Six Plays by Lady Florence Henrietta Fisher Darwin Part 81

MAY. What have her got to say 'bout the--the--wench what's going to marry your dad?

DORRY. O, Gran'ma, she thinks ever such a lot of Miss Sims, and she says as how poor Dad, what's been served so bad, will find out soon what 'tis to have a real decent wife, what'll help with the work and all, and what won't lower him by her ways, nor nothing.

MAY. Look you here--'tis growing day. I must be getting off and on to the road.

DORRY. [Moving to the door.] I'll unbolt the door, then. O, 'tis fine and daylight now.

MAY. [Turning back at the doorway and looking at the room.] I suppose you wouldn't like to touch me, for good luck, Dorry?

DORRY. No, I shouldn't. Gran'ma, she don't let me go nigh road people as a rule. She's a-feared as I should take summat from them, I suppose.

MAY. [Hoa.r.s.ely, her hand on the door.] Then just say as you wishes me well, Dorry.

DORRY. I'll wish you a good New Year, then, and Gran'ma said as I was to watch as you cleared off the place. [MAY goes out softly and quickly. DORRY watches her until she is out of sight, and then she shuts the door.

ACT III.--Scene 1.

The same room. It is nearly mid-day, and the room is full of suns.h.i.+ne. JANE BROWNING, in her best dress, is fastening DORRY'S frock, close to the window.

DORRY. Dad's been a rare long time a-cleaning of his self up, Gran.

JANE. Will you bide still! However's this frock to get fastened and you moving this way and that like some live eel--and just see what a mark you've made on the elbow last night, putting your arm down somewhere where you didn't ought to--I might just as well have never washed the thing.

DORRY. Granny's sound asleep still--she'll have to be waked time we goes along to the church.

JANE. That her shan't be. Her shall just bide and sleep the drink out of her, her shall. Do you think as I didn't find out who 'twas what had got at the bottle as Dad left on the dresser last night.

DORRY. Poor Gran, she do take a drop now and then.

JANE. Shame on th' old gipsy. Her shall be left to bide till she have slept off some of the nonsense which is in her.

DORRY. Granny do say a lot of funny things sometimes, don't she, now?

JANE. You get and put on your hat and b.u.t.ton your gloves, and let the old gipsy be. We can send her off home when 'tis afternoon, and us back from church. Now, where did I lay that bonnet? Here 'tis.

[She begins to tie the strings before a small mirror in the wall.

STEVE comes downstairs in his s.h.i.+rt sleeves, carrying his coat.

DORRY. Why, Dad, you do look rare pleased at summat.

STEVE. And when's a man to look pleased if 'tis not on his wedding morn, Dorry?

DORRY. The tramp what was here did say as how 'twas poor work twice marrying, but you don't find it be so, Dad, do you now?

STEVE. And that I don't, my little wench. 'Tis as nigh heaven as I be like to touch--and that's how 'tis with me.

JANE. [Taking STEVE'S coat from him.] Ah, 'tis a different set out altogether this time. That 'tis. 'Tis a-marrying into your own rank, like, and no mixing up with they trolloping gipsies.

DORRY. Was my own mammy a trolloping gipsy, Gran?

JANE. [Beginning to brush STEVE'S coat.] Ah, much in the same pattern as th' old woman what's drunk asleep against the fireside.

Here, b.u.t.ton up them gloves, 'tis time we was off.

DORRY. I do like Miss Sims. She do have nice things on her. When I grows up I'd like to look as she do, so I would.

STEVE. [To JANE.] There, Mother, that'll do. I'd best put him on now.

JANE. [Holding out the coat for him.] Well, and you be got yourself up rare smart, Steve.

STEVE. 'Tis rare smart as I be feeling, Mother. I'm all a kind of a dazzle within of me, same as 'tis with the sun upon the snow out yonder.

JANE. Why, look you, there's George a-coming up the path already.

DORRY. He's wearing of the flower what Rosie gived him last night.

STEVE. [Opening the door.] Good morning, George. A first cla.s.s New Year to you. You're welcome, if ever a man was.

JANE. You bide where you do stand, George, till your feet is dry.

My floor was fresh wiped over this morning.

GEORGE. [Standing on the door mat.] All right, Mrs. Browning.

Don't you fl.u.s.ter. Good morning, Dorry. How be you to-day, Steve?

JANE. Dorry, come you upstairs along with me and get your coat put on, so as your frock bain't crushed.

DORRY. O, I wish I could go so that my nice frock was seen and no coat.

[They go upstairs. GEORGE rubs his feet on the mat and comes into the room, walking up and down once or twice restlessly and in evident distress of mind.

STEVE. [Who has lit a pipe and is smoking.] Why, George, be you out of sorts this morning? You don't look up to much, and that's the truth.

GEORGE. [Stopping before STEVE.] Hark you, Steve. 'Tis on my mind to ask summat of you. Did you have much speech with the poor thing what you took in from the snow last night?

STEVE. No, George, and that I didn't. Her was mostly in a kind of drunken sleep all the time, and naught to be got out from she.

Mother, her tried. But 'twas like trying to get water from the pump yonder, when 'tis froze.

GEORGE. Your mother's a poor one at melting ice, Steve, and 'tis what we all knows.

STEVE. Ah, 'twasn't much as we could do for the likes of she--what was a regular roadster. Bad herbs, all of them. And if it hadn't been so as 'twas my wedding eve, this one shouldn't have set foot inside of the house. But 'tis a season when a man's took a bit soft and foolish, like, the night afore his marriage. Bain't that so, George?

GEORGE. And when was it, Steve, as she went off from here?

STEVE. That I couldn't rightly say, George, but I counts 'twas just upon daybreak. And 'twas Dorry what seed her off the place and gived her a piece of bread to take along of her.

GEORGE. And do you think as she got talking a lot to Dorry, Steve?