Olla Podrida Part 27

_Lady Eth._ I must request, Miss Etheridge, that you will be more select in your company. A steward's daughter is not the proper companion for the house of Etheridge.

_Agnes._ Indeed, mamma, the society of Lucy Bargrove will never be prejudicial to me. I wish you knew what an una.s.suming girl she is, and yet so clever and well informed. Besides, mamma, have we not been playmates since we have been children? It would be cruel to break with her now, even if we felt so inclined. I could not do it.

_Lady Eth._ There, Admiral, you feel the effect of your want of prudence, of your ridiculous good-nature. An unequal friends.h.i.+p insisted upon, and a mother treated with disrespect.

_Agnes._ Indeed, mamma, I had no such intention. I only pleaded my own cause. If my father and you insist upon it, much as I regret it, it will be my duty to obey you.

_Lady Eth._ Miss Etheridge, we insist upon it.

_Adm._ Nay, Lady Etheridge, I do not,--that is exactly--(_Lady Etheridge looks astonished and bounces out of the room._) My dearest Agnes, I must defend poor Lucy against the prejudices of your mother, if I can; but I'm afraid,--very much afraid. Your mother is an excellent woman, but her over anxiety for your welfare----

_Agnes._ There was no occasion to remind me of my mother's kindness.

When a daughter looks into a parent's heart through the medium of her duty, she should see there no error, and believe no wrong.

_Adm._ That's a good girl. Now let us take a turn in the garden before dinner.

_Agnes._ Shall I ask mamma to accompany us?

_Adm._ No, no, my love, she's busy, depend upon it. [_Exeunt ambo._

_Scene IV._

_The Hall of an old-fas.h.i.+oned farming house._

_Old Bar._ (_outside._) Don't take the saddle off her, boy, I'll be out again in ten minutes.

(_Enter Bargrove._) Poof--this is, indeed, fine weather for the harvest.

We can't cut fast enough--and such crops! (_Seats himself._) My dear, where are you?

_Mrs Bar._ (_outside._) I'm coming. [_Enters._

_Bar._ Is dinner ready? No time, my dear, to wait. We are carrying at North Breck and Fifteen Acre. Good three miles off; the people will have dined before I'm back.

_Mrs Bar._ Lord bless you, Bargrove! don't fuss--can't they go on without you?

_Bar._ Yes, my dear, they can; but the question is, if they will. This fine weather mustn't be lost.

_Mrs Bar._ Nor your dinner either. It will be ready in five minutes.

_Bar._ Well, well,--where's Lucy?

_Mrs Bar._ Upstairs, with Miss Agnes. She's a sweet young lady.

_Bar._ Yes, and so mild, and so good-tempered.

_Mrs Bar._ That sweet temper of hers don't come from her mother, but from me.

_Bar._ From you?

_Mrs Bar._ Didn't I suckle her as well as Master Edward? 'Tis the milk makes the nature.

_Bar._ Good-natured you are, my dear, that's certain. There may be something in it, for look at Peter. He was nursed by that foolish woman, Sally Stone, when you put him away for Master Edward. I can make nothing of Peter, dame.

_Mrs Bar._ Well, really Mr Bargrove, I can't find much fault in him.

Bating that he's idle, and extravagant, and won't mind what's said to him, and don't try to please you, and talks foolishly, I see no harm in the boy.

_Bar._ No harm--heh?

_Mrs Bar._ All this may appear improper in another, but somehow, it does not appear so very bad in one's own child.

_Bar._ He's his mother's child, that's plain; but I say (striking his stick upon the ground), he's a foolish, ungrateful, wicked boy.

_Mrs Bar._ Not wicked, Bargrove, don't say that. He is a little foolish, I grant, but then he's young; and, by-and-bye, he'll grow tired of being idle.

_Bar._ That's what no one was ever tired of, when he once took a liking to it. But, however, I will try if I can't bring him to his senses.

Where is he now?

_Mrs Bar._ Heaven knows! He was up very early for him this morning, and took a book with him, so you see there are some signs of amendment.

_Bar._ Well, well,--we shall see. But I think dinner must be ready by this time. Come, my dear, time's precious.

[_Exeunt ambo._

_Enter Agnes, in a walking dress, with Lucy._

_Agnes._ Now, Lucy dear, I will stay no longer, for your dinner is ready.

_Lucy._ Indeed, Miss Agnes, I beg that you will not go so soon. Of what consequence is it when I dine? I dine every day, but every day I am not honoured with your company.

_Agnes._ Nonsense----honoured. How you have altered in your behaviour to me lately--so formal, and so stiff, now, I quite hate you.

_Lucy._ Indeed my heart is neither formal nor stiff; but when I was familiar with you, I was young, and knew not the difference of our situations. I do now, and only pay respect to whom respect is due.

_Agnes._ Then you have become very stupid, and I shall detest you.

That's all your knowledge will have gained you, Miss Lucy; nay more, I will not come here so often if you do not treat me as you used to do, and call me Agnes.

_Lucy._ Rather than that you should stay away, I will obey you, but I still think that it is not right. Consider, when we used to learn and play together, I called your brother "Edward," but how improper it would be if I were to call him so now.

_Agnes._ I don't think that his objections would be very decided, Lucy, as you happen to be such a pretty girl: however, I'll ask him, when he comes home to-day.

_Lucy._ Ah, Miss Agnes, pray, pray, don't mention it.

_Agnes._ Well, you are pretty enough without blus.h.i.+ng so much. I'll let you off, provided you speak to me as I wish. But now, Miss Gravity, I've a secret to tell you.

_Lucy._ A secret?