Laura.  O that I will, my good, dear John.

[Curtain.]

Act II.—­Scene 2.

The same wood.

William and John come up.  William carries a large market basket containing vegetables.

John. [Looking round and seeing no one.] Bless my soul, but ’twas on the seat as I did leave she.

William.  We have kept her waiting a bit too long whilst we were cutting the green stuff.  And now ’twill be best to let matters bide over till to-morrow.

John.  Why, master ’tis my belief as you be all of a-tremble like.

William.  I wish we were well out of this business, John.  ’Tis not to my liking in any way.

John.  ’Tis a fine looking lady, and that ’tis.  You take and court her, Master William.

William.  How am I to court the wench when she’s not here?

John. [Pointing.] Look yonder, master, there she comes through them dark trees.

William.  You’ve got to bide somewhere nigh me, John.  I could not be left alone with a wench who’s a stranger to me.

John.  Don’t you get flustered, Master William.  See here, I’ll hide me ahind of yon bushes, and if so be as you should want me, why, there I’m close at hand.

William.  I’d rather you did stand at my side, John.

[John hides himself behind the bushes.  Laura comes slowly up.  William stands awkwardly before her, saying nothing.  Presently he takes off his hat and salutes her clumsily and she bows to him.  For some moments they stand embarrassed, looking at one another.

William. [Suddenly bringing out a bunch of carrots from his basket and holding them up.] See these young carrots, mistress.

Laura.  Indeed I do, master.

William.  ’Tisn’t everywhere that you do see such fine grown ones for the time of year.

Laura.  You’re right there, master.  We have none of them up at our place.

William. [Holding them towards her.] Then be pleased to accept these, mistress.

Laura. [Taking the carrots.] Thank you kindly, master. [There is another embarrassed silence.  William looks distractedly from Laura to his basket.  Then he takes out a bunch of turnips.

William.  You couldn’t beat these nowhere, not if you were to try.

Laura.  I’m sure you could not, master.

William.  They do call this sort the Early Snowball.  ’Tis a foolish name for a table root.

Laura.  ’Tis a beautiful turnip.

William. [Giving her the bunch.] You may as well have them too.

Laura.  O you’re very kind, master.

[There is another long silence.  William shuffles on his feet—­Laura bends admiringly over her gifts.