(Thornton, Harry, Kitty, Tom, and Nat come down; others carry back the benches, and clear the stage; then converse in groups at back.)
Harry. Don't scold, Tom. It's the first game that has crossed my path to-day: the first shot I've made. So the corn is husked, and I not here to share your work. We've had a long tramp, and lost our way. (goes to r. with Thornton; they divest themselves of their bags, and lean their guns against bin. 2d entrance.)
Tom (l. c.). Empty bags! Well, you are smart gunners: not even a rabbit.
Harry (r. c. Thornton sits on stool, r.). No, Tom; they were particularly shy to-day, so I had to content myself with a deer, your dear, Tom. (All laugh; Nat, l., very loud, Tom threatening him.)
Kitty (c.). His dear, indeed! I'll have you to understand I'm not to be made game of.
Harry. No, dear, no one shall make game of you; but keep a sharp lookout, for there's a keen hunter on the track, and when Tom Larcom flings the matrimonial noose—
Kitty. He may be as lucky as you have been to-day, and return empty-handed.
Tom. Don't say that, Kitty; haven't I been your devoted—
Kitty. Fiddlesticks! (pushes him back, and comes to l. C.) If there is any thing I hate, it's sparking before company.
Nat (l.). And there's where you're right, Kitty. As much as I love you, I would never dare to be so outspoken before company.