A Bit O Love | Page 4

SOL POTTER MORSE, AND OTHERS IVY
BURLACOMBE CONNIE TRUSTAFORD GLADYS FREMAN
MERCY JARLAND TIBBY JARLAND BOBBIE JARLAND

SCENE: A VILLAGE OF THE WEST
The Action passes on Ascension Day.
ACT I. STRANGWAY'S rooms at BURLACOMBE'S. Morning.
ACT II. Evening
SCENE I. The Village Inn. SCENE II. The same. SCENE III. Outside
the church.
ACT III. Evening
SCENE I. STRANGWAY'S rooms. SCENE II. BURLACOMBE'S
barn.

A BIT O' LOVE
ACT I
It is Ascension Day in a village of the West. In the low panelled
hall-sittingroom of the BURLACOMBE'S farmhouse on the village
green, MICHAEL STRANGWAY, a clerical collar round his throat
and a dark Norfolk jacket on his back, is playing the flute before a very
large framed photograph of a woman, which is the only picture on the
walls. His age is about thirty-five his figure thin and very upright and
his clean-shorn face thin, upright, narrow, with long and rather pointed
ears; his dark hair is brushed in a coxcomb off his forehead. A faint
smile hovers about his lips that Nature has made rather full and he has
made thin, as though keeping a hard secret; but his bright grey eyes,
dark round the rim, look out and upwards almost as if he were being
crucified. There is something about the whole of him that makes him
seen not quite present. A gentle creature, burnt within.
A low broad window above a window-seat forms the background to his
figure; and through its lattice panes are seen the outer gate and
yew-trees of a churchyard and the porch of a church, bathed in May
sunlight. The front door at right angles to the window-seat, leads to the
village green, and a door on the left into the house.
It is the third movement of Veracini's violin sonata that STRANGWAY
plays. His back is turned to the door into the house, and he does not
hear when it is opened, and IVY BURLACOMBE, the farmer's
daughter, a girl of fourteen, small and quiet as a mouse, comes in, a
prayer-book in one hand, and in the other a gloss of water, with wild

orchis and a bit of deep pink hawthorn. She sits down on the
window-seat, and having opened her book, sniffs at the flowers.
Coming to the end of the movement STRANGWAY stops, and looking
up at the face on the wall, heaves a long sigh.
IVY. [From the seat] I picked these for yu, Mr. Strangway.
STRANGWAY. [Turning with a start] Ah! Ivy. Thank you. [He puts
his flute down on a chair against the far wall] Where are the others?
As he speaks, GLADYS FREMAN, a dark gipsyish girl, and CONNIE
TRUSTAFORD, a fair, stolid, blue-eyed Saxon, both about sixteen,
come in through the front door, behind which they have evidently been
listening. They too have prayer-books in their hands. They sidle past
Ivy, and also sit down under the window.
GLADYS. Mercy's comin', Mr. Strangway.
STRANGWAY. Good morning, Gladys; good morning, Connie.
He turns to a book-case on a table against the far wall, and taking out a
book, finds his place in it. While he stands thus with his back to the
girls, MERCY JARLAND comes in from the green. She also is about
sixteen, with fair hair and china-blue eyes. She glides in quickly, hiding
something behind her, and sits down on the seat next the door. And at
once there is a whispering.
STRANGWAY. [Turning to them] Good morning, Mercy.
MERCY. Good morning, Mr. Strangway.
STRANGWAY. Now, yesterday I was telling you what our Lord's
coming meant to the world. I want you to understand that before He
came there wasn't really love, as we know it. I don't mean to say that
there weren't many good people; but there wasn't love for the sake of
loving. D'you think you understand what I mean?
MERCY fidgets. GLADYS'S eyes are following a fly.
IVY. Yes, Mr. Strangway.
STRANGWAY. It isn't enough to love people because they're good to
you, or because in some way or other you're going to get something by
it. We have to love because we love loving. That's the great thing-
-without that we're nothing but Pagans.
GLADYS. Please, what is Pagans?
STRANGWAY. That's what the first Christians called the people who
lived in the villages and were not yet Christians, Gladys.
MERCY. We live in a village, but we're Christians.

STRANGWAY. [With a smile] Yes, Mercy; and what is a Christian?
MERCY kicks afoot, sideways against her neighbour, frowns over her
china-blare eyes, is silent; then, as his question passes on, makes a
quick little face, wriggles, and looks behind her.
STRANGWAY. Ivy?
IVY. 'Tis a man--whu--whu----
STRANGWAY. Yes?--Connie?
CONNIE. [Who speaks rather thickly, as if she had a permanent slight
cold] Please, Mr. Strangway, 'tis a man what