that she comes down—I can’t stay here, I must manage something. [She goes away towards the house.]
Colonel. [Moving to the tree, and looking up.] You heard what your aunt said?
Joy. [Softly.] Oh, Uncle Tom!
Colonel. I shall have to come up after you.
Joy. Oh, do, and Peachey too!
Colonel. [Trying to restrain a smile.] Peachey, you talk to her. [Without waiting for miss beech, however, he proceeds.] What’ll your aunt say to me if I don’t get you down?
Miss beech. Poor creature!
Joy. I don’t want to be worried about my frock.
Colonel. [Scratching his bald head.] Well, I shall catch it.
Joy. Oh, Uncle Tom, your head is so beautiful from here! [Leaning over, she fans it with a leafy twig.]
Miss beech. Disrespectful little toad!
Colonel. [Quickly putting on his hat.] You’ll fall out, and a pretty mess that’ll make on—[he looks uneasily at the ground]—my lawn!
[A voice is heard calling “Colonel! Colonel!]”
Joy. There’s Dick calling you, Uncle Tom.
[She disappears.]
Dick. [Appearing in the opening of the wall.] Ernie’s waiting to play you that single, Colonel!
[He disappears.]
Joy. Quick, Uncle Tom! Oh! do go, before he finds I ’m up here.
Miss. Beech. Secret little creature!
[The colonel picks
up his racquet, shakes his fist, and goes
away.]
Joy. [Calmly.] I’m coming down now, Peachey.
[Climbing down.]
Look out! I’m dropping on your head.
Miss beech. [Unmoved.] Don’t hurt yourself!
[Joy drops on the rustic seat and rubs her shin. Told you so!]
[She hunts in a little bag for plaster.]
Let’s see!
Joy. [Seeing the worms.] Ugh!
Miss beech. What’s the matter with the poor creatures?
Joy. They’re so wriggly!
[She backs away and sits down in the swing. She is just seventeen, light and slim, brown-haired, fresh-coloured, and grey-eyed; her white frock reaches to her ankles, she wears a sunbonnet.] Peachey, how long were you Mother’s governess.
Miss beech. Five years.
Joy. Was she as bad to teach as me?
Miss beech. Worse!
[Joy claps her hands.]