[A slight pause.  Annet looks questioningly at Andrew, who turns away with a heavy sigh.

Annet. [Singing.]

Yes, if you plough it with one ram’s horn
Sing Ivy Leaf, Sweet William and Thyme
And sow it all over with one peppercorn
And you shall be a true lover of mine.

Andrew.  ’Tis all foolishness.

Annet. [Singing.]

Say can you reap with a sickle of leather
Sing Ivy Leaf, Sweet William and Thyme
And tie it all up with a Tom-tit’s feather
And you shall be a true lover of mine.

Andrew. [Rises up impatiently.] I can stand no more.  You’ve danced upon my heart till ’tis fairly brittle, and ready to be broke by a feather.

Annet. [Very gently.] O Andrew, I’ll mend your heart one day.

Andrew.  Millie, the sound of those words has mended it already.

Annet. [In a harder voice.] But very likely there’ll be a crack left to it always.

[Farmer Daniel and Elizabeth come into the room.

Daniel.  Well my boy, well Millie?

Andrew. [Boldly.] ’Tis for a month from now.

Daniel.  Bless my soul.  Hear that, Mother?  Hear that?

Elizabeth.  I’m not deaf, Father.

Daniel. [Shaking Andrew’s hand.] Ah my boy, I knowed as you’d bring the little maid to the senses of she.

Elizabeth.  Millie has not shown any backwardness in clothing herself as though for church.

Daniel.  ’Tis with the maids as ’tis with the fowls when they be come out from moult.  They be bound to pick about this way and that in their new feathers.

Elizabeth.  Well, ’tis to be hoped the young people have fixed it up for good and all this time.

Daniel.  Come Mill, my wench, you be wonderful quiet.  Where’s your tongue?

Elizabeth.  I think we’ve all had quite enough of Millie’s tongue, Father.  Let her give it a rest if she’ve a mind.

Daniel.  I warrant she be gone as shy as a May bettel when ’tis daylight.  But us’ll take it as she have fixed it up in her own mind like.  Come, Mother, such a time as this, you won’t take no objection to the drawing of a jug of cider.

Elizabeth.  And supper just about to be served?  I’m surprised at you, Father.  No, I can’t hear of cider being drawn so needless like.

Daniel.  Well, well,—­have it your own way—­but I always says, and my father used to say it afore I, a fine deed do call for a fine drink, and that’s how ’twas in my time.

Elizabeth.  Millie, do you call your cousins in to supper.

Daniel.  Ah, and where be the maids gone off to this time of night, Mother?

Andrew.  Annet did pass me as I came through the yard, Master