John.  Why, master, and her might have a different ribbon to her head this day, being that ’tis Thursday?

William.  An eye like—­like a bullace, John.  And a grand colour to the face of her like yon rose.

John.  That’s enough, Master William.  I’ll not pitch upon the wrong maid, never fear.  And now I’ll clean myself up a bit at the pump, and set off straight away.

William. [Shaking JOHN’s hand.] Good luck to you, my man.  And if you can bring it off quiet and decent like without me coming in till at the last, why, ’tis a five pound note that you shall have for your trouble.

John.  You be a grand gentleman to serve, Master William, and no mistake about that.

[Curtain.]

Act II.—­Scene 1.

A wood.  To the right a fallen tree (or a bench).  John comes from the left, a large bunch of flowers in his hand.

John.  Out, and a taking of the air in the wood, be they?  Well, bless my soul, but ’tis a rare caddling business what master’s put upon I.  ’Tis worse nor any job he have set me to in all the years I’ve been along of him, so ’tis.  But I’m the one to bring it off slick and straight, and, bless me, if I won’t take and hide myself by yon great bush till I see the wenches a-coming up.  That’ll give me time to have a quiet look at the both and pick out she what master’s going a-courting of.

[John puts himself behind some thick bushes as Julia and Laura come forward.  Julia is very simply dressed.  Her head is bare, and she is carrying her white cotton sunbonnet.  Laura wears finer clothes and her bonnet is tied by bright ribbons of cherry colour.

Laura. [Stopping by the bench.] We’ll sit down—­’Tis a warm day, and I’ve had enough of walking.

[She sinks down on the seat.

Julia. [Looking all round her.] ’Tis beautiful and quiet here.  O this is ever so much better than the farm.

Laura.  The farm!  What’s wrong with that, I should like to know?

Julia.  Everything.  ’Tis more like a prison than a home to me.  Within the house there’s always work crying out to be done—­and outside I believe ’tis worse—­work—­nothing else speaking to me.

Laura.  You’re a sad ungrateful girl.  Why, there’s many would give their eyes to change with you.

Julia.  But out here ’tis all peace, and freedom.  There’s naught calling out to be done.  The flowers grow as they like, and the breezes move them this way, and that.  The ground is thick with leaves and blossoms and no one has got to sweep it, and the hard things with great noises to them, like pails and churns, are far away and clean forgot.

Laura.  ’Tisn’t much use as you’ll be on the farm.

Julia.  I wish I’d never come nigh to it.  I was happier far before.