John.  You can say your fill.  There baint no one but me in the garden.

Julia.  John, you told me that since Sunday your master has been sick with love.

John.  That’s right enough, mistress.  I count as we shall bury he if sommat don’t come to his relief.

Julia.  Now, John, do you look into my eyes and tell me if ’tis for love of Julia or of Laura that your master lies sickening.

John.  You’d best go and ask it of his self, mistress.  ’Tis a smartish lot of work as I’ve got to attend to here.

Julia.  You can go on working, John.  I am not hindering you.

John.  No more than one of they old Juney bettels a-roaring and a-buzzin round a man’s head.

Julia.  Now, John—­you must tell me which of the two it is.  Is it Laura whom your master loves, or Julia?

John.  ’Tis Julia, then, since you will have it out of me.

Julia.  No, John, you’re not looking straight at me.  You are looking down at the flower bed.  Let your eyes meet mine.

John. [Looking up crossly.] I’ve got my work to think of.  I’m not one to stand cackling with a maid.

Julia.  Could you swear me it is Julia?

John.  ’Tis naught to I which of you it be.  There bide over, so as I can get the watering finished.

Julia. [Seizes the watering can.] Now, John, you have got to speak the truth to me.

John.  Give up yon can, I tell you.  O you do act wonderful unseemly for a young lady.

Julia. [Withholding the can.] Not till I have the truth from you.

John. [Angrily.] Well then, is it likely that my master would set his fancy on such a plaguy, wayward maid?  Why, Master William do know better nor to do such a thing, I can tell you.

Julia.  Then ’tis for Laura that he is love-sick, John.

John.  Give I the watering can.

Julia. [Giving him the can.] Here it is, dear John.  O I had a fancy all the time that ’twas to Laura your master had lost his heart.  And now I see I made no mistake.

John.  I shouldn’t have spoke as I did if you hadn’t a buzzed around I till I was drove very nigh crazy.  Master William, he’ll never forgive me this.

Julia.  That he will, I’m sure, when he has listened to what I have got to say to him.

John.  You do set a powerful store on what your tongue might say, but I’d take and bide quiet at home if I was you and not come hunting of a nice reasonable gentleman like master, out of his very garden.

Julia.  O John, you’re a sad, ill-natured man, and you misjudge me very unkindly.  But I’ll not bear malice if you will just run in and tell your master that I want a word with him.

John.  A word?  Why not say fifty?  When was a maid ever satisfied with one word I’d like to know?