_Just before the scene opens, a hammer is heard ringing briskly upon steel. As the curtain rises there is discovered, standing at the anvil in the flickering light of a bright flame from the forge, a woman—powerful, ruddy, proud with a certain masterful beauty, white-haired (as though prematurely), bare-armed to the elbows, clad in a dark skirt (above her ankles), a loose blouse, open at the throat; a leathern apron and a workman’s cap. The woman is_ GOODY RICKBY. _On the anvil she is shaping a piece of iron. Beside her stands a framework of iron formed like the ribs and backbone of a man. For a few moments she continues to ply her hammer, amid a shower of sparks, till suddenly the flame on the forge dies down._ GOODY RICKBY Dickon! More flame. A VOICE [_Above her._] Yea, Goody. [_The flame in the forge spurts up high and suddenly._] GOODY RICKBY Nay, not so fierce. THE VOICE [_At her side._] _Votre pardon, madame._ [_The flame subsides._] Is that better? GOODY RICKBY That will do. [_With her tongs, she thrusts the iron into the flame; it turns white-hot._] Quick work; nothing like brimstone for the smithy trade. [_At the anvil, she begins to weld the iron rib on to the framework._] There, my beauty! We’ll make a stout set of ribs for you. I’ll see to it this year that I have a scarecrow can outstand all the nor’easters that blow. I’ve no notion to lose my corn-crop this summer. [_Outside, the faint cawings of crows are heard. Putting down her tongs and hammer, Goody Rickby strides to the double door, and flinging it wide open, lets in the gray light of dawn. She looks out over the fields and shakes her fist._] So ye’re up before me and the sun, are ye? [_Squinting against the light._] There’s one! Nay, two. Aha! One for sorrow, Two for mirth— Good! This time we’ll have the laugh on our side. [_She returns to the forge, where again the fire has died out._] Dickon! Fire! Come, come, where be thy wits? THE VOICE [_Sleepily from the forge._] ’Tis early, dame. GOODY RICKBY The more need— [_Takes up her tongs._]