{Eric.} Give him the chance. {Kate.} Then that is settled, and you are head man here. You enter on your new duties at once. {Gun.} Which I shall do all the freer when I've got a burden off my chest. _(Dor. rises as if to leave)_ {Kate.} A burden? {Gun.} Don't you go, parson, for you're the man to lift it. {Dormer.} What's the burden, Gunnion? _(Dormer comes down below chair)_ _(Gun. goes up through the archway and calls.)_ {Gun.} _(calling)_ Felicity! _(to Kate)_ My daughter, Squire, _(calling)_ Felicity Gunnion! _(Felicity enters herefrom R.)_ {Kate.} Is that the little girl who sings so sweetly in the choir? {Gun.} Ay, her singing's sweet enough, but her behaviour's 'orrid.--_(coming down)_ {Kate.} Oh dear! Oh dear! _(Dor. resumes his seat)_ _(Felicity enters through the archway. Felicity is a pretty little girl with a sweet face and simple manner. Her dress is rustic, but clean and tidy. She comes down R., C., and makes a curtsey.)_ _(R. of table)_ Sit down, Felicity. _(Fel. sits on stone C.)_ {Dormer.} In heaven's name, why Felicity? {Gun.} _(C.)_ We called her Felicity, parson, because she was our thirteenth hoffspring. {Eric.} Good gracious! {Gun.} She's the only one left--the other dozen are all out in the world, some doin' precious well, some doin' precious bad--most of 'em precious bad. {Kate.} Felicity's a great consolation to you, isn't she? {Gun.} Squire, that gell is a weight on my chest. You wouldn't guess it to look at her, but Felicity Gunnion is a desolate character. {Kate.} A desolate character! {Gun.} A mad-brained, rampagious, desolate character. She's had as fine a schooling as you, Squire --pianner, twelve lessons--singing, six lessons-- deportment, as they call it--deportment, I taught her. Notwithstanding the all o' which, her writin's despisable, her grammar's shockin', her spellin's beastly --and, Lord, oh, Lord, she's in love with a soldier! _(works round behind Felicity to R., of her during speech)_ {Eric.} _(shuddering)_ Ugh! What depravity. {Kate.} Why, Felicity, come here. _(Fel. crosses to R., of Kate)_ In love with a soldier? _(kisses her)_ Is that true, dearie? {Fel.} It's true, Squire. He's in the 84th now at Pagley Barracks. {Kate.} That's Mr. Thorndyke's regiment. {Fel.} _(curtseying to Eric)_ Then you'd know him, sir; a fine looking gentleman, with a dark moustache --Serjeant Tom Morris. {Eric.} Morris! Oh, yes, I know him. _(aside)_ Morris! Poor little soul. {Dormer.} What do you want with me, Gunnion?