Woodbarrow Farm: Play in Three Acts

SCENE: Kitchen at Woodbarrow Farm. An ideal old farmhouse kitchen. From the smoke-blackened ceiling beams hang huge sides of bacon, strings of onions, and herbs, and poultry. Over the great fireplace are the guns, and in profusion everywhere are the homely furnishings of a prosperous farmhouse kitchen. A huge fire burns r. in old-fashioned fireplace, with settle on each side. Door l.c. at back opening on corner of farmyard. Latticed window looking out on yard to r. of door. Table r.c. piled with linen waiting to be folded. Linen press l. Door l. below press. Settle in front of press. Mrs. Rollitt at table r.c. discovered ironing. She folds up clothes as she finishes with them, and crosses and places them one by one in press l.

Mrs. R. Rachael! Rachael!! (Crossing l. then crosses to r. at back of table r.c.) Ah, drat the girls--alius philandering about with the boys when they’re wanted. Rachael!

(Enter Rachael, she comes slowly forward to l.c.)

Rach. Did you call, ma’am?

Mrs. R. (At table.) Did I call? Why thee be getting deaf in thee old age sure, Rachael.

Rach. I was in the dairy, ma’am.

Mrs. R. In the dairy! Well, and the dairy bean’t a mile off, be it? I expect there wur Joe’s thick head ’twixt you and the sound of my voice, warn’t there?

Rach. No, ma’am.

Mrs. R. Whose wur it, then?

Rach. Ichabod’s, ma’am. I--I mean Mr. Ichabod was helping me, ma’am.

Mrs. R. What at? (Pause.) How often am I to tell ’ee I won’t have that hulking scamp hanging about here after his work’s done. Do ’ee understand?

Rach. Yes, ma’am.

Mrs. R. Here’s getting on for 8 o’clock, and thee master may be home any minute as hungry as a hunter, poor lad, and noothing ready for his supper. Get down the ham (Rachael goes to fireplace r.), and bring me in the frying-pan and I’ll do it myself.

Rach. (Turning to go.) Yes, ma’am.

Mrs. R. And don’t be half-an-hour about it. Is Ichabod gone?

Rach. Oh yes, ma’am.

(Mrs. R. turns to her work, Ichabod appears at door at hack, with a trout in his hand. Rachael catching sight of him stops, and motions him to go away.)

Mrs. R. Ah, a good thing for un as he has, if I catch un here again to-night, I’ll--(Rachael makes sign to Ichabod who is up c. Mrs. R. looks at Rachael)--Lord help the lass, be she struck foolish? Bean’t ’ee agoing?

Rach. Yes, ma’am.

Mrs. R. Well then, do ut. Thee keeps on saying, “yes, ma’am,” “yes, ma’am,” and there ’ee sticks. (Drops eyes. Rachael makes sign to Ichabod. Mrs. Rollitt catches her.)

(Ichabod does not understand Rachel, and tries to explain to her in pantomime about the trout, which he holds up and points to. Mrs. Rollitt follows Rachael’s eyes, and sees Ichabod. Rachael is struck dumb, and Ichabod grins and pulls his hair.)

Mrs. R. If thee don’t take theeself off pretty, soon, my boy, I’ll do that for un. (He makes no answer but continues pulling his hair and grinning, making a few steps forward and still holding out the trout. Mrs. Rollitt advances to him slowly.)

Mrs. R. (Comes c.) How often am I to tell ’ee I won’t have ’ee loafing about here after thee work’s done, and thee mother waiting for thee at home, thee good-for-nothing young--(eyeing the trout)--aye, but he be a bonny un that.

Ich. Thowt maybe he’d do for the measter’s supper, ma’am. He wur a-having his own not half-an-hour agone, ma’am.

Mrs. R. (l. with fish in hand.) Her be a three pound un, Ichabod.

Ich. As full as an egg, her be, just. Thee feel her, ma’am.

Mrs. R. Ah, well, I won’t say but what thee art a thoughtful lad, Ichabod, and it will be main good for thee measter’s supper. See there’s a clear fire. (Crosses r.Enter Deborah from staircase L.) Rachael, and bring me the stew pan and we’ll boil un.

Deb. No, don’t boil it, aunt. (Takes fish from Mrs. R.) Let me fry it. Allen alius likes ‘em best that way. (Goes r. c. up stage.)

Mrs. R. So un does, lass, so un does. Ah, thee knaw what the lad loikes, thee shall fry it. (Hands trout to Deb.) And I’ll finish the linen while I’ve got my hand on it. (At back of table r.c.)

Deb. Allen will like that, I know. Where did you get it?

Ich. (Confused and grinning.) What, me, Miss?

Deb. Not poached, I hope, Ichabod?

Ich. (Offended.) Poached, Miss? No, Miss, I wur trying to teach a fly of mine to swim, that wur all, Miss, and when I took un from the water there wur this thing hanging on to the end of un, and I couldn’t get ‘un off.

Mrs. R. (At table r. c.) Thee’d best stop awhile now, Ichabod, and the girls will gie un a bit sup. Thee mother will be main glad to be rid o’ ye a bit, I take it.

Ich. Thank ye, ma’am. Mother’s alius glad to be rid of me at supper toime. (_To Deborah.) Gie me un, Miss, I’ll clean un for ye. (_Takes fish from Deborah, goes down l. at back of settle.)

Rach. Shall I cook un, Miss?

Mrs. R. Na, na, thee bring the pan in here, Rachael, I woan’t trust the master’s supper to ‘ee, while there’s a pair of breeches about the room.

Rach. (_Crosses l. with a toss of her head.) I’m sure I don’t want ‘em there at all. (_Picks up buckets near door l. down stage.)

Mrs. R. Ah, thee wouldn’t ha’ the lad theer wi’out ‘em! Go and do as I tell ‘ee.

[Rachael hits Ichabod with bucket. Exeunt Rachael and Ichabod l. door down stage.]