Elizabeth.  What’s your cousin doing now, Annet?

Annet.  The door of her room is still locked, Aunt.  And what she says is that she do want to bide alone there

Elizabeth.  In all my days I never did hear tell of such a thing, I don’t know what’s coming to the world, I don’t.

May.  I count that Millie do like to be all to herself whilst she is a-dressing up grand in her white gown, and the silken cloak and bonnet.

Annet.  Millie’s not a-dressing of herself up.  I heard her crying pitiful as I was gathering flowers in the garden.

Elizabeth.  Crying?  She’ll have something to cry about if she doesn’t look out, when her father comes in, and hears how she’s a-going on.

May.  I wonder why Cousin Millie’s taking on like this.  I shouldn’t, if ’twas me getting married.

Elizabeth.  Look you, May, you get and run up, and knock at the door and tell her that ’twill soon be time for us to set off to church and that she have got to make haste in her dressing.

May.  I’ll run, Aunt, only ’tis very likely as she’ll not listen to anything that I say. [May goes out.

Elizabeth.  Now Annet, no idling here, if you please.  Set the nosegay in water, and when you’ve given a look round to see that everything is in its place, upstairs with you, and on with your bonnet, do you hear?  Uncle won’t wish to be kept waiting for you, remember.

Annet.  I’m all ready dressed, except for my bonnet, Aunt.  ’Tis Millie that’s like to keep Uncle waiting this morning. [She goes out.

[Daniel comes in.

Daniel.  Well, Mother—­well, girls—­but, bless my soul, where’s
Millie got to?

Elizabeth.  Millie has not seen fit to shew herself this morning, Father.  She’s biding up in her room with the door locked, and nothing that I’ve been able to say has been attended to, so perhaps you’ll kindly have your try.

Daniel.  Bless my soul—­where’s May?  Where’s Annet?  Send one of the little maids up to her, and tell her ’tis very nigh time for us to be off.

Elizabeth.  I’m fairly tired of sending up to her, Father.  You’d best go yourself.

[May comes into the room.

May.  Please Aunt, the door, ’tis still locked, and Millie is crying ever so sadly within, and she won’t open to me, nor speak, nor nothing.

Elizabeth.  There, Father,—­perhaps you’ll believe what I tell you another time.  Millie has got that hardened and wayward, there’s no managing of her, there’s not.

Daniel.  Ah, ’twon’t be very long as us’ll have the managing of she.  ’Twill be young Andrew as’ll take she in hand after this day.

Elizabeth.  ’Tis all very well to talk of young Andrew, but who’s a-going to get her to church with him I’d like to know.