CLARA. Georgie seemed so big and tall to me in those days. I wonder how old he really was, when I was seven. JOAN. Would that be a younger brother of yours, like, mistress CLARA. No, George minded the horses and looked after the cows and poultry. Sometimes he would drive me into market with him on a Saturday. And in the evenings I would follow him down to the pool to see the cattle watered. JOAN. I’m mortal afeared of cows, mistress. I could never abide the sight nor the sound of those animals. CLARA. You’ll soon get over that, Joan. JOAN. And I don’t care for poultry neither, very much. I goes full of fear when I hears one of they old turkey cocks stamping about. CLARA. [_Pulling up the sleeve of her left arm_.] There, do you see this little scar? I was helping George to feed the ducks and geese when the fierce gander ran after me and knocked me down and took a piece right out of my arm. JOAN. [_Looking intently on the scar_.] I have often seen that there mark, mistress. And do you think as that old gander will be living along of the poultry still? CLARA. I wish he might be, Joan. JOAN. What with the cows and the horses and the ganders, we shall go with our lives in our hands, as you might say. CLARA. [_As though to herself_.] When the days got colder, we would sit under the straw rick, George and I. And he would sing to me. Some of his songs, I could say off by heart this day. JOAN. [_Looking nervously upward_.] O do look at that nasty little thing dropping down upon us from a piece of thread silk. Who ever put such a thing up in the tree I’d like to know. CLARA. [_Brushing it gently aside_.] That won’t hurt you—a tiny caterpillar. JOAN. [_After a moment_.] What more could the farm hand do, mistress? CLARA. He would clasp on his bells and dance in the Morris on certain days, Joan. JOAN. ’Tis to be hoped as there’ll be some dancing or something to liven us all up a bit down here. CLARA. Why, Joan, I believe you’re tired already of the country. JOAN. ’Tis so powerful quiet and heavy like, mistress. CLARA. ’Tis full of sounds. Listen to the doves in the trees and the lambs calling from the meadow. JOAN. I’d sooner have the wheels of the coaches and the cries upon the street, and the door bell a ringing every moment and fine gentlemen and ladies being shewn up into the parlour. CLARA. [_Stretching out her arms_.] O how glad I am to be free of all that. And most of all, how glad to be ridded of one person. JOAN. His lordship will perhaps follow us down here, mistress. CLARA. No, I have forbidden it. I must have a month of quiet, and he is to wait that time for his answer. JOAN. O mistress, you’ll never disappoint so fine a gentleman. CLARA. You forget that Lord Lovel and I have played together as children. It is as a brother that I look upon him. JOAN. His lordship don’t look upon you as a sister, mistress.