2ND FARMING MAN. Why coöm awaäy, then, to the long barn. [_Exeunt_. DORA _looks out of window. Enter_ DOBSON. DORA (_singing_). The town lay still in the low sun-light, The hen cluckt late by the white farm gate, The maid to her dairy came in from the cow, The stock-dove coo'd at the fall of night, The blossom had open'd on every bough; O joy for the promise of May, of May, O joy for the promise of May. (_Nodding at_ DOBSON.) I'm coming down, Mr. Dobson. I haven't seen Eva yet. Is she anywhere in the garden? DOBSON. Noä, Miss. I ha'n't seed 'er neither. DORA (_enters singing_). But a red fire woke in the heart of the town, And a fox from the glen ran away with the hen, And a cat to the cream, and a rat to the cheese; And the stock-dove coo'd, till a kite dropt down, And a salt wind burnt the blossoming trees; O grief for the promise of May, of May, O grief for the promise of May. I don't know why I sing that song; I don't love it. DOBSON. Blessings on your pretty voice, Miss Dora. Wheer did they larn ye that? DORA. In Cumberland, Mr. Dobson. DOBSON. An' how did ye leäve the owd uncle i' Coomberland? DORA. Getting better, Mr. Dobson. But he'll never be the same man again. DOBSON. An' how d'ye find the owd man 'ere? DORA. As well as ever. I came back to keep his birthday. DOBSON. Well, I be coomed to keep his birthdaäy an' all. The owd man be heighty to-daäy, beänt he? DORA. Yes, Mr. Dobson. And the day's bright like a friend, but the wind east like an enemy. Help me to move this bench for him into the sun. (_They move bench_.) No, not that way--here, under the apple tree. Thank you. Look how full of rosy blossom it is. [_Pointing to apple tree_. DOBSON. Theer be redder blossoms nor them, Miss Dora. DORA. Where do they blow, Mr. Dobson? DOBSON. Under your eyes, Miss Dora. DORA. Do they? DOBSON. And your eyes be as blue as---- DORA. What, Mr. Dobson? A butcher's frock? DOBSON. Noä, Miss Dora; as blue as---- DORA. Bluebell, harebell, speedwell, bluebottle, succory, forget-me-not? DOBSON. Noä, Miss Dora; as blue as---- DORA. The sky? or the sea on a blue day? DOBSON. Naäy then. I meän'd they be as blue as violets. DORA. Are they? DOBSON. Theer ye goäs ageän, Miss, niver believing owt I says to ye--hallus a-fobbing ma off, tho' ye knaws I love ye. I warrants ye'll think moor o' this young Squire Edgar as ha' coomed among us--the Lord knaws how --ye'll think more on 'is little finger than hall my hand at the haltar. DORA. Perhaps, Master Dobson. I can't tell, for I have never seen him. But my sister wrote that he was mighty pleasant, and had no pride in him. DOBSON. He'll be arter you now, Miss Dora. DORA. Will he? How can I tell? DOBSON. He's been arter Miss Eva, haän't he? DORA. Not that I know. DOBSON. Didn't I spy 'em a-sitting i' the woodbine harbour togither?