The interior of a blacksmith shop. Right centre, a forge. Left, a loft, from which are hanging dried cornstalks, hay, and the yellow ears of cattle-corn. Back centre, a wide double door, closed when the curtain rises. Through this door—when later it is opened—is visible a New England landscape in the late springtime: a distant wood; stone walls, high elms, a well-sweep; and, in the near foreground, a ploughed field, from which the green shoots of early corn are just appearing. The blackened walls of the shop are covered with a miscellaneous collection of old iron, horseshoes, cart wheels, etc., the usual appurtenances of a smithy. In the right-hand corner, however, is an array of things quite out of keeping with the shop proper: musical instruments, puppets, tall clocks, and fantastical junk. Conspicuous amongst these articles is a large standing mirror, framed grotesquely in old gold and curtained by a dull stuff, embroidered with peaked caps and crescent moons.

Just before the scene opens, a hammer is heard ringing briskly upon steel. As the curtain rises there is discovered, standing at the anvil in the flickering light of a bright flame from the forge, a woman—powerful, ruddy, proud with a certain masterful beauty, white-haired (as though prematurely), bare-armed to the elbows, clad in a dark skirt (above her ankles), a loose blouse, open at the throat; a leathern apron and a workman’s cap. The woman is Goody Rickby. On the anvil she is shaping a piece of iron. Beside her stands a framework of iron formed like the ribs and backbone of a man. For a few moments she continues to ply her hammer, amid a shower of sparks, till suddenly the flame on the forge dies down.

GOODY RICKBY Dickon! More flame.

A VOICE [Above her.] Yea, Goody. [The flame in the forge spurts up high and suddenly.]

GOODY RICKBY Nay, not so fierce.

THE VOICE [At her side.] Votre pardon, madame. [The flame subsides.] Is that better?

GOODY RICKBY That will do. [With her tongs, she thrusts the iron into the flame; it turns white-hot.] Quick work; nothing like brimstone for the smithy trade.

[At the anvil, she begins to weld the iron rib on to the framework.]

There, my beauty! We’ll make a stout set of ribs for you. I’ll see to it this year that I have a scarecrow can outstand all the nor’easters that blow. I’ve no notion to lose my corn-crop this summer.

[Outside, the faint cawings of crows are heard. Putting down her tongs and hammer, Goody Rickby strides to the double door, and flinging it wide open, lets in the gray light of dawn. She looks out over the fields and shakes her fist.]

So ye’re up before me and the sun, are ye? [Squinting against the light.] There’s one! Nay, two. Aha! One for sorrow, Two for mirth— Good! This time we’ll have the laugh on our side. [She returns to the forge, where again the fire has died out.] Dickon! Fire! Come, come, where be thy wits?

THE VOICE [Sleepily from the forge.] ’Tis early, dame.

GOODY RICKBY The more need— [Takes up her tongs.]

THE VOICE [Screams.] Ow!

GOODY RICKBY Ha! Have I got thee?

[From the blackness of the forge she pulls out with her tongs, by the right ear, the figure of a devil, horned and tailed. In general aspect, though he resembles a mediæval familiar demon, yet the suggestions of a goatish beard, a shrewdly humorous smile, and (when he speaks) the slightest of nasal drawls, remotely simulate a species of Yankee rustic. Goody Rickby substitutes her fingers for the tongs.]

Now, Dickon!

DICKON Deus! I haven’t been nabbed like that since St. Dunstan tweaked my nose. Well, sweet Goody?

GOODY RICKBY The bellows!

DICKON [Going slowly to the forge.] Why, ’tis hardly dawn yet. Honest folks are still abed. It makes a long day.

GOODY RICKBY [Working, while Dickon plies the bellows.] Aye, for your black pets, the crows, to work in. That’s why I’m at it early. You heard ’em. We must have this scarecrow of ours out in the field at his post before sunrise. [Finishing.] So, there! Now, Dickon boy, I want that you should—

DICKON [Whipping out a note-book and writing.] Wait! Another one! “I want that you should—”

GOODY RICKBY What’s that you’re writing?

DICKON The phrase, Goody dear; the construction. Your New England dialect is hard for a poor cosmopolitan devil. What with ut clauses in English and Latinized subjunctives—You want that I should—Well?

GOODY RICKBY Make a masterpiece. I’ve made the frame strong, so as to stand the weather; you must make the body lifelike so as to fool the crows. Last year I stuck up a poor sham and after a day they saw through it. This time, we must make ’em think it’s a real human crittur.

DICKON To fool the philosophers is my specialty, but the crows—hm!

GOODY RICKBY Pooh! That staggers thee!

DICKON Madame Rickby, prod not the quick of my genius. I am Phidias, I am Raphael, I am the Lord God!— You shall see— [Demands with a gesture.] Yonder broomstick.

GOODY RICKBY [Fetching him a broom from the corner.] Good boy!

DICKON [Straddling the handle.] Haha! gee up! my Salem mare. [Then, pseudo-philosophically.] A broomstick—that’s for imagination!

[He begins to construct the scarecrow, while Goody Rickby, assisting, brings the constructive parts from various nooks and corners.]

We are all pretty artists, to be sure, Bessie. Phidias, he sculptures the gods; Raphael, he paints the angels; the Lord God, he creates Adam; and Dickon—fetch me the poker—aha! Dickon! What doth Dickon? He nullifies ’em all; he endows the Scarecrow!—A poker: here’s his conscience. There’s two fine legs to walk on,—imagination and conscience. Yonder flails now! The ideal—the beau idéal, dame—that’s what we artists seek. The apotheosis of scarecrows! And pray, what’s a scarecrow? Why, the antithesis of Adam.—“Let there be candles!” quoth the Lord God, sitting in the dark. “Let there be candle-extinguishers,” saith Dickon. “I am made in the image of my maker,” quoth Adam. “Look at yourself in the glass,” saith Goodman Scarecrow. [Taking two implements from Goody Rickby.] Fine! fine! here are flails—one for wit, t’other for satire. Sapristi! I with two such arms, my lad, how thou wilt work thy way in the world!

GOODY RICKBY You talk as if you were making a real mortal, Dickon.

DICKON To fool a crow, Goody, I must fashion a crittur that will first deceive a man.

GOODY RICKBY He’ll scarce do that without a head. [Pointing to the loft.] What think ye of yonder Jack-o’-lantern? ’Twas made last Hallowe’en.

DICKON Rare, my Psyche! We shall collaborate. Here!

[Running up the ladder, he tosses down a yellow hollowed pumpkin to Goody Rickby, who catches it. Then rummaging forth an armful of cornstalks, ears, tassels, dried squashes, gourds, beets, etc., he descends and throws them in a heap on the floor.]

Whist! the anatomy.

GOODY RICKBY [Placing the pumpkin on the shoulders.] Look!

DICKON O Johannes Baptista! What wouldst thou have given for such a head! I helped Salome to cut his off, dame, and it looked not half so appetizing on her charger. Tut! Copernicus wore once such a pumpkin, but it is rotten. Look at his golden smile! Hail, Phœbus Apollo!

GOODY RICKBY ’Tis the finest scarecrow in town.

DICKON Nay, poor soul, ’tis but a skeleton yet. He must have a man’s heart in him. [Picking a big red beet from among the cornstalks, he places it under the left side of the ribs.] Hush! Dost thou hear it beat?

GOODY RICKBY Thou merry rogue!

DICKON Now for the lungs of him. [Snatching a small pair of bellows from a peg on the wall.] That’s for eloquence! He’ll preach the black knaves a sermon on theft. And now—

[Here, with Goody Rickby’s help, he stuffs the framework with the gourds, corn, etc., from the loft, weaving the husks about the legs and arms.]

here goes for digestion and inherited instincts! More corn, Goody. Now he’ll fight for his own flesh and blood!

GOODY RICKBY [Laughing.] Dickon, I am proud of thee.

DICKON Wait till you see his peruke. [Seizing a feather duster made of crow’s feathers.] Voici! Scalps of the enemy!

[Pulling them apart, he arranges the feathers on the pumpkin, like a gentleman’s wig.]

A rare conqueror!

GOODY RICKBY Oh, you beauty!

DICKON And now a bit of comfort for dark days and stormy nights.

[Taking a piece of corn-cob with the kernels on it, Dickon makes a pipe, which he puts into the scarecrow’s mouth.]

So! There, Goody! I tell thee, with yonder brand-new coat and breeches of mine—those there in my cupboard!—we’ll make him a lad to be proud of.

[Taking the clothes, which Goody Rickby brings—a pair of fine scarlet breeches and a gold-embroidered coat with ruffles of lace—he puts them upon the scarecrow. Then, eying it like a connoisseur, makes a few finishing touches.]

Why, dame, he’ll be a son to thee.

GOODY RICKBY A son? Ay, if I had but a son!

DICKON Why, here you have him. [To the scarecrow.] Thou wilt scare the crows off thy mother’s corn-field— won’t my pretty? And send ’em all over t’other side the wall—to her dear neighbour’s, the Justice Gilead Merton’s.

GOODY RICKBY Justice Merton! Nay, if they’d only peck his eyes out, instead of his corn.

DICKON [Grinning.] Yet the Justice was a dear friend of “Blacksmith Bess.”

GOODY RICKBY Ay, “Blacksmith Bess!” If I hadn’t had a good stout arm when he cast me off with the babe, I might have starved for all his worship cared.

DICKON True, Bessie; ’twas a scurvy trick he played on thee—and on me, that took such pains to bring you together—to steal a young maid’s heart—

GOODY RICKBY And then toss it away like a bad penny to the gutter! And the child—to die! [Lifting her hammer in rage.] Ha! if I could get the worshipful Justice Gilead into my power again— [Drops the hammer sullenly on the anvil.] But no! I shall beat my life away on this anvil, whilst my justice clinks his gold, and drinks his port to a fat old age. Justice! Ha—justice of God!

DICKON Whist, dame! Talk of angels and hear the rustle of their relatives.

GOODY RICKBY [Turning, watches outside a girl’s figure approaching.] His niece—Rachel Merton! What can she want so early? Nay, I mind me; ’tis the mirror. She’s a maid after our own hearts, boy,—no Sabbath-go-to-meeting airs about her! She hath read the books of the magi from cover to cover, and paid me good guineas for ’em, though her uncle knows naught on’t. Besides, she’s in love, Dickon.

DICKON [Indicating the scarecrow.] Ah? With him? Is it a rendezvous?

GOODY RICKBY [With a laugh.] Pff! Begone!

DICKON [Shakes his finger at the scarecrow.] Thou naughty rogue!

[Then, still smiling slyly, with his head placed confidentially next to the scarecrow’s ear, as if whispering, and with his hand pointing to the maiden outside, Dickon fades away into air. Rachel enters, nervous and hesitant. Goody Rickby makes her a courtesy, which she acknowledges by a nod, half absent-minded.]

GOODY RICKBY Mistress Rachel Merton—so early! I hope your uncle, our worshipful Justice, is not ill?

RACHEL No, my uncle is quite well. The early morning suits me best for a walk. You are—quite alone?

GOODY RICKBY Quite alone, mistress. [Bitterly.] Oh, folks don’t call on Goody Rickby—except on business.

RACHEL [Absently, looking round in the dim shop.] Yes—you must be busy. Is it—is it here?

GOODY RICKBY You mean the—

RACHEL [Starting back, with a cry.] Ah! who’s that?

GOODY RICKBY [Chuckling.] Fear not, mistress; ’tis nothing but a scarecrow. I’m going to put him in my corn-field yonder. The crows are so pesky this year.

RACHEL [Draws her skirts away with a shiver.] How loathsome!

GOODY RICKBY [Vastly pleased.] He’ll do!

RACHEL Ah, here!—This is the mirror?

GOODY RICKBY Yea, mistress, and a wonderful glass it is, as I told you. I wouldn’t sell it to most comers, but seeing how you and Master Talbot—

RACHEL Yes; that will do.

GOODY RICKBY You see, if the town folks guessed what it was, well—You’ve heard tell of the gibbets on Salem hill? There’s not many in New England like you, Mistress Rachel. You know enough to approve some miracles—outside the Scriptures.

RACHEL You are quite sure the glass will do all you say? It—never fails?

GOODY RICKBY Ay, now, mistress, how could it? ’Tis the glass of truth—[insinuatingly] the glass of true lovers. It shows folks just as they are; no shams, no varnish. If your sweetheart be false, the glass will reveal it. If a wolf should dress himself in a white sheep’s wool, this glass would reflect the black beast inside it.

RACHEL But what of the sins of the soul, Goody? Vanity, hypocrisy, and—and inconstancy? Will it surely reveal them?

GOODY RICKBY I have told you, my young lady. If it doth not as I say, bring it back and get your money again. Trust me, sweeting, ’tis your only mouse-trap for a man. Why, an old dame hath eyes in her heart yet. If your lover be false, this glass shall pluck his fine feathers!

RACHEL [With aloofness.] ’Tis no question of that. I wish the glass to—to amuse me.

GOODY RICKBY [Laughing.] Why, then, it shall amuse you. Try it on some of your neighbours.

RACHEL You ask a large price for it.

GOODY RICKBY [Shrugs.] I run risks. Besides, where will you get another?

RACHEL That is true. Here, I will buy it. That is the sum you mentioned, I believe?

[She hands a purse to Goody Rickby who opens it and counts over some coins.]

GOODY RICKBY Let see; let see.

RACHEL Well?

GOODY RICKBY Good: ’tis good. Folks call me a witch, mistress. Well—harkee—a witch’s word is as good as a justice’s gold. The glass is yours—with my blessing.

RACHEL Spare yourself that, dame. But the glass: how am I to get it? How will you send it to me—quietly?

GOODY RICKBY Trust me for that. I’ve a willing lad that helps me with such errands; a neighbour o’ mine. [Calls.] Ebenezer!

RACHEL [Startled.] What! is he here?

GOODY RICKBY In the hay-loft. The boy’s an orphan; he sleeps there o’ times. Ebenezer!

[A raw, dishevelled country boy appears in the loft, slides down the ladder, and shuffles up sleepily.]

THE BOY Evenin’.

RACHEL [Drawing Goody Rickby aside.] You understand; I desire no comment about this purchase.

GOODY RICKBY Nor I, mistress, be sure.

RACHEL Is he—?

GOODY RICKBY [Tapping her forehead significantly.] Trust his wits who hath no wit; he’s mum.

RACHEL Oh!

THE BOY [Gaping.] Job?

GOODY RICKBY Yea, rumple-head! His job this morning is to bear yonder glass to the house of Justice Merton—the big one on the hill; to the side door. Mind, no gabbing. Doth he catch?

THE BOY [Nodding and grinning.] ’E swallows.

RACHEL But is the boy strong enough?

GOODY RICKBY Him? [Pointing to the anvil.] Ebenezer!

[The boy spits on his palms, takes hold of the anvil, lifts it, drops it again, sits on it, and grins at the door, just as Richard Talbot appears there, from outside.]

RACHEL Gracious!

GOODY RICKBY Trust him. He’ll carry the glass for you.

RACHEL I will return home at once, then. Let him go quietly to the side door, and wait for me. Good morning. [Turning, she confronts Richard.]

RICHARD Good morning.

RACHEL Richard!—Squire Talbot, you—you are abroad early.

RICHARD As early as Mistress Rachel. Is it pardonable? I caught sight of you walking in this direction, so I thought it wise to follow, lest— [Looks hard at Goody Rickby.]

RACHEL Very kind. Thanks. I’ve done my errand. Well; we can return together. [To Goody Rickby.] You will make sure that I receive the—the article.

GOODY RICKBY Trust me, mistress. [Courtesying.] Squire Talbot! the honour, sir!

RICHARD [Bluntly, looking from one to the other.] What article?

[Rachel ignores the question and starts to pass out. Richard frowns at Goody Rickby, who stammers.]

GOODY RICKBY Begging your pardon, sir?

RICHARD What article? I said. [After a short, embarrassed pause: more sternly.] Well?

GOODY RICKBY Oh, the article! Yonder old glass, to be sure, sir. A quaint piece, your honour.

RICHARD Rachel, you haven’t come here at sunrise to buy—that thing?

RACHEL Verily, “that thing” and at sunrise. A pretty time for a pretty purchase. Are you coming?

RICHARD [In a low voice.] More witchcraft nonsense? Do you realize this is serious?

RACHEL Oh, of course. You know I am desperately mystical, so pray let us not discuss it. Good-by.

RICHARD Rachel, just a moment. If you want a mirror, you shall have the prettiest one in New England. Or I will import you one from London. Only—I beg of you—don’t buy stolen goods.

GOODY RICKBY Stolen goods?

RACHEL [Aside to Richard.] Don’t! don’t!

RICHARD At least, articles under suspicion. [To Goody Rickby.] Can you account for this mirror—how you came by it?

GOODY RICKBY I’ll show ye! I’ll show ye! Stolen—ha!

RICHARD Come, old swindler, keep your mirror, and give this lady back her money.

GOODY RICKBY I’ll damn ye both, I will!—Stolen!

RACHEL [Imploringly.] Will you come?

RICHARD Look you, old Rickby; this is not the first time. Charm all the broomsticks in town, if you like; bewitch all the tables and saucepans and mirrors you please; but gull no more money out of young girls. Mind you! We’re not so enterprising in this town as at Salem; but—it may come to it! So look sharp! I’m not blind to what’s going on here.

GOODY RICKBY Not blind, Master Puritan? Oho! You can see through all my counterfeits, can ye? So! you would scrape all the wonder out’n the world, as I’ve scraped all the meat out’n my punkin-head yonder! Aha! wait and see! Afore sundown, I’ll send ye a nut to crack, shall make your orthodox jaws ache. Your servant, Master Deuteronomy!

RICHARD [To Rachel, who has seized his arm.] We’ll go. [Exeunt Richard and Rachel.]

GOODY RICKBY [Calls shrilly after them.] Trot away, pretty team; toss your heads. I’ll unhitch ye and take off your blinders.

THE SLOUCHING BOY [Capering and grimacing in front of the mirror, shrieks with laughter.] Ohoho!

GOODY RICKBY [Returning, savagely.] Yes, yes, my fine lover! I’ll pay thee for “stolen goods”—I’ll pay thee. [Screams.] Dickon! Stop laughing.

THE BOY O Lord! O Lord!

GOODY RICKBY What tickles thy mirth now?

THE BOY For to think as the soul of an orphan innocent, what lives in a hay-loft, should wear horns.

[On looking into the mirror, the spectator perceives therein that the reflection of the slouching boy is the horned demon figure of Dickon, who performs the same antics in pantomime within the glass as the boy does without.]

GOODY RICKBY Yea; ’tis a wise devil that knows his own face in the glass. But hark now! Thou must find me a rival for this cock-squire,—dost hear? A rival, that shall steal away the heart of his Mistress Rachel.

DICKON And take her to church?

GOODY RICKBY To church or to Hell. All’s one.

DICKON A rival! [Pointing at the glass.] How would he serve—in there? Dear Ebenezer! Fancy the deacons in the vestry, Goody, and her uncle, the Justice, when they saw him escorting the bride to the altar, with his tail round her waist!

GOODY RICKBY Tut, tut! Think it over in earnest, and meantime take her the glass. Wait, we’d best fold it up small, so as not to attract notice on the road.

[Dickon, who has already drawn the curtains over the glass, grasps one side of the large frame, Goody Rickby the other.]

Now!

[Pushing their shoulders against the two sides, the frame disappears and Dickon holds in his hand a mirror about a foot square, of the same design.]

So! Be off! And mind, a rival for Richard!

DICKON For Richard a rival, Dear Goody Rickby Wants Dickon’s connival: Lord! What can the trick be? [To the scarecrow.] By-by, Sonny; take care of thy mother.

[Dickon slouches out with the glass, whistling.]

GOODY RICKBY Mother! Yea, if only I had a son—the Justice Merton’s and mine! If the brat had but lived now to remind him of those merry days, which he has forgotten. Zooks, wouldn’t I put a spoke in his wheel! But no such luck for me! No such luck!

[As she goes to the forge, the stout figure of a man appears in the doorway behind her. Under one arm he carries a large book, in the other hand a gold-headed cane. He hesitates, embarrassed.]

THE MAN Permit me, Madam.

GOODY RICKBY [Turning.] Ah, him!—Justice Merton!

JUSTICE MERTON [Removing his hat, steps over the sill, and lays his great book on the table; then with a supercilious look, he puts his hat firmly on again.] Permit me, dame.

GOODY RICKBY You!

[With confused, affected hauteur, the Justice shifts from foot to foot, flourishing his cane. As he speaks, Goody Rickby, with a shrewd, painful expression, draws slowly backward toward the door left, which opens into an inner room. Reaching it, she opens it part way, stands facing him, and listens.]

JUSTICE MERTON I have had the honour—permit me—to entertain suspicions; to rise early, to follow my niece, to meet just now Squire Talbot, an excellent young gentleman of wealth, if not of fashion; to hear his remarks concerning—hem!—you, dame! to call here—permit me—to express myself and inquire—

GOODY RICKBY Concerning your waistcoat?

[Turning quickly, she snatches an article of apparel which hangs on the inner side of the door, and holds it up.]

JUSTICE MERTON [Starting, crimson.] Woman!

GOODY RICKBY You left it behind—the last time.

JUSTICE MERTON I have not the honour to remember—

GOODY RICKBY The one I embroidered?

JUSTICE MERTON ’Tis a matter—

GOODY RICKBY Of some two and twenty years. [Stretching out the narrow width of the waistcoat.] Will you try it on now, dearie?

JUSTICE MERTON Unconscionable! Un-un-unconscionable witch!

GOODY RICKBY Witchling—thou used to say.

JUSTICE MERTON

Pah! pah! I forget myself. Pride, permit me, goeth before a fall. As a magistrate, Rickby, I have already borne with you long! The last straw, however, breaks the camel’s back.

GOODY RICKBY Poor camel!

JUSTICE MERTON You have soiled, you have smirched, the virgin reputation of my niece. You have inveigled her into notions of witchcraft; already the neighbours are beginning to talk. ’Tis a long lane which hath no turning, saith the Lord. Permit me—as a witch, thou art judged. Thou shalt hang.

A VOICE [Behind him.] And me too?

JUSTICE MERTON [Turns about and stares.] I beg pardon.

THE VOICE [In front of him.] Not at all.

JUSTICE MERTON Did—did somebody speak?

THE VOICE Don’t you recognize my voice? Still and small, you know. If you will kindly let me out, we can chat.

JUSTICE MERTON [Turning fiercely on Goody Rickby.] These are thy sorceries. But I fear them not. The righteous man walketh with God. [Going to the book which lies on the table.] Satan, I ban thee! I will read from the Holy Scriptures!

[Unclasping the Bible, he flings open the ponderous covers.—Dickon steps forth in smoke.]

DICKON Thanks; it was stuffy in there.

JUSTICE MERTON [Clasping his hands.] Dickon!

DICKON [Moving a step nearer on the table.] Hillo, Gilly! Hillo, Bess!

JUSTICE MERTON Dickon! No! No!

DICKON Do ye mind Auld Lang Syne—the chorus that night, Gilly? [Sings.] Gil-ead, Gil-ead, Gil-ead Merton, He was a silly head, silly head, Certain, When he forgot to steal a bed-Curtain! Encore, now!

JUSTICE MERTON No, no, be merciful! I will not harm her; she shall not hang: I swear, I swear it! [Dickon disappears.] I swear—ah! Is he gone? Witchcraft! Witchcraft! I have witnessed it. ’Tis proved on thee, slut. I swear it: thou shalt hang. [Exit wildly.]

GOODY RICKBY Ay, Gilead! I shall hang on! Ahaha! Dickon, thou angel! Ah, Satan! Satan! For a son now!

DICKON [Reappearing.] Videlicet, in law—a bastard. N’est ce pas?

GOODY RICKBY Yea, in law and in justice, I should-a had one now. Worse luck that he died.

DICKON One and twenty years ago? [Goody Rickby nods.] Good; he should be of age now. One and twenty—a pretty age, too, for a rival. Haha!—For arrival?—Marry, he shall arrive, then; arrive and marry and inherit his patrimony—all on his birthday! Come, to work!

GOODY RICKBY What rant is this?

DICKON Yet, Dickon, it pains me to perform such an anachronism. All this Mediævalism in Massachusetts!—These old-fashioned flames and alchemic accompaniments, when I’ve tried so hard to be a native American product; it jars. But che vuole! I’m naturally middle-aged. I haven’t been really myself, let me think,—since 1492!

GOODY RICKBY What art thou mooning about?

DICKON [Still impenetrable.] There was my old friend in Germany, Dr. Johann Faustus; he was nigh such a bag of old rubbish when I made him over. Ain’t it trite! No, you can’t teach an old dog like me new tricks. Still, a scarecrow! that’s decidedly local color. Come then; a Yankee masterpiece!

[Seizing Goody Rickby by the arm, and placing her before the scarecrow, he makes a bow and wave of introduction.]

Behold, madam, your son—illegitimate; the future affianced of Mistress Rachel Merton, the heir-elect, through matrimony, of Merton House,—Gilead Merton second; Lord Ravensbane! Your lordship—your mother.

GOODY RICKBY Dickon! Can you do it?

DICKON I can—try.

GOODY RICKBY You will create him for me?— [Wickedly.] and for Gilead!

DICKON I will—for a kiss.

GOODY RICKBY [About to embrace him.] Dickon!

DICKON [Dodging her.] Later. Now, the waistcoat.

GOODY RICKBY [Handing it.] Rare! rare! He shall go wooing in’t—like his father.

DICKON [Shifting the scarecrow’s gold-trimmed coat, slips on the embroidered waistcoat and replaces the coat.] Stand still, Jack! So, my macaroni. Perfecto! Stay—a walking-stick!

GOODY RICKBY [Wrenching a spoke out of an old rickety wheel.] Here: the spoke for Gilead. He used to take me to drive in the chaise it came out of.

DICKON [Placing the spoke as a cane, in the scarecrow’s sleeve, views him with satisfaction.] Sic! There, Jacky! Filius fit non nascitur.—Sam Hill! My Latin is stale. “In the beginning, was the—gourd!” Of these thy modest ingredients may thy spirit smack!

[Making various mystic passes with his hands, Dickon intones, now deep and solemn, now with fanciful shrill rapidity, this incantation:]

Flail, flip; Broom, sweep; Sic itur! Cornstalk And turnip, talk! Turn crittur!

Pulse, beet; Gourd, eat; Ave Hellas! Poker and punkin, Stir the old junk in: Breathe, bellows!

Corn-cob, And crow’s feather, End the job: Jumble the rest o’ the rubbish together; Dovetail and tune ’em. E pluribus unum!

[The scarecrow remains stock still.]

The devil! Have I lost the hang of it? Ah! Hullo! He’s dropped his pipe. What’s a dandy without his ’baccy! [Restoring the corn-cob pipe to the scarecrow’s mouth.] ’Tis the life and breath of him. So; hand me yon hazel switch, Goody. [Waving it.] Presto! Brighten, coal, I’ the dusk between us! Whiten, soul! Propinquit Venus!

[A whiff of smoke puffs from the scarecrow’s pipe.] Sic! Sic! Jacobus! [Another whiff.] Bravo! [The whiffs grow more rapid and the thing trembles.]

GOODY RICKBY Puff! puff, manny, for thy life!

DICKON Fiat, fœtus!—Huzza! Noch einmal! Go it!

[Clouds of smoke issue from the pipe, half fill the shop, and envelop the creature, who staggers.][A]

GOODY RICKBY See! See his eyes!

DICKON [Beckoning with one finger.] Veni, fili! Veni! Take ’ee first step, bambino!— Toddle!

[The Scarecrow makes a stiff lurch forward and falls sidewise against the anvil, propped half-reclining against which he leans rigid, emitting fainter puffs of smoke in gasps.]

GOODY RICKBY [Screams.] Have a care! He’s fallen.

DICKON Well done, Punkin Jack! Thou shalt be knighted for that! [Striking him on the shoulder with the hazel rod.] Rise, Lord Ravensbane! [The Scarecrow totters to his feet, and makes a forlorn rectilinear salutation.]

GOODY RICKBY Look! He bows.—He flaps his flails at thee. He smiles like a tik-doo-loo-roo!

DICKON [With a profound reverence, backing away.] Will his lordship deign to follow his tutor? [With hitches and jerks, the Scarecrow follows Dickon.]

GOODY RICKBY O Lord! Lord! the style o’ the broomstick!

DICKON [Holding ready a high-backed chair.] Will his lordship be seated and rest himself?

[Awkwardly the Scarecrow half falls into the chair; his head sinks sideways, and his pipe falls out. Dickon snatches it up instantly and restores it to his mouth.]

Puff! Puff, puer; ’tis thy life. [The Scarecrow puffs again.] Is his lordship’s tobacco refreshing?

GOODY RICKBY Look now! The red colour in his cheeks. The beet-juice is pumping, oho!

DICKON [Offering his arm.] Your lordship will deign to receive an audience? [The Scarecrow takes his arm and rises.] The Marchioness of Rickby, your lady mother, entreats leave to present herself.

GOODY RICKBY [Courtesying low.] My son!

DICKON [Holding the pipe, and waving the hazel rod.] Dicite! Speak!

[The Scarecrow, blowing out his last mouthful of smoke, opens his mouth, gasps, gurgles, and is silent.]

In principio erat verbum! Accost thy mother!

[The Scarecrow, clutching at his side in a struggle for coherence, fixes a pathetic look of pain on Goody Rickby.]

THE SCARECROW Mother!

GOODY RICKBY [With a scream of hysterical laughter, seizes both Dickon’s hands and dances him about the forge.] O Beelzebub! I shall die!

DICKON Thou hast thy son. [Dickon whispers in the Scarecrow’s ear, shakes his finger, and exit.]

GOODY RICKBY He called me “mother.” Again, boy, again.

THE SCARECROW From the bottom of my heart—mother.

GOODY RICKBY “The bottom of his heart”—Nay, thou killest me.

THE SCARECROW Permit me, madam!

GOODY RICKBY Gilead! Gilead himself! Waistcoat, “permit me,” and all: thy father over again, I tell thee.

THE SCARECROW [With a slight stammer.] It gives me—I assure you—lady—the deepest happiness.

GOODY RICKBY Just so the old hypocrite spoke when I said I’d have him. But thou hast a sweeter deference, my son.

[Re-enter Dickon; he is dressed all in black, save for a white stock,—a suit of plain elegance.]

DICKON Now, my lord, your tutor is ready.

THE SCARECROW [To Goody Rickby.] I have the honour—permit me—to wish you—good morning.

[Bows and takes a step after Dickon, who, taking a three-cornered cocked hat from a peg, goes toward the door.]

GOODY RICKBY Whoa! Whoa, Jack! Whither away?

DICKON [Presenting the hat.] Deign to reply, sir.

THE SCARECROW I go—with my tutor—Master Dickonson—to pay my respects—to his worship—the Justice—Merton—to solicit—the hand—of his daughter—the fair Mistress—Rachel. [With another bow.] Permit me.

GOODY RICKBY Permit ye? God speed ye! Thou must teach him his tricks, Dickon.

DICKON Trust me, Goody. Between here and Justice Merton’s, I will play the mother-hen, and I promise thee, our bantling shall be as stuffed with compliments as a callow chick with caterpillars.

[As he throws open the big doors, the cawing of crows is heard again.]

Hark! your lordship’s retainers acclaim you on your birthday. They bid you welcome to your majority. Listen! “Long live Lord Ravensbane! Caw!”

GOODY RICKBY Look! Count ’em, Dickon. One for sorrow, Two for mirth, Three for a wedding, Four for a birth— Four on ’em! So! Good luck on thy birthday! And see! There’s three on ’em flying into the Justice’s field. —Flight o’ the crows Tells how the wind blows!— A wedding! Get ye gone. Wed the girl, and sting the Justice. Bless ye, my son!

THE SCARECROW [With a profound reverence.]

Mother—believe me—to be—your ladyship’s— most devoted—and obedient—son.

DICKON [Prompting him aloud.] Ravensbane.

THE SCARECROW [Donning his hat, lifts his head in hauteur, shakes his lace ruffle over his hand, turns his shoulder, nods slightly, and speaks for the first time with complete mastery of his voice.] Hm! Ravensbane! [With one hand in the arm of Dickon, the other twirling his cane (the converted chaise-spoke), wreathed in halos of smoke from his pipe, the fantastical figure hitches elegantly forth into the daylight, amid louder acclamations of the crows.]