Clara.  Here, loosen my cloak, Joan, and untie the ribbons of my bonnet.

Joan.  O mistress, keep the pretty clothes upon you till you have got to the house.

Clara.  No, no—­such town garments are not suited to the woods and meadows.  I want to feel the country breeze upon my head, and my limbs must be free from the weight of the cloak.  I had these things upon me during the coach journey.  They are filled with road dust and I dislike them now.

Joan. [Unfastening the cloak and untying the bonnet.] They are fresh and bright for I brushed and shook them myself this morning.

Clara. [Retying a blue ribbon which she wears in her hair.] I have taken a dislike to them.  See here, Joan, since you admire them, they shall be yours.

Joan.  Mine?  The French bonnet and the satin cloak?

Clara.  To comfort you for the pains of the country, Joan.

Joan.  O mistress, let us stop a moment longer in this quiet place so that I may slip them on and see how they become me.

Clara.  As you will.  Listen, that is the cuckoo singing.

Joan. [Throwing off her cotton bonnet and shawl and dressing herself hastily in the bonnet and cloak.] O what must it feel like to be a grand lady and wear such things from dawn to bed time.

Clara.  I am very glad to be without them for a while.  How good the air feels on my head.

Joan.  There, mistress, how do I look?

Clara.  Very nicely, Joan.  So nicely that if you like, you may keep them upon you for the remainder of the way.

Joan.  O mistress, may I really do so?

Clara.  Yes.  And Joan, do you go onwards to the farm by the quickest path which is through this wood and across the high road.  Anyone will shew you where the place is.  I have a mind to wander about in some of the meadows which I remember.  But I will join you all in good time.

Joan.  Very well, mistress.  If I set off in a few moments it will do, I suppose?  I should just like to take a peep at myself as I am now, in the little glass which you carry in your silk bag.

Clara. [Going off.] Don’t spend too much time looking at what will be shewn you, Joan.

Joan.  Never fear, mistress.  I’ll be there afore you, if I have to run all the way. [Clara wanders off.

[Joan sits down again on the trunk of the fallen tree.  She opens the silken bag, draws out a small hand glass and looks long and steadily at her own reflection.  Then she glances furtively around and, seeing that she is quite alone, she takes a small powder box from the bag and hastily opening it, she gives her face several hurried touches with the powder puff.

Joan. [Surveying the effect in the glass.] Just to take off the brown of my freckles.  Now if any one was to come upon me sitting here they wouldn’t know as I was other than a real, high lady.  All covered with this nice cloak as I be, the French bonnet on my head, and powder to my face, who’s to tell the difference?  But O—­these must be hid first.