University of Virginia Library

The action of this story all takes place in MRS. BREWSTER'S Plymouth home on two successive June evenings. As the figurative curtain rises MRS. BREWSTER is sitting at a desk reading the latest instalment of Foxe's "Book of Martyrs".
The sound of a clanking sword is heard outside. MRS. BREWSTER looks up, smiles to herself, and goes on reading. A knock—a timid knock.
MRS. BREWSTER:

Come in.

(Enter CAPTAIN MIKES STANDISH, whiskered and forty. In a later generation, with that imposing mustache and his hatred of Indians, Miles would undoubtedly have been a bank president. At present he seems somewhat ill at ease, and obviously relieved to find only PRISCILLA'S aunt at home.)
MRS. BREWSTER:

Good evening, Captain Standish.

MILES:

Good evening, Mrs. Brewster. It's —it's cool for June, isn't it?

MRS. BREWSTER:

Yes. I suppose we'll pay, for it with a hot July, though.

MILES
(nervously):

Yes, but it—it is cool for June, isn't it?

MRS. BREWSTER:

So you said, Captain.

MILES:

Yes. So I said, didn't I?

(Silence.)
MILES:

Mistress Priscilla isn't home, then?

MRS. BREWSTER:

Why, I don't think so, Captain. But I never can be sure where Priscilla is.

MILES
(eagerly):

She's a—a fine girl, isn't she? A fine girl.

MRS. BREWSTER:

Why, yes. Of course, Priscilla has her faults but she'd make some man a fine wife—some man who knew how to handle her—an older man, with experience.

MILES:

Do you really think so, Mrs. Brewster?

(After a minute.) Do you think Priscilla is thinking about marrying anybody in particular?

MRS. BREWSTER:

Well, I can't say, Captain. You know—she's a little wild. Her mother was wild, too, you know—that is, before the Lord spoke to her. They say she used to be seen at the Mermaid Tavern in London with all those play-acting people. She always used to say that Priscilla would marry a military man.

MILES:

A military man? Well, now tell me Mrs. Brewster, do you think that a sweet delicate creature like Priscilla—

A VOICE
(in the next room):

Oh DAMN!

MRS. BREWSTER:

That must be Priscilla now.

THE VOICE:

Auntie!

MRS. BREWSTER:

Yes, Priscilla dear.

THE VOICE:

Where in hell did you put the vermouth?

MRS. BREWSTER:

In the cupboard, dear. I do hope you aren't going to get—er—"boiled'' again tonight, Priscilla.

(Enter PRISCILLA, infinitely radiant, infinitely beautiful, with a bottle of vermouth in one hand and a jug of gin in the other.)
PRISCILLA:

Auntie, that was a dirty trick to hide the vermouth. Hello Miles—shoot many Indians today?

MILES:

Why—er er—no, Mistress Priscilla.

PRISCILLA:

Wish you'd take me with you next time, Miles. I'd love to shoot an Indian, wouldn't you, auntie?

MRS. BREWSTER:

Priscilla! What an idea! And please dear, give Auntie Brewster the gin. I—er—promised to take some to the church social tonight and it's almost all gone now.

MILES:

I didn't see you at church last night, Mistress Priscilla.

PRISCILLA:

Well I'll tell you, Miles. I started to go to church—really felt awfully religious. But just as I was leaving I thought, "Priscilla, how about a drink—just one little drink?'' You know, Miles, church goes so much better when you're just a little boiled— the lights and everything just kind of—oh, its

glorious. Well last night, after I'd had a little liquor, the funniest thing happened. I felt awfully good, not like church at all—so I just thought I'd take a walk in the woods. And I came to a pool—a wonderful honest-to-God pool—with the moon shining right into the middle of it. So I just undressed and dove in and it was the most marvelous thing in the world. And then I danced on the bank in the grass and the moonlight—oh, Lordy, Miles, you ought to have seen me.

MRS. BREWSTER:

Priscilla!

PRISCILLA:

'Scuse me, Auntie Brewster. And then I just lay in the grass and sang and laughed.

MRS. BREWSTER:

Dear, you'll catch your death of cold one of these nights. I hope you'll excuse me, Captain Standish; it's time I was going to our social. I'll leave Priscilla to entertain you. Now be a good girl, Priscilla, and please dear don't drink straight vermouth— remember what happened last time. Good night, Captain—good night, dear.

(Exit MRS. BREWSTER with gin.)
PRISCILLA:

Oh damn! What'll we do, Miles—I'm getting awfully sleepy.

MILES:

Why—we might—er—pet a bit.

PRISCILLA
(yawning):

No. I'm too tired— besides, I hate whiskers.

MILES:

Yes, that's so, I remember.

(Ten minutes' silence, with MILES looking sentimentally into the fireplace, PRISCILLA curled up in a chair on the other side.)
MILES:

I was—your aunt and I—we were talking about you before you came in. It was a talk that meant a lot to me.

PRISCILLA:

Miles, would you mind closing that window?

(MILES closes the window and returns to his chair by the fireplace.)
MILES:

And your aunt told me that your mother said you would some day marry a military man.

PRISCILLA:

Miles, would you mind passing me that pillow over there?

(MILES gets up, takes the pillow to PRISCILLA and again sits down.
MILES:

And I thought that if you wanted

a military man why—well, I've always thought a great deal of you, Mistress Priscilla —and since my Rose died I've been pretty lonely, and while I'm nothing but a rough old soldier yet—well, what I'm driving at is—you see, maybe you and I could sort of—well, I'm not much of a hand at fancy love speeches and all that—but—

(He is interrupted by a snore. He glances up and sees that PRISCILLA has fallen fast asleep. He sits looking hopelessly into the fireplace for a long time, then gets up, puts on his hat and tiptoes out of the door.)