Chapter XXVIII: Act II: Scene 2

ANNIE. [_As_ STEVE _takes off her cloak_.] ’Tis going to be a dreadful night. The snow’s coming down something cruel.

ROSE. There won’t be many to the dance if it keeps on like this, will there?

STEVE. Get you to the fire, both of you, and warm yourselves before we sets out again.

DORRY. Miss Sims, Miss Sims—Miss Rosie—I’m going along with you to the dance, Dad says as I may.

JANE. Bless the child! However her has worked upon her father, and he so strict, I don’t know.

ANNIE. Well, you be got up fine and grand, Dorry—I shouldn’t hardly know ’twas you. [_Turning to_ VASHTI REED.] Good evening, Mrs. Reed, my eyes was very near blinded when I first got in out of the dark, and I didn’t see as you was there.

ROSE. Good evening, Mrs. Reed, and how be you keeping this cold weather?

VASHTI. [_Peering into their faces as they stand near her_.] What be you a-telling I of?

ANNIE. We was saying, how be you in this sharp weather, Mrs. Reed?

VASHTI. How be I?

ROSE. Yes, Mrs. Reed, how be you a-keeping now ’tis come over such nasty weather?

VASHTI. And how should an old woman be, and her one child out in the rain and all the wind, and driv’ there too by them as was laid like snakes in the grass about the feet of she, ready for to overthrow she when her should have gotten to a time of weakness.

JANE. Take no account of what she do say, girls, but sit you down in the warm and bide till I gets the time to take and look on the clothes which you have upon you. [_Moving about and putting tea things on the table_.] I be but just a-going to make a cup of tea for th’ old woman, with a drop of summat strong to it as will keep her from using of her tongue so free till morning time.

ANNIE. [_Sitting down_.] Poor old woman, ’tis a sad thing when folks do come to such a pass as she.

ROSE. And han’t got their proper sense to them, nor nothing. But she’s better off nor a poor creature what we saw crouching below the hedge as we was coming across the meadow. “Why,” I says to Annie, “it must be bad to have no home to bide in such a night as this!” Isn’t that so, Mrs. Browning?

STEVE. Ah, you’re right there, you’re right.

ROSE. I wouldn’t much care to be upon the road to-night, would you, Steve?

VASHTI. And at that hour when th’ old year be passing out, and dark on all the land, the graves shall open and give up the dead which be in they. And, standing in the churchyard you may read the face to each, as the corpses do go by. There’s many a night as I have stood and have looked into they when them did draw near to I, but never the face I did seek.

[_Here_ JANE, _who has been making a cup of tea_, _and who has poured something in it from a bottle_, _advances to_ VASHTI.

JANE. Here, Vashti Reed, here’s a nice cup of hot tea for you. Take and drink it up and very likely ’twill warm th’ inside of you, for I’ll lay as you haven’t seen a mouthful of naught this day.

STEVE. Ah, that’s it, that’s it. When folks do go leer ’tis a powerful lot of fancies as do get from the stomach to the heads of they.

[VASHTI _takes the cup and slowly drinks_.

DORRY. O, Miss Sims, you do look nice. Look, Gran’ma, at what Miss Sims have got on!

VASHTI. [_Putting down her cup and leaning forward_.] Which of you be clothed for marriage?

JANE. Get along of you, Gran, ’tis for the dance up at the school as they be come.

VASHTI. Come you here—her what’s to wed our Steve. Come you here and let I look at you. My eyes bain’t so quick as they was once. Many tears have clouded they. But come you here.

DORRY. Go along to her, Miss Sims, Granny wants to look at your nice things.

ANNIE. [_Steps in front of_ VASHTI.] Here I be, Mrs. Reed.

VASHTI. Be you the one what’s going to wed our Steve come New Year.

ANNIE. That’s it, Mrs. Reed, that’s it.

VASHTI. And be these garments which you be clothed in for marriage or for burial?

STEVE. Come, Granny, have another cup of tea. Annie, don’t you take no account of she. ’Tis worry and that as have caused the mind of she to wander a bit, but she don’t mean nothing by it.

ANNIE. All right, Steve. She don’t trouble me at all. [_To_ VASHTI.] ’Tis to be hoped as I shall make a good wife to Steve, Mrs. Reed.

VASHTI. Steve! What do Steve want with another wife? Han’t he got one already which is as a rose among the sow-thistles. What do Steve want for with a new one then?

STEVE. Come on, girls. I can’t stand no more of this. Let’s off, and call in to George’s as we do go by.

ROSE. We did meet Mr. Davis as we was coming along and he said as how ’twouldn’t be many minutes afore he joined us here, Steve.

STEVE. That’s right, then we’ll bide a bit longer till George do call for we, only ’tis more nor I can stand when th’ old lady gets her tongue moving.

DORRY. Why, look, Gran’s fell asleep! O, Miss Sims, now that Gran’s dropped off and can’t say none of her foolish things any more, do stand so as Dad and Gran’ma can see the frock which you’ve got for the dance.

ANNIE. O, Dorry, you’re a little torment, that’s the truth.

[_She gets up and turns slowly round so that all can see what she has on_.

ROSE. Well, Steve?

STEVE. Well, Rosie.

ROSE. Haven’t you got nothing as you can say, Steve?

STEVE. What be I to say, Rose?

ROSE. Well, something of how you thinks she looks, of course.

STEVE. O, ’tis all right, I suppose.

ROSE. All right! And is that about all as you’ve seen? Why, bless you, Steve, where have you gone and hid your tongue I should like to know!

STEVE. Well, there bain’t nothing wrong, be there?

ROSE. Of course there isn’t. But I never did see such a man as you, Steve. Why, I don’t believe as you’d know whether Annie haves a pair of eyes to her face or not, nor if they be the same colour one to t’other.

STEVE. I sees enough for me. I sees as Annie is the girl as I’ve picked out of the whole world. And I know that to-morrow she and I is to be made man and wife. And that be pretty nigh enough for me this night, I reckon.

DORRY. O, Miss Sims, do you hear what Dad is saying? O, I wonder what I should feel if ’twas me that was going to be married!

ROSE. You get and ask Annie how ’tis with her, Dorry. I could tell a fine tale of how as she do lie tossing half the nights, and of the candles that’s burned right down to the very end of them, I could.

ANNIE. Don’t you go for to listen to her, Dorry, nor Steve, neither. She’s that flustered herself about the dance to-night that she scarce do know what she’s a-saying of. But suppose you was just to ask her what she’s got wrapped so careful in that there paper in her hand.

DORRY. O, Rosie, whatever is it?

STEVE. What’s that you’ve got hold on now, Rosie?

ANNIE. Come, show them all, Rose.

[ROSE _slowly unfolds the paper and shows them all a hothouse carnation and a fern_.

ROSE. There ’tis, then.

DORRY. O my, Rosie—isn’t it beautiful. Be you going to wear it to the dance?

ROSE. No, Dorry, ’tisn’t for me.

ANNIE. You just ask her for whom it is, then, Dorry.

DORRY. O, who is it for, Rosie—who is it for?

ROSE. No—I’m not a-going to tell none of you.

[_She wraps it up carefully again_.

ANNIE. I’ll tell then, for you.

ROSE. No, you shan’t, Annie—that you shan’t!

ANNIE. That I shall, then—come you here, Dorry—I’ll whisper it to your ear. [_Whispers it to_ DORRY.

DORRY. [_Excitedly_.] I know who ’tis—I know—’tis for Mr. Davis—for Mr. Davis! Think of that, Dad—the flower ’tis for George Davis.

ROSE. O, Annie, how you could!

STEVE. George—

VASHTI. [_Suddenly roused_.] Who named George? There was but one man as was called by that name—and he courted my girl till her was faint and weary of the sound and shape of he, and so on a day when he was come—

DORRY. There’s Gran gone off on her tales again.

[JANE _crosses the hearth and puts a shawl over the head of_ VASHTI, _who relapses again into sleep_.

STEVE. [_Sitting down by_ ROSE.] What’s this, Rose? I han’t heard tell of this afore. Be there aught a-going on with you and George, then?

ROSE. No, Steve, there isn’t nothing in it much, except that George and me we walked out last Sunday in the evening like—and a two or three time before.

STEVE. And is it that you be a-keeping of that flower for to give to George, then?

ROSE. Well—’tis for George as I’ve saved it out of some what the gardener up at Squire’s gived me.

STEVE. [_As though to himself_.] ’Tis a powerful many years since George he went a-courting. I never knowed him so much as look upon a maid, I didn’t since—

ROSE. Well, Steve, I’m sure there’s no need for you to be upset over it. ’Tis nothing to you who George walks out with, or who he doesn’t.

STEVE. Who said as I was upset, Rose?

ROSE. Look at the long face what you’ve pulled. Annie, if ’twas me, I shouldn’t much care about marrying a man with such a look to him.

ANNIE. What’s up, Steve? What’s come over you like, all of a minute?

STEVE. ’Tis naught, Annie, naught. ’Twas summat of past times what comed into the thoughts of me. But ’tis naught. And, Rose, if so be as ’twas you as George is after, I’d wish him to have luck, with all my heart, I would, for George and me—well, we too has always stuck close one to t’other, as you knows.

JANE. Ah—that you has, George and you—you and George.

ANNIE. Hark—there’s someone coming up now.

DORRY. O, let me open the door—let me open it!

[_She runs across the room and lifts the latch_. GEORGE _stands in the doorway shaking the snow from him_. _Then he comes into the room_.

DORRY. I’m going to the dance, Mr. Davis. Look, haven’t I got a nice frock on?

STEVE. Good evening, George, and how be you to-night?

GEORGE. Nicely, Steve, nicely. Good evening, Mrs. Browning. Miss Sims, good evening—Yes, Steve, I’ll off with my coat, for ’tis pretty well sprinkled with snow, like.

[STEVE _helps_ GEORGE _to take off his overcoat_.

ROSE. A happy New Year to you, Mr. Davis.

JANE. And that’s a thing which han’t no luck to it, if ’tis said afore the proper time, Rosie.

ROSE. Well, but ’tis New Year’s Eve, isn’t it?

GEORGE. Ah, so ’tis—and a terrible nasty storm as ever I knowed! ’Twas comed up very nigh to my knees, the snow, as I was a-crossing of the meadow. And there lay some poor thing sheltering below the hedge, with a bit of sacking throwed over her. I count ’tis very near buried alive as anyone would be as slept out in such a night.

STEVE. I reckon ’twould be so—so ’twould. But come you in and give yourself a warm; and Mother, what do you say to getting us a glass of cider all round afore we sets out to the dancing.

JANE. What do you want to be taking drinks here for, when ’tis free as you’ll get them up at the school?

STEVE. Just a drop for to warm we through. Here, I’ll fetch it right away.

JANE. No, you don’t. I’ll have no one meddling in the pantry save it’s myself. Dorry, give me that there jug.

DORRY. [_Taking a jug from the dresser_.] Here ’tis, Gran’ma, shall I light the candle?

JANE. So long as you’ll hold the matches careful.

ANNIE. Well—’tis to be hoped as the weather’ll change afore morning.

ROSE. We shall want a bit of sunshine for the bride.

GEORGE. That us shall, but it don’t look much as though we should get it.

[JANE BROWNING _and_ DORRY _go out of the room_.

STEVE. Sit you down, George, along of we. ’Tis right pleased as I be for to see you here to-night.

GEORGE. Well, Steve, I bain’t one for a lot of words but I be powerful glad to see you look as you does, and ’tis all joy as I wishes you and her what’s to be your wife, to-morrow.

ANNIE. Thank you kindly, Mr. Davis. I shall do my best for Steve, and a girl can’t do no more, can she?

ROSE. And so you’re going to church along of Steve, Mr. Davis?

GEORGE. ’Tis as Steve do wish, but I be summat after a cow what has broke into the flower gardens, places where there be many folk got together and I among they.

ROSE. O, come, Mr. Davis!

GEORGE. ’Tis with me as though t’were all hoof and horn as I was made of. But Steve, he be more used to mixing up with the quality folks and such things, and he do know better nor I how to carry his self in parts when the ground be thick on them.

ANNIE. Very likely ’tis a-shewing of them into their places of a Sunday and a-ringing of the bell and a-helping of the vicar along with the service, like, as has made Steve so easy.

ROSIE. But, bless you, Mr. Davis, you sees a good bit of the gentry, too, in your way, when you goes in to houses, as it might be the Squire’s for to put up a shelf, or mend a window, and I don’t know what.

GEORGE. Ah, them caddling sort of jobs don’t much agree with I, Miss Rose. And when I gets inside one of they great houses, where the maids do pad about in boots what you can’t hear, and do speak as though ’twere church and parson at his sermon, I can’t think of naught but how ’twill feel for to be out in the open again. Why, bless you, I do scarce fetch my breath in one of they places from fear as there should be too much sound to it, and the noise of my own hammer do very near scare I into fits.

ROSE. Well, Mr. Davis, who would ever have thought it?

[MRS. BROWNING _and_ DORRY _come back and the cider is put upon the table_, DORRY _and_ ANNIE _getting glasses from the dresser_.

GEORGE. [_Drinking_.] Your health, Steve, and yours, too, Miss Sims. And many years of happiness to you both.

STEVE. Thank you kindly, George.

ANNIE. Thank you, Mr. Davis.

DORRY. Hasn’t Miss Sims got a nice frock on her for the dance, Mr. Davis?

GEORGE. Well, I’m blessed if I’d taken no notice of it, Dorry.

DORRY. Why, you’re worse nor Dad, I do declare! But you just look at Rosie, now, Mr. Davis, and ask her what she’s got wrapped up in that there paper in her hand.

ROSE. O, Dorry, you little tease, you!

DORRY. You just ask her, Mr. Davis.

ROSE. [_Undoing the parcel_.] There, ’tis nothing to make such a commotion of! Just a flower—see, Mr. Davis? I knowed as it was one what you was partial to, and so I just brought it along with me.

GEORGE. That there bain’t for I, be it?

ROSE. Indeed ’tis—if so as you’ll accept of it.

GEORGE. O, ’tis best saved against to-morrow. The freshness will be most gone from it, if I was to wear it now.

DORRY. No, no, Mr. Davis, ’tis for now! To wear at the dance. Put it on him, Rosie, put it on him.

ROSE. [_Tossing the flower across the table to_ GEORGE.] He can put it on hisself well enough, Dorry.

GEORGE. [_After a moment’s hesitation_.] I don’t know so well about that.

ANNIE. Go on, Rosie—pin it into his coat. Come, ’tis getting late.

DORRY. O, pin it in quick, Rosie—come along—and then we can start to the dancing.

ROSE. Shall I, Mr. Davis?

[GEORGE _gets up and crosses the room_; ROSE _takes the flower and_ DORRY _hands her a pin_. _She slowly pins the flower in his coat_.

STEVE. [_Stretching out his hand to_ ANNIE.] You be so quiet like to-night, Annie. There isn’t nothing wrong, is there, my dear?

ANNIE. ’Tis only I’m that full of gladness, Steve, as I don’t seem to find words to my tongue for the things what I can talk on most days.

STEVE. And that’s how ’tis with I, too, Annie. ’Tis as though I was out in the meadows, like—And as though ’twere Sunday, and such a stillness all around that I might think ’twas only me as was upon the earth. But then summat stirs in me sudden and I knows that you be there, too, and ’tis my love for you what has put me right away from the rest of them.

ANNIE. Steve, you’ve had a poor, rough time, I know, but I’ll do my best for to smooth it like for you, I will.

STEVE. See here, Annie—I be comed out of the rain and into the sun once more.

DORRY. [_Leading_ GEORGE _forward_.] See how fine Mr. Davis do look—see, isn’t he grand? O, Miss Sims, see how nice the flower do look what Rosie has pinned in his coat! See, Gran’ma.

JANE. I’ve enough to do putting away all these glasses which have been messed up. What I wants to know is when I shall get off to bed this night, seeing as ’tis late already and you none of you gone off yet.

DORRY. O, let us be off, let us be off—and what am I to put over my dress, Gran’ma, so as the snow shan’t get to it?

JANE. If you go careful and don’t drop it in the snow may be as I’ll wrap my big shawl around of you, Dorry, what’s hanging behind the door.

ROSE. Give me my cloak, Steve—O, how I do love a bit of dancing, don’t you, Mr. Davis?

GEORGE. I be about as much use in the ball room as one of they great drag horses, Miss Rose.

ROSE. O, get on, Mr. Davis! I don’t believe half what you do say, no more does Annie.

ANNIE. If Mr. Davis don’t know how to dance right, you’re the one to learn him, Rose. Come, Dorry, you take hold of my hand, and I’ll look after you on the way. Good-night, Mrs. Browning. Good-night, Mrs. Reed.

DORRY. Why, Granny’s sound asleep, Miss Sims, you know.

JANE. And about time, too. ’Tis to be hoped as we shan’t have no more trouble with her till morning.

DORRY. [_Her eyes raised to the door latch_.] Just look, why the latch is up.

ANNIE. Whoever’s that, I wonder?

ROSE. ’Tis very likely someone with a horse what’s lost a shoe, Steve.

JANE. I guess as ’tis a coffin wanted sudden, George Davis.

STEVE. I bain’t a-going to shoe no horses this time of night, not if ’twas the King hisself what stood at the door.

GEORGE. If ’tis a corpse, I guess her’ll have to wait till the dancing’s finished, then.

[VASHTI _groans in her sleep and turns over in the chair_, _her face to the fire_.

STEVE. [_Going to the door and speaking loudly_.] Who’s there?

GEORGE. Us’ll soon see.

[GEORGE _unbolts the door and opens it_, _first a little way_, _and then wide_. MAY _is seen standing in the doorway_. _Her shawl is drawn over head and the lower part of her face_.

GEORGE. Here’s someone what’s missed their way, I count.

ROSE. Why, ’tis like the poor thing we seed beneath the hedge, I do believe.

ANNIE Whatever can she want a-coming-in here at this time of night!

JANE. [_Advancing firmly_.] ’Tis one of they dirty roadsters what there’s too many of all about the country. Here, I’ll learn you to come to folks’ houses this time of night, disturbing of a wedding party. You take and get gone. We don’t want such as you in here, we don’t.

[MAY _looks fixedly into_ JANE’S _face_.

GEORGE. I count ’tis very nigh starved by the cold as she be.

STEVE. Looks like it, and wetted through to the bone.

JANE. Put her out and shut the door, George, and that’ll learn the likes of she to come round begging at folks’ houses what’s respectable.

GEORGE. ’Tis poor work shutting the door on such as her this night.

STEVE. And that ’tis, George, and what’s more, I bain’t a-going for to do it. ’Tis but a few hours to my wedding, and if a dog was to come to me for shelter I’d not be one to put him from the door.

JANE. ’Tain’t to be expected as I shall let a dirty tramp bide in my kitchen when ’tis all cleaned up against to-morrow, Steve.

STEVE. To-morrow, ’tis my day, Mother, and I’ll have the choosing of my guests, like. [_Turning to_ MAY.] Come you in out of the cold. This night you shall bide fed and warmed, so that, may be, in years to come, ’twill please you to think back upon the eve afore my wedding.

[STEVE _stands back_, _holding the door wide open_. MAY, _from the threshold_, _has been looking first on one face and then on another_. _Suddenly her eyes fall on_ ANNIE, _who has moved to_ STEVE’S _side_, _laying her hand on his arm_, _and with a sudden defiance_, _she draws herself up and comes boldly into the room as the curtain falls_.