ir)_

_(Gun. goes up through the archway and calls.)_

{Gun.} _(calling)_ Felicity! _(to Kate)_ My daughter,
Squire, _(calling)_ Felicity Gunnion!

_(Felicity enters herefrom R.)_

{Kate.} Is that the little girl who sings so sweetly
in the choir?

{Gun.} Ay, her singing's sweet enough, but her
behaviour's 'orrid.--_(coming down)_

{Kate.} Oh dear! Oh dear! _(Dor. resumes his
seat)_

_(Felicity enters through the archway. Felicity
is a pretty little girl with a sweet face and simple
manner. Her dress is rustic, but clean and tidy.
She comes down R., C., and makes a curtsey.)_

_(R. of table)_ Sit down, Felicity. _(Fel. sits on
stone C.)_

{Dormer.} In heaven's name, why Felicity?

{Gun.} _(C.)_ We called her Felicity, parson,
because she was our thirteenth hoffspring.

{Eric.} Good gracious!

{Gun.} She's the only one left--the other dozen
are all out in the world, some doin' precious well,
some doin' precious bad--most of 'em precious bad.

{Kate.} Felicity's a great consolation to you, isn't
she?

{Gun.} Squire, that gell is a weight on my chest.
You wouldn't guess it to look at her, but Felicity
Gunnion is a desolate character.

{Kate.} A desolate character!

{Gun.} A mad-brained, rampagious, desolate character.
She's had as fine a schooling as you, Squire
--pianner, twelve lessons--singing, six lessons--
deportment, as they call it--deportment, I taught her.
Notwithstanding the all o' which, her writin's
despisable, her grammar's shockin', her spellin's beastly
--and, Lord, oh, Lord, she's in love with a soldier!
_(works round behind Felicity to R., of her during
speech)_

{Eric.} _(shuddering)_ Ugh! What depravity.

{Kate.} Why, Felicity, come here. _(Fel. crosses
to R., of Kate)_ In love with a soldier? _(kisses her)_
Is that true, dearie?

{Fel.} It's true, Squire. He's in the 84th now at
Pagley Barracks.

{Kate.} That's Mr. Thorndyke's regiment.

{Fel.} _(curtseying to Eric)_ Then you'd know him,
sir; a fine looking gentleman, with a dark moustache
--Serjeant Tom Morris.

{Eric.} Morris! Oh, yes, I know him. _(aside)_
Morris! Poor little soul.

{Dormer.} What do you want with me, Gunnion?

{Gun.} Why, parson, I thought