MILLIE. That I’ll never say, Father. I don’t want cloaks nor bonnets, nor my heart moved by gifts, or tears brought to my eyes by fair words. I’ll not wed unless I can give my love along with my hand. And ’tis not to Andrew I can give that, as you know. DANIEL. And to whom should a maid give her heart if ’twasn’t to Andrew? A finer lad never trod in a pair of shoes. I’ll be blest if I do know what the wenches be a-coming to. ELIZABETH. There, Father, I told you what to expect. DANIEL. But ’tis master as I’ll be, hark you, Mother, hark you, Mill. And ’tis “Yes” as you have got to fit your tongue out with my girl, afore ’tis dark. [_Rising_.] I be a’going off to the yard, but, Mother, her’ll know what to say to you, her will. MILLIE. Dad, do you stop and shew me the inside of my packet. Let us put Andrew aside and be happy—do! DANIEL. Ah, I’ve got other things as is waiting to be done nor breaking in a tricksome filly to run atween the shafts. ’Tis fitter work for females, and so ’tis. ELIZABETH. And so I told you, Father, from the start. MILLIE. And ’tis “No” that I shall say. [_Curtain_.] ACT I.—Scene 2. _It is dusk on the same evening_. MILLIE _is standing by the table folding up the silken cloak_. ANNET _sits watching her_, _on her knees lies a open parcel disclosing a woollen shawl_. _In a far corner of the room_ MAY _is seated on a stool making a daisy chain_. ANNET. ’Twas very good of Uncle to bring me this nice shawl, Millie. MILLIE. You should have had a cloak like mine, Annet, by rights. ANNET. I’m not going to get married, Millie. MILLIE. [_Sitting down with a sudden movement of despondence and stretching her arms across the table_.] O don’t you speak to me of that, Annet. ’Tis more than I can bear to-night. ANNET. But, Millie, he’s coming for your answer now. You musn’t let him find you looking so. MILLIE. My face shall look as my heart feels. And that is all sorrow, Annet. ANNET. Can’t you bring yourself round to fancy Andrew, Millie? MILLIE. No, that I cannot, Annet, I’ve tried a score of times, I have—but there it is—I cannot. ANNET. Is it that you’ve not forgotten Giles, then? MILLIE. I never shall forget him, Annet. Why, ’tis a five year this day since father sent him off to foreign parts, and never a moment of all that time has my heart not remembered him. ANNET. I feared ’twas so with you, Millie. MILLIE. O I’ve laid awake of nights and my tears have wetted the pillow all over so that I’ve had to turn it t’other side up. ANNET. And Giles has never written to you, nor sent a sign nor nothing? MILLIE. Your brother Giles was never very grand with the pen, Annet. But, O, he’s none the worse for that. ANNET. Millie, I never cared for to question you, but how was it when you and he did part, one with t’other? MILLIE. I did give him my ring, Annet—secret like—when we were walking in the wood.