LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 0014 457 047 9 • SCENES FROM CRANFORD ARRANGED BY Charlotte Crowninshield Browne Published by Charlotte Crowninshield Browne, \%^s Brown (invalid). Jessie Brown. Martha. Capt. Brown. hol brook. Peter. Jem Hearn. Scene I. [_Card j)arty at Miss Jenkyns house. Miss M., Miss D., Miss P., Mrs. i.., playing at Preference. Mary S. nearby ivatch- ing the game. Play a few turns in silence.'] Miss P. Presto, Madam ! You have Spadille I believe. Mrs. J. {surprised). Spadille or Manille ? Pardon me, I was thinking about Miss Betty Barker's Alderney. Mary S. What is it about Miss Betty's Alderney? Miss P. Haven't you heard of Miss Betty's Alderney? Why, she looks upon her cow as a daughter. Mrs. J. You can't call on her a quarter of an hour without being told of the wonderful milk or wonderful intelligence of this animal. The whole town knows Miss Betty's Alderney. 0) Miss p. Oh, dear! Great were the sympathy and regret when, in an unguarded moment, the poor cow tumbled inti) a limepit. Mxss M. But she moaned so loudly she was soou rescued. Miss D. Yes, but meanwhile the poor beast had lost most of her hair and came out looking cold and miserable in a bare skin. IMiss P. Everybody pitied the animal, but some of us had to smile at her droll appearance. Mks. J. Miss Betty Barker absolutely cried with sorrow and dismay and it was said she thought of trying a bath of oil. Miss P. This remedy was recommended by some one of the number whose advice she asked I suppose, but the proposal was knocked on the head by Capt. Brown, lie said get her a flannel waistcoat and drawers if you wish to keep the cow alive, ma'am, but my advice is to kill the animal at once. Miss Betty dried her eyes and thanked the Captain heartily. She set to work and by and by {greathi amused) all the town turned out to see the Alderney meekly going to her pasture, clad in dark grey flannel. Do you ever see cows dressed in grey flannel in London ? Mart S. (shal-es her head and laiKjh.s). Oh ! no, no, no ! (Ladies resume cards.) Mrs. J. Speaking of Capt. Brown, what do you think of his behavior? Mary S. What has Capt. Brown done? Mrs. J. Why, one Sunday morning not long ago, as he was coming out of church — Miss M. {interrupUn(i) . It was three weeks ago last Sunday, I remember. It was so slippery I thought I should never o-et home again. Mrs. J. I was saying as Capt. Brown was coming out of church, he met an old woman returning from her baive-house carrying her baked mutton and potatoes home. What should Capt. Brown do but stop up and, relieving the old lady of her burden, steer along the street by her side. Miss D. So very eccentric ! Miss P. I'm sure I thought he would call on his friends the next day to explain anil apologize for his impropriety, but he did no such thing. Miss D. Then he must have been ashamed. Miss M. After all it showed great kindness of heart. Mks. J. Well, yes ! We did think so and decided to over- loolc it, but the next time we saw him he didn't seem in the least ashamed ; he came speaking as loud as ever, his head thrown back, his wig as jaunty and as well curled as usual and now we believe he has forgotten all about it. \_Rinri at hell. Enter Capt. Bkown aynl danghters from ri/jht. Miss M. devotes herself to Miss B's comfort. Capt. assists. Martha brings in tea-trat/. Mary pours tea. Capt, B. passes cups toladies. Jessik helps Miss P. with Shetland, wools. Murmurs of conversa- tion among the people.'] Capt. B. (draiving out magazine). Have you seen any numbers of the Pickwick Papers? Ca|)ital things. Miss D. {drawing up for a challenge). Yes, I have seen them. Indeed, I might say I have read them. Capt. B. And what do you think of them? Aren't they famously good? Miss D. {confused). I must say I don't think they are by any means equal to Dr. Johnson. St ill, perhaps the author is young. Let him persevere and who knows what lie may become if he will take the great Doctor for his model ! Capt. B. {vnth displeasure, interrupting). It is quite a different sort of thing, my dear madam. Miss D. I am quite aware of that, and T make allowances Capt. Brown. Capt. B. Just allow me to read you a scene out of this month's number. I had it onl}' this morning and I don't think the company can have read it yet. Miss D. (stipli/). As you please, sir. [Capt. B reads the account of the *■' sivarrj/" ivhich Sam Weller gave at Bath, or any short account of Picl- wick.^ Miss I). (fHrnsfo Maky tvith di'jnft}/}. Fetch me Rasselas, my dear, out of the book-room. [Maky S. hringa hoo'k.'] Now allow me to read you a scene, then the present company can judge between your favorite Mr. Boz and IJr. Johuson. iReads a conversation between Rasselas and Imlac in a high pitched voice. ^ {Sloivly and distinctly). I imagine I am now justified in ni}' preference of Dr. Johnson as a writer of fiction." [Captain screws np his lips and drums on table/] I consider it vulgar and below the dignity of literature to publish in numbers. Capt. B. How was the Rambler puljlished, ma'am? |_iMiss Deborah ignores the remark.] I should be very sorry for him to exchange his style for any such pompous writiug. Miss D. My friends consider my epistolary writings my forte, and Dr. Johnson has always been my model in these compositions. \^D raws herself up with dignity giving emphasis to every word.] I prefer Dr. Johnson to Mr. Boz. Capt. B. {rather lout) . D — n Dr. Johnson. \_Pauses, then goes forward offering her wine and cakes. Miss D. refuses all attention. Other ladies, except Mary S., talk in lovj voices to each other casting awe- struck glances at Miss Deborah.] Mary S. (aside). Poor dear Miss Deborah! Many a copy of many a letter have I seen written and corrected on her slate, before she seized the half hour just previous to post-tiuie to assure her friends of this or of that. And Dr. Johnson was, as she has said, her model in these compositions. {Laughs softly.) Curtain. Scene II. \^Aftenioo)i. Caii, ti(rns if (wound back and front.) Miss M. (with disappointment) . I am sure you did your best, my dear, it is just like the caps all the ladies in Cranford are wearing and they have had theirs for a year, I dare say. I should have liked something newer I confess. Something more like the turbans Queen Adelaide wears ; but it is very pretty, my dear, and I dare say lavender will wear better than sea-green. (Mary takes seiving from little bag. Maitik puts cap on top of her own. Speaks sadly.) Well! after all, what is dress that we should care about it? You tell me if you want anything, my dear. Here is the bell. 1 suppose turbans have not got down to Drumble yet. You will excuse me, I have been looking over some of my mother's things and I should like to put them away before dark. {Exit.) (Mary looks up, spies the two caps, hat suppresses her amusement until Mtss Matiie has f/one, then laughs. Mary leans touxnxl the firelight to see.) Mauy. I should so like to ring for a candle but I suppose I shall have to wait until Martha brings one in with tea. I have often noticed that almost every one has his own individual small economies — careful habits of saving in souie one pecul- iar direction. I do believe that Miss Mattie's pet economy is candles. {Enter Miss Mattie with package of letters.) Maky. May I ring the bell for the candles that I may see to finish stitching my wristbands? Miss M. My dear, I think we will keep blind-man's holiday, until Martha brings them in with tea. [Mary still sews by firelight.'] After tea I should like to have you look over some old family letters with me. I think that we may look over them together and you can help me decide what to do with them. Maky. I will with all my heart, Miss Mattie ; perhaps we might ring for tea early and liave a long evening before us. {Rings bell, Martha appears.) Miss M. You may bring ihe candles in Martha, we will have tea a little early to-night. Mary. And Martha — Martha. Ma'am! Mary. Remind me that I want to speak with you in the morning about some visitors who are to come here in a few days. Miss M. Yes, she wants to tell you how to pass the vegeta- bles round and help the ladies first. Martha. I'll do as ye tell me ma'am, but I like the lads best. {Exit.) 10 Miss M. Oh, Martha ! Martha ! {Enter Martha vitli tea and candles on trai/ one candle lighted, places them on table, drcuvs Miss M's chair to t(d)le.) You may bring in some oranges, Man ha. Miss Marv and 1 may like one in our rooms this evening. {Re-enters ?vith two oranges on tray.) Mary. I will have mine now, I think, Miss Mattie. Miss M. Deborah would have been so displeased to have me eat my orange at the table. After dessert we used to take our oranges to our room and suck them. She did not like to cut the fruit, for the juice ran out no one knows where and that seemed so very wasteful. She said sucking (only I think she used some other word than sucking) was the only way to enjoy oranges, but the association is very unpleasant and the noise is very offensive. Mary. O Miss Mattie ! do sit here and enjoy your orange as you like best. Miss Deborah won't mind now Never mind the noise, and, see ! I will hold up a screen. {Takes her fan for screen and begins to bite her orange.) Miss M. Oh, no ! my dear, I will wait until I go to my room, I think. Mary. Then I will eat mine later also. [Places orange one side. Martha enters to take tea things. They resume seats near fire. Mary on foot- titool. Miss M. examines the packages closeli/, selects one bnndle.~\ Miss M. These are ticketed in Deborah's hand writing. {Recuis.) " Letters interchanged between my ever-honored father and dearly beloved mother prior to their marriage in -hily, 1774." My mother was just eighteen at the time of her wedding, my father about twenty-seven. Slie seems to have been asking my 11 father (of course that's before he was my father then) to use his influence with her parents to buy her a new Paduasoy< whatever that may be. I suppose he did, though he used to tell her he cared nothing how she was dressed, she was always lovely enough for him. And here's one from father. He must have loved mother dearly. Only he uses so much Latin and Johnsonian style — Deborah used to call it — that they're hard to read. But he sends her lots of finery and tells her he hopes she may be dressed in everything her heart desires. We must burn them, no one will care for them when I am gone. Ah! here is another docketed by Deborah. "Letters of pious congratulation and exhortation from my venerable grand- father to my beloved mother, on occasion of my own biith." That's Deborah. And this contains many instructions to my mother, and a warning against the evils in the world lying in wait for a baby. He says his wife could not write, as he had forbidden it, she having sprained her ankle, which quite incapacitated her from holding her pen. But liere's a short note from my grand- mother: "To my dearest MoUie, begging her that when she leaves her room, to go upstairs before she goes down, and be sure and wrap the baby's feet in flannel, althougli it is summer, babies are so tender." {Pauses, tears up and puts ou thejire, takes another.) Here is another of dear mother's : " My dear mother ! I wish you could see my baby. She is the prettiest little thing that ever was seen. Without any partiality I do believe she will grow up to be a regular beauty. 1 have made the white ' Paduasoy ' into a christening cloak." Mary. This one is from your mother to your father : "Deb- orah has sewed her seam very neatly every day, and I have read to her in the books you have sent. She is a very ' forrard ' o'ood child, and asks questions I can't answer. So I usually stir the fire or send the child ou an errand. Little Mattie is grow- ino- to be a great beauty. 1 hope she may not grow up to be vain even if she is a little beauty." (Pats Miss M. on knee and looks into her face, smiling.) 12 Miss M. I had ver}' pretty hair, my dear, and not a bad mouth. Peter looked something like me when he was little. He was born soon after father published his assize sermon, and grandmother died just before. And grandfather wrote such a letter describing all the sin into which men might fall, that I wonder how any man ever came to die a natural death. Maky. But here is one. Miss Mattie, it begins: " Mother, dear, do send me a cake, and put plenty of citron in it. My dear, dear mother, I will be a 1 tetter boy, I will indeed, but don't please he ill for me, I am not worth it ; buL I will be good, darling mother !" (Maky and Mattie weep. Maitik takes the letter.) Miss M. Poor Peter! he was always in scrapes, he was too easy : they led him wrong and left him in the lurch. But he was too fond of mischief. He could never resist a joke. Poor Peter ! Mary. Was he your brother? I never knew you had a brother. Miss M. Yes, Peter Marmaduke Arley Jenkyns. The youngest of us all. Yes, Peter was a dear boy, he was mother's darling, though of course she doted on all her children. Tho' she was perhaps a little afraid of Deborah's superior accom- plishments. Deborah was father's [speakiiuj to Mary] favorite and after Peter disappointed him she was his pride. Peter was expected to win honors at Shrewsbury and carry them to Cam- bridge and after that a living awaited him, the gift of his god- father. Sir Peter Arley. Alas ! the only honor Peter brought away was the reputation of being the best good fellow that ever was, the captain of the school in the art of practical joking. Of course father could not afford to send Peter to read with a tu- tor, but he could read with him himself ; and such awful prepa- rations in the way of dictionaries and lexicons that were made in father's study the morning Peter began ! My poor mother I I remember how she used to stand in the iiall just near enough to the study door to catch the tone of my father's voice. 1 could tell in a moment if all were going well by her face. And all did go well for a Ions: time. 13 Mary. What went wrong at last? That tiresome Latin, I dare sa^'. Miss M. No, it was not the Latin. Peter worked well with father. But he seemed to think Craiiford people could be joked about. He was always "hoaxing" them. Hoaxing is not a pretty word, my dear. I hope you won't tell your father 1 used it. Mary. Oh ! no, no. Miss M. For I should not like him to think that 1 was not choice in my language after living with such a woman as Deb- orah. Be sure you never use it yourself. But it slipped out of my mouth thinking of poor Peter. I could laugh thinking of some of Peter's jokes. But I won't tell you of them. Mary. Oh ! please do. Miss M. Because I fear they may not shock you as they ought to do and they were very shocking. He even took my father in once. He dressed up as a lady passing through the town and wished to see the Rector of Cranford who had pub- lished that adminible "Assize Sermon." Peter was awfully frightened when he found how my lather took it all in and even offered to copy out all his Napoleon Buonaparte sermons for her — him I mean, no — her, for Peter was a lady then. And so my father kept Peter hard at work copying out all those twelve sermons for the lady, who was Peter himself you know. He was the lady. And once, when he wanted to go fishing he said "confound the woman !" very bad language, and my father was very angry with him ; it nearly frightened me out of my wits. And yet 1 could hardly keep from laughing at the little courte- sies Peter kept making quite slyly whenever father spoke of the lady's excellent taste and sound discrimination. Mary. Did Miss Jenkyns know of these tricks? Miss M. Oh, no ! Deborah would have been too much shocked. No, no one knew but me. At last there was a ter- rible sad thing happened. ( Gets up, goes to the door, peers round, rings the bell for Martha.) {Enter Martha.) 14 Martha. Ma'am. Miss M. I want you to go to the farm for some eofgs, Mar- tha. You are not afraid to go, are you? Martha. No, ma'am, not at all. Jem Ilearu will be only too proud to go with me. Miss M. Very well, I will lock the door after you. {Goes out.) {Re-enters.) I do wish iNIartha had more maidenly reserve. We'll put out the candle my dear, we can talk just as well by firelight, you know. There I Well, you see Deborah was gone from home for a fortnight or so. My father had gone out to see some sick persons in the parish. It was a beautiful day; the lilacs were all in flower, so I suppose it was spring. What possessed our poor Peter I don't know. He always liked to plague Deborah ; perhaps it was because she never gave him any sympathy. She thought him very ungenteel and never laugiied at his jokes. He went to her room it seems, and di'essed himself in her old gown and shawl and bonnet and he dressed a pillow into a little — you are sure you locked the door my dear — I should not like anyone to hear — into — into a little baby, with long white clothes, and he went out into the garden and wnlked u[) and down in the Filbert walk half hidden by the rails, and half seen. When my father came up the street he saw the crowd and thought they were looking at his new rhododendron. That made him feel very proud and he was going to ask them in to the garden to see it. When he came nearer he looked through the rails himself and saw — 1 don't know what he thought he saw. But oh ! he spoke out so terribly — lie bade tiiem all to stop where they were Then as quick as light he was in the garden — seized hold of poor Peter, tore the clothes off his back, bonnet, shawl and gown — threw the pillow among the people over the railings and then before all the people he lifted up his cane and flogged Peter. That trick broke my mother's heart and changed my father's life. Peter came in looking as haughty as any man, indeed looking like a man not a boy. " Mother," he said, " I am come to say. 15 God bless you forever." I saw his lips quiver as he spoke, he put his arms lound her and kissed her as if he did not know how to leave off. Then he was gone. Mother went to talk with my father ; soon she came back and began wandering from room to room calling ''Peter" softlj'. Then father began to join in the search, then we knew that Peter ivas gone and had said his sad good-bye to mother. "Mollie," said my father, "I did not know this would happen." Mart. Where was Mr. Peter? Miss M, He had gone to Liverpool. Some of the king's ships lay off the mouth of the Mersey and as there was war they were only too glad to have a fine looking lad such as he come to offer himself. The captain wrote to my father and Peter to mother. {K)iork.) Miss M. That's Martha back. (Maky rises to (jo to the door.) No, I'll go my dear, I can always find my way in the dark, you know. And a blow of fresh air at the door will do my head good, it's rather got a trick of aching. {Exit.) (Mary lights the candle. Kissing heard outside.) {Enter Maitik.) Mary. Was it Martha? Miss M. Yes. And I am rather uncomfortable for 1 [fright- ened^ heard such a strange noise, just as I was opening the door. Mary {someivhat alarmed). Where? Miss M. In the street, just outside, it sounded like — iMarv. Talking? Miss M. No ! kissing. [Mary laughs aJoud.^ I think we will retire now, so we will go our round and see that all is right for the night. (Miss M. takes candle and poker. Mary, Jire brush.) {Exit, left.) 16 {Re-enter, right, followed by Martha, with Jiretongs and shovel, makes accidental yioise, tvhich startles cdl. Look round.) All. What's that? Oh! the fire tongs. Miss M. How trying it is to settle down for the night! I confess, ever since I was a girl I have had a dread of being caught by my last leg just as I am getting into bed, by some one concealed under it. When I was younger and more active I used to take a flying leap from a distance and so bring both legs up safely into bed at once. Hut this annoyed Deborah, wlio always piqued herself upon getting into bed gracefully. Even now the terror often comes over me, but it is very unpleasant to think of looking under a bed and seeing a man concealed with a great, fierce face staring out at you. [^4/^ huddle together looking frightened ; Jire tongs rattle.'] So that's why I always use this ball every night. If it comes out on the other side you see, well and good [vo/Zn ball under sof(( ;] if not, I seize the bell and call John and Harry, just as if I expect men ser- vants to appear. Maky. You are very ingenious, Miss Mattie. I shall have no fear of alarm with you. \_Lond rattle of fire tovgs.j All. WhMt'sthat? Oh ! the fire tong.s. Curtain. SCKNE HI. [Miss M.'s rooin. Miss M. on sofa and Mary /n chair to right. Enter Mr. Holbrook, left. Greets ladies, sits in chair, puts open palms on knees and whistles.] Ladies. We are glad to see you. (Pause.) H. Got home safely the other evening? Miss M. (shyly). Yes, oh! yes. Very safely. (Pause.) H. Pleasant weather we're having. Miss M. Yes, oh! yes. T am sure, very pleasant. (H. whistles, rubs his knees.) 17 H. Hope your well, madam. Miss M. Certainly, very well. I am quite well, Mary. We had a delightful day at your farm, Mr. Holbrook. It is a very pleasant place. H. Yes, oh ! yes. Well, you lemember the color of ash-buds in March? Black as ash-ltuds in March! Old fool that I am not to have known it until I read it in that young man's book of poems ; and lived all my life in the country. Black as ash-buds, indeed. [^Jnmps up quickly, turns to Miss M.] Well, madam, have you any commands for Paris? I am going there in a week or two. Ladies. To Paris? H. Yes, madam, I've never lieen tliere and always had a wish to go. and I think if I do not go soon 1 mayn't go at all. So as soon as the hay is got in I shall go, before harvest time. Miss M. I don't believe frogs will agree with you, you used to have to be veiy careful what you ate. H. Well, I've lived to a pretty good age, Mattie \^7\irns Jiis hat and pauses before Aer.] God bless my soul, madam, but I nearly forgot half m}' errand. Here are the poems for you, you admired so much the other evening. Miss M. Yes, it was such a pretty book. H. Pretty, madam ! it's beautiful, pretty, indeed ! Miss M. Oh, yes ! I meant beautiful. It's like the beauti- ful poems of Dr. Johnson's, my sister used to read. I forget the name of it. What was it, my dear? Mary. Which one do you mean? Miss M. I don't remember what it was about, and I've quite forgotten what the name of it was, but it was written by Dr. Johnson and was very beautiful. H. (reflectively). I don't remember it. But I don't know Dr. Johnson's poems well. I must read them. [^Whistles.^ Well, I must be off. Good-bye, Miss. And Matlie [takes her hand] good-bye. God bless you ! {Exit left, followed by Mattie. Mary goes out, right.) 18 {Re-enter Miss M. irith shawl on, followed by M Amu a, from left.) Mariha. To think, dear ma'am, of your going to the door with such a thin shawl ; it's no better than muslin. [Takes it from Mattie's shoulders and folds / saiJ, fri/i)i'j to smile.) Mary. I have decided to send for father to come over and hold a consultation. He can understand your affairs better than we can. Miss M. Well, I have been thinking and I suppose I can hire a single room somewhere, retain as much of my furniture as would be necessary to fit this up, and sell the rest. There I could quietly live (I know very humbly) on what I have left after paying the rent. Mary. I have been thinking of your accomplishmenis. Perhaps some one of them could be used to increase your in- come. Miss M. I can make candle lighters or ''spills" as 1 always call them, of colored paper, cut so as to resemble feathers and I can knit garters in a variety of dainty stitches. (Martha enters with tea-tray.) Mary. Yes, 1 know you do those beautifully, but you could hardly earn a living by those. But, Miss Mattie, I have an idea. I believe this tea urn has solved the problem. Miss M. How can a tea urn solve any problem? Mary. Why could you not sell tea, Miss Mattie? Be an agent to the East India Tea Company. I can't see any ob- jections while the advantages will be many. Tea is neither greasy nor sticky. You won't have to have a shop window. True, it would be necessary to have a tiny notice of being licensed to sell tea, but I think we could place it where no one need see it. And tea would be very light and easy to weigh out. I don't think there is anything ungenteel about it. (Great struggle and noise heard outside.) 23 {Enter Martha dragging behind her .Ikm He\kn ivho is slicking dmvn his hair.) Martha. Please ma'am, he's only Jem lleani. [^Oxt of breath.^ And please, ma'am, he wants to marry me off-hand. l^Panting.'] And please, ma'am, we want to take a lodger, just one quiet lodger to make our two ends meet and we'd take any house conformable, and oh! dear Miss Mattie, if I may be so bold, would you have any objections to lodging with us? Jem wants it as much as i do. \_To Jkm.] You great oaf, why can't you back me up? But he does want it just the same, very bad, don't you? only you see he's dazed at being called on to speak. Jem. It's not that — it's that you've taken me all on a sud- den and I didn't think for to get married so soon and such quick work does flabbergast a man. It's not that I'm against it ma'am, only Martha has such quick ways with her when once she takes a notion into her head, and marriage, ma'am, mar- riage, nails a man, as one may say. I dare say I shan't mind it after it's once over. [Martha plucks at his sleeve and nudges him while he talks. ^ Martha. Please ma'am, don't mind him, he'll come to ; 'twas only last night he was an axing me and an axing me and all the more because I said I could not think of it for years to come, and now he's only taken back with the suddenness of the joy. You know Jem. you are just as good as me about want- ing a lodger. {Another great nudge.) Jem. Ay! If Miss Mattie would lodge with us, otherwise I've no mind to be cumbered with strange folk in the house. (Marteia enraged.) Miss M. {confused). Marriage is a very solemn thing, Martha Jem {shakes his head). It is indeed. Not that I've no ob- jections to Martha. Martha. You've never let me be for axing me to name the 24 day when I would be married and now you're shaming me afore my missus and all — Jem. Nay, now ! Martha don't ee ! don't ee ! only a man likes to have breathing time. (Tries to take her hand hvt Martha pushes him (tiiHiy.) Jem. I hope, ma'am, you know I am always bound to re- spect every one who has been kind to Martha. I've alius looked upon her to be my wife sometime, and she has often spoken of you as being the kindest person who ever was and though the plain truth is I would not like to be troubled with lodgers of the common run, yet ma'am, if you'd houor us by living with us, I'm sure Martha would do the best to make you comfortable ; and I'd keep out of your way as much as I could, which I reckon would be the greatest kindness such an awkward chap as me could do. (Mattie wipes spectacles.) Miss M. Don't let any thought of me hurry you into mar- riage — pray don't — marriage is such a very solemn thing. Mary. But Miss Matilda will think of your plan, Martha. And I'm sure neither she nor I can ever forget your kindness — nor 3'ours either, Jem. Jem. Wh3% yes, ma'am, I'm sui'e 1 meant kindly, though I'm a bit fluttered at being pushed straight ahead into matrimony, as it were, and may'nt express myself conformably. But I'm willing enough and give me time to get accustomed — So Mar- tha, wench, what's the use of crying and slapping me if I come near. (Martha weeps and bounces out of room followed by Jem chasing her. Mattie sits dovm and cries heartily. Mary wipes eyes.) Curtain. 25 SCENK V. [Same room, with tea canister, tumblers of candy, pepper- mints and lozenges, scales, etc., on tables. Gifts of fresh eggs, flofvers, ripe fruit, on counter or table. Miss Mattie sits knitting and crooning a little song behind table to left. Enter Maky to rigid, goes to slate.l^ Maky. I fixed the accounts all straight. Do you want me to see if the canisters are all right? Do you know, Miss Mat- tie, you have made ovei- twenty pounds this last year? Miss M. Well, 1 am greatly indebted to INIr. Johnson for allowing me to sell tea, too. You know I felt I ought not to sell tea when my grocer was selling it too, and he said, you go right ahead Miss Jenkyns, sell all \ ou can ; it's surprising how much tea people drink. 1 have urged my customers not to buy green tea. I really have threatened not to keep any, it is a slow poison, sure to destroy the nerves. Mahy. Just think of the train oil and the tallow candles which the Esquimaux not only enjoy, but digest. Miss Mattie, I should let the people buy green tea if they want it. Miss M. Well. I suppose what's one man's meat is another man's poison. You might order some more almond comfits my dear, the little things are so fond of them. There are only a very few left. Mary. But Miss Mattie, we oi'dered so many the other day. You will make no profit on them if you give so large weights. Miss M. The little things like them so much Mary. Almond comfits are very unwholesome for little chil- dren. Miss M. But peppermmts and ginger lozenges are good preventives. I can put some of those in — Mary. But Miss Mattie — Miss M. I know, my dear, but I will manage this. Some one does kind things for me surely, when such gifts as these are brought me, and all these came this morning. You shouldn't worry about a few almond comfits my dear. 26 \_EHter Petkk at door, stands and looks round, eyes Mat- TiK eaf/erJ}/, then pretends to hay some candy, drums on table aith fingers, eyes Marv S.] Pktku. Is your name Mary Smith? Mary. Yes, sii'. (Pktkk looks round the room.) Petkk. I'll take a pound of those things. Miss M. {looks up, stojis a moment). It is — oh! sir, can you be Peter ? (Pktek rushes round the taJ>Je, helps her to sofa.) Petek. I have been too sudden for you; I have, my little o-irl — too sudden — too sudden. {Sobs. ) Miss M. And have you come home from India? Oh! Peter, I have waited a long, long while for you to come home. Peter. How could I tell, dear, when all my letters returned to India? 1 never received word except of father's death. Perhaps Di'borah did not care to have me come home after that. Miss M. Deborah used to tell how you were "surveying mankind from China to Peru." Were you, Peter? Peter. That was very grand and appropriate surely in Deborah, for you see she was right if you take care to turn the globe to the left instead of tlie right. I always thought Deb- orah had a mind for understanding. {Sarcastically.) Miss M. {contentedly). She certainly had. But you surveyed a very long lime, a very long time, Peter. Peter. Yes, you see I was a volunteer in the siege of Ra- goon. I was taken prisoner by the Burmese, but somehow ob- tained favor and eventually freedom, from knowing how to bleed the chief of the small tribe in some case of dangerous illness. I was kept captive many years and, when all my letters were returned from England, I believed myself the last of my race ; so I settled down as an indigo planter and determined to spend the rest of m^^ days in India. But when I received Mary Smith's letter — 27 Miss M. Mary Smith's letter! Why Mary, how did you know how to send to my bi other? Why did you not tell me that my brother was alive ? Mary. Now MissMattie, pray don't be angry; but the wife of Samuel Brown, otherwise Signor Brunoni, told me that while in India with her husband, who had gone out there first with the army, she had received great kindness from a certain man whom she called the Aga Jenkyns. I thought I could but try to see if it were your brother and wrote asking him to come home to you if he were Mr. Peter Jenkyns, your brother, of course. And if he were not to be your brother, why no one else would care about the letter and it could do no harm. Miss M. How kind you are Mary. You have been my best friend and you would not tell me because you were afraid he might never come back to me. But here is Peter It is Peter isn't it — only — well, when you left Cranford you hadn't a gray hair in your head. I suppose hot climates age people very quickly. Petek. But how many years ago is that, Mattie? MissM. Ah ! true. Yes, I suppose you and 1 are getting old. But still I do not think we are so very old Peter, white hair is very becoming. Peier. I suppose I forgot dates too, Mattie, for what do you think I have brought home for you from India? I have an Indian muslin gown and a pearl necklace for you somewhere in my chest in Portsmouth. Miss M. I'm afraid I'm too old — but it was very kind of you to think of it. They are just what I should have liked years ago, when I was young. Peter. So I thought, my little Mattie ; 1 remember your tastes, they were so like my dear mother's. [Sits doivn in chair to right.~\ Do you know Mattie, I could have sworn you were on the high road to matrimony, when I left England the last time. If anybody had told me that you would live and die an old maid, then I should have laughed in his face. It was Holbiook, that fine manly fellow, who lived at Woodley, that I used to think 28 would carry off 1113- sister Mattie. You would not think it now, I dare say, Mnry ; but this sister of mine was once a very pretty girl — at least I thought so — and so I've a notion did poor Holbrook. I came home to thank him for all liis kindness to a good-for-nothing cub that I was. It was that, that made me first think he cared for you — for in all our fishing expeditions it was Mattie. Mattie, we talked about. Poor Deborah ! What a lecture she read me, on having asked him home to lunch one day, when she had seen tlie Arley car- riage in the town and thought that my lady might call. Well, that's long years ago, moie than half a life time, and yet it seems like yesterday. I don't know a fellow I should have liked better for a brother-in-law. Yon must have played your cards badly, Mattie — somehow or other. Wanted your brother to be a good go-between, eh ! little sister? Why, what's this, you're shivering and shaking Mattie, with that confounded open window. Shut it Mary, this minute. Mary {stoops down, kisses Mattie, shuts trindo/c). You must go to bed at once, dear, and we will get you a glass of weak negus. (Pktek and Mary assist her to her feet. ) Pkter. Away with these tea things, Mary! Send them as ptesenis to Mattie's friends and give the candy to the children. We will not have a tea shop another dav and Mattie shall be her own lady again. Poor child ! she has needed me sadly :dl these years. (Mary holds Miss M's hand.) Maky. I hope ever from to-day there will be the old friendly sociability in Cranford society because of my dear Miss Mattie's love of pence. We all love her and I somehow think we are all of us better when she is near ns. Curtain. P>NI). PR 4710 .C72 B7 Copy 1 PR 4710 .C72 B7 Copy 1