GILES. Uncle, Aunt, I’ve done the task you set me years ago—and now I claim my reward. I went from this house a poor wretch, with nothing but the hopeless love in my heart to feed and sustain me. I have returned with all that the world can give me of riches and prosperity. Will you now let me be the husband of your daughter? MILLIE. O say ye, Uncle, for look how fine and grand he is in his coat—and the bags are stuffed full to the brim and ’tis with gold and silver. ELIZABETH. Well—’tis a respectabler end than I thought as you’d come to, Giles. And different nor what you deserved. DANIEL. Come, come, Mother.—The fewer words to this, the better. Giles, my boy—get you into the trap and take her along to the church and drive smart. ANDREW. Annet—will you come there with me too? ANNET. O Andrew—what are you saying? DANIEL. Come, come. Where’s the wind blowing from now? Here, Mother, do you listen to this. ELIZABETH. I shall be deaf before I’ve done, but it appears to me that Annet’s not lost any time in making the most of her chances. DANIEL. Ah, and she be none the worse for that. ’Tis what we all likes to do. Where’d I be in the market if I did let my chances blow by me? Hear that, Andrew? ANDREW. I’m a rare lucky man this day, farmer. DANIEL. Ah, and ’tis a rare good little wench, Annet—though she bain’t so showy as our’n. A rare good little maid. And now ’tis time we was all off to church, seeing as this is to be a case of double harness like. MAY. O Annet, you can’t be wed in that plain gown. ANNET. May, I’m so happy that I feel as though I were clothed all over with jewels. ANDREW. Give me your hand, Annet. MAY. [_Mockingly_.] Millie—don’t you want to give a drink of water to yon poor old man? MILLIE. That I will, May? Here—fetch me something that’s better than water for him. ELIZABETH. I’ll have no cider drinking out of meal times here. MILLIE. Then ’twill I have to be when we come back from church. OLD MAN. Bless you, my pretty lady, but I be used to waiting. I’ll just sit me down outside in the sun till you be man and wife. ELIZABETH. And that’ll not be till this day next year if this sort of thing goes on any longer. DANIEL. That’s right, Mother. You take and lead the way. ’Tis the womenfolk as do keep we back from everything. But I knows how to settle with they—[_roaring_]—come Mill, come Giles, Andrew, Annet, May. Come Mother, out of th’ house with all of you and to church, I say. [_He gets behind them all and drives them before him and out of the room_. _When they have gone_, _the_ OLD MAN _sinks on a bench in the door-way_. OLD MAN. I’m done with all the foolishness of life and I can sit me down and sleep till it be time to eat. [_Curtain_.] BUSHES AND BRIARS CHARACTERS THOMAS SPRING, _a farmer_, _aged_ 35. EMILY, _his wife_, _the same age_. CLARA, _his sister_, _aged_ 21.