ACT I

Scene: The kitchen of Harter Farm in the Dartmoors.

A white-washed room with large, open hearth, on which a fire burns. A flight of stone steps descends into the kitchen. At back, open two windows with deep embrasures, wherein are set pots of geraniums and succulent plants. On the left there stands a tall dresser with ‘willow pattern’ and other blue and white crockery. Beside the stairs, there stands a ‘grandfather’ clock. From the ceiling suspend hams, tied up in canvas, and a few bunches of herbs in muslin bags. Upon the mantelshelf are arranged various bright canisters of tin and brass and a piece of ornamental crockery at each end. Above, against the wall, hang a gun and a whip or two on a rack, a pair of spurs, and an old powder-flask. On one side of the mantelshelf hangs a fox’s mask with a grocer’s almanac under it; on the other side, a stuffed badger in a glass case. Upon the hearth are pots and pans. A long, bare, deal table runs down left of centre and benches stand on each side of it. There is a smaller table between the windows with a board and rolling-pin, a flour-dredger and a jar or two upon it. A pail, brooms and dusters litter the floor. A settle stands at right angles to the fire.

[Joshua Bloom and Sarah Tapp discovered.

Bloom. The days of peace are over.

Sarah. [Rolling pastry.] That’s like you men! That’s the thanks a woman gets. The missis goes to nurse her sick mother and all of us be sheep without the shepherd while she’s away. Yes, all of us, Joshua Bloom—from her husband downward. And now, because she’s coming back——

Bloom. You know what I mean.

Sarah. Yes, I know. A woman like Ann Redvers do gall the common sort a bit. You want to be fine yourself to mark her fineness.

Bloom. Well, you’d best to tidy up this here rogue’s roost of a kitchen afore she comes home, else you’ll hear more about her fineness than like. [A whistling heard.] Hark to master! When she’s away, he wants her home again; when she’s home, he’ll soon want her away.

[Enter Anthony Redvers.

Redvers. William Arscott be riding down the hill, Joshua. Get over to him and take him to the stable. The mare’s better since morning by the look of her.

[Exit Bloom.

Sarah. Lucky for her! I pity any beast that gets into that hateful hoss doctor’s hands. He’s harder than moorstone—that man—for the granite lets the moss live on it.

Redvers. You’re not fair to him, Sarah. He’s only hard outside.

Sarah. Hard, hard all through. We women know. Ax Barbara Westaway.

Redvers. She might have done worse than take him when he offered; for, if she had, the family wouldn’t be in such a tight place as it is now.

Sarah. ’Twill be the workhouse for ’em all.

Redvers. Nonsense, nonsense! They’ve some good friends yet. And the girls are both fighters. Where’s Jesse and Michael got to?

Sarah. Michael have gone to catch a trout for his mother’s tea. Jesse’s reading by the waterfall.

Redvers. Dash that chap! He’ll be reading when the Trump of Doom sounds.

Sarah. Same as you’ll be whistling, master. No doubt each human creature will be surprised following out his habits. And that’s a sure reason why us should have good habits and not bad. Not much hope for them as be catched red-handed in wickedness at the Last Trump.

Redvers. You preach another time, Sarah, or you’ll be catched red-handed in this muck of a kitchen. ’Tis the missis, not the Last Trump be coming. [Enter Jesse with book.] You’d best to put that book away, Jesse, and buzz about. Mother’ll be home by tea-time and I’ve got fifty things to do yet afore then. [To Sarah.] Has Nathaniel started with the trap?

Sarah. He was away an hour agone.

Jesse. I met Barbara Westaway this morning, father. The Westaways are coming over presently.

Redvers. Ah!

Jesse. They know that mother’s due back, and they’re set on bringing a little gift to mark her home-coming.

Redvers. [Whistles while Jesse speaks, and goes on whistling a few notes after he has finished. Suddenly he stops and speaks.] How would it do if we asked ’em to tea?

Jesse. Why not?

Sarah. Haven’t you got more sense? Be it likely that missis will want a pack of strangers?

Jesse. They’re not strangers.

Redvers. Sarah’s right all the same. ’Twouldn’t do. [Passes flowers in window.] I wish that geranium had blowed for her—the white one she’s so fond of; but flowers don’t care no more for people than bees do for Sunday.

[Exit whistling.

[Jesse sits down by the fire and lolls back with his hands in his pockets and a pipe in his mouth. He takes a feather from a tin of feathers on the mantelshelf and cleans his pipe.

Sarah. Now don’t you sit caddling there, Jesse—it ban’t the time for it. I want your room, not your company.

Jesse. There’s an hour yet.

[Enter Michael.

Sarah. Hast caught a fish for mother, Michael?

Michael. Yes, I have—a whacker; a good half-pound he runs. She’ll have it fresh as fresh. I be going up over to meet the trap in a minute.

Sarah. ’Tis a red-letter day. I always vow that this house be like a corpse without her.

[She begins to tidy up, and Michael helps her for a time.

Michael. So ’tis then; father’s nought when she’s away. All he does be to make bad bargains. ’Tis my mother has the brains, Sarah.

[Stops helping Sarah, takes a whip from the bracket above the fireplace and prepares to mend it at the table. To do so he brings cobbler’s wax and whipcord from a drawer in the dresser.

Jesse. [Shutting his book and flinging it across into the settle.] That’s foolishness, Michael. I know mother’s wiser than the run of women, and watchful for father, and a saint of God if you like; but in brains—no. Father’s first there.

Michael. I like father well enough—as well as you like mother anyway; but mother’s the light of this house. And if you be going to speak against mother, Jesse, don’t you do it afore me. I care for her better than you do, and you’re jealous of me, because she loves me best.

Sarah. Hush, you boys! Go an’ get your fish, Michael, and be quiet.

Michael. I won’t hear mother run down by him, or anybody on God’s earth.

Jesse. D’you think I mind because mother likes you best? Why, ’tis the proper thing. You’re all mother through and through—save in wits. And I’m father over again. He understands me.

Michael. If he do, you’re about the only thing he does understand.

Jesse. [Starting up.] You’re a wicked rascal to say that! But you shan’t anger me with with your trash. I see your game; you want to drive me out of my father’s house and be free of me. Well, it may happen that way. I don’t love Harter, and I don’t love you.

Michael. [Passionately throwing down his whip.] Jesse, Jesse! You’ll drive me mad! Ban’t you my elder brother? God, He knows I never thought of such a thing—never.

Jesse. Oh, shut up—here’s Arscott.

[Enter William Arscott.

Arscott. Where’s the whistling man?

Michael. Gone to look for the hoss-doctoring man, I reckon.

Jesse. Father was here a minute ago.

Arscott. Well, give me a drop of cider and then I’ll away. Can’t wait for him.

[Exit Sarah scowling at Arscott.

Michael. They don’t call you Busy Billy for nothing, Mr. Arscott.

Arscott. No, my son, they do not. I’ll send over a ball for the mare. There’s nothing much wrong. Don’t work her till I’ve seen her again.

Michael. [Looking at Jesse.] Father thought she was going to die.

[Enter Sarah with jug and mug on tray.

Arscott. And you’d like to put a pinch of poison in it, wouldn’t you, Mrs. Tapp?

Sarah. I say you’re hard and I know you’re hard.

Arscott. Must be ’ard if you want to be ’appy. Good luck, ma’am, I’d sooner have this tap than yours.

[Michael laughs. Arscott drinks. Redvers’ whistle is heard. He enters as Arscott puts down mug.

Arscott. [Shakes hands.] Well, Redvers, your mare ban’t going home this time.

Redvers. Bother the mare, Billy; what’s this I hear tell about Joe Westaway?

Arscott. How should I know? That he’s a silly old fool and wants it both ways, perhaps. But you can’t eat your cake and have it too. ’Tis time a few of us saw our money.

Redvers. Don’t you be too short with the man. He’s done a lot of good in his time.

Arscott. If you was a creditor, you wouldn’t be so large-minded.

Michael. ’Tis all very well to give the children pennies, when you’re owing the fathers pounds. That’s what Mr. Westaway does.

Arscott. [To Michael.] Ah! You’re the chap for me! Money’s money, and he’s got to face the music—like the rest of us.

[Exit with Michael. Jesse goes back to his book.

Sarah. A holy terror that man! He’d sell the primrosen off his mother’s grave. Poor old Joe won’t have a shirt to his back when Arscott have done with him.

[Picks up broom and dusters and goes upstairs.

Redvers. There’s no credit for being generous now-a-days. In fact there’s no credit for anything.

Jesse. [Putting down book.] Why does mother like Michael better than me, father?

Redvers. Stuff and nonsense!

Jesse. He’s little better than a fool sometimes.

Redvers. Michael’s no fool. He’s your mother again. You and me ban’t quite so hard at the edges as mother and Michael—more like to be broken in consequence.

[Whistles gently.

Jesse. I don’t care—so long as I am your favourite.

Redvers. There’s the Westaways! [Goes to the door as the Westaways pass the window.] Come in, come in.

[He throws open the door.

[Enter Joseph Westaway, with Barbara and Salome behind him.

Redvers. Why! Here’s a fine sight for sore eyes! How’s yourself, flock-master?

[Both Jesse and Anthony show great pleasure. They all shake hands.

Westaway. Under the weather a bit and I won’t deny it. ’Twill come right no doubt, but the means be hid from me for the minute. No matter about my troubles. Your missis be coming home, so nought would do but Salome must pick her a gert bunch of bluebells and Barbara fetch along a brave pair of ducks. ’Tis coals to Newcastle, as I told ’em.

[Jesse takes the ducks from Barbara and the bluebells from Salome.

Redvers. Far from it, Joe. She’ll be properly pleased, I promise you.

Jesse. We’ll get some water for these, Salome.

Salome. Will this jug do?

[Goes to dresser and takes a jug from it.

Jesse. Mother’s fond of bluebells.

[Exeunt Jesse and Salome.

Westaway. [Sitting in armchair by the fire, as Redvers directs.] Far be it from me to throw a shadow on the day; but things be at a climax to Watchett Hill, my dear.

Redvers. So I hear; and I don’t believe it.

Barbara. You ask Busy Billy.

Westaway. Who’d have thought such things could hap? A good while ago we was cornered for money here and there, and so I just up and signed a few documents. ’Twas as easy as shelling peas, Anthony, and I made up my mind, very steadfast from that moment, that my beautiful girls shouldn’t be pinched—not so long as I could put my hand to a document.

Redvers. A pity ’twas Arscott you went to.

Westaway. Why? The man thought the world of me and my family. He offered ten year ago for Barbara!

Barbara. You didn’t ought to mention it, father.

Redvers. Everybody knows it, my dear.

Westaway. And he kept single for ever after, because she couldn’t do with him. But I could; and knowing him for a very deep and clever chap, where money was the matter, I went to him, in a large spirit, and he met me in the same—so I thought at the time.

Barbara. Three hundred we borrowed from him on a mortgage.

Westaway. And now the money have mounted up something shocking.

Redvers. Didn’t you pay no interest?

Westaway. Certainly I’d meant to do so. But it slipped my memory, along of one thing and another, and he was too much the gentleman, as I thought, to name it. And what with standing him treat at ‘The Hearty Welcome’ and ‘The Green Man’—scores and scores of times; and what with sending him many and many a good goose and turkey; and what with fresh eggs and a bit o’ cream and so on, I thought it would turn out all right. Then, being uncommon short, I offered to put my hand to another document again—last week ’twas—and, to my surprise, Master Billy went so nasty as a rat in a trap and forgot all about they geese and turkeys and free drinks and all! Properly mazed I was. You see my interest have gone on compounding all by itself. That’s the worse of money! it won’t stand still. It always runs from you, or to you.

Redvers. True enough, Joe.

Barbara. And now father will mighty soon be a flock-master without any flock.

Westaway. And a farmer without any farm.

Redvers. ’Tis a thousand pities you let the interest go.

Westaway. So ’tis then. And us have got to take the boots and shoes out of the bread-and-butter at Watchett Hill in consequence—ain’t we, Barbara? But next year will see us righted, I hope. We be going to retrench.

Barbara. If there was vartue in a word, we’d soon be easy. ’Tis ‘retrench’ with father from morn till night now.

Redvers. The thing is to do it.

Westaway. Dallybuttons! And don’t I do it? Like a hawk I be grown. Why, I’ll snap the sugar-basin off the table if I think my maidens be making too free—aye, and the teapot, too! I tell ’em to go out in the hedges and gather marjoram and brew herby tea—same as our grandmothers did.

Barbara. Billy Arscott’s the danger. The others be a kindly lot.

[Jesse enters with Salome. Both are downcast.

Westaway. I don’t want mercy nor nothing like that. I’ve gived and gived all my life, Redvers, and if there’s none to give to me in my turn—why, I can go without. I’m a patient old blade, as we all should be at seventy; but justice—justice I’ve a right to claim.

Jesse. Just the one thing you can take your oath you won’t get, Mr. Westaway.

Westaway. Don’t you be so acid at your time of life, my son.

Redvers. [Impulsively, after looking at Salome.] Well, come in here with me, Joe—in my workshop. I’m wishful to hear a bit more about this. Don’t you go, you girls; I shan’t keep him long. [Aside to Salome.] Bide a bit.

Barbara. Where’s Mrs. Tapp to?

Redvers. She’s busy sweeping and garnishing. The missis was due at Okehampton afore five. Tapp’s off to fetch her. Come on, Joe.

Jesse. Sarah’s up over, Barbara.

Barbara. Then I’ll run and see her.

[Goes upstairs.

Redvers. This way, master.

[Exeunt Redvers and Westaway.

Salome. There, mind you tell her I picked ’em for her.

[Puts jug of bluebells on table.

Jesse. You don’t answer me—you must do that at least, Salome. You know how things are with me. It’s like coming alive out of death when I’m alone with you for a moment. Oh, Salome, why not, my pretty bird? But you say nought—and no news isn’t good news when a chap’s courting.

Salome. [Treating Jesse as if he were a boy.] I’m not for a husband, my dear. We must be sensible. ’Tis all the poor can be. No time to think about marrying. My sister and me have got to keep father out of the workhouse somehow.

Jesse. If I could only help!

Salome. You can’t. None can, so we must stir ourselves.

Jesse. If I had money!

Salome. If—if! Nobody’s got no money here, but Arscott. He’s made of it.

Jesse. My father’s well to do.

Salome. Long may he bide so.

Jesse. I hope Arscott will be generous.

Salome. Not him! I reckon my father can show him where that road leads.

Jesse. I’m such a useless brute.

Salome. Don’t you say that. You’ve got plenty of brains—if you’d but use ’em.

Jesse. Salome, would twenty pounds be any use?

Salome. No, nor yet fifty. Keep your savings.

Jesse. I feel I could do things, if I were once out of this place. ’Tis like a prison to me sometimes. If it wasn’t for you here—and father.

Salome. You can’t do wiser than stick to him, and forget me.

Jesse. Mother’s so——

Salome. Yes—I understand. Well—she’ll be here and wish us at Jericho in a minute. [Rising.] You’ve said some pretty things to me, Jesse, and I’m sure you meant them; but I’m not the marrying sort. I must be free.

Jesse. [Gloomily.] The likes of you don’t go free for long.

Salome. I’m far off what you think. There’s a lot of the devil in me, Jesse.

Jesse. You wake the devil in others. You’re an angel yourself—all—all angel—to the dinky dimple at the corner of your mouth. [Salome smiles, but not at him.] I’ll win you yet! I’ll live to do some mighty big thing, and make you love me!

[Sarah and Barbara descend the stairs.

Salome. Then set about it. Stop reading books and go into the world. You’re all boy still.

[Exit Jesse.

Barbara. ’Tis no use saying them things against the vetinary, Mrs. Tapp. William Arscott lent father good money on the farm at a very ticklish time; and now he wants it again; as we all well knew he would. And why not? Who shall blame him? I don’t for one. The man’s honest, and we must be the same.

Sarah. A saint of God like your father! Anybody did ought to be proud to lend him money—and forget it.

[Enter Redvers and Westaway.

Westaway. ’Tis more, far more than I can ask or expect, Anthony.

Redvers. Stuff and rubbish. Wouldn’t you help me at a pinch, if it had been t’other way round?

Westaway. List, you girls. ’Tis an answer to prayer. Redvers be going bail for me! He will do it, though I beg him not.

Barbara. You can’t, Mr. Redvers—’tis out of reason.

Redvers. Right’s better than reason, Barbara. You very well know what your father and you girls be to me. Not another word. I’ll see Hannaford to-morrow, and Arscott too.

Barbara. [To Sarah.] What’ll Mrs. Redvers say?

Sarah. [Going off with rolling-pin and board, &c.] Same as your father: that ’tis an answer to prayer.

[Exit.

Barbara. We can’t thank you. ’Tis high above thanks.

Redvers. I’m properly glad to do it.

Westaway. You’ll reap your reward in this world, as well as the next, my son. For ’twill pay you, Anthony—over and above the kindness and goodness and Christian charity and the blessing of it—beyond all that, there’s the interest, and you’ll be just so much amazed as I was to see the way that jumps up. Pounds and pounds in your pocket in no time!

Barbara. Come on home, father. Mrs. Redvers will be back before you’ve done talking.

Westaway. Good-bye; good-bye, my dear man; and God bless you and reward you.

Barbara. We can only feel it.

Salome. I’ll come after. I want to tell Mr. Redvers about they ponies Tom Bassett takes to market next week.

Redvers. Good-bye—good-bye. Let your minds be easy. Everything’s going all right.

[Barbara and Mr. Westaway go out.

Redvers. [Looks round to see they are alone.] O lord, I thought I was never going to get a glimpse of my precious girl!

[Puts his arms round Salome.

Salome. Take care, Tony. Where’s Sarah? You darling man to help ’em! But can you—can you do this for father and not hurt your own?

Redvers. Of course I can, and proud to do it! The money’s safe enough in the long run, if I take over the mortgage and the life insurance from Arscott. Leave that.

Salome. I couldn’t speak when I heard, because I knew so well ’twas for me you’d done it.

Redvers. What better reason? Be all safe for Thursday?

Salome. Of course it be.

Redvers. At the broom patch. There’s a full moon.

Salome. I’ll be there. Whistle and I’ll come to you, Tony. I’ll come singing—and love to come—always—always!

Redvers. My little armful of joy!

[Takes her in his arms again.

Salome. [Sings ‘Widecombe Fair’ very softly for his ear alone.]

Redvers. [Sings softly.]

Salome.

Redvers. I love that song better’n any music on earth! It means you—you dinky, grey-eyed thing!

Salome. Our fun’s over for a bit I reckon. A heavenly time we’ve had, Tony!

Redvers. Better’n heaven, Sally. There won’t be no Halstock Glen in heaven. There won’t be no little holt for you and your old red fox in heaven.

Salome. [Kisses him.] Ban’t you tired of me?

Redvers. When I’m tired of my life—not sooner.

Salome. Are you glad she’s coming home?

Redvers. Yes, I am. I think the wide world of Ann, and you know it. She’s a grand woman—a wonder among women. She did ought to come home happy, for she’s nursed her mother into life again after she was given up by the doctor. Please God all will go smooth, as I like it to. We can live our lives but once, and ’tis a sad pity to see a woman so stern and hard with herself as Ann. Terrible high-minded and religious is she.

Salome. Darkness to your light.... If she knew....

Redvers. I feared once, but I don’t now. What the heart don’t guess, the soul don’t smart for. She’ll never know.

Salome. Jesse offered marriage to me again by the waterfall just now. ’Tis like hearing a child chirrup about love—after knowing a man’s.

Redvers. I must rattle up Jesse and make him tackle life. He’s always mooning over his books. [Embraces her.] Well, get going. [Kisses her.] Till Thursday. I’ll make a snug nest for my li’l dormouse!

[She goes off and Redvers walks to the door and watches her with happiness in his eyes. He whistles ‘Widecombe Fair’ gently. He then returns to the kitchen and begins to help in the business of making it tidy.

[Enter Sarah.

Redvers. Don’t you say nothing about that matter of helping Joe Westaway, Sarah.

Sarah. [Takes tablecloth from drawer in the dresser and begins to prepare for tea on the long table.] ’Tis no business of ours. You’ll tell your wife when you choose.

[Enter Bloom.

Bloom. The trap be in sight up ’pon top of the hill, master!

Redvers. I’ll run out then. Put they bluebells in the midst of the table, Sarah. They’ll please her tremendous.

[Exit.

Bloom. He’s like a play-actor, that man. Be damned if he ain’t fooling himself he wants her back!

Sarah. You bitter-weed! Here, take they pots and get ’em out of the way, and fill the kettle.

Bloom. [Staring round.] My stars! The kitchen ain’t looked like this since she went out of it.

[Exit with a pot or two, the kettle and a saucepan from the hearth. Enter Michael, he carries some hand luggage.

Michael. Here she is—here’s mother, Sarah. And she’s so thin as a herring and pale as a lily. But she’s all right! She’s all right!

[Enter Tapp with a yellow tin box. There follow him Ann Redvers and Redvers.

Ann. [Coming down and watching Tapp take her box upstairs.] Be careful at the corner, Nat. If that box touches the wall, ’twill leave an ugly mark we’re better without. [Exit Tapp upstairs.] And how are you, Sarah? [Shakes hands with Mrs. Tapp.] You’re looking pretty well and feel so, I hope. All be suent and vitty, I see.

[Takes in the room swiftly. Her manner is quick, sharp and apprehensive.

Sarah. We’ve done our bestest. The house be water-sweet from top to bottom.

Redvers. Sarah’s been up at cock-light this week past, and everyone of us has lent a hand.

Michael. Never was a properer spring-cleaning, mother.

[Exit.

Ann. We shall see as to that. [Her eyes are everywhere.] ’Tis good to be back. But how much to do. Where’s Jesse? He did ought——

Redvers. [Aside to Ann.] He’s about, but he’s down on his luck. There’s a reason. I’ll whisper it come presently.

[Enter Jesse.

Jesse. Ah! mother dear! [Takes off his hat and kisses her.] You look but poorly though, and pale and tired.

Ann. I’ve only got the headache along of the train. A cup of tea will cure it. Be you all right?

[Enter Bloom with kettle.

Bloom. Good evening, missis. I hope I see you pretty clever.

Ann. Nicely, Joshua, nicely. And your rheumatics?

Bloom. Worse and worse, ma’am. They do gnaw my bones, like a hungry dog of a night.

[Mrs. Redvers moves about; her eyes perceive everything. All are solicitous to please her.

Ann. Take them bluebells off the table and out of that jug, Sarah. That’s the one I don’t use. ’Tis worth money.

Jesse. Salome Westaway brought the bluebells for you, mother.

Ann. Very kind of her. The window-sill’s the place for them—not the tea-table. [Sarah moves flowers and puts them into another jug.] The plants do look a bit thirsty to my eyes.

Redvers. Don’t you trouble about them. They’re all right.

Ann. “Don’t trouble!” That’s your old motto, father. I don’t want to hear that. [Tapp descends the staircase with a piece of rope.] I’ll go and take off my hat and then tea will be ready. Don’t you cook nothing for me; I’m off my food just now.

Redvers. My life, that won’t do! ’Tis time and more’n time you was home again.

Ann. [Going up staircase.] More’n time, as you say, father.

[Redvers follows her with hand luggage and a parcel or two.

Ann. [Turning.] Leave’em there. I’ll go through ’em presently. Just a little gift or two for all of ’e. I shan’t be two minutes.

Tapp. I’ve took the rope off the box, missis.

Ann. Put it by in the loft. ’Tis new. I want you, Sarah.

[She goes upstairs. Sarah follows her. Tapp goes out and Bloom follows him. Redvers turns to exit whistling.

Jesse. What’s upset the apple-cart now? Was it my fault?

Redvers. She’s only tired and full of thoughts what to do first.

Jesse. And what to undo that we’ve done to please her.

Redvers. Nay, nay. Her quick eye taketh in so much more than we men know about. ’Tis only the headache; she’ll come round presently.

[Enter Sarah from upstairs and Michael with a frying-pan and a fish.

Michael. Where’s the fat, Sarah? ’Tis time as I cooked my trout for mother.

Sarah. Missis will be down house in a minute and the water’s near boiling.

[Goes off.

Redvers. Brew it strong, Sarah; brew it strong.

[Exit whistling with Jesse. Sarah returns with some grease for the fish on a plate and Michael puts it upon the fire.

Sarah. I doubt she’ll eat it, Michael.

Michael. Yes, she will—when she hears tell that I’ve catched it and cooked it for her. Don’t forget the water-cresses.

Sarah. There! If I hadn’t.

[She goes off.

Michael. [Shouting.] Mother, be you coming? I’ve got a brave trout frying for’e.

Ann. [Upstairs.] I’m down in a moment, Michael boy.

Michael. [Shouting.] ’Tis damn fine to hear your beautiful voice again, mother!

Ann. [At top of stairs.] Don’t you use them bad words, my dear.

[Descends the stairs. She has taken off her hat and jacket.

Michael. Look at this gert fish waiting for you to eat ’un!

Ann. I doubt I can eat it. I be off my food for the minute.

Michael. [Takes fish off the fire and rises.] You must eat it, mother. You be wisht. [Looks at her closely.] There’s something fretting you. Don’t tell me there isn’t, for I know it.

Ann. Yes, I’m a bit worried.

Michael. Tell me.

Ann. [Smiling for the first time.] What a chap for finding out your mother’s secrets!

Michael. I’ll bet ’tis some of father’s secrets more like.

Ann. His secrets be all meant so well that I haven’t the heart—but there ’tis—his surprises—buying ponies and one thing and another—they mostly come out wrong side the ledger.

Michael. He’s got ponies on the brain still.

Ann. ’Tisn’t that—but—well, I’d best think no more about it.

Michael. All’s well now you be home again. You’ll soon steady father down.

Ann. [Laughs.] I’d be a cleverer woman than I am to do that.

Michael. Cleverer than you be! I’d like to see the cleverer woman than you.

Ann. [Now in good temper.] You flatterer! You’ll be a fine love-maker some day, Michael.

Michael. I shall never see a girl like you to fall in love with, mother.

[Ann smiles and goes to table. Sarah enters with water-cress and plate for fish. Michael brings his fish to the table. Sarah then goes to door.

Sarah. [Calling.] Tea—tea—tea be ready!

[Tapp and Bloom enter and take their places at the table.

Tapp. You do look a thought pinnikin and poor like, missis.

Ann. Along of that stuffy Exeter, Nathaniel. Nobody has their fair share of air in a town, I reckon.

[Enter Redvers and Jesse. Michael takes his place beside his mother, who sits at the top of the table. Sarah sits on Michael’s left. Jesse goes to the left of his mother and Redvers takes the bottom of the table. The tea pot is before Mrs. Redvers.

Sarah. Shall I pour for ’e, ma’am?

Ann. No, thank you Sarah. Ax a blessing, father, please.

Redvers. For what we are about to receive——

Curtain.