Jessie.  Don’t go away, Georgie.  Come and tell us how you like Aunt Clara now that she’s growed into such a grand lady.

George. [Coming back to the table.] I don’t like nothing about her, Miss Jessie.

Jessie.  Is Aunt very much changed from when she did use to ride the big horses to the trough, Georgie?

Robin.  And from the time when th’ old gander did take a big piece right out of her arm, Georgie?

George. [His eyes on Clara’s bent head.] I count her be wonderful changed, like.

Jessie.  So that you would scarce know her?

George.  So that I should scarce know she.

Jessie.  She have brought Mother a silken gown and me a string of coral beads.  But naught for you, Georgie.

George.  I reckon as Miss Clara have not kept me in her remembrance like.

Clara. [With sudden earnestness.] O that she has, George.

Jessie.  She didn’t seem to know him by her looks.

Clara.  Looks often speak but poorly for the heart.

Robin. [Who has been watching Clara.] See there, Joan.  You’ve been and cut that big tater right in half.  Mother will be cross.

Clara.  O dear, I am thoughtless.  One cannot work and talk at the same time.

George. [Taking basket and knife from her and seating himself on the edge of the table.] Here,—­give them all to me.  I understand such work, and ’tis clear that you do not.  I’ll finish them off in a few minutes, and mistress will never be the wiser.

Clara.  O thank you, George, but am I to go idle?

George.  You can take up with that there white sewing if you have a mind.  ’Tis more suited to your hands nor this rough job.

[Clara puts down her sleeves and takes up her needlework.

Jessie.  Sing us a song, George, whilst you do the taters.

George.  No, Miss Jessie.  My mood is not a singing mood this day.

Jessie.  You ask him, Joan.

Clara.  Will not you sing one little verse, George?

George.  Nay—­strangers from London town would have no liking for the songs we sing down here among the fields.

Clara.  There was a song I once heard in the country that pleased me very well.

Jessie.  What was it called?

Clara.  I cannot remember the name—­but there was something of bushes and of briars in it.

Jessie.  I know which that is.  ’Tis a pretty song.  Sing it, Georgie.

George.  Nay—­sing it yourself, Miss Jessie.

Jessie.  ’Tis like this at the beginning.—­[she sings or repeats] —

“Through bushes and through briars
I lately took my way,
All for to hear the small birds sing
And the lambs to skip and play.”