L., In R., corner, a piece of broken
stonework, almost concealed by ivy, forming a
footing to gain a broad beam which runs about
twelve feet from the ground, from R., to L., Above
the beam, two substantial casement windows, R., c.
and L., Below the beams, R., C., a window, and on
the L. a large archway, with broken iron gates
leaning against its walls. Through the archway,
a bright view of farm lands, ricks, etc., etc. On
the L., continuing the house wall, down the stage,
an outhouse, suggesting a kitchen dairy; outside
this, up stage L., a wooden bench with milk-pails,
etc. Down stage, a door leading into outhouse.
Above door, L., C., rough deal table and two chairs.
The ground is flagged with broken stones, which
are much overgrown with moss and weed.

_(Bright Music at opening. Lights full up. At rise
of curtain, the bell rings in a discordant way.
Christiana Haggerston discovered L., scrubbing
a small wooden pail. Christiana is a handsome
dark woman with the tinge of the gipsy upon her
face.)_

{Chris.} What is it? _(puts pail on form L., goes
up into archway and looks off R.)_

{Izod.} _(offstage)_ Hullo! Christie!

{Chris.} Why, come in, Izod, darling--what's
wrong?

{Izod.} _(R. off stage)_ It's the dog, he can't abide
me.

_(Chris, hurls her scrubbing brush at the dog.)_

{Chris.} _(savagely)_ Lie down, you beast, _(softly)_
Come along, Izod, dear! _(comes down)_

_(Izod backs on as though afraid of dog. Izod
Haggerston enters through archway. He is a little
thin, dark fellow--half cad, half gipsy--with a
brown face, and crisp, curly, black hair. He is
dirty and disreputable, an idler and a sneak.)_

_(L. C.--putting her arms round his neck)_ I haven't
seen you for nearly a week, brother dear.

{Izod.} _(C., shaking himself clear)_ All right, don't
maul, Christie. If the Squire was commonly civil
to a poor chap, you'd see a little more of me. I
want something to drink, and some coin for tobacco.

{Chris.} _(standing by him and stroking his head)_
No luck, dearie?

{Izod.} Luck! No! The farmers won't look at
a fellow with a dark skin--curse 'em!

{Chris.} The brutes. _(fondling him)_

{Izod.} Well, don't maul, Christie. I'm dead dry.
Chris, _(looking round)_ Wait here and I'll bring
you a drink, _(she crosses to