The Fourth Series Plays | Page 2

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 goes to church.
GLADYS. He 'as to be baptised--and confirmed; and--and--buried.
IVY. 'Tis a man whu--whu's gude and----
GLADYS. He don't drink, an' he don't beat his horses, an' he don't hit
back.
MERCY. [Whispering] 'Tisn't your turn. [To STRANGWAY] 'Tis a

man like us.
IVY. I know what Mrs. Strangway said it was, 'cause I asked her once,
before she went away.
STRANGWAY. [Startled] Yes?
IVY. She said it was a man whu forgave everything.
STRANGWAY. Ah!
The note of a cuckoo comes travelling. The girls are gazing at
STRANGWAY, who seems to have gone of into a dream. They begin
to fidget and whisper.
CONNIE. Please, Mr. Strangway, father says if yu hit a man and he
don't hit yu back, he's no gude at all.
MERCY. When Tommy Morse wouldn't fight, us pinched him--he did
squeal! [She giggles] Made me laugh!
STRANGWAY. Did I ever tell you about St. Francis of Assisi?
IVY. [Clasping her hands] No.
STRANGWAY. Well, he was the best Christian, I think, that ever
lived--simply full of love and joy.
IVY. I expect he's dead.
STRANGWAY. About seven hundred years, Ivy.
IVY. [Softly] Oh!
STRANGWAY. Everything to him was brother or sister--the sun and
the moon, and all that was poor and weak and sad, and animals and
birds, so that they even used to follow him about.
MERCY. I know! He had crumbs in his pocket.
STRANGWAY. No; he had love in his eyes.
IVY. 'Tis like about Orpheus, that yu told us.
STRANGWAY. Ah! But St. Francis was a Christian, and Orpheus was
a Pagan.
IVY. Oh!
STRANGWAY. Orpheus drew everything after him with music; St.
Francis by love.
IVY. Perhaps it was the same, really.
STRANGWAY. [looking at his flute] Perhaps it was, Ivy.
GLADYS. Did 'e 'ave a flute like yu?
IVY. The flowers smell sweeter when they 'ear music; they du.
[She holds up the glass of flowers.]
STRANGWAY. [Touching one of the orchis] What's the name of this

one?
[The girls cluster; save MERCY, who is taking a stealthy interest in
what she has behind her.]
CONNIE. We call it a cuckoo, Mr. Strangway.
GLADYS. 'Tis awful common down by the streams. We've got one
medder where 'tis so thick almost as the goldie cups.
STRANGWAY. Odd! I've never noticed it.
IVY. Please, Mr. Strangway, yu don't notice when yu're walkin'; yu go
along like this.
[She holds up her face as one looking at the sky.]
STRANGWAY. Bad as that, Ivy?
IVY. Mrs. Strangway often used to pick it last spring.
STRANGWAY. Did she? Did she?
[He has gone off again into a kind of dream.]
MERCY. I like being confirmed.
STRANGWAY. Ah! Yes. Now----What's that behind you, Mercy?
MERCY. [Engagingly producing a cage a little bigger than a
mouse-trap, containing a skylark] My skylark.
STRANGWAY. What!
MERCY. It can fly; but we're goin' to clip its wings. Bobbie caught it.
STRANGWAY. How long ago?
MERCY. [Conscious of impending disaster] Yesterday.
STRANGWAY. [White hot] Give me the cage!
MERCY. [Puckering] I want my skylark. [As he steps up to her and
takes the cage--thoroughly alarmed] I gave Bobbie thrippence for it!