ELIZABETH. If you think that your neckerchief is put on right ’tis time you should know different, Father. DANIEL. What’s wrong with it then, I’d like to know? ELIZABETH. ’Tis altogether wrong. ’Tis like the two ears of a heifer sticking out more than anything else that I can think on. DANIEL. Have it your own way, Mother—and fix it as you like. [_He stands before her and she rearranges it_. ANNET. These flowers were lying on the ground. ELIZABETH. Thrown there in a fine fit of temper, I warrant. DANIEL. Her was as quiet as a new born lamb once the door was broke open and she did see as my word, well, ’twas my word. ELIZABETH. We all hear a great deal about your word, Father, but ’twould be better for there to be more do and less say about you. DANIEL. [_Going over to Annet and looking at her intently_.] Why, my wench—what be you a-dropping tears for this day? ANNET. [_Drying her eyes_.] ’Twas—’twas the scent out of one of the flowers as got to my eyes, Uncle. DANIEL. Well, that’s a likely tale it is. Hear that, Mother? ’Tis with her eyes that this little wench do snuff at a flower. That’s good, bain’t it? ELIZABETH. I haven’t patience with the wenches now-a-days. Lay down that nosegay at once, Annet, and call your cousin from her room. I warrant she has finished tricking of herself up by now. DANIEL. Ah, I warrant as her’ll need a smartish bit of time for to take the creases out of the face of she. [ANDREW _and_ MAY _come in_.] DANIEL. Well, Andrew, my lad, ’tis about time as we was on the way to church I reckon. ANDREW. I count as ’tis full early yet, master. [_He takes up the nosegay from the table and crosses the room to the window where_ ANNET _is standing_, _and trying to control her tears_. ANDREW. Annet, Millie will have none of my blossoms. I should like it well if you would carry them in your hand to church this day. ANNET. [_Looking wonderingly at him_.] Me, Andrew? ANDREW. Yes, you, Annet. For, look you, they become you well. They have sommat of the sweetness of you in them. And the touch of them is soft and gentle. And—I would like you to keep them in your hands this day, Annet. ANNET. O Andrew, I never was given anything like this before. ANDREW. [_Slowly_.] I should like to give you a great deal more, Annet—only I cannot. And ’tis got too late. ELIZABETH. Too late—I should think it was. What’s come to the maid! In my time girls didn’t use to spend a quarter of the while afore the glass as they do now. Suppose you was to holler for her again, Father. DANIEL. Anything to please you, Mother— MAY. I hear her coming, Uncle. I hear the noise of the silk. [MILLIE _comes slowly into the room in her wedding clothes_. _She holds herself very upright and looks from one to another quietly and coldly_. MAY. Andrew’s gived your nosegay to Annet, Millie. MILLIE. ’Twould have been a pity to have wasted the fresh blossoms. MAY. But they were gathered for you, Mill.