WOMEN KIND 
 
 WILFRID WILSON GIBSON 
 
 I 
 
 
Womenkind 
 
Womenkind 
 
 By 
 
 Wilfrid Wilson Gibson 
 
 Author of "Daily Bread," etc. 
 
 New York 
 
 The Macmillan Company 
 
 1912 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
Copyright 191 2 
 By The Macmillan Company 
 
 Set up and Electrotyped 
 Published April, iqi2 
 
 This play was produced by the Pilgrim Players 
 Series on Saturday, February i^th, 19 12, and 
 all dramatic rights are reserved by the Author. 
 
PERSONS 
 
 Ezra Barrasford, an old blind shepherd. 
 Eliza Barrasford, his wife. 
 Jim Barrasford, their youngest son. 
 Phcebe Barrasford, Jim's bride. 
 Judith Ellershaw. 
 
 SCENE. The living-room at Krindle- 
 syke, a lonely cottage on the fells. Ezra, 
 blind, feeble-minded, and decrepit, sits 
 in an armchair near the open door. 
 Eliza Barrasford is busy near the hearth. 
 
Womenkind 
 
 ELIZA [glancing at the clock] : 
 
 It 's nearly three. 
 
 They '11 not be long in being here. 
 
 Ezra: 
 
 What 's that? 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 You 're growing duller, every day. 
 I say they '11 not be long now. 
 
 Ezra: 
 
 Who '11 not be long? 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 Jim and his bride, of course. 
 
 Ezra: 
 
 His bride? 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 Why, man alive, you never mean to tell me 
 That you Ve forgotten Jim 's away to wed ! 
 You 're not so dull as that. 
 
2 WOMENKIND 
 
 Ezra: 
 
 We cannot all be needles. 
 
 I 'm dull, at times . . . 
 
 Since blindness overtook me. 
 
 While yet I had my eyesight, 
 
 No chap was cuter in the countryside. 
 
 My wits just failed me, once . . . 
 
 The day I married . . . 
 
 And Jim 's away to wed, is he? 
 
 I thought he 'd gone for turnips. 
 
 He might, at least, have told his dad . . . 
 
 Though, now I come to think of it, 
 
 I do remember hearing something . . . 
 
 It 's Judith Ellershaw that he 's to marry. 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 No! No! You 're dull, indeed! 
 
 It 's Phoebe Martin Jim 's to marry. 
 
 Ezra : 
 
 Who 's Phoebe Martin? 
 I know naught of her. 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 And I know little, either. 
 
 She 's only been here, once . . . 
 
 And now, she '11 be here, always. 
 
 I '11 find it strange, at first, 
 
 To have another woman in the house. 
 
WOMENKIND 
 
 But, I must needs get used to it. 
 
 Your mother, doubtless, found it strange 
 
 To have me here, at first . . . 
 
 And it 's been long enough in coming. 
 
 Perhaps, that makes it harder. 
 
 But, since your mother died, 
 
 And she, poor soul, she did n't last too long 
 
 After you brought me home with you . . . 
 
 She did n't live to see a grandchild . . . 
 
 I wonder, now, if she . . . 
 
 And yet, I spared her all I could . . . 
 
 Aye ! that was it, for certain ! 
 
 Poor soul, she could not bear to see 
 
 Another woman do her work; 
 
 And so, she pined and wasted. 
 
 If only I had known ! 
 
 Since she was carried out, 
 
 There 's scarce a woman crossed the 
 
 threshold. 
 No other woman 's slept the night 
 At Krindlesyke for forty years . . . 
 Just forty years with none but menfolk ! 
 A queer life, when you think of it. 
 Well, well, they Ve kept me busy, doing for 
 
 them. 
 And there 's few left now, 
 Only you and Jim ... 
 
WOMENKIND 
 
 And now, Jim's bride . . . 
 
 Another woman comes ... 
 
 And I must share with her. 
 
 I dare say that we '11 manage well enough : 
 
 She seemed a decent lass, 
 
 When she was here, that once . . . 
 
 Though, there was something in her eyes 
 
 I could n't quite make out. 
 
 She hardly seemed Jim's sort, somehow. 
 
 I wondered at the time . . . 
 
 But, who can ever tell why women marry? 
 
 Still, Jim will have his hands full, 
 
 Unless she 's used to menfolk. 
 
 I never saw her like . . . 
 
 She '11 take her own way through the world, 
 
 Or I am sore mistaken : 
 
 Though, she seemed fond enough of Jim. 
 
 He 's handsome . . . yet . . . 
 
 It 's hard to say why such a girl as she . . . 
 
 Ezra: 
 
 Tut ! tut ! girls take their chance. 
 
 And Jim takes after me, they say. 
 
 If he were only half as handsome 
 
 As I was at his age . . . 
 
 You know yourself . . . 
 
 You did not need much coaxing. 
 
WOMENKIND 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 Well . . . doubtless, she knows best . 
 And you can never tell . . . 
 
 Ezra: 
 
 Where does she hail from? 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 Somewhere Bentdale way. 
 
 Jim met her at the Fair, a year ago. 
 
 Ezra: 
 
 I met you at the Fair. 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 Aye, fairs have much to answer for . . 
 But, she was not my sort. 
 And yet, she 's taken Jim . . . 
 
 Ezra: 
 
 I thought 't was Judith Ellershaw. 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 No ! No ! I 'm glad that it 's not Judith. 
 Jim fancied her, at one time ; 
 But Jim 's had many fancies. 
 He never knew his mind. 
 
 Ezra: 
 
 Aye, Jim is gay, is gay ! 
 
 And I was gay, when I was young. 
 
 And Jim . . . 
 
WOMENKIND 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 Aye: Jim 's his father's son. 
 
 'T was well that went no further : 
 
 For Judith flitted one fine night . . . 
 
 'T was whispered that her father 'd turned 
 
 her out. 
 He 's never spoken of her since, 
 Or so his neighbours say . . . 
 And no one 's heard a word of her. 
 I never liked the lass . . . 
 She 'd big cow-eyes . . . 
 There 's little good in that sort : 
 And Jim 's well quit of her. 
 He '11 never hear of her again. 
 That sort . . . 
 
 Ezra: 
 
 I liked the wench. 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 Aye ! you 're Jim's father. 
 
 It 's well he 's settling down, at last. 
 
 He 's wild, like all the others . . . 
 
 Sometimes I 've feared he 'd follow them . . . 
 
 Six sons, and only one at home, 
 
 And he the youngest of the bunch, 
 
 To do his parents credit ! 
 
 The others all . . . 
 
WOMENKIND 
 
 But, now Jim *s married, he may settle down. 
 
 If you 'd not married young, 
 
 God knows where you 'd have been to-day. 
 
 Ezra : 
 
 God knows where you 'd have been, 
 If we 'd not met, that Fair day! 
 I 'd spent the last Fair with another girl — 
 A giggling, red-haired wench— 
 And we were pledged to meet again. 
 And I was waiting for her, when I saw you. 
 But, she was late . . . 
 And you were young and bonnie . . . 
 Aye, you were young and pink . . . 
 There 's little pink about you now, I 'm 
 doubting. 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 Nay! forty years of Krindlesyke, and all . . . 
 
 Ezra: 
 
 If she 'd turned up in time, young Carroty, 
 You 'd never have clapped eyes on Krindle- 
 syke: 
 This countryside and you would still be 
 strangers. 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 If she 'd turned up . . . 
 
WOMENKIND 
 
 She 'd lived at Krindlesyke, instead of me. 
 This forty year . . . and I ... I might . . . 
 But, what 's to be, will be : 
 And we must take our luck. 
 
 Ezra: 
 
 I 'm not so sure that she 'd have seen it either : 
 Though she was merry, she 'd big rabbit- 
 teeth 
 That might be ill to live with . . . 
 Though they 'd have mattered little, now 
 Since I am blind . . . 
 And she was always merry . . . 
 While you . . . but you were young . . . 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 And foolish ! 
 
 Ezra: 
 
 Not so foolish . . . 
 
 For I was handsome then. 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 Aye : you were handsome, sure enough : 
 And I believed my eyes, in those days, 
 And other people's tongues. 
 There 's something in a young girl seems to 
 
 fight 
 Against her better sense, 
 
WOMENKIND 
 
 And gives her up, in spite of her. 
 Yes, I was young ! 
 
 And just as foolish then as you were hand- 
 some. 
 
 Ezra: 
 
 Well, fools, or not, we had our time of it : 
 And you could laugh in those days . . . 
 And did not giggle like the red-haired wench, 
 Your voice was like a bird's . . . 
 But, you laugh little, now . . . 
 And Lord ! your voice . . . 
 Well, still it 's like a bird's, maybe, 
 For there be birds, and birds- 
 There 's curlew, and there 's corncrake. 
 But then, 't was soft and sweet. 
 Do you remember how, nigh all day long, 
 We sat together on the roundabout ? 
 I must have spent a fortune . . . 
 Besides the sixpence that I dropped . . . 
 For we rode round and round, 
 And round and round again : 
 And music playing all the while. 
 We sat together in a golden carriage ; 
 And you were young and bonnie : 
 And when, at night, 't was lighted up, 
 And all the gold, aglitter, 
 
io WOMENKIND 
 
 And we were rushing round and round, 
 The music and the dazzle . . . 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 Aye ! that was it, the music and the dazzle 
 The music and the dazzle, and the rushing 
 Maybe, 't was in a roundabout 
 That Jim won Phoebe Martin. 
 
 Ezra: 
 
 And you were young . . . 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 And I was young. 
 
 Ezra: 
 
 Aye, you were young and bonnie : 
 And then, when you were dizzy . . . 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 Yes, I was dizzy . . . 
 
 Ezra: 
 
 You snuggled up against me . . . 
 I held you in my arms . . . 
 And warm against me . . . 
 And round we went . . . 
 With music playing . . . 
 And gold, aglitter . . . 
 The music and the dazzle . . . 
 
WOMENKIND n 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 And there 's been little dazzle, since, or music. 
 
 Ezra: 
 
 Aye : I was gay, when I was young, 
 Gay, till I brought you home. 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 You brought me home ? 
 
 You brought me from my home. 
 
 If I 'd but known before I crossed the 
 
 threshold, 
 If I 'd but known . . . 
 But what 's to be, will be. 
 And now, another bride is coming home, 
 Is coming home to Krindlesyke . . . 
 God help the lass, if she . . . 
 But they will soon be here. 
 Their train was due at Mallerford at three. 
 The walk should take them scarce an hour, 
 Though they be bride and bridegroom. 
 
 Ezra: 
 
 I wish that Jim had married Judith. 
 I liked the lass. 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 You liked . . . 
 
 But, come, I '11 shift your chair outside, 
 
12 WOMENKIND 
 
 Where you can feel the sunshine ; 
 
 And listen to the curlew ; 
 
 And be the first to welcome Jim and Phoebe. 
 
 Ezra: 
 
 Wife, are the curlews calling? 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 Aye : they Ve been calling all day long, 
 As they were calling on the day, 
 The day I came to Krindlesyke. 
 
 Ezra: 
 
 I Ve never caught a note. 
 
 I 'm getting old, 
 
 And deaf, as well as blind. 
 
 I used to like to hear the curlew, 
 
 At mating-time, when I was young and gay. 
 
 And they were whistling all about me 
 
 That night, when I came home . . . 
 
 The music and the dazzle in my head, 
 
 And you and all . . . 
 
 And yet I heard them whistling . . . 
 
 But I was young and gay ! 
 
 And you were plump and pink . . . 
 
 And I could see and hear . . . 
 
 And now ! 
 Eliza : 
 
 And now, it 's Jim and Phoebe— 
 
WOMENKIND 13 
 
 The music and the dazzle in their heads— 
 And they '11 be here in no time. 
 
 Ezra: 
 
 I wish he 'd married Judith. 
 
 [Ezra rises; and Eliza carries out his chair, 
 and he hobbles after her. She soon returns; 
 and begins to sweep up the hearth; and then 
 puts some cakes into the oven, to keep hot. 
 Presently, a step is heard on the threshold; 
 and Judith Ellershaw stands in the door- 
 way, a baby in her arms. Eliza does not 
 see her, for a moment; then looks up, and 
 recognizes her with a start.] 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 You, Judith Ellershaw ! 
 I thought 't was Jim . . . 
 
 Judith : 
 
 You thought 't was Jim ? 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 Aye ; Jim and . . . [breaks off.] 
 
 Where Ve you sprung from, Judith? 
 
 It 's long since you Ve shown face in these 
 
 parts. 
 I thought we 'd seen the last of you. 
 I little dreamt . . . 
 And, least of all, to-day I 
 
14 WOMENKIND 
 
 Judith : 
 
 To-day ? And should I be more welcome 
 On any other day? 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 Welcome ? I hardly know. 
 Your sort is never overwelcome 
 To decent folk . . . 
 
 Judith : 
 
 I know that well. 
 
 That 's why I Ve kept away so long. 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 You Ve kept away? 
 
 But you were little here, at any time. 
 
 I doubt if your foot soiled the doorstep 
 
 A dozen times, in all your life. 
 
 And then, to come to-day, of all days— 
 
 When Jim . . . [breaks off suddenly.] 
 
 Judith : 
 When Jim ? 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 But, don't stand there . . . 
 
 You Ve looking pale and tired . . . 
 
 It 's heavy, walking with a baby. 
 
 Come in, and rest a moment, if you Ve weary. 
 
WOMENKIND 15 
 
 You cannot stay here long : 
 
 For I 'm expecting . . . company. 
 
 And you, I think, will not be over eager . . . 
 
 Judith : 
 
 I 'm tired enough, God knows ! 
 We '11 not stay long, to shame you ; 
 And you can send us packing, 
 Before your company arrives. 
 
 [She comes in; and seats herself near the 
 door. Eliza busies herself in laying the ta- 
 ble for tea: and there is silence for a 
 while.] 
 
 Judith : 
 
 And so, Jim 's gone to fetch the company? 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 Aye : Jim has gone . . . 
 
 [She breaks off suddenly; and says no more 
 for a while. Presently, she goes to the 
 oven; and takes out a piece of cake, and 
 butters it, and hands it to Judith.] 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 Perhaps, you 're hungry, and could take a bit. 
 
 Judith : 
 
 Aye ; but I 'm famished . . . Cake ! 
 We 're grand to-day, indeed ! 
 It 's almost like a wedding. 
 
16 WOMENKIND 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 A wedding, woman ! 
 Cannot folk have cake, 
 But you must talk of weddings ? 
 And you of all . . . 
 
 Judith : 
 
 I meant no harm. 
 
 I thought, perhaps, that Jim . . . 
 
 But, doubtless, he was married long ago? 
 
 [Her baby begins to whimper; and she tries 
 to hush it in an absent manner.~\ 
 
 Hush ! hush ! my lass. 
 
 You must not cry, 
 
 And shame the ears of decent folk. 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 Why, that 's no way to soothe it ! 
 
 Come, give the child to me : 
 
 I '11 show you how to handle babies. 
 
 Judith : 
 
 And you would nurse my child ! 
 
 ELIZA [taking it in her arms] : 
 
 A babe 's a babe . . . 
 
 Aye, even though its mother . . . 
 
 [She breaks off suddenly, and stands gazing 
 before her, holding the baby against her 
 bosom.] 
 
WOMENKIND 17 
 
 Judith : 
 
 Why don't you finish, woman ? 
 
 You were saying . . . 
 
 "Aye, even though its mother . . . " 
 
 ELIZA [slowly, gazing before her in a dazed manner]: 
 
 Nay, lass ; it 's ill work, calling names. 
 
 Poor babe, poor babe ! 
 
 It 's strange . . . but, as you snuggled to my 
 
 breast, 
 I thought, a moment, it was Jim 
 I held within my arms again. 
 I must be growing old and foolish 
 To have such fancies . . . still . . . 
 
 Judith : 
 
 You thought that it was Jim, 
 This bastard . . . 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 Shame upon you, woman, 
 To call your own child such ! 
 Poor innocent . . . and yet . . . 
 OJim! OJim! 
 
 Judith : 
 
 Why do you call on Jim ? 
 He has n't come yet? 
 
18 WOMENKIND 
 
 But I must go, before . . . [rising] 
 Give me the child. 
 
 ELIZA [facing her, and withholding the babe] : 
 
 Nay ! not until I know the father's name. 
 
 Judith : 
 
 The father's name? 
 
 What right have you to ask ? 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 I hardly know . . . and yet . . . 
 
 Judith : 
 
 Give me the child. 
 
 You '11 never have the name from my lips. 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 Jim! O Jim [giving back the child]. 
 
 Go, daughter, go, before . . . 
 Oh, why 'd you ever come, 
 To-day, of all days ! 
 
 Judith : 
 
 To-day? Why not to-day 
 
 As well as any other? 
 
 Come, woman, I 'd know that before I go. 
 
 1 Ve half a mind to stay till Jim . . . 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 Nay, daughter, nay! 
 
WOMENKIND 19 
 
 You said that you would go ; 
 You know, you said . . . 
 
 JUDITH \_sitting down again] : 
 
 Perhaps, I Ve changed my mind. 
 I liked the cake ; and, maybe, if I stay, 
 There '11 be some more of it. 
 It is n't every day . . . 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 Judith, you know ! 
 
 Judith : 
 
 Nay; I know nothing- 
 Only what you tell me. 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 Then I will tell you everything. 
 You '11 never have the heart to stay . . . 
 The heart to stay, and shame us, 
 When you know all. 
 
 Judith : 
 
 When I know all ? 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 Lass, when you talked of weddings, 
 
 You 'd hit upon the truth : 
 
 And Jim brings home his bride, to-day. 
 
20 WOMENKIND 
 
 Judith : 
 
 And Jim brings home his bride . . . 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 Aye, lass ; you would not stay . . ♦ 
 
 Judith : 
 
 And Jim brings home his bride . . . 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 They '11 soon be here . . . 
 I looked for them, ere now. 
 But, you Ve still time . . . 
 
 Judith : 
 
 The bride comes home : 
 
 And you and I must take the road, 
 
 My bonnie babe, my little lass, 
 
 Lest she should blush to see us. 
 
 We 're not a sight for decent folk, 
 
 My little lass, my bonnie babe, 
 
 And we must go . . . 
 
 The bride comes home to-day . . . 
 
 We Ve no fit sight for fair young brides, 
 
 Nor yet for gallant bridegrooms. 
 
 If we should meet them on the road, 
 
 You must not cry to him . . . 
 
 I must not lift my eyes to his . . . 
 
WOMENKIND 21 
 
 We 're naught to him, the gallant bride- 
 groom. 
 
 And she might hear your cry . . . 
 
 The bonnie bride ... 
 
 Her eyes might meet my eyes . . . 
 
 Your cry might tell her heart too much : 
 
 My eyes might show her heart too much . . . 
 
 Some bush must hide our shame, till they 
 are by, 
 
 The bonnie bride and bridegroom, 
 
 If we should meet them on the road, 
 
 Their road, and ours . . . the road 's the 
 same, 
 
 Though we be travelling different ways. 
 
 The bride comes home, the bride comes 
 home, to-day . . . 
 
 And you and I must take the road. 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 Aye, lass ; there 's nothing else for it. 
 
 Judith : 
 
 There 's nothing else ? 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 Nay, lass ! How could you stay now? 
 
 They '11 soon be here . . . 
 
 But, you '11 not meet them, if you go . . . 
 
22 WOMENKIND 
 
 Judith : 
 
 Go . . . where? 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 And how should I know where you 're bound 
 
 for? 
 I thought you might be making home. 
 
 Judith : 
 
 Home . . . home . . . and where 's my 
 
 home- 
 Aye ! and my child's home, if it be not here? 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 Here, daughter! You 'd not stay . . . 
 
 Judith : 
 
 Why not . . . have I no right ? . . . 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 If you '11 not go for my sake, 
 Go, for Jim's. 
 
 If you were ever fond of him, 
 You would not have him shamed. 
 
 Judith : 
 
 And, think you, woman, I 'd be here, 
 If I had not been fond . . . 
 And yet why should I spare him? 
 He 's spared me little. 
 
WOMENKIND 23 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 But, think of her, his bride, 
 And her home-coming ! 
 
 Judith : 
 
 Aye . . . I '11 go. 
 
 God help her, that she never suffer, 
 As I have suffered for your son. 
 Jim ! Jim ! 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 You lose but little, daughter. 
 
 I know, too well, how little, 
 
 For I Ve lived forty years at Krindlesyke. 
 
 Judith : 
 
 Maybe, you never loved . . . 
 And you don't know the road . . . 
 The road I Ve come, 
 The road that I must go . . . 
 You Ve never tramped it . . . 
 God send it stretch not forty years ! 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 I Ve come that forty years. 
 
 We Ve out upon the same road, daughter, 
 
 The bride, and you, and I . . . 
 
 And she has still the stoniest bit to travel. 
 
 We Ve known the worst . . . 
 
24 WOMENKIND 
 
 And you Ve your little lass. 
 
 Thank God, it 's not a son . . . 
 
 If I had only had one daughter . . . 
 
 Judith : 
 
 You '11 have a daughter, now. 
 But I must go, before she comes. 
 The bride comes home . . . 
 Jim brings a daughter home for you. 
 
 [As she speaks, a step is heard; and Ezra 
 Barrasford appears in the doorway. Turn- 
 ing to go, Judith meets him. She tries to 
 pass him; but he clutches her arm; and she 
 stands as if dazed, while his fingers grope 
 over her.] 
 
 Ezra: 
 
 So, Jim 's got back? 
 
 I never heard you come, lad. 
 
 But, I am growing deaf. 
 
 As deaf as a stone-wall. 
 
 I could n't hear the curlew, not a note ; 
 
 I used to like to hear them . . . 
 
 And now, I '11 never hear them, any more. 
 
 But, I forget . . . 
 
 You 're welcome home . . . 
 
 Is this the bonnie bride? 
 
 You 're welcome home to Krindlesyke 
 
 [feeling her face]. 
 
WOMENKIND 25 
 
 Why, wife, it 's Judith, after all ! 
 
 I knew 't was she that was to be Jim's bride. 
 
 You said 't was someone else . . . 
 
 I can't remember . . . some outlandish 
 
 name. 
 But, I was right, you see. 
 Though I be dull, at times, 
 And deafer than an adder, 
 I 'm not so dull as some folks think. 
 There 's others growing old, as well as I . . . 
 You 're welcome . . . 
 
 [His hand, travelling down Judith's shoul- 
 der, touches the child.] 
 
 Ah, a baby I 
 
 Jim's child ! Jim's child ! 
 
 Come, let me take it, daughter. 
 
 I 've never had a grandchild in my arms, 
 
 Though I 've had many sons. 
 
 They 've all been wild, but Jim : 
 
 And Jim 's the last one left. 
 
 Come, I '11 not let it fall : 
 
 I 've always had a way with babies, 
 
 With babies, and with women. 
 
 \Ile snatches the child from Judith, before 
 she realizes what he is after, and hobbles 
 away with it to the settle beside the fire. 
 Before she can move to follow him, footsteps 
 are heard on the threshold.] 
 
26 WOMENKIND 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 Ah, God, they 're at the door ! 
 
 [As she speaks, Jim Barrasford, and Phoebe, 
 his bride, enter, talking and laughing. Ju- 
 dith Ellershaw shrinks into the shadow be- 
 hind the door, while they come between her 
 and the high-backed settle on which Ezra is 
 sitting, with the child, out of sight. Eliza 
 stands dazed, in the middle of the room.] 
 
 Jim: 
 
 Well ... so that 's over ! 
 And we 're home, at last ! 
 I hope the tea is ready. 
 I 'm almost famished, mother- 
 As hungry as a hawk. 
 I Ve hardly had a bite, to-day : 
 And getting married 's hungry work, 
 As Phoebe knows . . . 
 
 But, you Ve stopped laughing, now, lass . . . 
 And you look scared . . . 
 There 's nothing here to scare you. 
 Have you no word of welcome, mother, 
 That you stand like a stock, and gaping— 
 And gaping like a foundered ewe ? 
 I '11 have you give my bride the greeting 
 That 's due to her, my bride . . . 
 Poor lass, she 's all atremble . . . 
 But, we '11 soon see who 's mistress 1 
 
WOMENKIND 27 
 
 ELIZA [coming forward] : 
 
 You 're welcome, daughter. 
 May you . . . 
 
 EZRA [crooning, unseen, to the baby] : 
 
 "Sing to your mammy ! 
 Sing to your daddy I" 
 
 Jim: 
 
 What ails the old fool now? 
 
 You must not heed him, Phoebe. 
 
 He is simple ; there 's no harm in him. 
 
 [Going towards the settle] 
 
 Come, dad, and stir your stumps . . . 
 Why, mother, what is this ! 
 Whose brat . . . 
 
 Ezra: 
 
 Whose brat ! Whose brat ! 
 
 And who should know but he ! 
 
 He 's gay . . . he 's gay! 
 
 He asks whose brat ! 
 
 Maybe, you came too soon, my little lass : 
 
 But, he 's a funny daddy, 
 
 To ask whose brat ! [crooning] 
 
 u Sing to your mammy . . ." 
 
 [Judith Ellershaw steps forward to take the 
 child from Ezra.] 
 
28 WOMENKIND 
 
 Jim: 
 
 You ! Judith Ellershaw ! 
 Why, lass . . . 
 
 [He moves to meet her; but stops in confu- 
 sion. No one speaks, as Judith takes the 
 child, and wraps it in her shawl. She is 
 moving towards the door, when Phoebe 
 steps before her, and shuts it: then turns 
 and faces Judith.] 
 
 Phcebe : 
 
 You shall not go. 
 
 Judith : 
 
 And who are you to stay me? 
 
 Phcebe: 
 
 I ... I 'm Jim's bride. 
 
 Judith : 
 
 And what would Jim's bride have to say 
 
 to me? 
 Come, let me pass. 
 
 Phcebe : 
 
 You shall not go. 
 
 Judith : 
 
 Nay, woman, let me by ! 
 You do not know me for the thing I am. 
 If you but guessed, you 'd fling the door wide 
 open; 
 
WOMENKIND 29 
 
 And draw your skirts about you, 
 Lest any rag of mine should smirch them. 
 I 'm not fit company for fair young brides. 
 I never should have come 'mid decent folk. 
 You little know . . . 
 
 Phcebe : 
 
 I heard your name just now . . . 
 And I have heard that name before. 
 
 Judith : 
 
 You Ve heard my name before ! 
 
 I wonder . . . but you heard no good of it, 
 
 Who ever spoke . . . 
 
 Phcebe: 
 
 I heard it from the lips 
 That uttered it just now. 
 
 Judith : 
 From Jim! 
 
 Well . . . Jim knows what I am. 
 I wonder that he lets you talk with me. 
 Come, woman, I must go. 
 
 Phcebe : 
 
 Not till I know the name of your child's 
 father. 
 
 Judith : 
 
 Nay ! you 've no right to ask it. 
 
3 o WOMENKIND 
 
 Phcebe : 
 
 Maybe . . . and yet, you shall not cross that 
 
 step, 
 Until you tell . . . 
 
 Judith : 
 
 Come, woman, don't be foolish. 
 
 Phcebe : 
 
 You say that I Ve no right. 
 
 Pray God, you speak the truth. 
 
 Yet, there may be no woman in the world 
 
 Who has a better right. 
 
 Judith : 
 
 Why, lass : you 'd surely never heed 
 An old man's witless babble ! 
 A poor, old crazy . . . 
 
 PHCEBE \_still facing Judith] : 
 
 If I Ve no right, you will not have the heart 
 To keep the name from me. 
 But set my mind at ease. 
 
 Judith : 
 
 I will not have the heart ! 
 
 If it will set your mind at ease, 
 
 I '11 speak my shame ... 
 
 I '11 speak my shame right out . . . 
 
 I '11 speak my shame right out, before you all. 
 
WOMENKIND 31 
 
 Jim: 
 
 But, lass . . . 
 
 Judith : 
 
 I would not have a bride unhappy, 
 
 Upon her wedding-day. 
 
 The father of my child was William Burn . . . 
 
 A stranger to these parts . . . 
 
 Now ... let me pass. 
 
 [She tries to slip by, but Phoebe does not 
 make way for her.~\ 
 
 Jim: 
 
 Aye, Phoebe : let her go : 
 
 Don't be too hard on her: 
 
 She 's told you what you asked . . . 
 
 Though, why . . . unless . . . 
 
 Yet, I don't blame the lass. 
 
 She should know best. 
 
 PHCEBE [to Judith, looking her straight in the eyes] : 
 
 You lie! 
 
 Judith : 
 Hie? 
 
 Phcebe : 
 
 To-day, I wedded your child's father. 
 
 Eliza : 
 OGod! 
 
32 WOMENKIND 
 
 Jim: 
 
 Come, lass, I say . . . 
 
 Judith : 
 
 No ! woman, no ! 
 
 I spoke the truth. 
 
 Have I not shamed myself enough, already, 
 
 That you must call me liar? 
 
 [To Eliza] 
 
 Speak out, speak out, and tell . . . 
 
 At least, you know me well enough 
 
 To tell her I 'm no liar. 
 
 Speak out, if you 're not tongue-tied: 
 
 And tell her all you know . . . 
 
 How I'raa byeword among honest women, 
 
 And yet, no liar . . . Speak ! 
 
 You 'd tongue enough a while ago : 
 
 And have you none to answer your son's 
 
 wife ; 
 And save your son from slander? 
 
 ELIZA [hesitatingly] : 
 
 I never knew the lass to lie. 
 
 [While they have been talking, Ezra has 
 risen from the settle, unnoticed, and has 
 hobbled round to where Phoebe and Judith 
 are standing. He suddenly touches Phoebe's 
 arm.] 
 
WOMENKIND 33 
 
 Ezra: 
 
 Give me the babe again . . . 
 Nay! this is not the lass . . . 
 I want Jim's bride, 
 The mother of his daughter. 
 Come, Judith, lass, where are you? 
 I want to nurse my grandchild, 
 The little lass, Jim's little lass. 
 
 [While he is speaking, Judith tries to slip 
 past Phoebe; but Ezra clutches hold of her: 
 and Phoebe sets her back against the door. 
 Eliza goes up to Ezra; and takes him by 
 the arm; and leads him, mutteringly, back 
 to the settle.] 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 Come, Ezra, hold your foolish tongue. 
 You don't know what you 're saying . . . 
 
 Jim: 
 
 If he don't hold his tongue, I '11 . . . 
 
 JUDITH [to Phoebe] : 
 
 And will you weigh an old man's witlessness 
 
 Against my word? 
 
 O woman, pay no heed to idle tongues, 
 
 If you would keep your happiness ! 
 
 PHCEBE [looking her in the face] : 
 
 But, even while the tongue is lying, 
 The eyes speak out the truth. 
 
34 WOMENKIND 
 
 Judith : 
 The eyes ! 
 
 Then, you will pay no heed to me ; 
 But let a dothering old man 
 Destroy your life with idle chatter. 
 You know my worth ! 
 Yet, if you care for Jim, 
 You '11 trust his word. 
 If Jim denies the child, 
 Then, you '11 believe . . . 
 You would not doubt your husband's word, 
 And on your wedding-day . . . 
 Small wonder you doubt mine : 
 You Ve got good reason . . . 
 But, Jim 's not my sort : he 's an honest lad : 
 And he '11 speak true . . . 
 If Jim denies the child . . . 
 
 Phcebe : 
 
 If Jim can look me in the eyes . . . 
 
 Judith : 
 
 Speak, Jim, and set her mind at ease. 
 Don't spare me, Jim ; but tell her all : 
 For she 's your wife ; and has a right to know 
 The child 's no child of yours. 
 
 [Jim stands, hesitating.'] 
 
 Come, lad, speak out ! 
 
WOMENKIND 35 
 
 And don't stand gaping there. 
 You know, as well as I, the child . . . 
 Speak! speak! 
 Have you no tongue ? 
 
 \He still hesitates.] 
 
 Don't think of me . . . 
 
 You Ve naught to fear from me. 
 
 Tell all you know of me right out . . . 
 
 No word of yours can hurt me . . . 
 
 I 'm shameless, now . . . 
 
 You know, my father turned me out . . . 
 
 [Jim still hesitates.] 
 
 Speak lad ! Your wife is waiting. 
 
 If you don't tell the truth, and quickly, 
 
 You '11 have a merry life of it, I '11 warrant! 
 
 I would not be in your shoes . . . 
 
 See, how she 's badgered me : 
 
 And all because . . . 
 
 Come, be a man ! and speak ! 
 
 Jim: 
 
 The brat 's no child of mine . . . 
 Phoebe, I swear . . . 
 
 [He stops in confusion, and drops his eyes. 
 After a pause, Phoebe turns from him; and 
 lays one hand on the latch, and the other on 
 Judith's arm.] 
 
36 WOMENKIND 
 
 Phoebe [to Judith] : 
 
 Come, lass, it 's time that we were getting 
 home. 
 
 JUDITH [starting back] : 
 
 That we ? 
 
 Phcebe : 
 
 Unless you wish to stay? 
 
 Judith : 
 
 I stay? . . . You mean . . . 
 
 God, what have I done ! 
 
 That I had never crossed this door ! 
 
 ELIZA [to Phoebe] : 
 
 You 're never going, woman ! 
 You 're his wife . . . 
 You cannot leave him . . . 
 
 Jim: 
 
 Leave ! Leave me ! She 's mad ! 
 
 1 never heard . . . and on my wedding-day ! 
 But, I 'm your husband : 
 
 And I bid you bide. 
 
 Phcebe : 
 
 Oh Jim, if you had only told the truth . . . 
 I might . . . 
 God knows . . . 
 For I was fond . . . 
 
WOMENKIND 37 
 
 Jim: 
 
 Aye ! now, you 're talking sense. 
 It 's well to let a woman know who 's master. 
 And what 's the odds, lass, even if the 
 brat . . . 
 
 Phoebe [to Judith] : 
 
 Come, Judith, are you ready? 
 
 It 's time that we were getting home. 
 
 Judith : 
 
 Home ? I 've no home . . . 
 I Ve long been homeless. 
 
 Phcebe : 
 
 That much he told me of you : 
 
 He spoke the truth, so far. 
 
 Thank God, he could not rob me of my 
 
 home! 
 My mother will be glad to have me back : 
 And she will welcome you, 
 If only for your baby's sake. 
 She 's just a child, to children. 
 We 're poor; and labour hard for all we 
 
 have. 
 There 's but two rooms : 
 So we must lie together, 
 Unless you are too proud . . . 
 
38 WOMENKIND 
 
 Nay, lass : I see you '11 come with me : 
 And we will live, and work, and tend the 
 
 child, 
 As sisters, we who care . . . 
 Come, Judith ! 
 
 [She flings the door wide; and goes out, 
 without looking back. Jim steps forward 
 to stay her, but halts in the doorway, and 
 stands staring after her.~\ 
 
 Jim: 
 
 Nay, lass ! I bid you stay . . . 
 
 I bid ... I bid ... " 
 
 The blasted wench ! She 's gone ! 
 
 [He stands speechless; but at last, turns to 
 Judith, who is still gazing after Phoebe 
 with an unrealising stare.] 
 
 Well . . . you will not forsake me, Judith? 
 Old friends are best . . . 
 And I ... I always liked you. 
 And so, this is my baby ! 
 Who 'd have thought . . . 
 
 [Judith starts: clutches her baby to her 
 breast, and slips past him.~\ 
 
 Judith [calling]: 
 
 I 'm coming, Phoebe . . . 
 Coming home with you . . . 
 
WOM^NKINP 39 
 
 [Jim stands in the doorway, staring after 
 her dumbfoundedj till they are both out of 
 sight: when he turns; and slams the door 
 to.-\ 
 
 Jim: 
 
 I Ve done with women ; 
 They 're a faithless lot. 
 
 Ezra: 
 
 Aye : womenkind are all the same : 
 I Ve ever found them faithless. 
 But, where 's your baby, Jim, 
 Your little lass ? 
 
 Jim: 
 
 They Ve taken even her from me. 
 
 [Eliza, who has been filling the teapot, takes 
 Ezra by the arm, and leads him to a seat at 
 the table.] 
 
 Eliza : 
 
 Come, husband, take your tea, before it 's 
 
 cold: 
 And you, too, son. 
 Aye : we Ve a faithless lot. 
 
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