_(Rob. goes to L., D. and takes fiddle out of bag, as Fell, the grocer, a stout man, with his Wife and a little Child enter--types of village trades-people.)_ {Gun.} _(C.)_ Squire, this is Mr. Fell, the proprietor of the grocer shop down by Thong Lane. {Fell.} _(L. U., advancing)_ I beg pardon, not a grocer's shop--stores! {Gun.} Maybe it's grocer's shop, maybe it's stores, but if the Fells imagine that droppin' in late is Market-Sinfield manners, they're darned well mistook. Dooks may do it, but not grocers nor even stores. {Kate.} _(on sofa--reproachfully)_ Gunnion! {Gun.} Well, I'm the master of the ceremonies, I am. _(Mr. and Mrs. Fell argue out the subject with Gun. up C., Kate beckons the little Child, who runs to her.)_ {Kate.} _(rises and kneels with Child C.)_ Come here, Toddle--what's your little name? {Child.} Stores. _(Gunnion places Mrs. Fell on stool up C. Fell takes chair from L., of bureau and sits beside her.)_ {Kate.} Stores! No, no, no, that's not your name. _(crosses to R., with Child)_ _(Felicity places stool beside chair R., C., of it, and Child sits. Fel. behind her. The Shabby Person, representative of the "Pagley Mercury" appears, supported on either side by two country people, men)_ {Gun.} Squire, I'm mortally grieved to say this 'ere is _Mercury_. He's a little tired; we found him in the parlour of the White Lion. Come on, drat 'ee! _(Enter Dame, her husband and son with clarionet Kate meets Dame.)_ {Kate.} Ah, Dame, glad to see you! {Dame.} Long life to you, Squire. {Kate.} _(pointing to chair L.)_ Sit down, Dame. _(Crowd follow, all bob and curtsey and say)_ All. Mornin', Squire! How are you, Squire? _(Group formed L., of stage, Gunnion arranging them. Kate sits R., The S. P. is placed upon the couch. The Villagers and Farm Servants, Men, Women, and Children troop in and cluster in doorway up stage L., At the same time the Parson, breaking his way through them, enters and comes to Kate. Kate. with the little child, rises to receive him.)_ {Kate.} _(gratefully)_ Ah, Parson, how kind of you. {Dormer.} You--you look ill. {Kate.} No, no, not now. {Dormer.} Whose child is this? {Kate.} Mr. Fell's, the grocer's little girl. {Dormer.} Bah! the world's full of girls. {Gun.} Now then, Joe Parsley, leave go of Jane Boadsley's waist! You don't see me lowering myself with a woman! Squire, the Harvest Song! Go on, drat 'ee! _(A simple rustic chorus is sung to the accompaniment of Rob's fiddle.)_ Chorus of Villagers. A Woman. What have you got for me, Good-man? All Women. Say--a--a--a--ay! Men. Laces and rings and womanly things, Upon our harvest day--a--a--a--ay!