Colonel. [Moving to the tree, and looking up.] You heard what your aunt said?

Joy. [Softly.] Oh, Uncle Tom!

Colonel.  I shall have to come up after you.

Joy.  Oh, do, and Peachey too!

Colonel. [Trying to restrain a smile.] Peachey, you talk to her. [Without waiting for miss beech, however, he proceeds.] What’ll your aunt say to me if I don’t get you down?

Miss beech.  Poor creature!

Joy.  I don’t want to be worried about my frock.

Colonel. [Scratching his bald head.] Well, I shall catch it.

Joy.  Oh, Uncle Tom, your head is so beautiful from here! [Leaning over, she fans it with a leafy twig.]

Miss beech.  Disrespectful little toad!

Colonel. [Quickly putting on his hat.] You’ll fall out, and a pretty mess that’ll make on—­[he looks uneasily at the ground]—­my lawn!

     [A voice is heard calling “Colonel!  Colonel!]”

Joy.  There’s Dick calling you, Uncle Tom.

     [She disappears.]

Dick. [Appearing in the opening of the wall.] Ernie’s waiting to play you that single, Colonel!

     [He disappears.]

Joy.  Quick, Uncle Tom!  Oh! do go, before he finds I ’m up here.

Miss.  Beech.  Secret little creature!

     [The Colonel picks up his racquet, shakes his fist, and goes
     away.]

Joy. [Calmly.] I’m coming down now, Peachey.

     [Climbing down.]

Look out!  I’m dropping on your head.

Miss beech. [Unmoved.] Don’t hurt yourself!

     [Joy drops on the rustic seat and rubs her shin.  Told you so!]

     [She hunts in a little bag for plaster.]

Let’s see!

Joy. [Seeing the worms.] Ugh!

Miss beech.  What’s the matter with the poor creatures?

Joy.  They’re so wriggly!

[She backs away and sits down in the swing.  She is just seventeen, light and slim, brown-haired, fresh-coloured, and grey-eyed; her white frock reaches to her ankles, she wears a sunbonnet.] Peachey, how long were you Mother’s governess.

Miss beech.  Five years.

Joy.  Was she as bad to teach as me?

Miss beech.  Worse!

     [Joy claps her hands.]

She was the worst girl I ever taught.

Joy.  Then you weren’t fond of her?

Miss beech.  Oh! yes, I was.

Joy.  Fonder than of me?

Miss beech.  Don’t you ask such a lot of questions.

Joy.  Peachey, duckie, what was Mother’s worst fault?

Miss beech.  Doing what she knew she oughtn’t.