John Maynard. Well, well, here's hospitality: here's hospitality with a vengeance. That rascal Harry has deserted you, has he? – you, our honored guest. It's too bad, too bad.
Thornton. Don't give yourself any uneasiness about me, old friend. Harry has left me a moment to escort a young lady.
Maynard. Ah, yes, I understand: Jessie, our Jessie, the witch that brings us all under her spells. No wonder the boy forgot his manners; but to desert you —
Thornton. Don't speak of desertion; you forget I am one of the family.
Maynard. I wish you were with all my heart. I like you, Mr. Thornton. I flatter myself I know a gentleman, when I meet him. You came up here, looked over my stock, and bought my horses at my own price, no beating down, no haggling; and I said to myself, He's a gentleman, for gentlemen never haggle. So I say I like you (gives his hand), and that's something to remember, for John Maynard don't take kindly to strangers.
Thornton. I trust I shall always merit your good opinion.
Maynard. Of course you will; you can't help it. There's our Harry just raves about you, and you've taken a fancy to him. I like you for that too. Then you are going to take him away, and show him the way to fortune by your high pressure, bustle and rush, city ways. Not just the notion I wanted to get into his head; but he's ambitious, and I'll not stand in his way. He's our only boy now. There was another; he went down at the call of his country, a brave, noble fellow, and fell among the first; and he died bravely: he couldn't help it, for he was a Maynard. But 'twas a hard blow to us. It made us lonely here; and even now, when the wind howls round the old house in the cold winter nights, mother and I sit silent in the corner, seeing our boy's bright face in the fire, till the tears roll down her cheeks, and I – I set my teeth together, and clasp her hands, and whisper, He died bravely, mother, – died for his country like a hero, – like a hero.
Thornton. Ah! 'tis consoling to remember that.
Maynard. Yes, yes. And now the other, our only boy, goes forth to fight another battle, full of temptation and danger. Heaven grant him a safe return!
Thornton. Amen to that! But fear not for him. I have a regard, yes, call it a fatherly regard; and it shall be my duty to guard him among the temptations of the city.
Maynard. That's kind; that's honest. I knew you were a gentleman, and I trust you freely.
Thornton. You shall have a good account of him; and 'twill not be lonely here, for you have a daughter left to comfort you.
Maynard. Our Jessie, bless her! she's a treasure. Sixteen years ago, on one of the roughest nights, our Harry, then a mere boy, coming up from the village, found a poor woman and her babe on the road lying helpless in the snow. He brought her here: we recognized her as the daughter of one of our neighbors, a girl who had left home, and found work in the city. This was her return. Her unnatural father shut the door in her face, and she wandered about until found by Harry. She lingered through the night, speechless, and died at sunrise. I sought the father, but he had cast her out of his heart and home; for he believed her to be a wanton. Indignant at his cruelty, I struck him down; for I'm mighty quick-tempered, and can't stand a mean argument. I gave the mother Christian burial, took the child to my heart, and love her as if she was my own. As for him, public opinion drove him from our village; and her child is loved and honored as he could never hope to be.
Thornton. And your son will marry her with this stain upon her?
Maynard. Stain? what stain? Upon her mother's finger was a plain gold ring; and, though the poor thing's lips were silent, her eyes wandered to that ring with a meaning none could fail to guess. She was a deserted wife; and, even had she been all her father thought her, what human being has a right to be relentless, when we should forgive as we all hope to be forgiven? But come, here I am chatting away like an old maid at a quilting. Come in, and get your supper, for you must be hungry: come in. (Exeunt r. Enter l., Harry, with his arm round Jessie, the pail in his hand.)
Harry. Yes, Jessie, 'tis hard to leave you behind; but our parting will not be for long. Once fairly embarked in my new life, with a fair chance of success before me, I shall return to seek my ready helper.
Jessie. Harry, perhaps you will think me foolish, but I tremble at your venture. Why seek new paths to fortune when here is all that could make our lives happy and contented?
Harry. But it's so slow, Jessie; and, with the best of luck, I should be but a plodding farmer. To plough and dig, sow and reap, year in and year out, – 'tis a hard life, all bone and muscle: to be sure, rugged health and deep sleep; but there is excitement and bustle, quick success and rousing fortunes. Ah, Jessie, if one half my schemes work well, you shall be a lady.
Jessie. To be your own true, loving wife, your ever ready helper, is all I ask. O Harry, if you should forget me in all this bustle!
Harry. Forget you? Never: in all my hopes you are the shining light; in all my air-built castles, which energy should make real and substantial ones, you are enthroned my queen.
Jessie. Enthrone me in your heart: let me be an influence there, to shield you from temptation, and, come fortune or failure, I shall be content.
Harry. An influence, Jessie: hear my confession. Unknown to you, I stood beneath your window last night, as you sat looking up at the moon, singing the song I love, "In the sweet by and by." I thought how soon we must part, and your sweet voice brought tears to my eyes. Jessie, I believe, that, were I so weak as to fall beneath temptation, in the darkest hour of misery, the remembrance of that voice would call me back to you and a better life.
Jessie. You will not forget me?
Harry. Oh, we are getting melancholy. (Smiles.) Why should I not fear a rival?
Jessie. Now you are jesting, Harry. Do I not owe my life to you?
Harry. Hush, hush! that is a forbidden subject, and all you owe to me has been paid with interest in the gift of your true, loving heart. (They pass off, r. Enter Capt. Bragg, c.)
Capt. Bragg. Well, I never – no, never. If Parson Broadnose himself, in full black, with all his theological prognostications to back him, had said to me, Capt. Bragg, did you ever? I should have fixed my penetrating eyes upon him, and answered boldly, No, never. Slighted, absolutely, undeniably, unquestionably slighted! I, Capt. Nathan Bragg, distinguished for my martial deportment, my profound knowledge, my ready wit, yes, every thing that adds a charm to merrymaking; I, ex-commander of that illustrious corps, the Lawless Rangers, that rivals the grandest European regiments in drill and parade, – slighted at a mean, contemptible little husking. Fact, by jingo! But I'm not to be slighted: I won't be slighted. I am here to testify my profound contempt for a slight. If John Maynard has a husking, and forgets to invite the grand central figure on such occasions, it is the duty of the grand central figure to overlook the little breach of etiquette, and appear to contribute to the happiness of its fellow townsmen. There is an air of gloom about this place, all owing to my absence. They're in to supper: I'll join them, to cheer the dull hearts and (going r.) – Hallo! guns, guns. (Takes up one.) There's a beauty. This reminds me of my warlike days at country muster, and the Lawless Rangers. Ah, those rangers! every man with a Roman nose, six feet high, and a dead shot: not a man would miss the dead eye at one hundred paces, – if he could help it. Ah! I can see 'em now as I gave the order: ready – aim – fire (raising gun and firing as he speaks.) Murder! the blasted thing was loaded. (Drops it, and staggers across stage to l., trembling. A fowl drops from r., at the shot. Enter r., Mr. Maynard, Stub, Harry, Jessie, Tom, and Mrs. Maynard.)
Maynard. Who fired that gun? Ah, Capt. Bragg, what's the matter?
Stub (taking up fowl). Dat ar poor ole rooster am a gone goose. Dat's what's de matter.
Harry (taking up gun). Captain, have you been meddling with my gun?
Mrs. Maynard. Of course he has: he's always meddling.
Capt. Mrs. Maynard, that's an absurd remark. It's all right: one of my surprises. You must know I wanted a rooster for to-morrow's dinner. I'm very fond of them: there's such a warlike taste about them. And we are a little short of roosters; my last one, being a little belligerent this morning, walked into Higgins's yard, and engaged in deadly combat: so deadly that Higgins's fowl was stretched a lifeless corse upon the ground: for Bragg's roosters always lick, always. But in spite of my earnest protest, despite the warlike maxim, Spoils to the victor belong, Higgins shot my rooster and nailed him to his barn door like a crow, and his crow was gone. Fact, by jingo.
Maynard. Yes: but what's that got to do with my rooster?
Capt. Well, I wanted a rooster: so says I to myself, Maynard's got plenty, he can spare one just as well as not; so I'm come to borrow one. Well, I found you had company, and not wishing to disturb you, and seeing a gun handy, I singled out my dinner roosting aloft there, raised the gun, – you know I'm a dead shot, – shut my eyes —
Tom. Shut your eyes! Is that one of your dead shot tactics?
Capt. Shut one eye, squinted, of course, that's what I said, and fired. The result of that shot is before you. If you will examine that fowl, you will find that he is shot clean through the neck.
Stub. He's shot all ober; looks jes for all de world like a huckleberry puddin'.
Maynard. Well, captain, I call this rather a cool proceeding.
Capt. Ah, you flatter me: but coolness is a characteristic of the Braggs. When I raised that company for the war, the Lawless Rangers, I said to those men, Be cool: don't let your ardor carry you too far.
Tom. Yours didn't run you into battle, did it, captain?
Capt. I couldn't run anywhere. Just when the call came for those men, after I had prepared them for battle, and longed to lead them to the field, rheumatism – in the legs too – blasted all my hopes, and left me behind. But my soul was with them, and, if they achieved distinction, they owed it all to my early teaching – to the Bragg they left behind. (Struts up stage.)
John Maynard (to Thornton). Ah! he's a sly old fox.
Thornton (tapping his head). A little wrong here.
Maynard. No, he's a cool, calculating man, but as vain as a peacock.
Capt. (coming down). Sorry I didn't know you had company. Wouldn't have intruded for the world.
Maynard. It's all right, captain. Join us: we were expecting you. (To Thornton.) I can say that truly, for he's always popping in where he's not wanted.
Capt. Ah! thank you. A-husking, I see. What's the yield?
Maynard. Excellent. My five-acre lot has given me two hundred bushels. That's what I call handsome.
Capt. Pooh! you should see my corn. There's nothing like Bragg's corn. My three-acre lot gave me three hundred bushels, and every other ear was a red one.
Chorus. Oh!
Capt. Fact, by jingo! (Nat and Kitty enter r., followed by huskers.)
Maynard. Come, boys, get ready for the dance. – Mother, you take the captain in to supper.
Mrs. Maynard. Come, captain, you must be hungry.
Capt. (coming to r.). Thank you, I could feed a bit. But don't stir: I can find the table; and, when I do find it, I shall do full justice to your fare, or I am no Bragg. (Exit r. Harry rolls back the big door, others put out lanterns. Moonlight streams upon the floor. Change footlights.)
Thornton (to Jessie). Miss Jessie, shall I have the honor of dancing with you?
Jessie. Thank you, Mr. Thornton. (Takes his arm, and they go up. Nat and Kitty come down c.)
Nat. Ah, Kitty, now for the dance. Of course you will open the ball with me.
Kitty (hanging on his arm, looks around, and nods to Tom; he comes down on the other side). Did I promise you a dance to-night, Mr. Larcom?
Tom (sulkily). I believe you did: but I ain't particular.
Kitty. But I am.
Nat. Kitty, dance with me.
Kitty. I shall do just as Mr. Larcom says; if he does not wish me, why —
Tom. Oh, Kitty, you know I do, you know I do! (Takes her arm, and whirls her up stage. Nat goes over to l., and leans against wing watching them.)
Harry. Now, boys, take your partners for Hull's Victory. – Come, mother. (Gives Mrs. Maynard his arm, and goes to door, taking the lead. Tom and Kitty, Thornton and Jessie next, others form in front of them. Stub goes to l. Dance Hull's Victory. When Tom and Kitty come in front, Tom talks with Mr. Maynard, who stands r., and Kitty makes signs to Nat: he comes over, takes her arm, and they go up and off, l. u. e., appearing soon after in the loft at back; they sit on the hay, and watch the dancing. The dance is continued some time, Stub dancing by himself, l. When it is Tom's turn to dance, Stub slips into set, and gives his hand. Tom dances a little while before finding his mistake; then pushes Stub back, looks round and up, descries Kitty and Nat. Goes off l. u. e. Dance goes on. Enter Capt. Bragg, r., with a chicken-bone in one hand, and a piece of pie in the other; stands watching the dancers. Tom appears in loft, behind Nat. Nat puts his arm round Kitty, and is about to kiss her; Tom pulls him back upon the hay, and pummels him.)
Nat. Help! Murder! Murder! (Dance stops.)
Capt. Hallo! Thieves! Burglars! (Seizes the other gun, raises it, and fires. Fowl drops from l. Stub picks it up; Mr. Maynard seizes Captain's arm.)
Stub. Dere's anoder rooster dead shot.
Capt. Fact, by jingo!
Tableau
Capt. r. c., with gun raised; Maynard c., with hand on gun; Stub l., holding up fowl; others starting forward watching group. Tom has Nat down in the loft with fist raised above him. Kitty kneels r. of them, with her apron to her face.