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HESTER'S MYSTERY: 
 
 <3l Cattubg in ffine &tt 
 
 BY 
 
 ARTHUR W. PINERO. 
 
 London: 
 SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd., 
 
 publishebs, 
 
 26, Southampton Street, 
 
 STRAND. 
 
 New Yoke: 
 SAMUEL FRENCH, 
 
 Publishers, 
 24, WEST 22nd STREET. 
 
HESTER'S MYSTERY. 
 
 Produced at Folly Theatre, London, June 5th, 1890. 
 
 <\ 
 
 < 
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 Mr. Owen Silverdale (of Silverdale's 
 
 Academy for Young Ladies) - Mr. H. Westland. 
 
 John Royle Mr. J. Carne. 
 
 Joel (a farm labourer) - - - Mr. G. Shelton. 
 
 Nance Butterworth (a widow)- - Miss Eliza Johnstone. 
 
 Hester (her daughter) - - - Miss Effie Liston. 
 
 SCENE. — The Dairy and Stable-yard of Nance Butter 
 worth's Farm. 
 
 TIME.— The Present. 
 
 Time in Representation, Fifty Minutes. 
 
 All the Costumes, Wigs, and Properties used in this Plaj 
 may be hired or purchased reasonably Irom C. H. Fox, Ltd, 
 27, Wellington Street, Strand, London. 
 
HESTER'S MYSTERY. 
 
 Scene. — 77ie dairy and stable-yard of Nance Butterworth's 
 farm. On the r. the exterior of the stable, with a half -door 
 leading into it. Below the door, down stage, a stack of straw 
 and some straw litter. Above the door a three-legged stool. In 
 the centre of stage a small pump, with the handle towards the 
 r. Against the pump a basket, bottom upwards, covered with 
 a horse-cloth. On the L. an open shed, under which are some 
 wooden benches, with butter-tubs on them. Milk cans, &c. , 
 standing about. At the further end of the shed, a small door, 
 leading to interior of dairy. Down stage, L., outside the shed, 
 a small table and stool. On the table is a scrubbing-brush, 
 and under it an iron pail. Openings up the stage, r. and 
 L. , with hedgerow and meadow, and view of distant courltry 
 at back. The whole scene to be quaint and old-fashioned, and 
 as bright as possible. 
 
 At rise of curtain Joel is discovered asleep on stool up r. 
 Joel is an old farm labourer, with straggling grey hair and 
 a withered face, wears a dirty smock-frock, worsted stockings, 
 and very large heavy boots. John Royle enters from up the 
 stage, L., carrying some harness over his shoulders. He is a 
 fine, strapping young felloiv, ivearing no coat, a very white 
 shirt, breeches, and leather gaiters. He crosses over to stable 
 and sees Joel. 
 
 John, (shaking Joel) Joel ! 
 
 Joel, (who speaks in a country dialect, in a high treble key) 
 Oy, I'm here. 
 
 John. Rouse yourself, man ; you are always sleeping 
 (music ceases) about the place, like a cat in the sun. Mrs. 
 Butterworth will send a milk-pail at your head if she catches 
 you. 
 
 Joel, [rising) I don't care for that. The missus's tongw 
 is harder nor any milk-pail I ever came across. 
 
 John, (crossing to stable-door) Well, get to work, man, got 
 to work. You know well enough that the mistress's daughter 
 is coming home from school to-day, and everything is to be 
 made as neat as a new pin. 
 
 Joel. I'm not a goin' to do another stroke till I've had a 
 glass o' yale. I'm nigh perishin' for a glass o' yale. 
 
 John. I'm ashamed of you. 
 
 Joel. You'd best be a bit ashamed of yourself while you're 
 at it. I've been on Butterworth's farm for nigh seventeen 
 
 
4 HESTERS MYSTERY. 
 
 year, and you've been here less nor a week. When you've 
 had seventeen year of Nance Butterworth's tongue you'll be 
 dommed glad of a glass o' yale. So get into the stable and 
 do your work ; you're a new hand on the farm, and I'm not 
 proud o' your acquaintance. 
 
 John. Thank you for nothing, Joel. (goes into stable, r. 
 Joel comes down) 
 
 Joel. Bits o' boys ! I ain't no patience with 'em. That 
 lad thinks too much o' keepin' his shirt sleeves clean, (sits on 
 basket, o.) Work and dirt always go alongside, I say. There's 
 not a farm labourer for ten mile round as dirty as I am. 
 (closing his eyes) But I should like to wash myself out with 
 a glass o' yale. (puts his head agai7ist pump and dozes) 
 
 Nance Butterworth enters up staqe, l., carrying a 
 
 wooden pail unier her arm. She is a tidy-looking woman 
 
 of about forty, dressed in a neat print dress coming down 
 
 to her ankles, and showing a clumsy pair of hob-nailed 
 
 boots. She wears a bib-apron, and her sleeves are turned 
 
 up over her elbows. Her manner is sour and harsh. She 
 
 comes down to table and puts her pail upon it. 
 
 Nance, (seeing Joel sleeping) Bless my soul and body ! 
 
 There's that lazy hunks dozing again, (takes scrubbing-brush 
 
 from table and throws it at Joel) Get up, you lazy vagabond ! 
 
 (Joel rises) Where's my scrubbing-brush ? 
 
 Joel. On my chest, missus, (returning it to her) 
 Nance. What do you mean by sleeping about the yard 
 till the very pigs blush at you ? You rob a poor widow by 
 taking her money and eating her victual, and all you do for 
 it is to gape at her with a mouth for all the world like the 
 poor-box at the church yonder. I'll let 'em know what an 
 idle thief you are, for ten mile round. 
 
 Joel. Ay, your tongue '11 reach that far without your 
 stirrin' to tell 'em. 
 
 Nance, (raising her pail threateningly) What ! 
 Joel. I'll not deceive ye ; I'm well-nigh dyin' for a glass 
 o' yale. 
 
 Nance. You'll die before you get it out of me. Do you 
 know what to-day is ? 
 Joel. Ay, it's a Friday. 
 
 Nance. And do you know who's coming back to the 
 farm this very day, after being away ever so many long 
 months ? 
 
 Joel. Ay, I know. 
 
 Nance. My baby, my daughter Hester, that you're not fit 
 to live in the same world with. 
 
 Joel. Well, I came into the world afore her, so that's 
 her look out. First come, first served, is my motter. 
 
Hester's mystery. 5 
 
 Nance. And on a day like this you think of nothing but 
 ale sw illir g. Y ou're not a man. 
 Joel. Yes I am, and I've been one for fifty year or more. 
 Nance {advancing to him) Your heart's made of pewter, 
 and your blood's made of beer, and your brains are nothing 
 but hops. So get out of my sight, or the air will be tainted 
 with you, and not fit for my baby to breathe. (John appears 
 at the stable-door) 
 
 Joel, (going up the stage, l.) Well, if your daughter takes 
 after her mother, there'll be a tidy bit of conversation goin' 
 on hereabouts. 
 
 John. Get out, Joel. Do what you have to do, and don't 
 be rude. 
 
 Nance. You mind your own business, John Royle. (to 
 Joel) Joel, you've to go to the railway to fetch up my baby 
 and her boxes, so keep your eye on the clock, for it's near 
 the hour now. 
 
 Joel. Ay, I'll keep my eye on the clock, I'm dead on that 
 job. (slouches off, up~L.) 
 
 Nance. I was well-nigh losing my temper with the 
 vagabond, (she takes iron pail from under table and goes to 
 pump, John steps forward and works the hardle for her) 
 You're very polite, young man— a deal too polite for a good 
 workman, (she takes the iron pail to table, and commences 
 to scrub the wooden pail vigorously) 
 
 John. Don't say that, Mrs. Butterworth ; I hope I 
 shall please you in the long run. I'm a new hand on a farm. 
 Nance. Ay, and you're a bit of a mystery to me. You're 
 the first man 1 ever took without a character ; where you 
 came from, Heaven above knows ; but I'll give the devil his 
 due, you've been in my house four days and you haven't stole 
 anything as yet. 
 
 John. No, not even a kind word from you. 
 Nance. Eh ? Don't you be too quick, young man. A 
 sharp tongue is an edged tool, and makes ugly scratches. 
 
 John, (r.) Ay, you're right there, (advancing) Shall I do 
 your scrubbing for you ? 
 
 Nance, (l.) Nay, nob you — you'll soil your hands. (John 
 looks at his hands) They're white enough still, don't fret 
 yourself. (John seats himself by the pump, takes out a short, 
 ready-loaded clay pipe, lights it, and smokes complacently) 
 I guess you were a clerk, or a writer, or a nothing 
 at all, before you came to this part of the country, eh ? 
 John, (puffing the smoke) May be. 
 
 Nance (inquisitively) You've not worked with your hands, 
 that's clear. 
 
 John. Perhaps not. 
 
6 HESTER'S MYSTERY. 
 
 Nance And like enough you're head's not over strong. 
 
 John. Like enough. 
 
 Nance. Perhaps you got into some scrape that drove you 
 out of your own part of the country. 
 
 John. Perhaps so. 
 
 Nance. A clean scrape or a dirty one, who knows ? 
 
 John. Ay, who knows ? 
 
 Nance, (angry at his coolness) What brought you into 
 this country ? 
 
 John. Looking for work. 
 
 Nance. It's not many farmers that would take a man 
 without knowing his story. 
 
 John. That's true. 
 
 Nance, (loudly) What led you to my farm ? 
 
 John (rising coolly) They told me you had such a hard 
 heart, and a bitter tongue, that you were glad enough to find 
 a stranger who would work for you. 
 
 Nance, (dropping her scrubbing-brush) Did they? 
 
 John. Ay, they did. 
 
 Nance (going towards him) Well, you don't call that work- 
 ing, do you ? smoking a beastly clay pipe, as black as your 
 own history, may be. Haven't you a job to do ? 
 
 John (angrily) I'm mending some harness, but I haven't 
 finished it. 
 
 Nance. Why don't you finish it ? 
 
 John (loudly) Because my back aches. 
 
 Nance (sneeringly) Your back aches ! Your back is broad 
 and big enough. 
 
 John. Well, the bigger the back the more there is of it to 
 ache. There, I beg your pardon for losing my temper, (going 
 to the stable-door) Shall I put the trap to, to bring your 
 daughter up from the station ? 
 
 Nance. No, she'll walk, and Joel will lift her boxes. 
 
 John. But she has travelled a long distance, and may be 
 tired. 
 
 Nance. Look here ; I want no hints from you, or any 
 like you. My daughter is my private business. She's not 
 part of the farm for you, or any man or woman on the farm, 
 to bother your head about. My baby is all I have left in the 
 world that is precious, and I don't allow a soul to meddle 
 between me and her. (Joel enters at back from l.) 
 
 Joel. I've been keepin' my eye on the clock, and the 
 train'll be in in a quarter of an hour. 
 
 John. Shall I go with Joel, then, and lend him a hand 
 with the boxes ? 
 
 Nance. No. 
 
 John. Supposing they are too heavy for him to carry ? 
 
HESTER S MYSTERY. 7 
 
 Nance. Then he'll drop 'em. You finish your job. 
 
 John, (going into stable) Do as you please. 
 
 !Nance. Do as you're told. (Exit John into stable. Nance 
 takes up the pail she has been scrubbing ; to Joel) You get 
 down to the station as fast as your legs can take you. 
 
 Joel. Without so much as a drop o' yale ? 
 
 Nance, (going up to the dairy door under the shed, l.) If 
 you're dry, you can have a basin of skim milk ; you can 
 water it — there's the pump. (Exit, carrying wooden pail into 
 dairy, r.) 
 
 Joel. Well, if there is a class of man that's put on, and 
 downtrod, it's the agricultural labourer, (going off toivards 
 l.) Lor ! here's a suit of black coming through the gate, as 
 much like old Mother Chorley's raven as any thing I ever saw. 
 Why, it looks like a parson. If he preaches to me I'll hit him 
 over the head wi' a rake. 
 
 Mr. Owen Silverdale enters up stage, r. He is a young 
 man, dressed in a clerical style, neatly in black, and is 
 sleek in appearance and meek in maimer. He wears an 
 eye-glass, and carries a book under his arm, and a 
 small umbrella in his hand ; his manner is affectedly 
 bland. 
 
 Sil. (to Joel) I say, my man, is this Butterworth's farm ? 
 
 Joel. Ay, this is Butterworth's farm. 
 
 Sil. Is it really ? Is Miss Hester at home ? 
 
 Joel. No, she ain't. 
 
 Sil. Isn't she, really ? When can I see her ? . 
 
 Joel. Well, as a general rule, when you take that glass 
 out of your eye, I should think. I tell you she ain't at 
 home. 
 
 Sil. Where is Mrs. Butterworth ? 
 
 Joel. In the dairy. 
 
 Sil. Really. Urn — will you fetch her ? 
 
 Joel. No, I'm dommed if I will ! I've got a job that I'm 
 dead on, so good-morning, (goes up to r., and then turns 
 round to Silverdale) I say, Mr. Tastor, are you a tee- 
 totaller ? 
 
 Sil. No. 
 
 Joel. No more aint I. 
 
 Sil. Aren't you really ? 
 
 Joel. Now look here ; I'll not deceive you, I'm droppin 
 for a glass o' yale. Now you've hindered me in a job that 
 I'm dead on, and I feel mortally inclined to drink your 
 health, (coming down, r. c. )] 
 
 Sil. (l.c.) .Really ; kindly hold that (givesbook to Joel) 
 and that, (gives umbrella) I will search for a shilling. 
 
 Joel, (r.c.) Thankee. 
 
8 Hester's mystery. 
 
 Sil. (producing a shilling, and holding it up for Joel's in- 
 spection) I have found one. (talcing umbrella and book from 
 Joel) Thank you so much. I understand that you are in 
 need of a little refreshment. My friend, had you been very 
 civil I would have bestowed upon you a small donation, but 
 you have behaved so excessively rudely, that I would not 
 give you a twelfth part of this shilling though your bucolic 
 existence depended on the act. {returning shilling to pocket) 
 Must you really go ? (Joel looks at him in blank astonishment 
 and indignation, and then walks off up stage, R.) 
 
 Sil. (looking round) Now, where is Hester's mother, I 
 wonder. (going to stable- door and knocking) Is any one 
 here ? (John appears at the door) 
 
 John. Can I do anything for you ? 
 
 Sil. You really can. I want to see Mrs. Butterworth. 
 
 John, (pointing to dairy-door) I think you'll find her in 
 the dairy yonder. I'm busy myself, if you'll excuse me. 
 (retires into stable) 
 
 Sil. Thank you very much, (thoughtfully looking in the 
 direction of John) Dear me, I fancy I've seen that face ! 
 How strange ! "Where could it have been ? (Nance comes 
 out of dairy, meeting Silverdale) 
 
 Nance, (l.) Hullo ! Who are you, and what do you 
 want? 
 
 Sil. (r.) I think I have the pleasure of addressing Mrs. 
 Butterworth ? 
 
 Nance. I'm Nance Butterworth, and you are on my 
 premises. 
 
 Sil. Really. My name is Silverdale— Owen Silverdale. 
 My sister Martha and I are the principals of Silverdale's 
 Academy for Young Ladies, at Shrewsbury, at which your 
 daughter Hester has been a promising pupil for the last 
 three years. I may consider myself a friend of your 
 daughter's, (gushingly holding out his hand) How are 
 you? 
 
 Nance, (putting her hands behind her) Your bill is paid, 
 isn't it ? Or do you want to leave a tract, or something ? 
 
 Sil. Not at all. I have lately had occasion to distribute 
 the prizes at our academy, {holding up book) Now, your 
 daughter left school rather suddenly, without availing her- 
 self of a little reward of merit, a small volume of domestic 
 poems — a prize for good conduct. Finding myself in this 
 part of the country, I have given myself the pleasure of 
 placing it in her hands. 
 
 Nance. It's a pity you bothered yourself. 
 
 Sil Not at all. I am, I may say, a little attached to your 
 daughter. 
 
hester's mystery. 9 
 
 Nance. Eh? 
 
 Sil. As the phrase goes, I have a sneaking kindness for 
 Hester. 
 
 Nance. Aye, I'll be bound it's a sneaking one. 
 
 Sil. You are really a little harsh. Mrs. Butterworth, I 
 im a bachelor. 
 
 Nance. So I should hope, and if you've any charity and 
 goodwill towards poor creatures of my sex you'll remain so. 
 
 Sil. (r. c.) Really, I think I should make a fairly good 
 husband. 
 
 Nance, (advancing towards him) Stop a bit. I don't know 
 that I quite see your drift. What is it 
 
 Sil. (r. c.) My dear Mrs. Butterworth, your open-hearted 
 candour is quite refreshing ; I am exceedingly fond of your 
 daughter. 
 
 Nance, (c.) Now I understand you. You say my plain 
 talk is refreshing ; if so, you shall have a regular feast of it. 
 Look you here, Mr. Silvertongue, or whatever your name is, 
 my daughter is all that is left to me out of a hard, bitter life. 
 I know what marriage is — I've had a wretched experience of 
 it with a drunken, cruel husband ; and I mean to spare my 
 Hester the same fate, or any chance of it. She's my baby ; 
 these are the only arms she shall ever fly to, and she shall 
 remain my baby till her mother 's put under the ground ! 
 
 Sil. You really say so ! Dear me ! 
 
 Nance. Aye, I really say so. As for that rubbishing 
 book, you can give it to her if you like, and then you can 
 pack off about your business, or mayhap you'll find your head 
 in the bee-hive, (going up stage} 
 
 Sil. Thank you very much. Is Hester at home? 
 
 Nance. Lor, man, how should she be ? But we're expect- 
 ing her by the mid-day train, and so you won't have long to 
 wait, you know. She left her school only yesterday, and its 
 a weary journey from Shrewsbury, they tell me— a hundred 
 and fifty mile, or more. 
 
 Sil. (astonished) Left school only yesterday ! Do you 
 feally say so ? 
 
 Nance. Aye, left school only yesterday ! Is there any- 
 thing strange in that, that you stand there staring like a 
 puppy with its eyes new opened ? 
 
 Sil. Left school only yesterday ! Um ! 
 
 Nance. Well, talking to you isn't scrubbing the dairy 
 bricks. You can take a walk over the farm. You'll find the 
 pigs at the bottom of the kitchen ground ; they ought to be 
 glad to see you ! (goes into dairy, l ) 
 
 Sil. (puzzled) Left school only yesterday. Really, not 1 
 But I happen to know that Hester quitted the academy 
 
10 HESTER'S MYSTERY. 
 
 exactly six weeks ago. Urn ! How strange ! What has 
 Hester been doing for the last six weeks, eh ? I don't think 
 my shrewish friend, the female farmer, is quite as cute as 
 she thinks herself. I'll take a little stroll, (as lie is going 
 off up L. John appears, leaning over the stable-door, and calls 
 
 to h im) 
 
 John. I beg your pardon. Do you carry a watch ? 
 Sil. (l. b., turning round) I really think I do. (referring 
 to his watch) It is a quarter to one. 
 
 John. Thank you. (to himself) Joel should be back from 
 the station now/ (retires into the stable) 
 
 Sil. Bless me ! Where have I seen that face ? Some- 
 where, 1 am sure. The odour of mystery mingles with the 
 perfume of hay upon Butterworth's farm. Hester, unknown 
 to her pleasant, sweet-tempered mother, leaves school six 
 weeks ago, and returns to her home to-day. There are six 
 weeks to be accounted for, Miss Hester, and to me. Six 
 weeks — bless me 1 What a great deal of mischief can be 
 done in six weeks ! (looking at the booh he carries) A prize 
 for good conduct. Good conduct, eh? Urn ! Really, now! 
 (goes of up l. , pondering. Joel appears up stage from r. , strug- 
 gling under the weight of a heavy box, and carrying also a band- 
 box and parcel. Be places the luggage on the ground up 
 stage, c.) 
 
 Joel, (wiping his forehead) This is the dryest job I've 
 ever put my hand to. Howsomever, there's the baggage, 
 but I'm blest if I know where the gal is. (goes to dairy-door 
 and calls) I say, missus ! (Nance comes out) 
 Nance. Well, where's the child ? 
 
 Joel. I'm mortally durned if I know. The train had been 
 in the station ten minutes, or more, when I got there, and 
 there was nothing on the platform but that there luggage. 
 Nance. Why, you fool, you were late ! 
 Joel. You're right there, missus, but I'll not deceive ye, 
 I was well nigh dried up for a glass o' yale, so I just dropped 
 in to the Pig and Herrin'. 
 
 Hester runs on from up stage, r. She is a very pretty girl, 
 
 dressed in a neat travelling dress, with a straw hat and 
 
 little cape. She carries a travelling bag. 
 
 Hes. Here I am, mother ! Did you think you had lost 
 
 me ? (she goes to Nance, who puts her arms fondly round her, 
 
 and kisses her) 
 
 Nance. Ah, my baby ! 
 
 Joel, (coming down, R.) I went down to the station to 
 fetch you, Miss'Hesty, but the train come in a bit too early 
 and missed me. 
 
flESTEIt's MYSTERY. 11 
 
 Hes. (kissing Joel) All right, Joel, how are you? 
 (giving him the travelling bag) Take that ba°r, Joel, it's full 
 of pretty presents for everybody. (Joel takes bag, goes up 
 stage, and sits on box at back) 
 
 Nance, (putting her hand on Hester's shoulders and looking 
 at her) Ah, baby, baby, you're too smart and gaudy for the 
 life you have to lead. You are a woman now, Hester, and 
 no longer a school-girl ; and a woman is of little use in this 
 farm till she can turn her sleeves over her elbows and do a 
 man's work, for half a man's pay. 
 
 Hes. And I'll do that, mother, and I'll never tire at my 
 work, rough or easy. 
 
 Nance, (l. c.) It's all rough, baby, for such as we are. 
 The world is a pool, my child, in which the poor folks 
 struggle and splash, and eat each other for subsistence, like 
 the fishes do. The surface of the pool is frozen over into a 
 sheet of clear, smooth ice for the rich to skate on, and the 
 great folks glide about over the heads of the poor without a 
 fall or a stumble. © 
 
 Hes (c) Great tolks have their miseries too, sometimes 
 —just as the squire's daughter broke through the ice at the 
 mill-pond last winter, and got a ducking. 
 
 Nance. That was because she had a man's arm round her 
 waist, and the ice wouldn't bear the two. Never have a 
 man's arm round you, Hester, and you'll come to no mis- 
 chief. So off with your fineries, child, and say good-bye to 
 your lady's life. 
 
 Hes. (taking off her hat and cloak) I hate an easy life, 
 mother, (she dresses up the pump with her hat and cloak) 
 There, that is all that is left of Hester, the fine lad& and 
 now I am nothing but your little farm girl, mother dear, 
 and don't wish to be anything better. Look, I shake 
 hands with the fine lady, and regret that pressure of cir- 
 cumstances renders it necessary that we should terminate 
 our acquaintance, (she shakes the pump-handle warmly) 
 
 Nance, (l.) That is like my baby. But take off those 
 wretched gloves, for I hate the sight of them. (Hester 
 takes off her gloves) Your mother never wore gloves, nor your 
 grandmother before her. 
 
 Hes. Come and sit down, mother. (Nance takes stool 
 from L. , and, in doing so, turns her back upon Hester for a 
 moment. Hester has taken off her gloves, and suddenly looks 
 at her left hand ; aside) Oh, my wedding ring . 
 
 Nance, (half turning) What's the matter, baby? (Hester 
 snatches the ring from her hand, and impulsively flings it 
 through the opened stable door) 
 Hes. Nothing, mother. I've torn my glove, that's all. 
 
12 HESTER'S MYSTERY. 
 
 Nance. And no loss neither. (Hester sits on the basket, 
 c, Nance on stool by her left) 
 
 Hes. Now, Joel, empty the lucky bag of the pretty 
 presents. (Joel comes down, bringing the stool from up the 
 stage, r., sits and opens bag) Dip your hand in, Joel. "Here's 
 a pretty thing, and a very pretty thing, and who's the owner 
 of this pretty thing ? " (Joel dips his hand in the bag, and 
 pulls out a baby's woollen shoe, tied up with blue ribbon; aside) 
 Oh! 
 
 Nance. What's that, Joel ? 
 
 Hes. (taking it from Joel) Tt's a — it's a — purse, mother, 
 a new style, something like a baby's shoe. You see, you put 
 the money in there, and then tie it up with a blue ribbon. 
 I — I — think I'll unpack the bag, Joel. (sli})s the shoe into 
 the bosom of her dress) 
 
 Joel. Nay, nay, it's a job that I'm dead on. (takes out a 
 book and hands it to Hester) 
 
 Hes. It's a Church Service for you, mother, (giving it lier) 
 There. 
 
 Nance. Thank you, my dear ; though it's a sore pity the 
 edges are gilt — the words are bright enough, and don't want 
 no gilding, (turning over the leaves) You've been reading it, 
 Hester, like a good girl ; here's a leaf turned down. 
 
 Hes. Oh, yes ; I was looking at it in the train. 
 
 Nance, (sternly) Hester, my girl ? (rises) 
 
 Hes. Yes, mother. 
 
 Nance. Do you know you have turned down a leaf at the 
 Marriage Service? 
 
 Hes. Lor, mother ! have I ? 
 
 Nance. Don't study that, my girl ; for it's the only part 
 of the book that's dangerous for the unwary. They call it 
 a Marriage Service ; for me it was a marriage slavery, (sits) 
 
 Hes. (timidly) But some people are happy when they are 
 married. 
 
 Nance. They wear smiling faces, because they're ashamed 
 to own their bad bargain, just as a fish swims about for 
 years and years with an old hook in his gullet. He may 
 blink, and gulp, and flap his tail, but the hook's in his inside 
 all the time, and he never forgets the bright summer's 
 morning when he swallowed it. I swallowed your father, 
 my dear, and an uncomfortable sort of a dose he was. 
 
 Hes. What did he do, mother ? 
 
 Nance. Why, he drank beer and knocked down skittles 
 half his time, and drank more beer and knocked down his 
 wife the other half. But he's dead and gone, and I mustn't 
 say a word against him ; but if ever there was a brute out 
 of a sty or a kennel, he was one ! (shutting up the book 
 
Hester's mystery. 13 
 
 sharply) There, thank you for the gift, my pet, and we won't 
 look ab the Marriage Service anymore, (puts book in her 
 pocket; rises) 
 
 Hes (c.) Now, Joel, what else have you in the bag ? 
 
 Joel, (r.) I'll see, Miss Hesty. (he dips his hand in the 
 bag, and produces an infant 's feeding-bottle ; the bottle has no 
 tube, and is in the shape of a flask) 
 
 Nance (l. c. ) Good gracious ! What's that ? 
 
 Bes. (aghast) That ! 
 
 Joel. Bless my soul, it's as much like a babby's bottla as 
 anything I ever see ! 
 
 Hes. That, oh, that's my travelling flask for a long journey. 
 It holds brandy 
 
 Joel. Pale brandy, I should say. 
 
 Hes. Or sherry, or milk, or anything refreshing. (Joel 
 puts it to his lips) 
 
 Joel, (with a wry face) Well, all I know is, it's mighty 
 weak refreshment. 
 
 Hes. Put it back, Joel, what is next ? (Joel produces a 
 huge pair of slippers) Those are for you, Joel, to wear after 
 your work is over. I don't know whether they are your size, 
 but they will stretch. 
 
 Joel. Much obliged, Miss Hesty, I'll wet them there 
 shoes this very arternoon with a glass o' yale. 
 
 Hes. What is next? (Joel tales out a pipe-case, and holds 
 it up) That is a pipe for Jem Landon, the stable-lad. 
 
 Nance. In the first place, Jem Landon never smoked. In 
 the second, I turned him neck and crop off the farm four 
 days ago for being saucy. 
 
 Hes. It will do for the man in his place. Is there a man 
 in the stable ? 
 
 Nance (calling) John 1 John Iloyle ! (John appears at 
 stable door) 
 
 John. Aye, I'm here. 
 
 Nance. This is my daughter Hester, and she has brought 
 a present for a man that's gone. You can have it, if you 
 don't care for another man's leavings, (taking hat and cape off 
 pump. John comes out of stable and holds out his hand for the 
 pipe) 
 
 John. Yes, I'll have it. 
 
 Hes. (kindly to John) Mother's kind, and doesn't mean 
 to be hard, John. There's the pipe, with my beat wishes. 
 
 John, (taking the pipe) Thank you, Miss Hester, when I 
 smoke it I'll think of you. 
 
 Nance. And now, you two men, get that box into the 
 house, and up the stair. Hester, you must be dying for 
 some victuals'? (going upstage towards L.) 
 
14 Hester's mystery. 
 
 Hes. I'd rather wait, mother ; I want to look at the 
 horses. Send John back to show me over the stables. 
 
 Nance. Very well. Come along, men. (Nance goes off 
 up, l., followed by Joel and John, with the boxes, <fcc.) 
 
 Hes. (after watching them off) Thank Heaven, for a 
 moment's relief ! (tales shoe out and kisses it earnestly) 
 Where is my memory 1 How imprudent I am ! Dear little 
 shoe ! What a pity it is that I should have to tell such 
 great big fibs about such a soft, innocent little woollen thing 
 as you ! And now, where is my wedding ring ? I must hide 
 it in some secure place, (looking round) My poor, dear 
 wedding ring — I am so sorry — where could I have thrown 
 you ? I remember — in the stable. Oh, supposing a horse 
 has swallowed it— how married he'll feel ! {she opens stable 
 door, and goes into stable, closing door after her. Mr. Owen 
 Silverdale appears at the back, from i.) 
 
 Sil. The vision of a travelling trunk and a band box, 
 leads me to suspect that the prodigal has returned. Dear 
 girl, I quite long to see her. 
 
 Hes. {sobbing in the stable) Oh, dear ! Oh, dear ! What 
 shall I do % 
 
 Sil. (listening) Really ! that sounds like a woman in tears. 
 A long association with an academy for young ladies renders 
 sound quite familiar to me. (Hester comes out of the stable, 
 crying. She does not see Silverdale, who is up the stage) 
 
 Hes. Oh, dear me, I can't find it, and I'm a most miserable 
 girl ! Why did I throw it away ? (with her handkerchief to 
 her eyes — leaning on stable door) Oh ! my pretty ring — my 
 pretty ring. (Silverdale comes quietly down) 
 
 Sil. (softly) Hester, dear. (touches her unth umbrella. 
 Hester turns, and confronts him with dismay) 
 
 Hes. (frightened) Oh ! Mr. Silverdale ! 
 
 Sil. (holding up his hand gushingly) How are you ? 
 
 Hes. (sobbing) I'm very — I'm very — I'm not at all well. 
 
 Sil. (taking her hand) My Door little sweetheart. 
 
 Hes (releasing her hand) Mr. Silverdale, what are you 
 doing at our farm i Have you seen mother ? 
 
 Sil. Yes, a few minutes ago. A charming woman, your 
 mother; really charming, so honestly outspoken, and with 
 such an absorbing trust in you, it quite seems to have swal- 
 lowed up her faith in other people. 
 
 Hes. (coming down, r. c, nervously) I hope my school- 
 fellows are quite well, Mr. Silverdale. 
 
 Sil. Quite well. 
 
 Hes. Mary Manders had measles when I left. Is she 
 better ? 
 
 Sil. Much better. I really thought at one time that she 
 
Hester's mystery. 15 
 
 had transferred the ailment to me, which would have been 
 unfortunate. I have never had the measles. 
 Hes. Indeed, Mr. Silverdale. 
 Sil. No ; have you ? 
 Hes. (absently) Eh? 
 Sil. Have you ? 
 
 Hes. Have I what, Mr. Silverdale ? 
 Sil. Had them. 
 
 Hes. Had which, Mr. Silverdale? 
 Sil. The measles. 
 
 Hes. (with a burst) Oh, Mr. Silverdale, what brings you 
 here ? 
 
 Sil. Principally to see you. 
 Hes. Oh, no ! 
 
 Sil. Really. Why be astonished ? You know how fond 
 I have been of you for months and months. And I am such 
 a faithful man. Where I love I stick like a plaster, for 
 better or for worse. 
 
 Hes. Oh, go away from this place, please, Mr. Silverdale. 
 I have told you, often and often, that I don't like you — 
 that I won't like you -and that I can't be bothered with 
 you. I'm not a flirt. 
 
 Sil. No. If I thought so I could not reconcile it to my 
 conscience to pay my addresses to you. (pointing to stool, 
 r.c.) Sit down ; you must be so tired. 
 Hes. No, I'm not tired. 
 
 Sil. Yes, you are ; you have come a long journey. 
 Hes. (falteringly) No, I've — have only been a little dis- 
 tance — to visit a friend. 
 
 Sil. Really ? I think you are making a mistake, my 
 dear. Your mother tells me you have just arrived from 
 Shrewsbury. 
 
 Hes. (faintly) Oh ! (she sits, helplessly) 
 
 Sil. (coming close to her and looking down upon her) When 
 
 you left school, my dear Hester, six weeks ago 
 
 Hes. Oh dear, oh dear ! 
 
 Sil. Six weeks ago, you quitted the Academy very sud- 
 denly, and before the expiration of the term, to visit your 
 mother, who, you stated, was unwell. So hastily did you 
 leave us, that you robbed me of my privilege of presenting 
 to you on the day following, a little prize (holding out booh), 
 a volume of sweet domestic poems- a prize for good conduct. 
 Hes. Well, Mr. Silverdale ? 
 
 Sil. To bring to you this little book is one of the objects 
 of my visit. 
 
 Hes. (starting up) Oh, give it to me, and go away, 
 please 1 
 
16 hester's mystery. 
 
 Sil. So I will, dear Hester, when you prove to one of the 
 principals of our establishment that this reward of merit has 
 not been forfeited. So I will, when you have accounted to 
 me for your actions during the last six weeks. (Hester sits 
 again, hopelessly) 
 
 Hes. (r.) I can't, it is no business of yours, and every 
 man should mind his own business. 
 
 Sil. It is my business, because I like you so much, and I 
 want to know how it is that a young girl I am fond of leaves 
 school unknown to her mother, six weeks ago, and only 
 arrives home to-day. 
 
 Hes. If you like me, why do you harass me so? 
 
 Sil. Because you won't love me in return. You always 
 were an obstinate girl, Hester, and I mean to break you. Be 
 kind to me 1 say one pretty word to me, and you can bury 
 the last six weeks, and make your mother innocendy walk 
 over their grave. But if you refuse me this favour, I'll split 
 upon you ; I'll show your pleasant voiced, soft-hearted 
 mother that you have been deceiving her ; and I'll turn 
 every blade of grass in that meadow into a lash for your 
 pretty little shoulders. Do you hear ? I'll love you if you'll 
 let me ; and I'll plague you if you won't. 
 
 Hes. (rising and looking at him) You know I won't 
 love you. How could any woman, in her senses, love a 
 mean little man like you 1 
 
 Sil. So I really am a mean little man, eh ? Very well, 
 I'll fetch your dear mother, (he is going ; she folloivs him) 
 
 Hes. Oh ! I didn't mean to make you angry ! Don't split 
 upon me, Mr. Silverdale— don't split upon me 1 
 
 Sil. Oh, I can split upon you, then, can I ] 
 
 Hes. Yes, I confess I am deceiving mother for a little 
 while -only for a little while. I did leave the Academy six 
 weeks ago, and I have only come home to-day ; but don't 
 tell tales out of school — don't you do a thing that every girl 
 in my class would have cut their tongue out rather than be 
 guilty of ! 
 
 Sil. (l.c.) I'll not tell tales if you'll be friends with me— 
 that's all I want, Hester. 
 
 Hes. (e.O., taking his hand) Oh, thank you, dear Mr. 
 Silverdale, thank you ! 
 
 Sil. Loving you, Hester, is really my only fault — so kiss 
 and make it up. 
 
 Hes. Kiss and make it up ? 
 
 Sil. Yes ; we've had a bit of a row, dear, haven't we ? 
 Kiss and make it up. 
 
 Hes. (pointing to the book in Silverdale's hand) Oh, I 
 see, you want to rob me of my prize for good conduct, and 
 
Hester's mystery. 17 
 
 put it on your own shelf, (rousing herself) Look here, I once 
 boxed your ears at Shrewsbury. (Silverdale raises his 
 hand to his ear) Yes, you remember it, that's the side. If 
 you ask me to kiss you, I'll box the other side ; or, what is 
 better, I'll get somebody else to do it. (Enter John Royle 
 and Joel at back ; John conies down, r., Joel, l.) You're 
 a sneak that blabs and tells tales ; and you are the 
 worst of sneaks, because you're spiteful to girls ! (to John) 
 John Royle, you are my mother's servant, and as 
 such you are bound to protect my mother's daughter. 
 (pointing to Silverdale) That person has been rude to me. 
 You are a big man, and know a lot of strong words — tell him 
 what I think of him, do ! 
 
 Joel, (r.c.) Stop a bit. If there's goin' to be any blood 
 spilt, the musus 'ud like to be in it, I know, (goes off, 
 up L.) 
 
 John (c) Been rude, has he ? (John advances to Silver- 
 dale, looks him up and down, and then snatches his umbrella 
 from him and flings it away) So you have been rude, eh ? 
 (snatches book from him and flings it away) Been rude, have 
 you? 
 
 Sil. (l.) Sir, at the present moment I am not prepared — 
 I really am not — for a muscular encounter. Allow me to 
 call your attention to the fact that you have cast away that 
 young lady's prize for good conduct. 
 
 John, (a, raising his fist) You reptile ! 
 
 Hes. (r., laying her hand upon John's arm) Don't strike 
 him. He has to sing tenor in the choir at Shrewsbury on 
 the Sunday afternoons. 
 
 Nance enters, followed by Joel, l. Nance comes down, l.c. 
 
 Nance. Now then, what's the matter here ? 
 
 John. A cur is the matter here — a fellow that is rude to 
 ladies, and who wants to be kicked out. 
 
 Nance. If tnere's any kicking out of my place, I do it, so 
 you fall back, John Royle. (John goes up to stable door, and 
 leans on it) Now then, schoolmaster, what's your tale ? Out 
 with it ! 
 
 Hes. (r.) Don't listen to him, mother, don't listen to 
 him ! 
 
 Sil. (l.c.) I will be listened to, because I [am here as a 
 representative of truth and right. Mrs. Butter worth, I 
 have some painful communications to make to you. Be 
 seated. (Nance sits on stool, l,, and Hester on stool, r., 
 Silverdale on basket, c, Joel stands up, l.) These com- 
 munications relate to your daughter, who, I hope in passing, 
 will continue her studies in geography — always her weak 
 
18 HESTER'S MYSTERY. 
 
 point. Your daughter, I regret to say, Mrs. Butterworth, 
 has not deserved well of the Academy for young ladies at 
 Shrewsbury. 
 
 Nance, (sitting, l.) What do I care for that ? Let my 
 child please me, and she does her duty. The school was my 
 baby's servant, not her master, and was hired to wait on 
 her. 
 
 Sil. (sitting, c.) Really ; then of course we are reduced 
 to the simple question — has the child done its duty to its 
 mother ? 
 
 Hes. (r., aside, to Silverdale) Oh, have pity on me, 
 please, Mr. Silverdale ! 
 
 Nance, (l.) Silence, Hester! 
 
 Sil. (c.) Your daughter, Hester (whose English grammar, 
 I may remark, will require careful watching), has, I am 
 pained to have to say, brought discredit upon her school. 
 
 Nance. What ! My child brought discredit— my child 
 
 Sil. Pray hear me out. The real object of my visit I 
 have hitherto concealed from you. I have travelled many 
 weary miles to endeavour to persuade your daughter — who, 
 I trust, by-the-bye, will continue her pianoforte practice — to 
 persuade your daughter to confess everything to you. This 
 she has refused to do ; and, for the credit and fair name and 
 fame of the Academy, I am compelled to roveal all. 
 
 Hes. (starting up) He doesn't tell the truth, mother ; 
 don't listen to him. 
 
 Nance. Silence, Hester! (Hester sits again) 
 
 Sil. Mrs. Butterworth, when did your daughter arrive 
 home ? 
 
 Nance. Within the last hour. You know that well 
 enough, man. 
 
 Sil. And when did she quit our Academy ? 
 
 Nance. Yesterday. 
 
 Sil. Have you any proof of that ? 
 
 Nance. Proof ! Against my child ? 
 
 Sil. Yes, really. Proof. 
 
 Nance. I've her own word — her letters written to me from 
 Shrewsbury. The last came the day before yesterday. 
 (taking it from the bosom of her dress) Here it is. 
 
 Sil. What does she say about leaving school ? (Nance 
 takes her spectacles out of her pocket, puts them on, and reads) 
 
 Nance. " I leave school on Tuesday morning, and 
 shall — " (huskily) My glasses are dull, and I can't see 
 through 'em. (handing letter to Silverdale) You read it. 
 
 Sil. Shall I, really ? Certainly. Urn ! You must really 
 watch her handwriting — too many nourishes, (reading) 
 M I leave school on Tuesday morning, and shall be with you, 
 
Hester's mystery. 19 
 
 if everything is well, on Wednesday. How I long to see 
 you, and my dear home ! All the joints here are so fat and 
 underdone." So on. (returning letter to Nance) Now, Mrs. 
 Butterworth, I think I can open your eyes. 
 
 Nance. Stop a bit, before you speak. Don't you say 
 more nor less than the truth. I'm a bit soft-hearted about 
 my baby. I am hard as the stones to everything else in the 
 world ; and if you speak against her, I shall have to be hard 
 to her, too. Be careful— (laying her hand on her heart)— or 
 you'll hurt me. 
 
 Sil. You really pain me. Notwithstanding, I am com- 
 pelled to tell you, dear Mrs. Butterworth, that Hester finally 
 quitted the Academy more than six weeks ago. 
 
 Nance. More than six weeks ago ! What has she been 
 doing ? Where has she been since ? 
 
 Sil. Ah ! that is a little mystery, but I fancy 
 
 Hes. Mother, dear, I can tell you 
 
 Nance. Be silent ! (to Silverdale) Well, sir ? 
 
 Sil. I really fancy I can furnish a slight clue. On two 
 occasions during the last eighteen months, I have met your 
 daughter at a spot about three miles from the Academy, a 
 place called the " Lime Trees," walking arm-in-arm with a 
 young gentleman 
 
 Nance. The same man each time 1 
 
 Sil. The same person. I was not seen by them, and I 
 kept the circumstance to myself. 
 
 Nance. Was it your duty to the parent of a child to do 
 that? 
 
 Sil. I don't know, really. But I held my tongue for the 
 good of the Academy, and for the sake of the young ladies, 
 to whom I am attached. 
 
 Nance, (rising) Hester ! 
 
 Hes. Mother, won't you listen to me ? 
 
 Nance. Yes, when you answer my questions. Tell me, 
 when did you leave your school ; the school that I've scraped 
 my money together to pay for ? 
 
 Hes. (slowly) Six weeks ago or a little more. 
 
 Nance. And did the schoolmaster see you in the place 
 called the Lime Trees, walking with a young gentleman ? 
 
 Hes. Yes, mother, I dare say he did. 
 
 Nance. You were walking with a young gentleman there ? 
 
 Hes. Yes, mother, I was. (Silverdale shrugs his shoulders, 
 and crosses, R.) 
 
 Nance, (to Joel) Joel ! 
 
 Joel. Ees, missus. 
 
 Nance. Fetch the small tin box that stands under the 
 window-seat in the parlour. 
 
20 HESTER'S MYSTERY. 
 
 Joel. Ees, missus, (goes off, l.) 
 
 Hes. (rising and going to Nance) What are you going to 
 do, mother ? (crosses to Nance) 
 
 Nance. I'm going to start you afresh in life, a long way 
 from where I am or where I shall ever be. (goes into l. 
 comer) 
 
 Hes. No, no, mother, you mustn't send me away till I've 
 told you everything, (crossing to Nance) This fellow — 
 (pointing to Silverdale) — is a sneak and a coward. He 
 would have been a sweetheart of mine, but I've hated the 
 sight of him, and I've told him so. I boxed his ears once in 
 the playground before all the girls, and he owes me a grudge 
 for it and wants to pay me out. 
 
 Nance, (coldly) You can't say but what he has told the 
 truth, and I don't want you near me any more. 
 
 Hes. You don't know that I've done wrong. 
 
 Nance. I know that you've deceived me, on your own 
 showing. I know that you've told me lie upon lie. (crosses, 
 3c.) 
 
 Hes. (l.c) Mother, if you'll let me kneel to you, as I 
 used to do when I was a little girl, I'll tell you all my 
 faults. 
 
 Nance, (c.) I don't want to know 'em. I know that 
 something has come between you and me ; and whatever it 
 is, it has robbed a child of its mother and a mother of her 
 child, for you and I shall part this very day. 
 
 Hes. I'll not leave you ; I will be your baby, as I have 
 always been. I came home to tell you everything ; but I 
 knew I had been wrong, and I was going to tell you slowly, 
 a word a day, as it were, so that I shouldn't hurt you more 
 than I could help. (Hester tries to embrace Nance, who 
 shakes her off, and crosses^, to table, l.) 
 
 Nance. Ay, you came home to fool me, but you shan't do 
 it. (r. , crosses l. to table. Joel enters from l., carrying a 
 small tin box. Be comes down between Hester and Nance) 
 
 Joel, (coming down, c. , and giving box to Nance) Here's 
 the box, missus. (Nance takes it and places it on table, l. 
 She takes a bunch of keys from her pocket, and proceeds to open 
 it) 
 
 Hes. (seizing Joel's arm) Joel, I want to speak to you. 
 (she leads Joel down, r., and speaks to him in an undertone. 
 Silverdale crosses to Nance) 
 
 Sil. (coming down to Nance) This is a most unfortunate 
 aflair, it really is. Er — um — need I wait ? 
 
 Nance. Aye, that you need. (Silverdale goes up) I'll 
 have something to say to you by-and-bye. 
 
 Hes. (aside to Joel) Dear Joel, you've known me ever 
 
Hester's mystery. 21 
 
 since I was a little mite of a girl. Don't you remember, 
 Joel ? You used to nurse me. 
 
 Joel. Ay, and mortal heavy you were. 
 Hes. I'm heavier still now, Joel, especially about the 
 heart. But you like me, don't you ? 
 
 Joel. Why, of course I do— you give me a kiss a little 
 while back. 
 
 Hes. And I'll give you another if you'll do me a service, 
 dear Joel. Run, as fast as your legs can carry you, to old 
 Mrs. Chorley's— you know, the little red cottage near the 
 railway station, with the raven in a cage outside the door. Say 
 that you come from me — Hester— and that you are to bring 
 back an answer, (taking Baby's shoe from the bosom of her 
 dress, and hissing it) Take this— she'll recognise it ; and 
 mind, bring back an answer. Will you run, Joel, for my 
 sake ? — for the sake of the child you have dandled on your 
 knee ? 
 
 Joel. Ay, I'll run, Miss Hesty. I'll run till I well-nigh 
 drop for a glass o' yale. (he goes off hastily, up R.) 
 
 Nance, (l., who has opened the box, and taken out of it a 
 small old pocket-book and a little bag of money) Hester ! 
 Hes. Yes, mother. 
 
 Nance. Before we part,l want to give you this money ; 
 it's all I have, and I'm sorry it's so little. There are some 
 bank-notes in the pocket-book, and a little gold and silver 
 in the canvas bag. And now you can go. (puts her 
 hand in the tin box and takes out a little faded paper packet) 
 Look here, here's a ringlet of yours, cut off when you were 
 a baby, (thoughtfully) My baby's hair. (slight pause ; 
 sitting at table. The packet drops from her hand, and she 
 si+s on stool, l., and covers her face with her hands) 
 
 Hes. (c.) No, mother, I'll not take a penny of your 
 money, for I don't want for means to keep me, or to help 
 you. Mother— I'm — I'm married. (Nance looks up) 
 Nance, (rises) You're— you're married ! 
 Hes. I've been married more than a year (Nance sits 
 again), mother. It was very wrong, but I fell in love fright- 
 fully, and I knew you would never consent, and we both 
 felt that we couldn't live without each other. 
 Nance. Who is he ? 
 Hes. He's a gentleman, mother. 
 Nance, (with a short laugh) Ha ! 
 
 Hes. But he has a small income, large enough to maintain 
 us, and to defray any little incidental expense ; aad hes so 
 good-looking and affectionate. 
 
 Nance, {clenching her hands) I should like to have him 
 near me now ! What is he ? 
 
22 hester's mystery. 
 
 Hes. He's — he's nothing. He was in the Civil Service. 
 
 Nance. That's where he learnt his manners, I suppose. 
 
 Hes. And he came down Shrewsbury way to fish. 
 
 Nance. I'll be bound he did. 
 
 Hes. And 1 chanced to be on the banks of the same stream, 
 and in leaning over the water to see my face, I slipped, and 
 put my foot in it. 
 
 Nance. Ay, you've put your foot in it. 
 
 Hes. And he would insist on my taking off my wet shoe 
 and he would dry it with his pocket handkerchief ; and he 
 would make me wear his big, clumsy boot all the way 
 home ; and then we laughed because it was so funny, and 
 — oh, dear, it might have happened to anybody ! (goes out, 
 L.c) 
 
 Sil. (at bach, leaning on the pump) Miss Butter worth. 
 
 Hes. That's not my name, and you've just heard me say 
 so. 
 
 Sil. Pardon me, but where's your wedding-ring? (Hester 
 looks at her left hand) 
 
 Nance. What do you mean ? 
 
 Sil. I see Miss Butterworth doesn't wear a wedding-ring ; 
 but I suppose it's all right. 
 
 Nance. Where's your wedding-ring ? 
 
 Hes. (dismayed) I — I've lost it. 
 
 Nance. Lost it ! 
 
 Sil. Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! that's really very singular. 
 (John comes down, r.c, holding the ring in his hand) 
 
 John. Here it is. You threw it to me into the stable, and 
 I caught it. 
 
 Hes. (running to him) Ah, Jack, dear ! 
 
 John, (putting his arms round her) My darling Hester ! 
 (Nance starts up) 
 
 Sil. Good gracious me ! 
 
 Nance. What? 
 
 Hes. (taking John's hand) This, mother, dear — this is the 
 gentleman I have married. John Royle is my husband. 
 
 Sil. (aside) I thought I recognised the man's face. That's 
 the fellow I saw under the lime trees at Shrewsbury. 
 
 John. Yes, Mrs. Butterworth, [ am to blame for every- 
 thing, believe me. My only excuse is, that I am a good hus- 
 band, and shall always remain one. (putting wedding-ring on 
 Hester's finger) There's your wedding-ring, Hester ; never 
 take it from your hand again, dear. 
 
 Nance. What have you come here for, to triumph over 
 me? 
 
 John. Oh ! don't think that ; when the time arrived foi 
 my wife to return home, I came to you that you might get 
 
HESTER S MYSTERY. 23 
 
 accustomed to the sight of me, and, perhaps, find out that I 
 am not the worst fellow in the world. It was Hester's plan, 
 and I hope it has not altogether failed, {crosses to Nance) 
 Come, mother, look on the bright side of things. You shall 
 not lose your daughter, and, such as I am, you shall gain 
 me ; I'll work honestly for you, and I'll put my money into 
 your land, and make Butterworth's farm a model for the 
 county. 
 
 Nance. Nay, John Royle, if I wouldn't give my daughter 
 to you, you may be surel won't sell her. (John, r.c., crosses 
 L.c, Nance sits) Our paths lie wide apart. 
 
 Joel enters at back, R., carrying an infant. He comes 
 down, r. 
 
 Joel. Here you are, Miss Hesty, I've brought the answer. 
 (Hester snatches the baby from him, and kisses it) 
 
 Hes. (timidly to Nance, gradually going to her) Mother, 
 John and I have got a baby. It is four weeks old, and is so 
 intelligent. He's a boy, mother, and we are going to make 
 him a farmer, (coming to Nance) Will you look at him before 
 we leave you ? Just one little look — mother, mother ! (she 
 kneels, and places the child on Nance's lap) 
 
 Sil. (aside, at back) Um ! Tbe young lady has accounted 
 to me for the interval of six weeks. I really think that I 
 can be of no further use, so I'll go quietly, (he goes off at 
 back, R., unobserved. Nance looks at the baby, and then 
 kisses it) 
 
 Nance, (fondly) Eh, he's a fine boy ! (Hester kneels 
 down by Nance's side, and the two women rock the baby, and 
 kiss it alternately) 
 
 Hes. He's so good, too, mother. He never cries — at least, 
 very seldom. See my dimple in his chin, mother ! 
 
 Nance, (looking at Hester) Ay ! he's got your eyes, too, 
 baby. But I'm doubtful about his nose. 
 
 Hes. (rising) It's John's nose — isn't it, John ? (John rubs 
 his nose) Mother, dear, if we are to go, will you give baby 
 back to me, that we may take him away 1 (holding out her 
 arms) 
 
 Nance, (hugging the baby) Nay, I can't give him up. I'm 
 hard, and cruel, and sour ; but I can't let my baby's 
 baby go ! 
 
 Hes. (putting her arm round Nance's neck, on her l.) 
 Then are we to stay, mother ? 
 
 Nance. Ay, John and you. Where's that schoolmaster 
 chap ? (John and Joel look round for Silverdale) 
 
 John. Why, he's gone I (goes up stage, and looks, L.) 
 
24 hester's mystery. 
 
 Joel, (who has been sitting, r. ) Oh, he saw the look In 
 my eye, and he sneaked off. (music) 
 
 JNance. Well, better to go quietly. We'll think of him as 
 an ugly dream, a nightmare, that we wake up in the morning 
 to forget. Hester, do you forgive me ? 
 
 Hes. Of course, mother, (goes to her) 
 
 Nance. John ! (John comes to her y on her r. ; to John) 
 Do you forgive me ? 
 
 John, (bending down and kissing her) Of course, mother. 
 
 Nance. No more mystery, children. 
 
 hT } *>• 
 
 Nance. Then I'm a disagreeable, cross-grained, happy old 
 woman ! But when this baby grows up to be a man he shall 
 never guess what I have been, for I'll make him believe that 
 I'm the kindest, lovingest, best grandmother in the 
 world. 
 
 The Curtain Falls Slowly. 
 
 John. 
 
 Joel. Nance and Baby. 
 
 Hester. 
 The End. 
 

 2 
 
 DRAWING ROOM. 
 
 ily feept in the large size, the back scene is 13 feet long and 9 feet high and ex- 
 lds with the Wings and Borders to 20 feet long and 11} feet high. In the centre 
 
 tends with the Wings and Borders to 20 feet long and 11} feet high. In the centre 
 is a French window, leading down to the ground, On the left wing is a fireplace 
 with mirror above, and on the right wing is an oil painting. The whole scene is 
 tastefully ornamented and beautifully coloured, forming a most elegant picture. 
 The above is a representation of a box scene consisting of 38 sheets of paper, 
 the extra sheets being used for the doors each side. 
 
 £ s. d. 
 Back Scene, Border, and 1 Set of Wings, unmounted .. ..200 
 
 Ditto, mounted 4 4 
 
 Back Scene, Border, with 2 Sets of Wings as above to form Box 
 
 Scene, unmounted .. ... .- 2 10 
 
 Ditto, mounted .. .. ». 5 6 
 
 COTTAGE. 
 
 This is also kept in thedarge size only. In the centre is a door leading outside. 
 On the left centre is a rustic fireplace, and the right centre is a window. On the 
 Wings are painted shelves, Ac, to complete the scene. The above is a represen- 
 tuition of this scene with 1 set of Wings only (not a Bex Scene), but a Box Scene 
 can be made by purchasing the extra set of Wings. Prices and size same as 
 Drawing Room Scene above. 
 
ly 6d. 
 
 Ja 
 
 t Crystal I 
 2^03 Castle in 
 
 2204 Strange Re., tion 
 
 2205 Act of Piracy 
 
 VOLUML1 148 
 
 2206 Browne with an " e " 
 
 2207 New Groom 
 
 2208 A Happy Ending 
 
 2209 Neuchars Junction 
 
 2210 Cousins Once Removed 
 
 2211 Sowing the Wind, Is. 
 
 2212 Late Mr. Castello, la. 
 
 2213 Too Many Cooks 
 
 2214 Newspaper Nuptials 
 2216 Anthony's Legacy 
 
 2216 Baffled Spinster 
 
 2217 Man of Ideas 
 
 2218 Bunch of Violets, Is. 
 
 2215 i?wo Naughty Old 
 
 Ladies 
 
 2220 In and Out of a Punt 
 
 VOLUME 149 
 
 2221 Matrimonial Agency 
 
 2222 As Once in May 
 
 2223 Richard Wye 
 
 2224 Faithful James 
 
 2225 Obstinate Womm 
 
 2226 Judged by Appear- 
 
 ances 
 
 2227 Mixed Addresses 
 
 2228 Who Won ? 
 
 2229 Mistaken Identity 
 
 2230 Lady Elizabeth Poole 
 
 Gubbins 
 
 2231 Solicitor 
 
 2232 Only Amateurs 
 
 2233 Poor Old Perkins 
 
 2234 Bird in the Bush 
 
 2235 Nita, the Dancer 
 
 VOLUME 150 
 
 2236 The Dentist 
 
 2237 Taken for Granted 
 
 2238 Just as Well 
 2289 Hogmany 
 224U Pansy 
 
 . . A. JL>Uol 
 
 ^2*3 My Milliner's Bill, Is. 
 
 2244 My Aunt from Cali- 
 
 fornia 
 
 2245 His Life for Hers 
 
 2246 The Meeting 
 
 2247 The Umbrella 
 
 Duologue 
 
 2248 The Late Lamented 
 
 2249 Woman Triumphaut 
 
 2250 Angelina's Lover 
 
 VOLUME 151 
 
 2251 Chrysanthemums 
 
 2252 My First Client 
 
 2253 Punctured 
 
 2254 Old Pals 
 
 2265 Honeymoon Tragedy 
 
 2266 Commission 
 
 2257 Hal, the Highwayman 
 
 2258 Dinner for Two 
 
 2259 Ninth Waltz 
 
 2260 Human Sport 
 
 2261 Collaborators 
 
 2262 Mere Man 
 2268 Packing Up 
 
 2264 Paying Guest 
 
 2265 'Enery Brown 
 
 VOLUME 152 
 
 2266 The Jilt 
 
 2267 'Op-o'-Me-Thumb 
 
 2268 A Marriage Has Been 
 
 Arranged 
 
 2269 Carrots 
 
 2270 Conversion of Nat 
 
 Sturge 
 
 2271 Clerical Error 
 
 2272 Aubrey Closes the Door 
 
 2273 Workbox 
 
 2274 Two on a 'Bus 
 
 2275 Bridget's Blunders 
 
 2276 That Brute Simmons 
 
 2277 Well Matched 
 
 2278 Maker of Men 
 
 2279 Gutter of Time 
 
 2280 Game of Chess 
 
 VOLUME 
 
 2281 Mr. Stein: 
 
 Corner 
 
 2282 Ella's Apolo: 
 
 2283 Colour Sergi 
 2k84 Helpless Co 
 
 2285 First Aid 
 
 Woundi 
 
 2286 Correct Thi 
 
 2287 Their J 
 
 Guest 
 
 2288 Domestic 
 
 ment 
 
 2289 Salt of Life 
 
 2290 Time is Mo 
 
 2291 Wally and 
 
 2292 Deceitful 
 
 2293 Holly Tree 
 
 2294 Up-to-date 
 
 2295 bit of Old 
 
 VOLUM 
 
 2296 Wrong S 
 
 Road 
 
 2297 The Open 
 2ii98 Prima Dei 
 
 berton) 
 
 2299 Lights Out (jjl 
 
 2300 Mirror of TMJjJ] 
 
 2301 Three BlirijM 
 
 (Musker|i|| 
 
 2302 Privy CouiMlfl 
 
 2303 Snowed ijjj; ] 
 
 Duchessfejj 
 
 2304 Acacia Cotul' 
 2306 Fabricato Jj{ 
 
 2306 Compromi" 
 
 2307 Rest Cure 
 
 2308 Misses Pri 
 
 cerjtion 
 
 2309 Ejection 
 
 Lucindi 
 
 2310 Uncle Did 
 
 VOLUM 
 
 2311 ThatHorr 
 
 2312 Bardwell 
 
 2313 House of 
 
 2314 Turtle H< 
 
 2315 Superior 
 
 AN AMERICAN CITIZEN 
 BILLY S LITTLE LOVE 
 
 AFFAIR 
 BRACE OF PARTRIDGES 
 BRIXTON BURGLARY 
 CAPTAIN SWIFT 
 CASSILIS ENGAGEMENT 
 CHARITY THAT BEGAN 
 
 AT HOME 
 COUNTRY MOUSE 
 FACING THE MUSIC 
 FASCINATING MR. VAN- 
 
 DERVELDT 
 IDLER. 
 IMPORTANCE OF BEING 
 
 EARNEST 
 IN CHANCERY 
 
 CAVE OF ILLUSION 
 DANCING GIRL 
 FASCINATING MR. VAN- 
 DERVBLDT 
 
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 MICE AND MEN 
 MISS ELIZABETH'S 
 
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 MOLLENTRAVE ON 
 
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