Dormer. (pointing in the direction of Eric)     Repair those old gates, and keep that young gentleman
     on the other side of them.

     Kate. Suppose—I—like the young gentleman?

     Dormer. If he marries in his mother's lifetime
     he is a pauper.

     Kate. I know that.

     Dormer. What business has he here?

     Kate. It kills time.

     Dormer. So does the Racquet Court at Pagley
     Barracks.

     Kate. A friend likes a friend better than racquets.

     Dormer. And a woman likes a lover better than
     a friend. There, I have thrown my pebble—the tide
     washes it away.

     (Christiana enters from L., carrying mug and a
     glass of milk; she gives mug to Dormer and places
     glass on table, waits till Dormer has finished, and
     then takes mug off with her.)
     Chris. Will you taste the milk, gentlemen?
     (Dor. stands L., of table—Chris, goes out as Gunnion
     enters through archway. Gun. is a very old
     man, a dirty specimen of the agriculturist, with
     straggling grey hair and an unshaven chin. He
     wears a battered hat, worsted stockings, and huge
     boots. He speaks a broad country dialect in a
     wavering treble key.)
     Gun. (coming down R., c.) Mornin', Squire!

     Kate. (sitting R., of table) Good afternoon, Mr.
     Gunnion.

     Gun. (seeing Dormer) Lord bless my eyesight,
     there's Parson Dormer, a-drinkin' a mug o' milk, as
     nat'ral as may be—the very man I wanted for to see.
     (seeing Eric) Ay, and there's the young lieutenant
     —well, he be fond of our bit of a place.

     Eric. (raising his head) Who's that? (seeing
     Gun) Oh, are you quite well? (relapsing)
     Gun. I'm an old man, I am. I ain't got a tooth
     in my yead.

     Eric. (dreamily) Don't name it.

     Kate. (impatiently) Have you heard the news,
     Mr. Gunnion?

     Gun. I hear as how Gilbert Hythe leaves the
     Priors, and that I'm to do his dooties.

     Kate. How do you like the prospect?

     Gun. I'm an old man, I am. I ain't got a tooth
     in my yead. But says Gilbert Hythe to me, "Mr.
     Gunnion, if you do double dooty, you'll get hadykit
     remuneration."

     Kate. Of course you will, Mr. Gunnion.

     Gun. To which I said, "If I had the chance, I'd
     die for the Squire."

     Eric. Give him the chance.

     Kate. Then that is settled, and you are head
     man here. You enter on your new duties at once.

     Gun. Which I shall do all the freer when I've
     got a burden off my chest. (Dor. rises as if to leave)
     Kate. A burden?

     Gun. Don't you go, parson, for you're the man
     to lift it.

     Dormer. What's the burden, Gunnion? (Dormer
     comes down below chair)
     (Gun. goes up through the archway and calls.)
     Gun. (calling) Felicity! (to Kate) My daughter,
     Squire, (calling) Felicity Gunnion!

     (Felicity enters herefrom R.)
     Kate. Is that the little girl who sings so sweetly
     in the choir?

     Gun. Ay, her singing's sweet enough, but her
     behaviour's 'orrid.—(coming down)
     Kate. Oh dear! Oh dear! (Dor. resumes his
     seat)
     (Felicity enters through the archway. Felicity
     is a pretty little girl with a sweet face and simple
     manner. Her dress is rustic, but clean and tidy.
     She comes down R., C., and makes a curtsey.)
     (R. of table) Sit down, Felicity. (Fel. sits on
     stone C.)
     Dormer. In heaven's name, why Felicity?

     Gun. (C.) We called her Felicity, parson,
     because she was our thirteenth hoffspring.

     Eric. Good gracious!

     Gun. She's the only one left—the other dozen
     are all out in the world, some doin' precious well,
     some doin' precious bad—most of 'em precious bad.

     Kate. Felicity's a great consolation to you, isn't
     she?

     Gun. Squire, that gell is a weight on my chest.
     You wouldn't guess it to look at her, but Felicity
     Gunnion is a desolate character.

     Kate. A desolate character!

     Gun. A mad-brained, rampagious, desolate character.
     She's had as fine a schooling as you, Squire
     —pianner, twelve lessons—singing, six lessons—
     deportment, as they call it—deportment, I taught her.
     Notwithstanding the all o' which, her writin's
     despisable, her grammar's shockin', her spellin's beastly
     —and, Lord, oh, Lord, she's in love with a soldier!
     (works round behind Felicity to R., of her during
     speech)
     Eric. (shuddering) Ugh! What depravity.

     Kate. Why, Felicity, come here. (Fel. crosses
     to R., of Kate) In love with a soldier? (kisses her)     Is that true, dearie?

     Fel. It's true, Squire. He's in the 84th now at
     Pagley Barracks.

     Kate. That's Mr. Thorndyke's regiment.

     Fel. (curtseying to Eric) Then you'd know him,
     sir; a fine looking gentleman, with a dark moustache
     —Serjeant Tom Morris.

     Eric. Morris! Oh, yes, I know him. (aside)     Morris! Poor little soul.

     Dormer. What do you want with me, Gunnion?

     Gun. Why, parson, I thought, the gell being in
     the choir, and sittin' well forrard in the gallery, as
     how you might, so to speak, preach right full at her.
     The Serjeant goes to church, too, and you could lug
     him in at the finish with the sinners.

     Fel. Oh, don't, parson, don't!

     Dormer. Is the girl happy at home?

     Fel. No, parson, that's it—I'm not happy at
     home. I—I—I'm not fond of dear father.

     Gun. Ye hear that? It's not the first time she's
     said it. She said it o' Friday.

     Kate. (to Fel.) Hush! You mustn't speak
     like that. I loved my father so much, and his
     memory is the sweetest thing left me.

     Fel. Yes, Squire, and I'm sure I shall love
     father's memory. But he's not kind, and he's rude
     to those who are good to me, especially the Serjeant.
     And I've said that I'll run away, and I mean it,
     for you know I'm to be Tom Morris's wife, and
     travel with him to the beautiful places where the
     regiment goes.

     Kate. (aside to Dor.) What shall I do, parson?

     (Kate and Dormer rise—Gunnion pinches
     Felicity.)
     Dormer. (aside) She's only a baby! Keep her
     as long as you can,