Julia.  That it will not.  To-day is a holiday.  To-morrow’s work.

Tansie.  One day ’tis much the same as t’other with me.

Nat.  ’Tis what we gets to eat as do make the change.

Tansie.  I should have thought as how a grand young mistress like yourself might have had the days to your own liking.

Julia.  Ah, and so I did once.  But that was before Uncle died and left me the farm.  Now, ’tis all different with the days.

Chris. How was it with you afore then, mistress?

Julia.  Much the same as ’tis with that bird flying yonder.  I did so as I listed.  If I had a mind to sleep when the sun was up, then I did sleep.  And if my limbs would not rest when ’twas dark, why, then I did roam.  There was naught to hold me back from my fancy.

Tansie.  And how is it now with you, mistress?

Julia.  ’Tis all said in one word.

Chris. What’s that?

Julia.  ’Tis “work.”

Nat.  Work?

Chris. Work?

Tansie.  Work!  And yet ’tis a fine young lady as you do look in your muslin gown with silky ribbons to it and all.

Julia.  I’m a farmer, Tansie.  And for a farmer ’tis work of one sort, or t’other from when the sun is up till the candle has burned itself short.  If ’tisn’t working with my own hands, ’tis driving of the hands of another.

Chris. I’ve heard tell as a farmer do spin gold all the day same as one of they great spiders as go putting out silk from their mouths.

Julia.  And what is gold to me, Chris, who have no one but myself to spend it on

Chris. Folks do say as the laying up of gold be one of the finest things in the world.

Julia.  It will never bring happiness to me, Chris.

Chris. Come, mistress, ’tis a fine thing to have a great stone roof above the head of you.

Julia.  I’d sooner get my shelter from the green leaves.

Nat.  And a grand thing to have your victuals spread afore you each time ’stead of having to go lean very often.

Julia.  O, a handful of berries and a drink of fresh water is enough for me.

Tansie.  And beautiful it must be to stretch the limbs of you upon feathers when night do come down, with a fine white sheet drawn up over your head.

Julia.  O, I could rest more sweetly on the grass and moss yonder.

Nat.  I did never sleep within four walls but once, and then ’twas in gaol.

Julia.  O Nat, you were never in gaol, were you?

Nat.  ’Twas that they mistook I for another.  And when the morning did come, they did let I go again.

Chris. I count ’twas a smartish long night, that!