LITMIR.BIZ

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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!

      STRANGWAY. [Producing a sixpence] There!

      MERCY. [Throwing it down-passionately] I want my skylark!

      STRANGWAY. God made this poor bird for the sky and the grass. And you put it in that! Never cage any wild thing! Never!

      MERCY. [Faint and sullen] I want my skylark.

      STRANGWAY. [Taking the cage to the door] No! [He holds up the cage and opens it] Off you go, poor thing!

      [The bird flies out and away. The girls watch with round eyes

       the fling up of his arm, and the freed bird flying away.]

      IVY. I'm glad!

      [MERCY kicks her viciously and sobs. STRANGWAY comes from the door, looks at MERCY sobbing, and suddenly clasps his head. The girls watch him with a queer mixture of wonder, alarm, and disapproval.]

      GLADYS. [Whispering] Don't cry, Mercy. Bobbie'll soon catch yu another.

      [STRANGWAY has dropped his hands, and is looking again at MERCY.

       IVY sits with hands clasped, gazing at STRANGWAY. MERCY

       continues her artificial sobbing.]

      STRANGWAY. [Quietly] The class is over for to-day.

      [He goes up to MERCY, and holds out his hand. She does not take it, and runs out knuckling her eyes. STRANGWAY turns on his heel and goes into the house.]

      CONNIE. 'Twasn't his bird.

      IVY. Skylarks belong to the sky. Mr. Strangway said so.

      GLADYS. Not when they'm caught, they don't.

      IVY. They du.

      CONNIE. 'Twas her bird.

      IVY. He gave her sixpence for it.

      GLADYS. She didn't take it.

      CONNIE. There it is on the ground.

      IVY. She might have.

      GLADYS. He'll p'raps take my squirrel, tu.

      IVY. The bird sang—I 'eard it! Right up in the sky. It wouldn't have sanged if it weren't glad.

      GLADYS. Well, Mercy cried.

      IVY. I don't care.

      GLADYS. 'Tis a shame! And I know something. Mrs. Strangway's at

       Durford.

      CONNIE. She's—never!

      GLADYS. I saw her yesterday. An' if she's there she ought to be here. I told mother, an' she said: "Yu mind yer business." An' when she goes in to market to-morrow she'm goin' to see. An' if she's really there,

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