Chapter XV: 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_.

WILLIAM. There’s young beans and peas and a spring cabbage too, within the basket. I do grow a little of most everything.

LAURA. O shall we sit down and look at the vegetables together?

WILLIAM. [_Visibly relieved_.] We might do worse nor that. [_They sit down side by side with the basket between them_.

LAURA. [_Lifting the cabbage_.] O, this is quite a little picture! See how the leaves do curl backwards—so fresh and green!

WILLIAM. Ah, and that one has a rare white heart to it, it has.

LAURA. I do love the taste of a spring cabbage, when it has a slice of fat bacon along with it.

WILLIAM. I might have brought a couple of pounds with me if I’d have thought. Mother do keep some rare mellow jowls a-hanging in the pantry.

LAURA. [_Shyly_.] Next time, maybe.

WILLIAM. [_Eagerly_.] ’Twouldn’t take ten minutes for me to run back.

LAURA. Not now—O no master—not now. Do you bide a little longer here and tell me about—about t’other things in the basket.

WILLIAM. [_Mopping his face with a handkerchief_.] Well—there’s the beans—I count that yours haven’t come up very smart this year.

LAURA. That they’ve not. The whole place has been let to run dreadful wild.

WILLIAM. I’d—I’d like to show you how ’tis in my garden, one of these days.

LAURA. I’d be very pleased to walk along with you there.

WILLIAM. [_Hurriedly_.] Ah—you should see it later on when the—the—the parsnips are a bit forrarder.

LAURA. I’d like to see the flower garden now, where this nosegay came from.

WILLIAM. [_Looking round uneasily_.] I don’t know what the folks would say if they were to see you and me a-going on the road in broad day—I’m sure I don’t.

LAURA. Why, what should they say, Master Gardner?

WILLIAM. They might get saying—they might say as—as I’d got a-courting, or sommat foolish.

LAURA. Well—and would that be untrue?

WILLIAM. [_Looking at her very uncomfortably_.] I’m blessed if I do know—I mean—

LAURA. This nosegay—and look, those young carrots—and the turnips and beans, why did you bring them for me, master, unless it was that you intended something by it?

WILLIAM. [_Very confused_.] That’s so. So ’tis. That’s true. I count you have got hold of the sow by the ear right enough this time. And the less said about it the better. [_A slight silence_.

LAURA. [_Looking up shyly in_ WILLIAM’S face.] What was it drew you to me first, master?

WILLIAM. I believe ’twas in Church on Sunday that I chanced to take notice of you, like.

LAURA. Yes, but what was it about me that took your fancy in Church on Sunday?

WILLIAM. I’m blessed if I know, unless ’twas those coloured ribbons that you have got to your bonnet.

LAURA. You are partial to the colour?

WILLIAM. Ah, ’tis well enough.

LAURA. See here. [_Taking a flower from her dress_.] This is of the same colour. I will put it in your coat.

[_She fastens it in his coat_. WILLIAM _looks very uncomfortable and nervous_.

WILLIAM. Well, bless my soul, but women folk have got some powerful strange tricks to them.

LAURA. [_Pinning the flower in its place_.] There—my gift to you, master.

WILLIAM. You may call me by my name, if you like, ’tis more suitable, seeing that we might go along to Church together one of these days.

LAURA. O William, you have made me very happy—I do feel all mazy like with my gladness.

WILLIAM. Well, Julia, we might do worse than to—to—name the day.

LAURA. Why do you call me Julia?

WILLIAM. Seeing that I’ve given you leave to call me William ’tis only suitable that I should use your name as well.

LAURA. But my name is not Julia.

WILLIAM. What is it then, I should like to know?

LAURA. ’Tis Laura, William.

WILLIAM. Folks did tell me that you were named Julia.

LAURA. No—Laura is my name; but I live with Mistress Julia up at Luther’s Farm, and I help her with the work. House-keeping, dairy, poultry, garden. O there’s nothing I can’t turn my hand to, Master William.

WILLIAM. [_Starts up from the seat in deepest consternation_.] John, John—Come you here, I say! Come here.

JOHN. [_Emerges from the bushes_.] My dearest master!

WILLIAM. What’s this you’ve been and done, John?

JOHN. Why, master—the one with the cherry ribbons, to her you did say.

WILLIAM. [_Disgustedly_.] ’Tis the wrong one.

LAURA. What are you two talking about? William, do you mean to say as that man of yours was hid in the bushes all the while?

WILLIAM. Now, John, you’ve got to get me out of the fix where I’m set.

JOHN. O my dear master, don’t you take on so. ’Tis a little bit of misunderstanding to be sure, but one as can be put right very soon.

WILLIAM. Then you get to work and set it right, John, for ’tis beyond the power of me to do so. I’ll be blessed if I’ll ever get meddling with this sort of job again.

JOHN. Now don’t you get so heated, master, but leave it all to me. [_Turning to_ LAURA.] My good wench, it seems that there has been a little bit of misunderstanding between you and my gentleman here.

LAURA. [_Angrily_.] So that’s what you call it—misunderstanding ’tis a fine long word, but not much of meaning, to it, I’m thinking.

JOHN. Then you do think wrong. Suppose you was to go to market for to buy a nice spring chicken and when you was got half on the way to home you was to see as they had put you up a lean old fowl in place of it, what would you do then?

LAURA. I don’t see that chickens or fowls have anything to do with the matter.

JOHN. Then you’re not the smart maid I took you for. ’Tis not you as would be suitable in my master’s home. And what’s more, ’tis not you as my master’s come a-courting of.

LAURA. If ’tis not me, who is it then?

[WILLIAM _looks at her sheepishly and then turns away_.

JOHN. ’Tis your mistress, since you wants to know.

LAURA. [_Indignantly_.] O, I see it all now—How could I have been so misled!

JOHN. However could poor master have been so mistook, I say.

LAURA. [_Turning away passionately_.] O, I’ve had enough of you and—and your master.

JOHN. Now that’s what I do like for to hear. Because me and master have sommat else to do nor to stand giddle-gaddling in this old wood the rest of the day. Us have got a smartish lot of worry ahead of we, haven’t us, master?

WILLIAM. You never said a truer word, John.

JOHN. Come along then Master William. You can leave the spring vegetables to she. ’Tis more nor she deserves, seeing as her might have known as ’twas her mistress the both of us was after, all the time.

[LAURA _throws herself on the seat and begins to cry silently_, _but passionately_.

WILLIAM. O John, this courting, ’tis powerful heavy work.

JOHN. [_Taking_ WILLIAM’S _arm_.] Come you along with me, master, and I’ll give you a helping hand with it all.

LAURA. [_Looking up and speaking violently_.] I warrant you will, you clown. But let me advise you to look better afore you leap next time, or very likely ’tis in sommat worse than a ditchful of nettles as you’ll find yourself.

JOHN. [_Looking back over his shoulders as he goes off with_ WILLIAM.] I reckon as you’ve no call to trouble about we, mistress. Us is they what can look after theirselves very well. Suppose you was to wash your face and dry your eyes and set about the boiling of yon spring cabbage. ’Twould be sensibler like nor to bide grizzling after one as is beyond you in his station, so ’twould.

[JOHN _and_ WILLIAM _go out_, _leaving_ LAURA _weeping on the bench_, _the basket of vegetables by her side_.

[_Curtain_.]