Gillian. Tst-tst, my lambs! Let us think of other things. Shall we measure our garlands? [Stretches out her green.]
Rafe [measuring his against it, while Cicely and Allison stretch theirs together]. Indeed, 'tis soon done, good Gillian. We've used up all our greens.
Gillian [rising]. I will see if Roger and Noll have brought more for us. [Exit.]
Rafe [considering his garland]. Would my garland measure around the great pasty Dame Joan hath made for to-morrow's feast, think you, Cicely?
Cicely [laughing]. The venison pasty, Rafe? Mayhap when Dame Joan hath turned her back, we can try and see.
Allison. I fear mine will but reach around a very little pudding! [Enter Phyllis.] Oh, cousin Phyllis, cousin Phyllis, come see our garlands!
Phyllis [coming forward]. Did my little Allison wreathe all this long piece? [Allison nods proudly.] That's brave work, indeed.
Cicely [arms around Phyllis]. Dear cousin Phyllis, won't you stay and help us—and tell us why everyone is so sad?
Phyllis [frightened]. Nay, dear, I must not, and you must not be sad—'tis Christmas Eve.
Rafe. Yes, we know. But why doth my father look so stern——