PATTY. Mr. Penryn of Penryn Court. (clapping hands) And Penryn Court is only two miles from here! I'm so glad! (changing her tone to one of laughing banter) But how about that splendid military gentleman who was down here, at the castle, shooting last year, and who everybody said was your most devoted humble servant when you passed the winter in London ?

LUCY. (carelessly) I suppose you mean Captain Lazonby? PATTY. Of course I do-Captain Dudley Lazonby of the Ahmednuggar Rifles, doesn't that sound nice ? Mrs. Captain Dudley Lazonby of the Ahmednuggar Rifles. It has a better ring, to my mind, than Mrs. George Penryn. LUCY. Despite the ring, Patty, I know which is the genuine metal. Captain Lazonby, unfortunately is still my brother's friend-he is no longer mine.

PATTY. But

LUCY. There are no buts at all in this matter. Do not mention Captain Lazonby's name to me again. When his attentions pleased me I was a mere girl. In a week I shall be the wife of George Penryn (moving up stage) They must have shod Starbright by this time. Good bye, Patty. (Exit R. 3 E.

PATTY. (as she takes up pails) Not mention Captain Lazonby! I never heard Miss Lucy speak so sharp before. (looking towards castle on heights) The old castle too, going out of the family! My uncle always said that when Sir Robert took to horses he'd go to the dogs. It's a great pity though. (going to dairy) Joe might have got back from the forge by this time to have helped me with my pails. (Exit in dairy, L.-as she does so the latticed window beneath the board marked "Post Office" is thrown open, and PETER GRICE's head is popped out-he wears horn spectacles and a red night cap.)

GRICE. Joe! Where's that Joe got to? If I paid him for his services, he couldn't be more neglectful than he is. (as he draws in head, and slams too window, PATTY re-appears with a shallow basket of peas, which, seating herself L., near dairy door, she begins shelling.)

PATTY. Now suppose I had a lover who was called GRICE. (opens window a little way, calls, and then slams it to) Joe!

PATTY, No! I don't mean that. Poor Joe! a queer sort of lover he'd make. (laughs and sings as she shells peas.)

Knees knocking together in trembling fright,
One eye looking left, the other eye right;

GRICE. (dashing open window again—this time protruding head and shoulders) Patty! hold your row! How can I sort the letters and you making that noise ? But stay I've something else to talk to you about. (he disappears from window to re-appear at door-as he comes out, R., he puts on coat, speaking snappishly the while-R.) I want to know if it's your intention to eat me out of house and home? Do you hear, Miss Impudence!

PATTY. (still shelling peas-L.) I'm not deaf, uncle-you needn't waste the remainder of your life by saying the same things twice over.

GRICE. What's this? (showing lump of bread.)

PATTY. Can't tell till I look at it nearer. (biting piece out of it) It tastes like bread.

GRICE. (snatching it back) It is bread you baggage! bread which I found behind the large churn in the dairyI found some milk there too.

PATTY. Very likely-isn't the dairy the proper place for it ?

GRICE. (eating the bread) That milk and bread was put aside for some one. This morsel of bread, I say, was pilfered!

PATTY. (rising) Pilfered-and from me! You're quite right, uncle. It was a part of my breakfast that I put aside for Joe.

GRICE. Joe! Joe!

PATTY. Poor Joe! He'd starve if there weren't some christians in the village.

GRICE. What do you mean by christians? Do you think I'm going to fly in the face of Providence? If I went and relieved all the starving people, what chance would Providence get for coming out strong-besides, charity begins at home. (still eating) And if I'm too liberal in my allowance to you, act honestly, and return the overplus.

PATTY. (with an affected simplicity) Talking of return, uncle, there's that little bit of money my mother left me which you have kept so long that

GRICE. (alarmed) There! there! that's just like you, Patty, always hurting your uncle's feelings. You're a good girl, a very good girl. (patting her with exaggerated affection on the back) And when I've scraped a little money together I'll make you a present of something.

PATTY. You, uncle, make me a present!

GRICE. A nice lettuce, or-or a bag of shrimps! some little relish that we can enjoy together.

Oh, don't be

afraid, with me a kindness is never thrown away.

PATTY. I wish sometimes you'd throw it back, uncle. GRICE. You're alluding to the bread. (forcing back upon her the very small fragment now left) Take it-take it-give it away if you like! The whole village may rob your poor uncle, and he mustn't complain.

PATTY. (indignantly) If nobody robs you more than Joe, you haven't much occasion to complain.

GRICE. Joe! What have you got to do with Joe? A half-witted vagabond-a nobody's child!—a human waif claimed by no one.

PATTY. (sadly) A drifting weed poor fellow, that has found every heart a rock!

GRICE. Who, because he was washed ashore here twenty years ago, tied to a fragment of wreck, thinks he's got a claim on the village. You and Miss Tregarvon spoil him, PATTY. He must live!

GRICE. I don't see it-there's not the slightest necessity for anything of the kind. It's a piece of impertinent presumption on his part.

PATTY. He's no relations

GRICE. I congratulate him. Relations are always bad when they're not rich. I've always said that the most fortunate thing for a man is to be born in the workhouse. PATTY. You think so?

GRICE. Sure of it—no prejudice-no cant, no humbug. That's the place for freedom-there no one cares whether you live or die, as long as you keep your elbows out of their ribs, and your feet off their corns. Now, Joe. (shouts and laughter, R. U. E.)

JOE rushes on pursued by BoYs. They halt at back with shout of derision, laugh, scatter, and go off as PATTY, who has stepped before JOE, indignantly turns upon them. He is a melancholy object to look at, being absolutely in rags. A wild, eccentric, timid creature. The only things bright about him are the eyes, as they glance in a quick, nervous way from beneath the matted masses of hair that fall quite over forehead. Though a fine grown man he stoops and slouches along in a furtive, half ashamed way.

GRICE. (as JOE comes down stage) What are you running from?

JOE. (sullenly, his head down) The boys.

GRICE. What were you doing? (PATTY comes down R.) JOE. Watching the forge. There's friendship in fire. I like to see the dull ashes quicken into flame, and feel the sparks dance and tingle on my face and hands.

GRICE. Nonsense, Joe!

JOE. (with momentary enthusiasm) And I like to hear the hammers when fire has softened the heart of iron, as they come clanking down and beat it into form.

PATTY. (very kindly) What's the matter with your face, Joe? JOE. (who has relapsed into his habitual dull despondency, passes hand across face, looks at back of it and laughs) It's cut with a stone that's all, Patty.

PATTY. All! who did it?

JOE. (carelessly) The miller's son. He'd have thrown another, but I got out of his way.

PATTY. Oh, Joe! I'm ashamed of you-afraid of a lad like that! (JOE shrugs his shoulders.)

GRICE. (aside) He threw a stone at me the other day. (aloud) You should have broken every bone in his body.

JOE. (with a sort of simple surprise) What for? If I had thrashed him, his father might have found out that he cut my face, then he'd have thrashed him again; besides, his father gave me shelter in his barn last night, and what's worth much more, he gave me kind words. He would have given me work, but he says I'm half-witted. PATTY. Poor Joe!

GRICE. And so you expect to live doing nothing?

JOE. Why not? I'm Nobody's Child you know, and want but little. The sea's a sort of mother to me, though a cruel one; for it was she who, after dandling me in her rough lap, threw me like a pebble on the beach. I love her for all that, and am grateful when the wind blows her salt kisses on my face and lips.

GRICE. Ah!

JOE. She brings me stores of shell fish too, and hides them for me cunningly among the rocks, whilst she heaps up soft mosses for my bed in the caverns of the cliffs. (his face brightens as he speaks, and his manner grows wildly animated for a moment to sink into the same dull despondency) I like to watch her when she throws off her treacherous smile, and builds up a hundred watery walls, each one higher than the other to topple them over with a crash upon the shore! Who else can boast such a mother as mine? (x's L. his voice sinks, he shakes his head dejectedly, and his head droops forward as before) I would go

back to sleep in her bosom to-morrow if she'd only promise not to throw me again on this cruel earth.

GRICE. (sharply, as JOE is moving up stage) What are you going to do now ?

JOE. Sleep, and dream! sleep and dream! (horn of stage coach heard without off stage at back.)

GRICE. You're going to do nothing of the kind. Here's the coach from Falmouth coming in. Get the parcels down, while I attend to the passengers if there are any— dream indeed! there's nothing got unless you're wide awake in this world. (the coach drives on at back, R. GUARD sounding horn. VILLAGERS male and female, appear at either side as waiting for passengers and parcels. JOE assists GUARD in handing them down. Good bustling coach scene.) YOUNG WOMAN. Anything for me?

MAN. Have you got my parcel?

SEVERAL VOICES. And mine! and mine! and mine! GUARD. Stop a bit! stop a bit! I can't serve you all at

once.

YOUNG WOMAN. Mine's a band-box!

GUARD. Then here it is. Take care my dear, the bottom's nearly out! (as he speaks the bottom falls out and a chignon tumbles out with it, the GIRL snatches it from him, runs off amidst a general laugh.) Your letters Mr. Grice. (business) MAN. (as GUARD lifts a live sucking pig in hamper) That belongs to me!

GUARD. So I should have guessed by the likeness. (to COACHMAN) Now then Bill put 'em along! (pig hunt-all off, coach drives off L., GUARD playing.)

PATTY. (as LAZONBY comes down stage) Oh, my! If it isn't Captain Dudley Lazonby! what on earth does he want at St. Arven? (CAPTAIN LAZONBY is a tall elegantly dressed man with a certain "turfy" look in the general get up. His dress is irreproachable in cut, but " horsey" in GRICE is character, quite the higher class sporting man. stooping to pick up mail bag when LAZONBY slaps him on shoulder.)

GRICE. (snappishly) What do you want? (turning, and then in great surprise) Captain D! (dropping mail bag on table.)

LAZON. (laughing) I suppose the D himself wouldn't have surprised you more-not so much p'raps, for when old friends meet you know

GRICE. Oh! I say, don't! now don't Captain. When man arrives at my time o' life, he gets nervous, besides it's quite enough to remind one of past sins seeing you here,