her book, sniffs at the flowers. Coming to the end of the
movement STRANGWAY stops, and looking up at the face on the
wall, heaves a long sigh.

IVY. [From the seat] I picked these for yu, Mr. Strangway.

STRANGWAY. [Turning with a start] Ah! Ivy. Thank you. [He puts
his flute down on a chair against the far wall] Where are the
others?

As he speaks, GLADYS FREMAN, a dark gipsyish girl, and CONNIE
TRUSTAFORD, a fair, stolid, blue-eyed Saxon, both about sixteen,
come in through the front door, behind which they have evidently
been listening. They too have prayer-books in their hands.
They sidle past Ivy, and also sit down under the window.

GLADYS. Mercy's comin', Mr. Strangway.

STRANGWAY. Good morning, Gladys; good morning, Connie.

He turns to a book-case on a table against the far wall, and
taking out a book, finds his place in it. While he stands thus
with his back to the girls, MERCY JARLAND comes in from the
green. She also is about sixteen, with fair hair and china-blue
eyes. She glides in quickly, hiding something behind her, and
sits down on the seat next the door. And at once there is a
whispering.

STRANGWAY. [Turning to them] Good morning, Mercy.