GOODY RICKBY To church or to Hell. All’s one.
DICKON A rival! [Pointing at the glass.] How would he serve—in there? Dear Ebenezer! Fancy the deacons in the vestry, Goody, and her uncle, the Justice, when they saw him escorting the bride to the altar, with his tail round her waist!
GOODY RICKBY Tut, tut! Think it over in earnest, and meantime take her the glass. Wait, we’d best fold it up small, so as not to attract notice on the road.
[Dickon, who has already drawn the curtains over the glass, grasps one side of the large frame, Goody Rickby the other.]
Now!
[Pushing their shoulders against the two sides, the frame disappears and Dickon holds in his hand a mirror about a foot square, of the same design.]
So! Be off! And mind, a rival for Richard!
DICKON For Richard a rival, Dear Goody Rickby Wants Dickon’s connival: Lord! What can the trick be? [To the scarecrow.] By-by, Sonny; take care of thy mother.
[Dickon slouches out with the glass, whistling.]
GOODY RICKBY Mother! Yea, if only I had a son—the Justice Merton’s and mine! If the brat had but lived now to remind him of those merry days, which he has forgotten. Zooks, wouldn’t I put a spoke in his wheel! But no such luck for me! No such luck!